Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 281: To cafe
Chapter 281: To cafe
The hallway was quiet.
Not empty—but quiet in that end-of-day, filtered-sunlight kind of way. The soft hum of conversation trailed behind distant footsteps. Locker doors opened and closed with hollow clacks. Someone laughed near the stairwell.
But between the two of them, the silence held a different texture.
Damien walked half a step behind her, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed as ever. He wasn’t pushing the pace, wasn’t speaking yet. Just moving beside her like this was normal.
Like it had always been normal.
It wasn’t.
Not for her.
She kept her eyes forward, steps steady, not too fast. Not too slow. Measured. Which—frustratingly—was exactly the pace he liked to match.
Then—
“So,” he said, breaking the silence with that easy lilt of his voice, “do you have a place in mind?”
A place.
The word landed heavier than it should’ve.
Isabelle’s gaze didn’t waver, but her mind did.
A place…
She’d actually thought about it.
More than once.
Even back when she agreed to the study arrangement, part of her had quietly cataloged possibilities. Not just logistics—she’d mentally reviewed factors like lighting, proximity to food outlets, noise isolation—but also… less objective things.
She didn’t want somewhere too familiar. Not her home—definitely not. That space was hers. Controlled. Private.
And besides… it felt strange.
Letting a boy in.
Even saying the thought in her head made her ears heat, and she didn’t like that.
Not because she was embarrassed. She wasn’t.
It was just—
She wasn’t used to this.
She studied alone. Always had. Home was efficient, low-cost, safe. She didn’t waste money on cafes or rented study lounges. The outside world was expensive, loud, full of distractions. Cafes charged triple for the same tea she could brew at home. Co-study lounges were trendy and overrun with influencers pretending to revise.
And yet…
She couldn’t bring him to her house.
That was unthinkable.
And yet…
She couldn’t bring him to her house.
That was unthinkable.
She kept walking, eyes trained ahead, but her mind spun too many quiet loops. This shouldn’t have been complicated. It was just studying. Just reviewing material together. Nothing more.
So why—
A sudden movement snapped her thoughts in half.
Damien’s hand appeared right in front of her face.
She stopped on instinct, brows pulling together—not in shock, but that tightly coiled irritation that only he could provoke so quickly.
“Don’t be lost in thoughts,” he said.
His voice was light. Almost amused. But the smile that followed wasn’t his usual smug curl—it was gentler. Less challenge, more… familiarity.
Like he’d caught her pacing her own mind and decided to pull her out of it before she overworked the engine.
“I know a place,” he added.
Isabelle narrowed her eyes.
“You,” she said slowly, “know a place.”
“Yep.”
There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation.
He just started walking again, as if that settled it. As if she had no choice but to follow.
And, somehow… she did.
Though unease trailed her chest like a shadow.
She wasn’t used to following. Not like this. Not without a plan. Not without knowing where. But she walked anyway—quiet steps matching his once more, posture straight, arms loose at her sides.
They passed familiar halls, then less familiar ones.
The crowd thinned quickly. This wasn’t the main wing. Not where students usually lingered after hours. The lockers were older here, unused. The windows longer. The light duller.
Isabelle’s fingers flexed once on the strap of her bag.
This part of the school… she’d never really needed to come here. No classes, no activities. It wasn’t dangerous, just… irrelevant.
Until now.
The corridor turned, and the air changed. Cooler. Still.
Then she saw it.
The back lot.
The auto-park.
Set behind the school, nestled beneath a half-canopied structure, it was where the upper-tier families had their private pickups. Security monitored it, but it stayed quiet most hours.
And there it was.
The Selvenhardt.
Polished black, sleek angles catching the filtered sunlight through the trees. The same one from this morning. The same car that had pulled up beside her on Lynden Street like it had been summoned. The same engine that purred like arrogance on wheels.
Isabelle slowed to a stop a few steps from the vehicle, her eyes flicking briefly over its surface.
She wasn’t into cars.
Never had been.
But even she recognized the brand.
Selvenhardt: a mark of absurd wealth, engineered prestige, and unnecessary horsepower. The kind of vehicle that didn’t just drive—it announced.
At first, she hadn’t cared.
But after that morning ride—after catching a glimpse of the cabin’s design, the seamless console interface, the absurdly silent glide over city roads—she’d… looked it up.
Just once.
Just out of curiosity.
Not obsession.
Not interest.
Just a five-minute detour on a search engine to check the model. That was all.
And what she found…
‘They don’t even advertise the price.’
The kind of car where “Contact Us” replaced actual numbers. Where you didn’t buy it—you qualified for it.
She stared at it now, the way the tinted glass caught the sky and threw it back dimmed and flawless.
‘One day,’ she told herself, without flinch or irony.
‘In the future… I’ll get one.’
Not because she needed it.
But because she could.
A quiet goal. Unspoken. Lodged like a pin behind her sternum.
Then—
The back door opened.
Not the driver’s side. Not Damien’s.
The rear.
And from behind the seamless curve of the frame, she stepped out.
Tall. Composed. Hair pinned with military precision.
Elysia.
The maid.
And more than that—his maid.
She moved like silence wrapped in velvet. No wasted motion, not even in the way her gloved hand eased the door fully open. Her eyes scanned the area with a brief sweep, clocked Isabelle instantly, and then—
She bowed.
Slight. Controlled. Formal.
“Welcome,” Elysia said, voice calm and smooth. “Master.”
Elysia’s bow held no warmth.
Just formality—precise, quiet, unwavering.
Her eyes, those sharp green irises, flicked to Isabelle again. Not rude. Not hostile. Just… measuring.
Isabelle didn’t flinch, but something inside her ribcage tightened anyway.
She’d only met the woman this morning. A passing glance when Damien had pulled up beside her on Lynden. But even in that split-second, she’d felt it—that razor focus, that impossible poise.
Now, face-to-face, it was worse.
Elysia didn’t move like a servant. She moved like someone trained for things Isabelle couldn’t name. Things that had nothing to do with tea trays and chore charts.
Her presence was cold. Not cruel, not superior—just vacant. Like she didn’t have emotions to spare for strangers.
And her eyes—
‘It’s like she sees through fabric,’ Isabelle thought.
‘Through posture. Through thought.’
It was disquieting.
Damien didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.
“Thank you, my maid,” he said casually, that ever-present smile tugging at his lips.
He stepped into the car without pause, settling into the back seat like it had been waiting for him since morning.
Elysia didn’t move until he was inside. Then, with the same silent efficiency, she turned and opened the door on the opposite side.
For Isabelle.
She hesitated.
Just for a beat.
Then slid in without a word.
The cabin welcomed her with soft leather and ambient lights, the faintest scent of something expensive she couldn’t place. The door shut behind her with a muted click, and a moment later, Elysia was in the front passenger seat, adjusting her gloves.
The driver’s seat stayed empty.
Of course it did.
This car didn’t need one.
The interface on the dash blinked to life, waiting.
Damien reclined slightly, one arm resting along the top edge of the seat, posture loose and unreadable.
He glanced at the console.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tapped something on the side of his watch—barely a press, more like a whisper against metal.
A soft chime echoed through the cabin.
“The destination is confirmed,” the car’s voice replied, crisp and smooth—genderless, cultured, perfectly tuned to not intrude.
Then it moved.
No lurch, no startle. Just motion—fluid and seamless. The Selvenhardt slid out of the auto-park like a shadow rejoining its source, gliding past steel columns and into the service lane that curved around the school perimeter.
Isabelle didn’t speak.
She didn’t ask where they were going.
She didn’t need to.
Her gaze remained forward, hands folded neatly in her lap, but her thoughts weren’t quiet. Not with the low hum of the engine beneath her, the weight of a maid like Elysia in the front seat, and Damien—relaxed—beside her like this was some sort of norm.
She glanced once toward him.
He hadn’t even sat upright. He was still leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, eyes half-lidded in that way he always wore when he was thinking—but didn’t want anyone to know it.
‘He planned this,’ she thought.
It was as if he knew that she wouldn’t choose.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
