Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 282: Topics
Chapter 282: Topics
The Selvenhardt hummed along the curve of the lower boulevard, city shadows slipping past the tinted windows like softened brushstrokes. Vermillion’s campus was already shrinking behind them, swallowed by rooftops and treetops and the slow, deliberate rhythm of the after-school hour.
Inside the car, it was quiet.
Then—
“Comfortable?” Damien asked, voice smooth, almost lazy.
Isabelle turned her head, just slightly.
He was looking at her. Not in that piercing, sharp-edged way he sometimes did in class—but plainly. Casually. Like he was checking.
“…Yes,” she said, after a pause.
He nodded. “Good, then.”
A beat passed.
Then, with a subtle shift in tone—just enough to signal he was now actually interested—
“Then, Class Rep,” he continued, “do you have any plans on what to study?”
Isabelle blinked.
The question hung there, simple but pointed.
Plans.
Of course she’d thought about it. She’d thought about it the moment she agreed to this ridiculous arrangement, thought about it again when she was organizing her notes during the last period, and definitely thought about it as they’d walked through unfamiliar halls toward a luxury car with autopilot.
But now that he’d asked her out loud… the answer didn’t drop cleanly into her mouth.
What to study?
That was always the question. The default. The starting line. But right now, with the hum of motion beneath her and Damien Elford watching her from the other side of the seat, it felt… less mechanical than usual.
Still—her voice didn’t waver when it finally came.
“I’m fine with everything,” she said. “But we should start with the topics you’re lacking in.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed, but not with annoyance.
More like curiosity.
“The topics I’m lacking in, huh…” he echoed.
Then leaned his head back against the leather, a small breath of a laugh slipping from his lips.
“Don’t say something like, ‘I don’t lack anything,’” she added quietly.
That earned a full grin.
“Heh… Class Rep,” he said, turning his head slightly toward her, “while I’m certainly a prideful individual…”
His voice dropped half a note—still light, still edged with humor, but grounded.
“Even I know what kind of person I am.”
Damien’s grin lingered for a second longer, then softened.
“I can do anything,” he said, “with enough time and guidance.”
His gaze slid back toward the ceiling, as if watching words hang in the silence. “But the ‘time’ and ‘guidance’ part… that’s been coming in slowly.”
“Slowly?” Isabelle repeated.
“Painfully,” he admitted, with a faint smirk. “They always existed. I just… wasted both.”
“That is correct,” she said evenly.
Damien chuckled. “I did waste both.”
“Good that you know.”
He didn’t reply right away.
The hum of the car filled the pause, sleek and unobtrusive. The windows framed the streets gliding by—long shadows, dusky light, signs half-lit.
Then Isabelle turned her head toward him.
“I checked your results,” she said.
That got his attention.
He looked over at her, brows raised slightly.
“You checked them?”
“Yes,” she replied, voice crisp. “Since you won the bet, I decided to see your performance thoroughly.”
Damien blinked once, then let out a low whistle, clearly entertained. “Oh, my Class Rep is really thorough.”
She turned her gaze forward again.
“Silence.”
Not harsh.
Just final.
Damien smirked but obeyed, shifting slightly in his seat like he was settling in for whatever audit was about to come next.
She didn’t look at him. Just continued, tone clean and analytical.
“There were four topics on the exam,” she said. “Literature and Comprehension. Mathematics. Social Sciences. Science.”
He gave a lazy hum of acknowledgment, but she was already moving on.
“When I looked at your results,” she continued, “I noticed something.”
She paused—not for effect, but to retrieve the memory, ordered and exact.
“Your Literature and Comprehension scores were above the class median. Nearly excellent, actually. Same with Math. Your performance in abstract reasoning and applied calculation was… unexpectedly strong.”
Damien’s brow ticked up. “Unexpectedly?”
“Statistically speaking,” she said coolly, “yes.”
He let out a short laugh, but didn’t interrupt again.
She shifted slightly in her seat, one leg crossing over the other with that precise stillness she always moved with.
She shifted slightly, posture still straight but a touch more angled now—like she was settling in to dissect something more delicate.
“Your weakest sections,” she said, “were Social Sciences and Science.”
Damien didn’t react much. Just raised one hand and let it rest across his chest, index finger tapping idly at his shoulder. Like he already knew where this was going, and didn’t mind.
Isabelle’s eyes slid toward him.
“Why was that?”
Damien glanced back, faint amusement touching his mouth. But there was no smugness this time. No play.
“I didn’t know,” he said simply.
“You didn’t know?” she echoed, brow lifting just slightly.
He nodded, unbothered. “The topics. I didn’t study them before. So I didn’t know most of the content.”
“You’re saying,” she replied, her tone flat and sharp-edged, “that the results were low because of complete lack of preparation.”
“Correct.”
She exhaled through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Something quieter. “So you’re saying you can do better now?”
Damien gave a slow blink, then leaned his head toward her, just enough to break the calm distance without invading it.
“Class Rep,” he said smoothly, “there seems to be a mistake in your perception of me.”
“…”
“Twenty-third in the academy,” he said, voice softer now. “Those results… they weren’t the best I could do.”
She studied him.
He didn’t flinch under the weight of her stare.
“They were just the best I could manage at that time,” Damien continued. “Not my best.”
Then, calmly:
“I can do way better than that.”
And the way he said it—no arrogance, no defense—just quiet, clear certainty…
It made her pause.
“Don’t show off,” Isabelle said, tone clipped.
Damien’s smile widened—just a little.
“I’m not showing off,” he replied, voice smooth as ever. “I’m simply correcting a misconception.”
She looked away.
Not because he’d won anything. Just to preserve her own peace of mind.
And then—she sighed.
Soft. Barely audible. But real.
‘This guy is really hard to deal with,’ she thought.
Not infuriating. Not intolerable.
Just… hard.
He talked like he didn’t care, but underneath it was all deliberate. Nothing chaotic, even if he pretended otherwise. He wielded his laziness like a shield, and when it dropped—just a crack—it revealed something far more dangerous:
Intent.
The Selvenhardt turned onto the upper bypass, merging into the quiet traffic flow of high-end vehicles, all gliding like whispers beneath the late afternoon sky. The light had softened into gold through the tinted glass, streaking long shadows across Damien’s cheekbone and the quiet curve of Isabelle’s jaw.
She hadn’t answered yet.
Not verbally.
But the silence between them had shifted—less audit, more negotiation. Less judgment, more… direction.
Isabelle tapped a finger lightly against the armrest. A small, rhythmical sound. Precise, thoughtful.
“We’ll begin with Social Sciences and Science,” she said eventually, eyes still forward.
Damien nodded once, satisfied. “Makes sense.”
“You’re behind in both, conceptually and contextually. Social Sciences more than Science. That will take the most time.”
“I figured.”
“We’ll build from foundational theory. Political frameworks. Comparative history. Case study analysis. After that, we’ll cover application models, then break down how to approach constructed-response sections.”
“Class Rep,” he drawled, “you almost make it sound like a combat simulation.”
She glanced at him. “It is one. Just with essays instead of live fire.”
He grinned at that.
“And Science?”
“Your fundamentals are erratic. Some concepts you overextend on, others you skip entirely. You’ve got a good sense of pattern recognition, but your memory work is shallow.”
“That’s a fancy way to say I wing it.”
“You try to wing it. Badly.”
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
