Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 288: Gesture and intentions (3)

Chapter 288: Gesture and intentions (3)

Isabelle froze.

For one long, too-still breath, her body refused to move.

The tip of her nose still tingled faintly from where his finger had tapped her—light, but not playful. Not careless. Just precise enough to carry weight. Like he’d drawn a line in invisible ink and dared her to wipe it away.

And then—heat.

It surged up her neck in a clean, sharp line. Not embarrassment. Not exactly. Just intensity. A kind of pressure she wasn’t used to holding.

’You will be mine.’

The words echoed louder in her head than when he’d said them aloud.

She swallowed.

Looked at him again—really looked.

His blue eyes, calm and crystal clear, didn’t waver. They weren’t narrowed or smug or filled with arrogant challenge. They just… looked. Unflinching. Present. Like he wasn’t hoping for a reaction. Just waiting for one.

’This is… too direct.’

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because when people flirted with her before—on the rare occasions they did—it was clumsy. Teasing. Wrapped in vague compliments or indirect gestures. Easy to brush off. Easy to forget.

But this?

This wasn’t coy.

It was declaration.

And somehow… that felt more dangerous.

Because she wasn’t repulsed.

Not by his tone. Not by his words. Not by the heat curling at her collarbone like a thread pulled loose.

And that’s what made her wary.

’No one’s ever said that to me and meant it.’

Her mind circled the thought like a warning bell, soft but growing.

She’d been approached before—sometimes for grades, sometimes for reputation, sometimes just because people thought the quiet girl must be an easy mark. And she’d shut it down. Always. Easily.

The booth’s hum seemed to fade around her, leaving only the pulse of her heartbeat and the echo of his words—”You’ll be mine.” Every syllable drilled into the quiet, leaving no room for misinterpretation. The lavender glow of the interface flickered over the soft lines of his face as he watched her. No smirk. No coyness. Just stillness.

And the alarm went off in her mind.

Three years ago, in the heart of the city, she’d been caught off-guard just like this. A local bar, dim lights, the kind of music that promised secrets.

One too-friendly stranger, a drink too many, a conversation that blurred. At the last second, something had clicked—some inner dial that said this wrong—and she’d excused herself, called friends, flagged down a cab.

She’d walked home in silence, rooftop lights trailing behind her like distant stars. Nothing had happened, but it had been close enough.

That moment of vulnerability had been magnified afterward. A mirror held up to the side of her face—who was she?

Since then, she hadn’t stopped watching. Not just others, but herself: reflexes sharpened, posture measured, emotional responses muted. She lived in a city that smelled of ambition and danger, where friendly smiles were negotiable and trust was a currency earned in hard installments.

Damien Elford—the emblem of wealth, legacy, old money—had checked every box she’d vowed to scan before letting anyone in.

And yet… here she was, alone with him in a space that cost more than her monthly budget, the glow of projection lights bathing her face in soft color. He pointed directly at her nose and claimed possession, and for once, she had no urge to laugh it off or push him away.

Why? That question spun in her mind like a trapped moth.

She shut off the thought. No. The game was his. She decided right then: she wouldn’t hand anything over for free. The momentary warmth she felt was not permission. She’d seen too much to trust intention at first glance.

She met his gaze, full on. “You know you don’t get to claim me. Not with words.” Her voice was steady, low—no tremor, no break.

He didn’t blink. He stayed where he was. Nothing shifted in his posture.

Damien’s voice slid into the quiet like a blade she hadn’t noticed until it was already pressed against her nerves—sharp, deliberate, and warm enough to burn.

“Rep,” he said, tone smooth, “you do know I hate being all talk and no action, don’t you?”

Isabelle blinked once. Then she just narrowed her eyes. “So you will claim me with your actions?”

He smiled—slow, like it didn’t need permission. “So, yeah. I’ll claim you with my actions.”

He leaned forward, not invading, just close enough that she could feel the air shift between them.

“Eventually, you’ll make it clear. That you are mine.”

The audacity made her jaw tighten. “You think I’m going to fall into your lap just because you’re persistent?”

“No,” Damien said. “I think you’ll walk here. On your own. Because you’ll want to.”

She gave him a flat look. “Do you think I’m that easy?”

His smile didn’t break. If anything, it deepened. “Who said you’re easy?”

He tilted his head, letting the light from the interface catch in the edges of his hair, his eyes.

“In fact, it’s because you’re not,” he said. “Because you’re sharp. Disciplined. Impossible to read unless someone’s actually watching.”

He leaned back just slightly, but his gaze never wavered.

“I love challenges, Rep. I don’t want something handed to me. I want something earned.”

She folded her arms, but he caught the slight lift in her brow—her tell when she was thinking too fast to hide it.

He pointed at her, a lazy gesture full of intention. “You think I’m chasing you because I like the way you look across a projection grid?”

Damien’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t grow colder either. But it did settle—lower, more grounded. The kind of tone people took when they weren’t trying to win an argument, but to be understood.

“You think I want you just because of how you look?” he asked, tapping once on the side of the tray. “Or because you’re some kind of easy target, coming from a background without shields or influence?”

Isabelle’s breath caught.

He didn’t wait for her to answer.

“Is that how you think I operate?” he asked, eyes on hers. “Is that really your impression of me?”

She didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Because hearing it laid out like that—so clearly, so unapologetically—made something stir in her chest. Uncomfortable. Familiar.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

She had wondered. Not because of anything specific Damien had done. But because others before him had tried. Always with flattery. With sudden interest. With quiet manipulations that started soft and turned cruel. And because she didn’t have a name to shield her, they thought she’d be grateful just to be chosen.

She remembered that night in the city too clearly.

The older student with the polished smile. The way he’d cornered her with compliments. Tried to pin her under the weight of her own politeness. Tried to own her silence.

She had walked away just in time.

But the scar of it never fully faded.

And so yes—part of her had braced for Damien to be the same.

To play kind. To push later. To pull strings.

But he hadn’t.

And that was what made this moment press deeper into her chest.

Because if Damien had wanted to force her—he could have. He had the money. The access. The social leverage. But he hadn’t used any of that.

He just watched. Listened. Showed up. Asked.

And now—he was calling her out for doubting that.

Not in anger.

Just in truth.

And that… was harder to look away from than any flirtation.

Damien didn’t move, didn’t even lean closer—but the weight of his gaze sharpened just enough to draw her fully back into it.

“So,” he said again, slower this time. “Is that your impression of me?”

Isabelle felt her throat tighten, but she didn’t look away. She made herself hold it. His eyes were steady—not accusing, not smug. Just… waiting.

“No,” she said finally. Quiet. Clear.

His smile returned, soft but edged with that usual spark. “See? I don’t work like that.”

Before she could say more, he reached out again—just like before—and tapped the tip of her nose. Light. Familiar.

“I’m someone that shows respect to boundaries.”

“…” Her eyebrows rose, her stare narrowing.

He saw it. The flicker in her eyes. Recognition, doubt, memory all cutting at once.

Isabelle crossed her arms, her voice a touch drier now. “Is that what you call respect? Back when you pinned me to a wall and made a bet I didn’t ask for?”

Damien didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin deepened with self-deprecation.

“I lack a bit of common sense,” he said, deadpan. “But when you told me to back off… I did, didn’t I?”

She paused.

She hated that she had to admit it—but he wasn’t wrong.

He had stepped back. Immediately, no argument, no whining. Just that one breath, that one amused sigh, and then space.

“You did,” she muttered.

———A/N———-

I have another exam today, and man, the professor really smoked us this time…..

Now, there is only a single exam left. The updates will continue normally now. I will also update Hunter and Rofan today.

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