Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 294: Origin Pulse

Chapter 294: Origin Pulse

“Well, Father… I’m just like that.”

Dominic’s gaze sharpened further, holding Damien’s calm, unflinching stare. He exhaled through his nose, slowly—half frustration, half reluctant acceptance. He rose smoothly from his seat, the chair sliding quietly back against the polished floor.

“We’ll discuss your little adventures later,” Dominic stated flatly, adjusting his sleeves in a single, precise motion. “For now—come with me.”

He strode past Damien without another glance, footsteps firm and commanding as he headed toward the inner halls, voice echoing briefly down the corridor.

“To the training grounds. We have much to cover.”

Damien’s smirk softened into quiet seriousness as he turned on his heel, following his father’s lead without hesitation.

It was time.

****

Dominic led Damien down the hallways, his stride purposeful yet controlled. The echoes of their footsteps gradually faded into silence as they approached the reinforced door of the main training room—a room designed not just for practice, but for the rigorous preparation that awaited Damien now.

The entrance sealed shut behind them with a resonant thud, followed by a low hiss and click—the locking mechanism engaging automatically. They were alone, encased in reinforced alloy and isolation.

Dominic turned, facing Damien squarely, the ambient lights of the training chamber casting shadows that sharpened his features.

“Your admittance for the Cradle has been finalized,” Dominic stated flatly, voice tempered but unyielding.

Damien met his father’s eyes evenly. No surprise, no hesitation.

“Understood.”

Dominic paused, studying Damien’s composed expression carefully, weighing the steadiness he saw there—the resolve behind the clarity. His voice dropped lower, stripped of its usual command and replaced by solemn gravity.

“You need to understand exactly what you’re about to face,” Dominic began carefully, the weight of his words resonating clearly in the silence. “The Cradle you’re entering isn’t just a place for Awakening. You will be experiencing the most primal, the rawest form of Awakening.”

Damien’s eyes sharpened slightly, but he made no sound, giving Dominic space to continue.

Even though Damien himself was the one suggesting the Cradle, it was still clear that Dominic wanted to talk through him regarding this.

Dominic stepped closer, his gaze intense but not harsh—focused entirely on ensuring his son grasped the gravity of what lay ahead.

“This is not ordinary mana awakening, Damien. It’s older. Fiercer. More dangerous. It strips away every barrier you’ve built—physically, mentally, spiritually—and forces you to confront mana at its purest, its wildest.”

Dominic paused briefly, voice tightening slightly with subtle warning. “It will reshape you, break you apart, and forge you again. Those who survive it do not simply awaken—they transform. And those who fail…”

His voice trailed off pointedly, leaving no ambiguity about the alternative.

Damien held Dominic’s stare, his gaze firm but thoughtful. No bravado, no arrogance. Just quiet comprehension and readiness.

Dominic, sensing the depth of Damien’s understanding, exhaled softly, nodding once.

“You’ve proven you’re ready,” he finally acknowledged, quiet pride carefully laced within the steel of his tone. “But being prepared and being ready aren’t the same thing.”

“Are you truly ready, Damien? Because once you step into the Cradle, there is no turning back.”

Damien didn’t blink, didn’t hesitate. His response was steady, clear, precise:

“I know exactly what it means. And I’m ready.”

Dominic’s lips pressed into a thin, satisfied line, the last traces of uncertainty disappearing from his expression.

“Then let us begin.”

Dominic’s gaze didn’t waver. His eyes lingered on Damien’s face, measuring—not just his resolve, but his understanding.

“Before anything else,” he said slowly, “tell me what you know about mana. About Awakening.”

Damien didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. His expression remained level, his voice even.

“When someone Awakens,” he began, “they gain access to the ambient mana around them. But that’s not the beginning of power—it’s the beginning of capacity.”

He shifted his weight slightly, thoughtful.

“The first thing that happens is the formation of the core. Not literal, not visible—it’s a metaphysical construct. A center of circulation. The body begins to absorb mana, and the mana gathers around that core, shaping itself according to the host’s nature.”

Dominic nodded slowly, saying nothing, letting Damien continue.

“Once that core stabilizes, it starts to cycle. Absorption. Refinement. Circulation. It rewires the body from the inside out. Nervous system, muscles, even cellular memory. It enhances everything—but only as much as the user can control.”

He looked Dominic straight in the eye now.

“Power is limited by clarity. Without discipline, the mana burns you from within.”

Dominic let a beat of silence pass before replying.

“Not bad,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “You’ve studied.”

“I did,” Damien replied simply. “Read. Pieced it together.”

Dominic gave a slight grunt of approval.

Dominic took a slow step forward, the steel in his posture relaxing only enough to let something else bleed through—intention. Not lecture. Not command.

Just a need to reframe.

“You’ve done your reading,” he said, voice quieter now. “And that’s good. That explanation you gave? It’s what everyone is taught. What the manuals say. What the instructors repeat.”

He gave a faint scoff, though not mocking Damien—just the system that fed everyone the same lines.

“But it’s also incomplete.”

Damien tilted his head slightly, listening. No challenge in his eyes—just curiosity.

Dominic folded his arms behind his back, starting to pace slowly in the open space of the chamber.

“Tell me this,” he said. “If mana awakening is as linear as that—absorb, form core, circulate, refine—then how do we explain talent?”

He didn’t wait for Damien’s answer.

“Why can some people awaken earlier, form more refined cores, develop more aggressive affinities without ever being taught the correct methods?”

Another step.

“Why are there monsters—literal monsters—creatures without language or human thought, that still evolve faster, strike harder, manipulate mana more naturally than trained humans?”

Dominic’s voice had dropped lower, but not for drama. For precision.

Damien stood still for a moment, considering. The silence stretched, not awkward, but weighty—his mind parsing possibilities beyond the books, beyond what was taught.

Dominic watched, patient but alert.

Then, slowly, Damien spoke.

“How does talent work?” he echoed, more to himself than anyone else. “I would assume it’s partly due to the purity of the core. The quality of its formation. Maybe the body’s affinity for absorption… how the mana veins are structured, or how efficiently the body processes and directs flow.”

He paused again, eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

“Or… maybe it goes deeper. Something more inherent. Not just how the body works—but why it works that way. Like instinct. The way a predator doesn’t need to be told how to hunt.”

Dominic’s eyes lit subtly. He gave a small nod.

“Good points,” he said, voice low. “Purity, mana veins, and the ability to sense mana—those are observable traits. They form the basis of what we call affinity or aptitude.”

He started pacing again, but this time slower, almost thoughtful.

“We can measure some of it—mana density, responsiveness, elemental orientation. They help explain why some people progress faster than others.”

Another step. His tone dipped lower.

“But there’s a part of it we still can’t measure.”

He looked back at Damien, expression tightening.

“You mentioned instinct. That’s close. Not quite the full picture—but you’re circling it.”

He tapped his temple once, then his chest.

“It’s something internal. Not just spiritual. Not just biological. Something that sits between the two. A kind of… alignment. With something older.”

Damien’s voice was soft now, but sharp.

“Something primal.”

Dominic nodded once, firmly.

“Yes.”

Dominic’s gaze sharpened slightly, as if the word Damien had spoken struck a chord deeper than the moment allowed. He nodded again—slower this time.

“And we call it….Origin Pulse.”

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