Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate

Chapter 241: Family Businesses

As the meal wore on, the sharp edges that had flared at the start slowly dulled—sanded down by the weight of routine, tradition, and just enough civility to keep the peace.

Adeline, for once, didn’t press. She offered no more jabs, no pointed laughter. She spoke when prompted, commented when necessary, and even made a dry remark about one of the foreign ministers fumbling a public speech. But her eyes were distant, her posture looser.

Damien noticed it.

She wasn’t smiling out of triumph anymore.

She was thinking.

Vivienne, meanwhile, returned to cutting her fish with quiet grace, her mind clearly elsewhere—likely running probabilities, imagining risk scenarios, evaluating every year of Damien’s past with the speed of a political strategist reviewing a collapsing alliance. But she said nothing more on the subject of the bet.

Not because she had accepted it.

But because she had already begun preparing for the possibility he might succeed.

Dominic, still seated in composed silence, finally cleared his throat as the last of the plates were cleared and the wine was exchanged for herbal tea.

“If you’re serious about this venture,” he said, directing his gaze across the table to Damien, “then you’ll need to begin with the right foundation. And that means answering one simple question.”

Damien tilted his head slightly.

“What question?”

Dominic leaned forward, lacing his fingers before him on the table.

“How do you plan to construct it?”

Damien met his gaze, expression neutral but intent.

“Construct what?”

“Your company,” Dominic said. “The vision. The structure. Your model of movement. You can’t afford to stumble out of the gate. Not with that kind of stake.”

Adeline glanced toward Damien from the corner of her eye, but again—said nothing. No sarcasm. Just curiosity now.

Vivienne sipped her tea, watching quietly.

Damien let the silence sit a moment longer before answering.

“I’ll start with people,” he said simply. “The right ones. I’ll need a core team.”

“Recruitment,” Dominic nodded. “Essential. But that’s just the beginning. You’ll need logistics, capital flow, legal structure, and—”

“—vision,” Damien said, cutting in gently. “And I have one.”

Dominic arched a brow.

“You do?”

Damien gave the faintest shrug, calm but certain.

“Of course I do,” he said. “If I didn’t have a vision, I wouldn’t have taken the bet in the first place.”

Dominic studied him closely, fingers drumming lightly against the table’s edge. His eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but with the focus of a strategist weighing new terrain.

“I’m curious about this vision of yours,” he said. “I’d like to hear more.”

Damien offered a half-smile, not evasive, but measured. “In time.”

That answer wasn’t defiance. It was control. And for a moment, even Adeline didn’t speak.

Because they could all feel it—whatever it was he was planning, it wasn’t whimsical. It wasn’t improvised. He was playing his hand close to his chest, but there was a hand. A design.

Vivienne set her tea down with a soft clink, her voice smooth but direct.

“If that’s the path you’re walking,” she said, “then tomorrow, you’ll come with me to Elford Central Holdings.”

Damien turned to her, slightly surprised.

She met his gaze without blinking. “My company’s operations wing has more manpower than I need. Trained staff, capable talent. Half of them have been waiting for advancement they’ll never get under our current structure.”

Her fingers tapped once against the rim of her glass.

“If you’re going to build something, start there. Select the ones who can walk with you.”

Damien was silent for a moment.

Then—he nodded.

“Alright.”

Vivienne Elford had never been just a figurehead wife or a mother watching from the sidelines. Her influence reached across sectors with the poise of a tactician and the cold calculation of a stateswoman. While the Elford family’s primary empire lay in mana-tech—their flagship enterprise being the undisputed innovator in integrated ambient-manipulation cores—Vivienne had cultivated her own kingdom beneath that umbrella.

She managed over a dozen subsidiaries under the Elford corporate tree. Lucerne Holdings, for instance, dealt in mana-reactive pharmaceuticals, developing treatments and performance enhancers specifically for Awakened users.

Orren & Vale handled agricultural biotechnology—less glamorous, but indispensable, especially with mana-treated crop yields becoming a key part of global trade dynamics.

There was also Aurevia Finances, her private equity branch—quietly absorbing failing mana-supply ventures, rehabilitating them into logistical arms of the Elford ecosystem.

Vivienne’s reach wasn’t just horizontal—it was vertical. Manufacturing, transport, compliance law. Vexa Media, a PR and information control entity, ensured Elford-adjacent narratives remained sanitized.

Greyhall Legal, one of the top firms for high-profile mana disputes, owed more than a few victories to her silent pressure.

Which is why, when she said Damien could start by selecting people from her surplus talent pool, it wasn’t a gesture of goodwill.

It was her drawing a circle around him—a perimeter. A contained field. One that still let him move freely, but only within pre-sanctioned vectors.

And Damien knew it.

He didn’t challenge it.

He would use it.

Let her offer the floor. He’d decide how to build the walls.

*****

By the time Damien rose from the dining table, the sky had begun to bleed into a deeper shade of indigo. His movements were measured, precise—habit now, not effort.

As Damien stepped away from the table, the soft rustle of fabric and the fading clink of silverware were the only sounds that followed. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. The air behind him shifted just slightly—a familiar presence falling into step without being asked.

Vivienne.

Of course.

She didn’t call his name. She didn’t raise her voice.

She simply walked with him, heels clicking softly against the marble, echoing down the long corridor that led toward the outer hall.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said, her tone even, as if this were any other logistical detail. “I’ll pick you up myself.”

Damien glanced sideways at her.

No offer.

No suggestion.

Just a statement.

And she met his look with the same unfaltering calm she always wore when orchestrating entire boardrooms.

“You’ll be meeting some of my division leads,” she continued. “They’ll know you’re coming. Make sure you know what you want to see.”

He didn’t argue. There was no reason to.

If he was stepping into the deep end, she was making sure the water was hers first.

“I’ll be ready,” Damien said simply.

Vivienne nodded once, a satisfied flicker passing through her eyes. “Good.”

They stopped at the threshold of the east wing, where the household staff had already prepared his outer coat and opened the front doors. The night air bled in cool and clean.

Vivienne’s gaze lingered on him—something sharper beneath the grace.

“You’ve changed,” she said, almost idly. “The body, yes. But that’s not it.”

Damien met her gaze without blinking. “You’ll see the rest soon enough.”

A faint smile touched her lips. Thin. Controlled. But real.

“I’m counting on it.”

With that, she turned, disappearing back down the hallway in a measured glide, her silhouette fading into the estate’s grandeur.

Damien stepped outside.

Elysia was already waiting near the car, her posture straight as ever, her presence silent but unmistakable.

“Back to Blackthorne?” she asked.

Damien slid into the back seat without hesitation. “Yeah.”

The door shut with a quiet click, and the engine purred to life.

As the car rolled down the long drive and the Elford Mansion slowly vanished in the rearview, Damien leaned back into the leather seat, fingers drumming once against his knee.

Tomorrow, he’d step into his mother’s world.

And after that?

He’d start building his own.

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