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

It wasn’t just that he’d reached the peak.

He’d stepped past it.

Not by breaking the rules.

By shaping them.

The decimal extension wasn’t flashy. But it meant one thing, and one thing only:

He had left the realm of the “normal.” Even the maxed-out, sharpened, buffed normal. He had crossed into something else.

‘.5,’ Damien thought, blood drying on his lips. ‘A foot past the finish line.’

His fingers curled tighter into fists—not from effort now, but from density.

He could feel it. The difference.

His muscles didn’t just hold weight. They conducted it. Stored it. His bones didn’t creak—they absorbed stress. The pressure around him no longer pressed him down. It danced around his skin like heat off steel.

The mana didn’t feel foreign anymore.

Of course that wasn’t the first change.

———————-

[Passive Skill: Physique of Resistance]

▶ Description: A body that has not only aligned with nature but has withstood the pressure of Authority. This physique evolves through adversity, shaped by trauma, tempered by force, and refined through refusal. It is not merely optimized for survival—it is built to endure the impossible and rise stronger.

▶ Effects:

Enhanced Recovery (Upgraded)

The host’s body now recovers from moderate injuries at unnatural speed. Bleeding, bruising, and muscular trauma stabilize rapidly under strain. Sleep is no longer required for tissue regeneration to begin. Universal Alchemical Compatibility (Retained & Hardened)

The host can absorb, adapt to, and neutralize any alchemical substance or mana-infused compound. Overexposure to toxins may now result in adaptation, not damage. Authority Conduction (New)

The host’s body can conduct and partially assimilate mana with embedded Authority traits. Exposure to legacy-class pressure no longer destabilizes the system—instead, it reinforces it. Compression Plus: Cellular Densification (New)

The host’s physical form no longer stops at optimal human parameters. Each biological component—bone, muscle, nerve—is now compressed into sub-maximal density, granting +0.X extensions beyond the stat cap.

– Bone density increased to non-standard durability

– Muscle contraction efficiency raised past neural safe thresholds

– Reflex latency reduced to sub-0.1 sec in fight/flight responses

– Mana trace sensitivity improved (passive detection only)

Legacy-Borne Adaptation (Unique Effect)

Any future stat gains, traits, or skills gained through pain, pressure, or overwhelming disadvantage receive a hidden multiplier. The body now learns fastest when breaking.

———————–

Damien stood still for a moment longer, letting the final vibrations settle into his nerves. His muscles pulsed in slow, even waves now—not from pain, but from recent memory. They remembered the shape of agony. They had adjusted.

‘Just as I thought,’ he mused, the corner of his mouth curling upward.

Everything he’d gambled for—the Authority, the shaping pressure, the exposure to legacy mana—had taken. It hadn’t just hurt him. It had changed him. Not a blessing. Not a spell. Not a gift.

A result.

One earned with every shuddering breath and clenched joint since stepping foot into this place.

Of course, his body still ached. His ribs were sore, his calves trembling at the edges, and he could still feel the sting behind his eyes where vessels had ruptured under the initial overload.

But it wasn’t pain that stopped him now.

It was fatigue. Honest, clean fatigue.

The kind that followed work done right.

And just as he let the breath leave his lungs—

The voice returned.

[You continue to defy what you are.]

[Even in a world without time, without distance, you continue the same motion.]

[You resist not for glory, nor faith, nor vengeance—but because you refuse to stop.]

Damien’s eyes flicked upward, finding no source—just thunder rippling through the sky like breath.

[Such a thing is rare.]

[And rarer still… is the one who does not wait for power, but moves into it.]

[You have shown pressure your teeth.]

[You have shaped pain like clay.]

[You stand—not because you are meant to—but because you chose to.]

Another boom rolled through the storm, closer now, like it was circling.

Damien rolled his shoulders. Blood flaked from his fingertips like dried oil.

‘I suppose this is the part,’ he thought, smiling faintly again, ‘where you ask me to prove it.’

But the voice didn’t ask.

It declared.

[Very well, candidate.]

[Then show us what a body forged through resistance can do.]

And the storm—finally—began to form something within it.

******

The thunder stopped.

Not faded.

Stopped.

The silence that followed wasn’t absence—it was held breath. The kind of quiet that came before something.

And then—

The wind shifted.

It didn’t whip or roar.

It circled.

Tight. Precise.

And in the space before Damien, the air thickened. Folded. Not like magic. Not like summoning.

More like memory, taking shape.

Footsteps echoed across a floor that didn’t exist.

And then—

He appeared.

Not a god.

Not a glowing phantom.

Just a man.

Scarred. Bare-armed. Wrapped in worn cloth and plated iron, the kind forged for wars no one remembered. His frame was tall, dense, but not monstrous. No aura. No dramatic mana. No theatrics. He carried only a short, curved blade at his back—and a shield strapped to one arm.

And yet—

Damien felt it.

In his stance.

In his breath.

The weight of a man who had faced death not once, but every day.

A soldier. Mortal.

But unmoving.

The system chimed behind Damien’s eyes.

The soldier didn’t speak.

He simply stepped forward.

Shield lifted.

Sword sliding free in one fluid, familiar motion.

And Damien’s grin widened just slightly.

Because this?

This wasn’t divine.

This was muscle and grit and scars earned the long way.

‘A soldier, huh,’ Damien thought, cracking his neck once. ‘Good.’

He slid one foot back, arms raising loosely.

No spells. No shields. No stats to hide behind.

Just a fight.

And that, he was ready for.

And Damien will be by himself.

ChatGPT said:

The air split.

WHUMP—

A blur of iron and intent crossed the space between them in less than a breath.

And Damien’s thoughts stuttered, fragmented into one sharp word:

Fast!

No build-up. No warning.

Just movement.

The soldier’s sword came down in a clean diagonal arc—nothing elaborate. Nothing wasted.

Just efficient, kill-zone geometry.

CLANG—SKRCH!

Damien pivoted left, shoulder pulling away as the curved blade shaved past his ribs with barely a whisper. His boots skidded over the canyon floor—stone screeching, dust spraying—his balance dropping low, knee nearly touching ground.

The sword cleaved air where his head had been a second before.

‘That… wasn’t just speed,’ Damien thought, heart hammering. ‘That was experience compressed into motion.’

He barely reset his stance before the next strike came.

TCHK—TCHK—CLANG!

Sword, shield, footwork. All in perfect sync. Every movement like a practiced routine sharpened over decades. The soldier advanced without aggression, without emotion—just absolute control.

Damien ducked again, the shield grazing his cheek as it passed.

No second wasted.

No flourish. No gaps.

He moved purely to kill.

Damien’s mind raced—he needed information.

[Neural Predator: Activating…]

[Analyzing target…]

[Error: Pattern Recognition Failed.]

[Error: Biological Complexity—Unclassifiable.]

[Error: Neural Structure does not conform to readable form.]

[Trait Suspended]

Damien’s eyes widened.

‘What?’

The back of his spine prickled with cold clarity.

He wasn’t going to get a map this time.

No diagram. No flashing weak points. No glowing target areas.

He was alone.

Another step forward from the soldier.

Another silent threat.

Damien exhaled—long and slow, grounding the burn in his lungs.

“Alright,” he muttered, wiping the sweat trailing down his jaw. “Guess we’re doing this raw.”

The sword moved again.

No shout. No power surge. Just intent, direct and brutal.

Damien stepped sideways, ducked under a horizontal slash, his palm snapping up to deflect the incoming shield bash—

CLANG!

Metal met bone.

His arm screamed as the force blew him off balance, pain rippling from elbow to shoulder. He twisted, using the momentum to roll backward, scraping across the ground in a whirl of grit and blood.

He rose again, panting.

Not smiling.

Focused.

This wasn’t a monster.

This was a master.

A living memory of war given form—and Damien could feel it in every second that passed.

Every swing said: You’re not enough.

But that didn’t matter.

Damien shook out his fingers, the sting sharp and honest.

He didn’t need to know the soldier.

He just had to endure.

He had to last.

CRACK—

The next charge came faster.

And Damien met it.

Not with a perfect guard.

But with grit.

With movement.

With resistance.

—————A/N————–

Sorry for the late-post. My grandmother had an attack, we needed to take her to the hospital.

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