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

Chapter 246: Mother and Cars ? (2)

As soon as the glass doors of Archeon Automatrix slid open, the atmosphere shifted.

Soft mana-light ran along the ceiling like ambient veins, pulsing faintly with color depending on movement. The scent of polished leather, enchanted metals, and mana-treated alloys filled the air—subtle, refined, designed to impress without overwhelming. Mana-display panels shimmered beside each showcased vehicle, broadcasting rotating specs, power flows, and projected combat-drift ratings.

But none of that mattered the moment Vivienne Elford stepped inside.

The floor staff straightened at once, and from the upper mezzanine, a well-dressed man in a high-collared coat made entirely of woven silver-threaded fabric caught sight of her and moved with immediate precision.

He was tall, slick-haired, polished like the showroom around him—Gerin Vael, regional director of Archeon’s luxury branch.

“Lady Elford,” he greeted, his voice smooth but reverent, as he approached with a bow that was low—but not low enough to be servile. “You honor us.”

Vivienne gave him a nod, crisp but not dismissive. “Director Vael. The Seraph IX, please.”

“Of course,” Vael gestured immediately toward the central viewing platform, where the Seraph IX Shadowline sat under a spell-cooled dome. “This one is our most recent prototype-to-market transition. Handcrafted engine core using twin-spiral mana-thread compression. Adaptive terrain shift—urban, glider, and track mode. It can phase through low-grade barriers with the phase-surge chassis toggle, though that requires high-grade certification.”

Damien approached the car slowly, letting his fingertips trace the edge of the hood, not quite touching. The paint was mirror-dark—obsidian sheen—but beneath it, threads of red shimmered faintly with movement, pulsing like a heartbeat. It was alive.

“This one’s name?” Damien asked.

“The Seraph IX: Vanta Phantom Edition,” Vael replied, clearly proud. “We’ve only made seven. This is one of two with a core forged in Trelhart’s mana crucible. Meaning,” he leaned in slightly, “it doesn’t just run fast—it remembers terrain. And adjusts for it before you even move.”

“Pre-emptive terrain reading,” Damien murmured. “Mana-sync predictive feedback?”

“Precisely,” Vael beamed. “The neural relay embedded in the grip will adapt to your muscle response rate within four seconds. Faster with Awakened users.”

Vivienne stood just behind Damien, listening without interrupting.

“And the price?” she asked simply.

Vael didn’t hesitate. “Base model: 3.2 million Draxen. With requested augmentations, an additional 800,000 for the personalized echo-engine, phased glass shielding, and a mana-tuned command array—”

Vivienne was already pulling a mana-sealed stylus from her coat.

“No need for the pitch,” she said calmly. “Make it four million even. Priority delivery to Elford’s Blackthorne.”

Vael’s words caught in his throat for half a second. But then he will remember the name “Blackthorne Villa” as at the time when it was sold, it was already a famous piece.

Then he bowed again. “It will be done, my lady.”

Damien exhaled, low and amused. “We’re not even going to negotiate?”

Vivienne signed the check mid-stride. “If you want discounts, start your own company.”

Vael handed a crystalline modification console to Damien. “Please. Customize as you see fit.”

Damien took it.

The interface flickered open, and instantly, a 3D render of the car bloomed above the pad. He made a few swipes, adjusting the paint to a deeper black with a shifting red-pulse underlayer—Bloodveil Fade. Interior: storm-gray leather seats with dark-crimson stitch, mana-reactive HUD across the dash with combat-readiness sync. Gearshift replaced with hand-mark sigil-lock—only his mana signature could activate full manual drive.

Damien continued tweaking the interface, fingers gliding with precise confidence as he brought the full force of taste and intent into the Seraph’s final configuration.

He added retractable shifters at the wheelbase—smooth obsidian-like paddles laced with polished mana-steel, pressure-sensitive and sync-tuned to match his personal reflex speed. Each shift would send a precise, silent pulse through the drive core, harmonizing revs without a single mechanical hitch.

Rev-mapping customization followed: Damien slid a bar up, fine-tuning the sound profile. Not loud. Not flashy. But deep. A low, predatory growl that would ripple under the hood like a sleeping leviathan each time he accelerated. The kind of sound that didn’t announce itself—just warned.

Then came exhaust detailing. He added a back-vent plasma trim—quiet when idle, but flickering with a faint red-white tail during boost mode. Not just for style. It aided directional stability at high mana pressure, especially when maneuvering in tight city drift curves or drop-descents.

He paused, then tapped the defense array options—activating a discreet kinetic shelling layer over the front grille and a passive mana-disruption net embedded into the wheel rims. Not flashy. Not visible. But if someone decided to get too close with malicious intent, the Seraph would pulse with a deterrent field strong enough to short out low-tier tracking sigils.

Lastly, he adjusted the ambient rune glow inside the cabin—just enough to match the car’s outer pulse. Thin lines of light would trace the seams of the interior during motion: faint red threads over charcoal, making the cockpit look like the inside of a live engine.

He stepped back and rotated the display one final time.

There it was.

His.

‘Not bad…..After some tuning, it will come out much more nicer.’

But, currently, it was fine.

Vivienne stepped beside him, watching the rotating 3D model hover silently above the console.

“Mm,” she said, cool and appraising. “Tactical. Menacing. Just enough elegance not to look vulgar.”

“Menacing…?” Damien echoed, his brow tilting slightly as the 3D model spun slowly above the pad. “It’s just aesthetic enough. Clean lines. Subtle pulse. Nothing too aggressive.”

Vivienne didn’t even look at him.

“Sure, sure,” she said, with the dry precision of a woman who had dismantled corporate lies before breakfast. “Except I know that look. You already pictured it, didn’t you?”

Damien blinked, expression steady.

She turned her head just enough to catch his peripheral glance.

“Someone glancing at their rearview mirror in the dead of night,” she continued, her voice velvety with amusement, “and seeing this roaring up behind them—no headlights, just those blood-red threads pulsing under the hood and that low growl rising like a storm.”

Damien didn’t respond.

Didn’t twitch.

Didn’t even blink.

Vivienne gave him a side glance, smug in the way only a mother could be when she had hit the exact nerve she meant to.

“Well?”

He stared at the console.

Then slowly—deliberately—clicked the pad shut and handed it back to Vael.

“I invoke,” he said calmly, “my right to remain silent.”

Vivienne’s soft laugh came smooth as silk and twice as cutting.

“Wise choice.”

As they stepped out of Archeon Automatrix, the sun had risen fully above the arc-glass towers of Cadenza Promenade. Light glinted off mirrored surfaces, casting fractured halos across the pavement—too pristine, too curated, the kind of beauty that almost dared you to smudge it.

Vivienne walked with practiced grace, her heels clicking a measured cadence on the marble-pressed stone, hands relaxed behind her back. Damien followed, his own pace slower, looser. Calculated without seeming so. The way someone moved when they didn’t need to prove they belonged.

A mother who had once raced at breakneck speeds across mountain ravines for fun didn’t need a system prompt to know what was running through her son’s head.

“You know,” she said as they approached the car, “I used to say the same thing when I picked my first build. ‘Just aesthetic enough.’”

Damien raised a brow. “And then?”

“I chose the engine that sounded like a thunder god inhaling.”

A smile crept across his face. “Sounds familiar.”

Vivienne slid into the back seat, a rare flicker of pride barely hidden beneath her voice. “It should. You’re not nearly as mysterious as you think.”

Their car pulled away from the dealership, gliding through the shimmering gate and back into the city’s arterial flow. The towers of Vermillion refracted above them like angled spears, slicing through the sky, while shimmer-crawlers moved along the monorails with whisper-quiet speed. They were heading northeast now, toward Elford Central Holdings—Vivienne’s personal fortress of finance, logistics, and influence.

Damien leaned back into the leather seat, one leg crossed casually over the other, eyes half-lidded as he watched the city shift through the tinted glass. The aftertaste of victory still lingered—new clothes, a new car, and a silent agreement forged between him and the woman who had once carved her empire out of bloodless diplomacy and weaponized elegance.

But behind them—across the promenade, tucked beneath the shadow of an arched café balcony—some people were watching them.

Two pairs of emerald eyes.

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