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

Chapter 247: Seen

Celia Everwyn stepped onto the polished stone walkway of the Cadenza Promenade like a blade sliding free from its sheath.

Her sapphire-blue hair shimmered under the filtered sunlight, cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders, catching and refracting light like enchanted silk. Her emerald eyes were veiled behind a pair of glass-shielded designer lenses, not for sun protection but for aesthetic precision—angular, reflecting the pale gold of the buildings around them. Each step she took radiated precision and control, the click of her heels measured and sharp against the ivory path.

Behind her flowed the rest of the sovereign quartet: Victoria Langley, elegant as ever in a pale lavender cape-dress that fluttered like a whisper; Cassandra Merlot, leaning into her usual blend of edgy couture with slashed sleeves and ink-black heels; and Lillian Duvall, radiant in florals, always the softer edge to Celia’s diamond-like aura. Together, they moved as one, practiced in their pacing, tone, and presence.

This wasn’t leisure.

This was performance.

Every outing—especially on weekends—was a curated display of status, grace, and taste. It was their duty, in a way, to feed the narrative the city’s media demanded. Magazines, gossip columns, even livestreams from passing drones occasionally caught a glimpse of them—the Vermillion Darlings, the heiresses of power.

And today?

Today was about maintaining that story.

They had already stopped by three boutiques—Valais, Severenne, and Aurora House. Each had produced silken bags now carried discreetly by their personal attendants. Exclusive cuts, preview lines, invitation-only catalogues—they hadn’t just shopped, they had curated an aesthetic weapon for the weeks to come.

At the front window of Darcella & Lume, Celia paused.

The glass reflected her perfectly. Her posture. Her coat—rich velvet slate with silver-stitched cuffs. Her lips, a burnished crimson. Her eyes, sharp.

She looked… flawless.

But the fury still curled behind her chest like hot smoke, coiling with every memory of last week. Of him.

And still—she smiled. Polished. Untouchable.

The soft murmur of conversations around the Promenade rolled on, ambient and effortless—accompanied by the distant trill of glass doors gliding open and the faint hum of mana-vehicles settling at private valet spots. The sovereign quartet strolled on, their heels clicking in sync over pale stone as they passed beneath crystalline awnings that threw soft rainbow prisms at their feet.

Victoria glanced toward one of the storefronts, where a deep plum display showed off a new silhouette of mana-activated gowns. “I heard Adrienne Noir is debuting her new collection next week,” she said, her tone cool but touched with curiosity. “Something called the Argent Halo line.”

Lillian perked up immediately. “Ooh, that’s the one featuring mana-reactive chiffon, right? Changes tone with emotion alignment?”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “I read the teaser. It’s supposed to enhance presence based on aura compatibility. Which sounds like a brilliant way to call people out on their fake personalities.”

Victoria gave a soft laugh. “Or expose cheaters at dinner parties.”

Celia remained quiet, eyes drifting along the golden signage of Darcella & Lume, but her silence wasn’t withdrawn. She was listening—carefully. Weighing each comment for substance and signal. If Adrienne Noir’s line carried that much influence, it would mean a shift in social cues—another tool for dominance or destruction.

Lillian looped her arm loosely around Cassandra’s. “I want the stardust gown in pale sage,” she said dreamily. “It matches my core signature.”

“You say that every time a new color drops,” Cassandra teased, rolling her eyes affectionately. “And then you change your mind at the showroom.”

“Oh hush, it’s called vision.”

The laughter that followed was light, bright—a well-practiced sound. One part sincere, two parts rehearsed.

As they passed a row of boutique cafés, their conversation dipped from fashion into more casual air.

“So,” Victoria began, tilting her head toward Celia, “you never did finish telling us—what have you been doing to unwind? Aside from retail warfare, of course.”

Celia exhaled lightly, her crimson-painted lips curving into a faint smirk. “Sparring,” she said, tone effortless. “Mana training, mostly. I’ve been adjusting my resonance levels.”

“Ah, a classic,” Cassandra replied, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “You get more graceful when you’re angry, you know. Like watching a storm learn to dance.”

“I throw knives when I’m angry,” Lillian offered with mock cheer.

“We know,” Victoria replied, dry. “You nearly decapitated the housekeeper’s golem last time.”

“Well it shouldn’t have moved.”

That made them laugh again—Celia too, though hers was a quieter one.

“I’ve been doing arcane fencing again. Father says if I master the seventh form, he’ll sponsor a match at the Council Summit.”

“Oh?” Cassandra arched a brow. “That’s not small.”

Just as their laughter began to settle, Cassandra’s expression turned thoughtful. She glanced toward the promenade’s side café, where a shimmering glass panel displayed school updates.

“Guys,” she said, idly stirring the rose tonic she had picked up earlier, “what are we doing about the volleyball tournament this year?”

Victoria straightened slightly, brushing a hand through her hair. “Ah, the class tournaments. That’s next month, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm,” Lillian chimed in, adjusting the velvet strap of her crossbody bag. “Volleyball and football both. Inter-class and inter-year. We’ve got to at least maintain our streak.”

It was an open secret: last year, 3-A—now 4-A—had taken the volleyball championship with ruthless precision. No other class had even come close. Celia had captained it, of course. She had spiked every ball like it owed her a debt, her form elegant and merciless. It had been an easy win.

Naturally, expectations hadn’t changed.

Celia said nothing, only glanced slightly toward the glowing reflection of the boutique window beside them. The faintest trace of her silhouette echoed there—sleek, powerful, untouchable.

“I assume we’re competing again?” Victoria asked, her tone almost rhetorical.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Obviously. It’s a social obligation at this point. We’ve got the height, the mana training, and the reputation.”

“Especially the reputation,” Lillian added with a smile.

There was a beat of silence, and then, too casually:

“…Speaking of which,” Cassandra said, eyes drifting toward a group of boys across the promenade, “I heard some of the guys are forming a proper football lineup this year.”

Victoria gave a soft laugh. “You mean unlike last year when they couldn’t even reach the semi-finals?”

“No, seriously,” Cassandra replied, almost teasing. “Apparently this time, they’ve got a chance. I heard they’re practicing every night. Some of them even started training with upper-year coaches.”

“And I assume,” Lillian said delicately, “this rumor has something to do with a certain… change in personnel?”

The silence that followed was not long, but it was deliberate.

Victoria was the one to break it, her tone too smooth. “Yes, well. Damien Elford is joining them, isn’t he?”

Celia didn’t move.

Not at first.

She didn’t look at them. Didn’t tilt her head or raise an eyebrow or utter a sound.

But the stillness said enough.

The air shifted slightly. An invisible thread of tension had been plucked.

Lillian blinked, feigning innocence. “Ah. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought it was… interesting.”

Cassandra coughed into her wrist. “Right. Just interesting.”

They knew what they were doing. They weren’t being careless. They were testing the edge of the blade, trying to see how close they could tread before it drew blood. Celia could hear it in their tones, in the faux-casual cadence of their speech.

She didn’t give them the satisfaction.

Instead, she adjusted the collar of her coat with slow precision and said, “If that team thinks that guy is their answer, then they’re already playing to lose.”

Just then—like the devil answering his own summons—the girls paused in unison.

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