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

Chapter 255: Learning driving

The circuit has been locked to your specifications. No drones. No feeds. Full blackout across all nodes.”

Vivienne gave a small nod.

“But,” he added, glancing between mother and son, “standard protocol still requires that I issue the trauma access bands. In the event of a crash or any severe feedback incident, our Trauma Team will respond immediately.”

He reached into a small case strapped to his belt and retrieved two thin metallic rings—matte black, unmarked save for a small indented symbol that shimmered briefly with mana when touched.

Vivienne took one without hesitation. “Understood.”

Merek offered the second toward Damien. “Entirely optional, of course. But if either of you decides to wear it, it’ll link directly to our emergency override.”

Damien raised an eyebrow as he took the ring. It was light. Sleek. Barely heavier than a coin.

“What does it do?”

“If your biometrics spike past a set threshold—impact trauma, mana implosion, cardiac irregularity—it sends an immediate signal. We won’t waste time asking questions.”

Damien turned the ring over once between his fingers. “So… it’s basically an ‘oh shit’ button.”

Merek’s mouth twitched faintly. “That’s one way to put it.”

Vivienne slipped hers onto her left index finger, then turned to Damien and held out her hand. “Give it here.”

He raised a brow. “You want to wear both?”

“No. I’m sizing you.”

He placed the ring in her palm, and she examined it for a half second before tossing it back. “Left hand. Middle finger. You grip tighter when you’re panicked.”

Damien caught it easily and slid it on. The band adjusted itself with a faint click, locking to his mana signature. It felt like nothing.

“That’s it?” he asked.

Vivienne stepped past him toward the car. “If you’re lucky,” she said without looking back, “you’ll never feel what it’s for.”

Merek gave one final nod. “I’ll be watching from the null deck. Silent channel only. If you need anything—tap twice on the ring.”

Then he turned and left.

As Merek disappeared through the secured exit, the soft hiss of the door sealed the space again—airtight, soundless, final. The track was theirs now. No eyes. No interference. Just the hum of energy coursing through the infrastructure like blood beneath skin.

Vivienne didn’t say a word. She turned and gestured for Damien to follow her along the edge of the pit bay. Her heels struck the alloy floor with clean, crisp purpose. The space opened up into a wider section—cool lighting spilling from above, illuminating a lineup of vehicles arranged in sequence along a recessed, shielded track floor.

They weren’t the usual showroom stunners. No chromed luxury, no ego-polished status symbols. These were practice machines—standardized builds, reinforced frames, manual control overrides. Sleek, yes, but unadorned. Functional.

Rental cars for the elite.

Still dangerous. Still fast. But stripped of unnecessary indulgence.

Vivienne didn’t pause at the sportier coupes or the low-chassis drifters. She walked straight to one of the midsize sedans—black, unmarked, its frame broad and clean like it had been designed for performance first, presentation second.

She stopped beside it and tapped the access node. The car responded instantly, unfolding its driver-side door with a subtle hydraulic hiss.

“This one,” she said.

Damien raised an eyebrow, glancing down the row of sleeker, more aggressive options. “That’s it? A mid-tier sedan?”

Vivienne didn’t respond to his remark right away. Instead, she circled the car with a methodical grace, checking the alignment of the tires, the calibration lights near the mana intake ports, and the integrity seal at the rear frame. Only after her inspection did she speak.

“Brand’s Varkos Delta-Six,” she said evenly. “Track-certified, reinforced frame, frontal dampers tuned for blunt-force mitigation. You’ve probably seen them around the central grid. Corporate chauffeurs like them.”

Damien gave a low hum, brushing his fingers along the clean edge of the driver-side door. The matte finish felt cool under his skin—no glam, no ornamentation. Just raw function dressed in sharp lines.

“I’ve seen them, yeah. Always figured they were for logistics or old-money execs who don’t want attention.”

Vivienne looked at him flatly. “They are. Because they’re reliable. Durable. And beneath the body kit, that model’s fitted with a Tri-Vaulted Core Engine. One of the few legal builds left that doesn’t artificially cap torque at civilian levels.”

Damien arched a brow. “So… it’s fast.”

“It can be,” she replied. “If you know how to handle it.”

He gave a crooked grin. “And this is your idea of a beginner’s car?”

Vivienne stepped around to the passenger side, her tone calm and clipped. “It’s the nicest thing you’re going to get until you prove you can keep your foot where it belongs.”

As she opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat, Damien moved to the driver’s side, eyeing the cockpit. No screens. No adaptive navigation. Just analog dials, a minimal HUD, and—

A manual stick.

“…Manual?” Damien blinked—then gave a short, almost satisfied nod. “Good.”

Vivienne glanced over at him, just faintly intrigued.

He slid into the seat, one hand resting on the gear stick like it already belonged there.

Vivienne gave him a sidelong glance, her voice dry but precise.

“Of course it’s manual. Did you think it would be anything else?”

Damien didn’t hesitate. “No.”

She gave a small nod. “Good.”

For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of the engine’s passive core cycling—waiting for ignition. Then Vivienne sat back, one hand resting loosely along the edge of the console, the other gesturing toward the controls in front of him.

“Left foot on the clutch. Fully down. Right foot lightly on the brake. The engine won’t engage until the clutch is depressed.”

Damien’s feet shifted into position. The pedal resistance was heavier than he expected—weighted, deliberate.

“Now,” she continued, her tone all instructor now, stripped of any maternal softness, “key ignition is standard. Mana-flow will stabilize the core once you initiate. Don’t touch the accelerator yet. Let the system prime.”

He nodded, pressing the ignition.

The car responded instantly—quietly at first, then with a smooth, steady purr as the Tri-Vaulted Core came to life. The vibration beneath the wheel was faint but grounded—more visceral than the synthetic feel of automated transport.

Vivienne watched his posture.

“Now find neutral. Gear stick center. Wiggle it to confirm.”

He did, the stick sliding easily between positions.

“Good. That’s your resting point. From here, your left hand stays on the wheel unless you’re shifting. No lazy posturing. No one-handed driving.”

Damien smirked. “You sound like you’ve yelled at a lot of co-drivers.”

“Because I have,” she said bluntly. “And most of them deserved it.”

She pointed to the diagram above the console—faint etchings lit by a thin line of mana. The old standard. One through six, plus reverse. Pure grid.

“First gear. Push the stick left and up. Clutch down. Right foot ready. When I say ‘go,’ you lift the clutch slowly and apply light pressure to the gas. Don’t slam it. Ease it up.”

He followed the motions, his body responding faster than his thoughts. The unfamiliarity was there, but not overwhelming. Just new muscle memory waiting to be trained.

“You’re going to stall the first time,” Vivienne said calmly, “and that’s fine. What’s not fine is panicking when it happens.”

Damien flexed his fingers once, then settled.

“Ready.”

Vivienne nodded.

“Go.”

His left foot began to rise, right foot feathering the gas—subtle, controlled.

The car shuddered.

Just for a second.

Then caught.

Forward motion.

Not fast, not smooth—but real.

Vivienne gave a quiet, measured nod. “Acceptable.”

Damien’s lips curved. “High praise.”

“You want praise?” she said evenly. “Shift to second without stalling. Then we’ll talk.”

Challenge accepted.

And the car rolled on.

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