Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 141: Another one

He launched into movement immediately—no warm-up, no pacing. Full sprint across the chamber, body crashing into motion like a weapon released from restraint. His footsteps pounded the reinforced floors, echoing through the vast space as his limbs moved in perfect synchronicity—striking, ducking, weaving, lunging.

Compound drills. High-intensity circuits. Movement chains designed to burn every drop of fuel he could spare.

Push-ups into vertical jumps. Pulls into sprints. Slides into rolls into sudden vertical leaps.

Over. And over.

The system didn't reward slowness. It rewarded strain. Struggle. Brutality.

And so Damien trained like a man possessed.

By 10 a.m., his clothes were soaked through. His muscles trembled under the strain of sheer metabolic output. The heat pouring off his body was unreal—unnatural. Ravenous Breath turned him into a living furnace, and if he stopped moving, he would burn in his own fire.

By noon, he could barely see straight, yet his movements remained deliberate. Focused. No wasted motion. The basics hammered in from Elysia's training the night before echoed in his posture—every stance tighter, every pivot more deliberate.

By 2 p.m., he collapsed—just long enough to eat.

Elysia had left him another tray in silence. She never interrupted during Ravenous Breath. She only observed. Calculated. Measured.

And even if she said nothing, he could feel her eyes on him.

He tore through the meal like a machine—thick-cut hydra meat, boiled marrowroot, mineral eggs, steamed greens. No seasoning. Just fuel.

By 2:30, he was moving again.

The resistance pool. Weight sleds. Full-body climbs up vertical stone walls. One misstep, and his body would punish him.

By 4 p.m., the floor was slick with sweat. The air shimmered faintly around his skin from the sheer heat of his core. His vision blurred at the edges, but he held the line.

He ignored it.

Collapsed to one knee. Breathing hard.

Alive.

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He grinned.

'Half the day's gone.'

Damien lay flat on the training floor, arms spread, chest rising and falling like waves hitting the shore—harsh, rhythmic, unstoppable. His skin steamed faintly in the cooled air, the furnace inside him refusing to die down even after he'd stopped moving.

The soft hum of the hall buzzed around him, and yet the silence inside his own head was louder. Stillness after chaos. A heartbeat trying to settle but refusing to fully quiet.

'Yesterday.'

The thought flickered in his mind—unbidden, but potent.

His gaze drifted up toward the ceiling, but his thoughts went elsewhere.

Elysia.

The feel of her fingers on his waist. The way her body pressed into his during the stretch. Her breath behind his ear, calm and precise. Her tone, clipped and formal as ever—yet off. Just slightly.

And the way she reacted when he touched her chin. When his thumb brushed her lip.

She hadn't backed away.

Not immediately.

Not like before.

He exhaled slowly, eyes closing as a different heat curled under his skin—one Ravenous Breath hadn't ignited.

'My body's changing. Of course my mind would follow.'

That was the logic. That was the excuse.

More protein. More testosterone. Faster metabolism. Everything climbing. His body burning fuel like a furnace—and building something stronger with it.

He sat up slowly, wincing as his abs flexed under the strain. Then looked down at himself.

He was soaked in sweat, veins slightly raised along his arms and forearms. His chest—once soft, once something he actively avoided seeing in the mirror—now carried definition. Tight lines. His shoulders were broadening, traps climbing his neck, pecs tightening. His core was no longer some vague lump beneath flesh—it was real. Strong. Compressed.

Damien leaned forward and pinched the skin along his waist. Pulled lightly.

No more thickness.

Just a thin grip of pliant flesh over something solid and hard.

Still not perfect. Some remnants of fat clung to the lower abs, the sides of his hips. But it was vanishing. More every day.

He chuckled under his breath, low and rasped.

"Not bad."

The mirror on the far wall caught his eye. He stood slowly, stretching his arms out as he walked toward it—barefoot, steps dragging from fatigue but posture tall. He stopped in front of the glass and stared.

'Damn.'

Even his face had changed—sharper jawline, sunken cheeks from fat loss, and eyes that no longer looked dull. There was something behind them now. Focus. Fire. A spark no one could mistake for weakness.

This was working.

All of it.

The hunger. The training. The punishment.

He looked down at his hands—taped, raw, trembling slightly.

'Not bad at all.'

******

The sound of the chamber door clicking open was soft, but to Damien—still catching his breath in front of the mirror—it landed like a ripple through still water.

He didn't turn immediately.

He didn't need to.

Her footsteps were familiar now. Barely audible. Precise. Measured like everything else about her.

Elysia.

She entered the room without announcement, dressed once again in her now-standard training attire: fitted vest, dark leggings, hair tied back into a tight ponytail. The dampeners still adorned her forearms, their matte silver glinting faintly beneath the training lights. She carried nothing this time—no tray, no clipboard. Just presence.

He caught her reflection in the mirror as she came to a halt a few feet behind him. Her green eyes swept over his back, shoulders, and sides. No words. Just assessment.

He could feel the weight of her gaze.

"Back already?" he asked, not bothering to hide the grin in his voice. "You never take a break."

Elysia didn't answer that. She took another step forward, her voice even as ever.

"You are pushing too hard."

"I'm not broken," Damien replied.

"You are close."

He chuckled, turning to face her at last. "Then you'd better fix me before I fall apart."

Her expression didn't shift, but she nodded once—quietly accepting his challenge. Again.

Without another word, she moved past him, gesturing toward the center mat.

"Flexibility," she said. "We continue where we left off."

Damien followed.

He lowered himself into position on the mat, mimicking the stretch she had taught him the night before. His muscles screamed, but they obeyed. Everything obeyed now.

Elysia knelt beside him, once again guiding his arms and legs. But this time, there was less hesitation. Her fingers found his ribs, his hip, adjusting the angle of his knee and the position of his foot.

"You're compensating with your spine," she said. "Let your hip do the work."

He adjusted.

Her hand pressed gently into the curve of his back. "Hold."

The stretch deepened.

Pain laced through his glutes, his core, his lower back—but it was clean. Precise. Just enough.

Her touch remained steady, her breath controlled. She leaned slightly closer, her body a whisper of heat against his own.

"You have progressed," she said finally. "More than I expected."

Damien turned his head slightly toward her. "You surprised?"

"I am… recalibrating."

He smirked. "That your way of saying I'm doing well?"

She didn't reply. Just shifted her weight and pressed deeper into the stretch. Damien grunted, breath hissing out.

"This is the cost," she said softly. "If you want control, you must endure this."

He nodded. "I can take it."

"I know."

And for a while, they said nothing more—just breath, movement, the pull of sinew and muscle under firm, guiding hands.

Elysia led him through stretch after stretch. Hamstrings. Groin. Spine. Shoulders. Her tone never shifted—but her hands lingered longer. Her gaze scanned more carefully. The silence between them no longer empty.

It was charged.

Familiar.

Not comfortable. But close.

Damien held every position, sweat pooling again, breath ragged.

Elysia knelt beside him at the end of the sequence. "That is enough."

He collapsed onto his back, chest rising. Staring at the ceiling.

"We are starting again?"

"Yes."

-----------A/N-----------

My exams are just finished. I am really tired right now, but for some reason I wanted to write.