Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 80: Knight in shining armor (2)

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, blending with the crisp morning breeze that slipped through the open window of Galen Kross's quarters. He took a deep, slow breath, letting the moment settle over him. Today was the start of a new term at Vermillion Private School, and for once, he found himself in an uncharacteristically good mood.

The past year had been a long one—filled with headaches, disciplinary cases, and enough bureaucratic nonsense to test even his patience. But this year was different. This year, he was stepping into his new role as Vice-Head of the academy. A well-earned promotion. One that granted him a broader reach over the institution and, more importantly, a heavier hand in shaping the students into something worthwhile.

He took another sip of his coffee, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard below. The morning sun painted golden streaks over the immaculate grounds, where students—some fresh-faced, others returning—gathered in small clusters, greeting one another, sharing stories of their summer exploits.

A few instructors were already out, ensuring everything was in order for the opening ceremony. A necessary tradition, one that set the tone for the year ahead. And this year, under his oversight, there would be no room for weakness. No room for the entitled arrogance that so many of these students carried with them like a birthright.

His watch beeped. Time to move.

Setting his mug down with precise care, he pulled on his uniform—pristine, sharp, an embodiment of discipline. Every button fastened, every crease immaculate. He took one last glance at himself in the mirror before stepping out, his polished boots striking a steady rhythm against the tiled floor.

The academy was already alive with energy by the time he reached the courtyard. He navigated through the pathways with purpose, nodding curtly to fellow instructors and acknowledging a few wary students with an assessing gaze.

Then, just as he was about to continue toward the assembly hall, he heard it.

Raised voices. Heated. Tense.

He pivoted, his gaze locking onto a confrontation unfolding at the far end of the courtyard.

Damien Elford. Leon Blackwell.

His expression darkened.

Galen Kross narrowed his eyes.

Damien Elford.

A name he was all too familiar with.

A year ago, the boy had been an embarrassment—morbidly obese, utterly undisciplined, and drowning in self-pity. The kind of student who had no backbone, no self-respect. A product of wealth without effort.

He had been a lost cause.

A pathetic wretch who squandered his family's name, crawling after Celia Everwyn like a starving dog begging for scraps.

Yet now—

Now, something was different.

Galen's sharp gaze flickered over Damien's form, assessing.

He was still large, still thick around the waist, but he had changed.

The sheer weight he had lost was undeniable. Where once his body had been a bloated mess, now it was merely heavy—not yet strong, not yet refined, but disciplined.

His posture, too, had shifted.

There was no timid hunch in his shoulders, no sluggishness in his stance.

And then—those eyes.

Cold. Unwavering. Defiant.

This was not the same Damien Elford he had dismissed a year ago.

And that—

That intrigued him.

But now was not the time for reflection.

Galen's gaze snapped to Leon Ardent, his stance coiled like a predator about to strike. His fist was mid-air, seconds away from colliding with Damien's face.

The tension in the courtyard was palpable.

The students surrounding them had gone deathly silent, their gazes locked onto the unfolding chaos.

Galen's voice sliced through the air like a blade.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"

Instantly, Leon froze.

Damien, however—

Damien didn't even flinch.

The look in his eyes remained the same. Cold. Unbothered. As if even Galen Kross stepping into the situation was just another minor inconvenience.

Galen's irritation deepened.

Whatever had happened here—he was going to get to the bottom of it.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The courtyard remained deathly silent.

Leon's fist trembled mid-air, inches from Damien's face, but the moment Galen's voice rang out, the fury in his expression gave way to something more restrained. He knew better than to ignore an instructor—especially this instructor.

And Damien?

Damien stood there, blood dripping from his nose, staining his upper lip, a bruise already forming along his jawline where Leon's first punch had landed. But his posture never faltered. His hands remained tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable, his blue eyes piercing. He did not wipe the blood away. Did not step back. Did not flinch under Galen's sharp gaze.

He simply tilted his head ever so slightly, exhaling slowly through his mouth before speaking in a quiet, deliberate voice.

"Is this how you treat victims?"

A stunned murmur rippled through the students.

Galen's expression didn't shift, but his sharp eyes flicked to Damien's injured face, then back to Leon's still-clenched fist. A slow breath left his nostrils as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. A goddamn mess.

"Both of you," he growled, voice low but filled with command. "Come with me. Now."

No one dared to disobey.

With precise movements, he turned on his heel and led them toward a secluded corner of the courtyard, away from prying eyes. The students parted like a sea, whispers rising behind them as they passed. Celia and her entourage stood still, watching with unreadable expressions.

Once they were far enough from the crowd, Galen stopped, turning to face them. He crossed his arms over his chest, his towering frame casting a shadow over both boys. His gaze flicked between them before settling on Damien.

"Explain."

Leon, still seething, opened his mouth first. "He insulted Celia. Publicly. Called her—" He hesitated, jaw tightening, as if the words alone burned him. "—degrading names. Humiliated her in front of everyone."

Galen's gaze didn't waver. He shifted his attention to Damien. "Is that true?"

Damien raised an eyebrow, exhaling slowly through his mouth as he tilted his head ever so slightly. His jaw ached, his nose throbbed, and every breath carried the dull sting of pain. Blood still trickled down his upper lip, but he made no move to wipe it away.

Instead, he let his lips curl into something resembling amusement—thin, sharp, bitter.

"Insulted?" he echoed, his voice laced with something cold, yet slightly unsteady. "What exactly do you mean by that? Was it the words that offended him?"

He let out a slow, almost pained chuckle, rolling his shoulders slightly as he leaned back against the nearby stone wall. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second. Even with the slight weight he had lost, his body was still sluggish, still weak compared to someone like Leon. The hit had rattled him.

But that didn't mean he'd show it.

His blue eyes flickered toward Leon, then back to Galen.

"And what does he mean by 'insulted Celia'? Since when did words become such a personal attack?" His voice remained smooth, but there was an edge to it—a quiet, simmering resentment beneath the surface.

Galen's sharp gaze didn't waver, but his silence stretched just a second too long. He was watching Damien now—not just assessing, but calculating.

And Damien knew it.

He exhaled slowly, licking the metallic taste of blood from his lower lip before speaking again.

"Also…" His smirk widened, but his eyes remained cold. "You're treating a student who's injured really nicely. Didn't even bother to call a medic or anything."

His voice, though calm, carried weight.

A pointed accusation.

Leon stiffened beside him, but Damien didn't so much as glance his way.

Instead, he stared directly into Galen's sharp, assessing gaze.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Unflinching.

"Don't worry." His voice dropped slightly, quieter, but laced with something dangerous. "My father will know about this for sure."