Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 130: Galen wants to shoot himself

"Instructor," Elise greeted evenly.

"Status," Galen said immediately, his voice low, sharp. There was no small talk, no pleasantries—just clipped urgency. His gaze locked on Damien with the precision of a hawk.

"Sprain. Possibly a mild ligament strain," Elise replied, placing the brace down beside the bed. "No tear. Nothing permanent. He's walking, with weight management."

Galen didn't seem relieved. If anything, his expression darkened.

"Elise," he said, his tone turning quieter, more dangerous. "Was the injury natural?"

The nurse blinked, then frowned slightly. "The student assisting him—Isabelle Vale—said it was the result of a late foul. Mid-match. From the side."

"Deliberate?"

"She certainly thought so."

Galen turned back to Damien, who now leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. That relaxed posture was still there, but something in the sharp line of his gaze met Galen's intensity with quiet understanding.

So he already knew.

"This school's barely made it through the first half of the day," Galen muttered, more to himself than to either of them. "And already, you're bleeding in a clinic."

"You make it sound like I planned it," Damien said dryly.

Galen didn't smile. "Should I be asking if you did?"

Damien's gaze sharpened. The lazy curve of his lips flattened into something harder, colder—his usual amusement stripped away like a mask discarded mid-performance. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Galen's with a sudden, cutting clarity.

"You are certainly brave," he said, his voice low, devoid of all pretense, "to blame the victim who's bleeding in front of you."

There was no flare of emotion in his tone. Just ice.

"This is the second time, Instructor."

The words landed with surgical precision. Not loud. Not dramatic. But devastating all the same.

Galen's jaw flexed ever so slightly. His gaze didn't waver, but the sigh that escaped his lips afterward was long, quiet, and filled with a weight he didn't bother to disguise.

He looked away for a moment. Not in retreat—no, Galen Kross didn't retreat. But even a seasoned soldier had to occasionally gather his bearings.

He ran a hand down his face, pausing briefly at the bridge of his nose before letting his arm drop.

'Third time,' he thought bitterly.

The third goddamn time he'd been pulled into something involving Damien Elford.

First, the incident during the entrance ceremony—when Leon's punch had nearly turned the courtyard into a scandal. He'd thought that would be the end of it. That after a public intervention, things would settle.

But no.

Then came the classroom.

Leon again. But this time, it was worse. Mana. Killing intent. A room full of students who felt the air turn to ice, and Galen forced to step in before something irreversible happened. Damien hadn't so much as lifted a finger… and yet, he'd walked away the victor again. Not just legally, but psychologically.

And now—this.

A match. A foul. A limp. Blood.

And Damien, once again, in the middle of it.

Except…

He hadn't thrown a punch. He hadn't released mana. He hadn't done anything.

'He wasn't even here the first week,' Galen reminded himself grimly. 'He arrived late, settled in quietly, and in less than one week, this school's ecosystem has already wrapped itself around his shadow.'

Coincidence?

He wanted to believe that. He really did.

But it was becoming harder to accept with every report, every disciplinary note that carried Damien Elford's name like a curse scrawled across the top in bold print.

Still—Galen wasn't a fool. He knew how to separate suspicion from judgment. And no matter how much he wanted to believe Damien was orchestrating these spirals, there was one simple, inescapable truth:

Damien was the one bleeding.

And if the tackle had truly been that reckless, that late—then regardless of provocation, the other student had crossed the line.

Galen exhaled again, quieter this time, and finally turned his eyes back toward Damien.

"You're right," he said, his voice clipped, the edge dulled but not gone. "That was out of line."

Damien didn't respond, but the intensity in his eyes softened—just a touch. Enough to acknowledge the concession.

Galen stepped closer, stopping just beside the bed, arms folding over his chest.

"I don't know what it is about you," he muttered, half to himself, "but you draw lightning like a mountain draws storms."

Damien tilted his head. "Maybe I just have a magnetic personality."

Galen gave him a deadpan look. "That, or you're a walking catalyst with a penchant for provoking every volatile element within a five-meter radius."

He let the silence sit between them for a moment before speaking again.

"Regardless," he said, tone firm now, back in control, "you were fouled. From the accounts I've heard, the tackle was late and targeted. That means disciplinary action will be pursued."

Damien said nothing. He didn't nod, didn't smile, didn't gloat. Just watched. Measured. Like he was already weighing the worth of those words against future consequences.

Galen narrowed his eyes slightly.

"And I hope," he said slowly, "you don't plan to involve your father again."

The words hung there, unsaid but heavy—like last time.

Because Galen knew.

If Damien decided to escalate this, if he reached for that particular sword again…

Damien's smirk returned—not the lazy, half-mocking one he wore like armor, but something slower. Sharper. A gleam of teeth behind the mask.

"I won't inform my father," he said calmly, almost casually. "Contrary to certain Awakened, this was just a simple football match."

Galen's eyes narrowed, catching the emphasis, the quiet blade hidden between words.

"Was the opponent playing dirty? Sure," Damien continued, rolling his shoulder back slightly. "But I'm not a crybaby who goes running to his father's shoes every time someone bumps into me."

The grin twisted, just slightly.

"I have thicker skin than that."

With that, he reached down and grabbed the crutch—Elise had left it neatly against the edge of the bed. He rose, slow but controlled, the movement deliberate, his body bearing the pain with silent stubbornness. The brace on his knee shifted slightly, straps tight and firm, but he didn't wince.

He steadied himself, adjusted his stance, then took a single step forward with the crutch. Then another. And another.

Not faltering. Not limping pathetically.

Just moving. On his terms.

As he passed Galen, he paused—shoulders squared, his tone dropping just enough to shift from casual to intentional.

"But…" Damien said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, "I will expect the same."

Galen raised an eyebrow. "The same?"

Damien nodded once, slow.

"I may miss some lectures while I recover. Doctor's orders and all that," he said smoothly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips again. "I hope you can overlook such mishaps. For fairness."

The words were polite. But the meaning? Sharp.

I won't escalate. But you'll look the other way.

Galen's jaw tensed. He stepped forward, folding his arms again, his voice lower now, firmer. "Attendance is mandatory. You know that. Exceptions—"

"—Are based on circumstances," Damien finished for him, not turning around. "And I'd say mine are sufficiently documented."

He took another step, then stopped again, glancing over his shoulder.

"But if you're saying we're playing strictly by the rules now…"

He tilted his head slightly, the smirk deepening.

"Well."

"I may start doing the same."

Silence.

It wasn't a threat. Not directly. But Galen wasn't blind.

He heard it.

The same way Damien had said he wouldn't cry to his father—he also didn't say he wouldn't ever use that name again.

He was holding back. Giving Galen the space to handle it fairly.

But he was also drawing a line.

Push him? Punish him unfairly? Corner him again?

Then all bets were off.

Galen stared at Damien's back for a long moment, the boy's posture poised yet oddly relaxed, like he was already prepared for every outcome that might follow this conversation.

The instructor exhaled through his nose, his voice quiet but resolute.

"Take two days. Monday and Tuesday. No more."

Damien gave a small, amused hum and nodded without looking back.

"That'll do."

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.