Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 99: Class, but with Damien (3)

Annoying.

That was the only word Isabelle could think of as she walked through the hallway, her strides crisp, heels clicking against the marble floor.

Damien Elford was annoying.

It wasn’t just the way he carried himself—arrogant, smug, lazy—but the sheer indifference with which he treated the world around him.

She hated people like that.

People who wasted their potential. People who had the means, the opportunities, the resources to thrive—and instead, they chose to be nothing.

And Damien?

Damien was the epitome of that.

He had everything handed to him. Wealth, privilege, status. A family name that ensured he would never have to struggle, never have to claw his way to the top like she had. And yet, he spent his time sleeping through class, mocking others, and treating life like a joke.

She exhaled through her nose, forcing her shoulders to relax.

She shouldn’t care.

She shouldn’t let someone like him irritate her.

And yet, for the past hour, she had caught herself glancing toward his desk more times than she was willing to admit.

Only to see him sleeping.

Her fingers twitched slightly.

How? How could someone be so lazy?

This wasn’t just some unimportant lesson. They were fourth-years. The National College Exams were looming closer with each passing day. Everyone in this class—Celia, Iris, even Leon—was working toward something. Fighting for their future.

And yet Damien?

He slept.

Isabelle had forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but her irritation had only worsened when Victoria Langley had decided to add to the problem.

Petty. That’s what it was. A childish display of ego that had wasted everyone’s time.

And now, here she was, dragging both of them away to deal with the aftermath.

As if she didn’t already have enough to do.

She shouldn’t care.

And yet—

"Belle."

A familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

She blinked, her steps faltering slightly before she turned her head.

Madeline Rosseau.

Her seatmate.

Her friend.

The only person in Vermillion Private School she trusted to speak to her without an agenda.

The girl had her arms crossed, a knowing look in her hazel eyes as she walked alongside Isabelle. Unlike the rest of the elites in this school, Madeline carried herself with an easy grace—refined, but without the stiffness of nobility.

"Belle," she said again, lowering her voice. "Calm down."

Isabelle frowned slightly, about to ask what she meant—

Until she caught herself.

The tension in her shoulders.

The way her jaw had clenched.

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The way she had been glaring at Damien’s back for the past five minutes.

She exhaled slowly, reigning herself in.

"I’m calm," she murmured.

Madeline hummed. "Sure. And I’m a Hargrove."

That almost—almost—earned a smirk from Isabelle.

But she refused to let herself be distracted.

She straightened, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles on her uniform. "It’s just frustrating," she admitted, keeping her voice quiet. "It’s one thing if he fails. But if he continues disrupting class, it affects all of us."

Madeline tilted her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. "And that’s the only reason you’re this irritated?"

Isabelle shot her a look.

Madeline chuckled. "Alright, alright. I won’t pry."

For a moment, the tension in Isabelle’s chest eased.

Then—

Damien chuckled under his breath, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall.

"Let’s see what’s so important that you had to drag me out of my nap."

Isabelle’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Her irritation returned full force.

Madeline sighed beside her.

And Isabelle Moreau—flawless, composed, disciplined—wondered for the first time that morning if she might actually lose her temper.

She didn’t speak as she led him down the corridor.

Damien followed at an unhurried pace, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, his smirk ever-present. It was infuriating. As if he knew she was irritated. As if he enjoyed it.

Madeline walked beside her, arms folded, her expression one of mild amusement.

But Isabelle wasn’t in the mood for amusement.

She needed to deal with this without unnecessary distractions.

A few students still lingered in the halls, their gazes flickering toward them with curiosity. Some whispered—Why is Moreau dragging Elford somewhere?—but she ignored them. It wasn’t their business.

She turned a corner, heading toward one of the quieter study rooms near the library. It was usually empty at this time of day. A perfect place to speak without unwanted eyes and ears.

The moment she reached the door, she stopped.

Then she turned to Madeline.

"Leave us."

Madeline blinked.

Then, slowly, she raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Isabelle said, her voice even. "This doesn’t concern you."

Madeline’s gaze flickered between her and Damien, her amusement deepening.

"Oh?" She tilted her head slightly, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Are you sure that’s a good idea?"

Isabelle’s patience thinned. "Madeline—"

"I mean," Madeline cut in smoothly, resting a hand on her hip. "What if he does something to you?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

A chuckle.

Low. Amused.

Damien.

"Oh?" He tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening. "What exactly do you take me for, Rosseau?"

Madeline didn’t miss a beat. "A problem."

Isabelle almost wanted to sigh.

Damien let out another soft laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. "Relax," he drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I’d never lay a hand on our dear class representative."

Then, lazily, he glanced toward Isabelle.

"Unless she wants me to, of course."

Isabelle’s fingers twitched.

Madeline grinned.

But before she could add to the nonsense, Isabelle exhaled sharply, her voice firm. "Madeline. Go."

Madeline studied her for a moment.

Then, finally, she relented with a sigh.

"Alright, alright," she said, stepping back with a smirk. "But if you do end up killing him, at least make sure the body isn’t found on school grounds."

With that, she turned and walked away.

Damien watched her go, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Then, he turned his gaze back to Isabelle.

"So," he mused, stepping past her into the study room. "What exactly did I do to deserve this private chat?"

Isabelle didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, she closed the door behind them.

She let herself glare.

The air in the study room was tense, heavy with unspoken irritation.

Isabelle stood firm, arms crossed, her sharp brown eyes locked onto Damien with unwavering intensity. He, in contrast, looked completely at ease—leaning casually against the edge of the table, hands still stuffed lazily in his pockets, his smirk ever-present.

That only made it worse.

"You were completely disrespectful in class," she said coldly, cutting straight to the point. "First, you disrupted the lesson with that ridiculous exchange with Victoria. Then, you proceeded to sleep through two entire lectures without even pretending to care."

Damien didn’t respond immediately. His smirk didn’t falter, his gaze watching her with mild amusement.

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "Ms. Everstead showed goodwill toward you, and this is how you repay her?"

At that, Damien let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

"Goodwill?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. His sharp blue eyes met hers, steady and unreadable. "Come on, Rep. You and I both know that’s not what that was."

Isabelle’s brow twitched. "Excuse me?"

"You’re smart," Damien continued, his voice smooth, unhurried. "You’ve been in her class long enough. You know she’s already used to me." He shrugged, the motion almost lazy. "She knew I’d be like this. She was just being polite. Doing her job. Nothing more, nothing less."

Isabelle clenched her jaw.

It annoyed her how casual he was about it. How easily he dismissed it all, like his actions had no weight.

"That doesn’t make it acceptable," she said sharply.

Damien sighed through his nose, rolling his shoulders. "And yet, here we are," he muttered, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

Her irritation flared.

"Do you even care?" Isabelle asked, her voice colder now. "At all?"

Something in Isabelle snapped.

Her irritation—no, her anger—boiled over before she could stop it.

"Of course, you don’t care," she bit out, her voice sharper than she intended. "Or maybe—" She took a step forward, her eyes burning into him. "Maybe you do care. Maybe you just like pretending you don’t."

For the first time, Damien’s smirk faltered—just slightly. Or she felt like it.

But Isabelle wasn’t done.

"Is that what this is?" she pressed, her words spilling out faster than her usual controlled self would allow. "Is this your way of escaping?" Her voice was edged with something close to frustration. "You know you’re not talented, so instead of trying, you just—give up?"

Silence.

Damien’s smirk was gone now.

His expression was unreadable.

And that—that pissed her off even more.

"You had everything," she continued, her voice lower now, but no less sharp. "Every opportunity. Every advantage. And instead of using them, you chose to do nothing."

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

She hated people like that.

People who had it all and still refused to try. People who took everything for granted while others had to fight for every single thing they had.

"You’re pathetic," she said, her voice almost a whisper, her own words surprising her.

Because she didn’t speak like this.

She didn’t lose control like this.

And yet—

When she looked at Damien—when she saw that empty amusement, that sheer indifference—

The words just left her mouth.

She had expected a reaction.

Annoyance. Deflection. Anything.

But instead—

Damien simply looked at her.

His sharp blue eyes locked onto hers, steady, quiet, unreadable.

Then—

He chuckled.

Soft. Almost amused.

And for some reason—

That made her feel worse.