Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 47: Father

Knock. Knock.

The sound echoed through the dimly lit room.

Damien's sharp blue eyes flickered toward the door, his smirk lingering as he adjusted his stance.

Whoever it was… they had no idea what kind of person they were about to meet.

He had changed.

And soon, the world would realize it, too.

"Enter," he called out, his voice smooth, composed.

The door creaked open.

A familiar figure stepped inside—a well-dressed man in a crisp black suit, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the low light of the room. His posture was straight, his expression neutral, but the moment his gaze settled on Damien, there was something unmistakable in his eyes.

Disapproval.

Damien's smirk widened slightly.

Ah. So it's you, Owen.

Owen Lancaster.

The Elford family butler, a man who had served this household for over two decades. He was loyal, efficient, and utterly unforgiving when it came to Damien's past failures.

"Young Master," Owen greeted, his voice as crisp as ever.

Even without him saying it, Damien could hear the unspoken words beneath his formal tone.

You are a disgrace.

You are a disappointment.

You will never be worthy of this family's name.

Damien simply leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his gaze steady.

"Owen," he acknowledged smoothly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The butler adjusted his glasses, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Your father has requested your presence in the study," Owen informed him. "Immediately."

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Damien raised a brow.

'So soon?'

It seemed Victor Everwyn had already responded.

It was exactly as he had expected.

Victor Everwyn was not a man who tolerated uncertainty. The moment Dominic had informed him of the engagement's nullification, the Everwyns would have scrambled for answers.

A rejection like this—one that came from the Elford family—was not something they could afford to ignore.

They would demand an explanation.

They would try to renegotiate.

They would try to turn this around.

And now?

His father was calling him because the Everwyns wanted to know why.

Perfect.

'It played out exactly as I wanted.'

He exhaled through his nose, pushing himself off the desk.

His body still felt heavy, sluggish from years of neglect, but he didn't mind.

Not for long.

Soon, this pathetic excuse of a physique would be dealt with.

But for now…

He would enjoy this moment.

"Very well," he said, rolling his shoulders as he stepped toward the door. "Let's not keep Father waiting."

Owen stepped aside without a word, his expression still cold, still disapproving.

It amused Damien.

The butler likely expected him to drag his feet. To complain.

But the Damien Elford he had known was dead.

As Damien stepped forward, his blue eyes flickered toward Owen briefly.

A part of him—the old him—would have wanted to rip the butler's cold, judging gaze out of his skull.

But Damien knew Owen Lancaster.

From the game.

From all the hours spent watching, analyzing, understanding every key figure in Shackles of Fate.

Owen was strict. Harsh. Unforgiving.

But he was loyal.

Not to Damien.

Not to any single person.

But to the Elford lineage.

Owen had never truly respected the Damien Elford from the game—because there was no reason to.

And Damien could admit it.

The previous Damien hadn't deserved respect.

He had been pathetic.

A whining, self-indulgent, weak-willed fool.

But that was no longer him.

And it was time everyone learned that.

As he moved past the butler, Owen suddenly spoke.

"I heard from the Master…"

Damien halted mid-step.

"…that you decided to nullify your engagement with Celia Everwyn."

His head tilted slightly. Then, after a moment, he nodded. "I did."

A long pause.

Then, for the first time, Owen gave the slightest nod of approval.

"Hmph." The butler adjusted his gloves, his tone even. "You did something right for once."

Damien's footsteps stopped completely.

His head turned slightly, his blue eyes sharpening.

The air shifted.

Silence.

Then, his voice came out low, dangerously smooth.

"…What did you just say, Owen?"

His words weren't loud.

But they carried weight.

Owen's eyes flickered, a brief flash of surprise crossing his usually unreadable face.

He hadn't expected retaliation.

Not from Damien Elford.

The old Damien would have lowered his head, muttered something pathetic, and hurried along.

But this Damien?

This Damien stopped.

Turned.

And challenged him.

Still, Owen was not the type to back down easily. His posture remained rigid, his tone unyielding as he repeated his words.

"I said," he stated evenly, "you did something right for once."

A deliberate choice of words.

A statement, not an insult.

But Damien…

Damien laughed.

A slow, quiet chuckle as he tilted his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes locking onto Owen's.

"Since when have you forgotten the position you are in, Owen?"

Silence.

The butler's expression didn't shift, but there was a certain stillness in him now.

"I see no wrong in my words," Owen replied, his voice calm, unwavering.

"You may see no wrongs," Damien murmured, his smirk widening—but his eyes remained cold.

"I also see no wrongs in quite a lot of things."

He took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them just slightly.

"For instance…" His voice dropped slightly, almost amused.

"Your fucking words are unnecessary."

Another step.

"Or your gaze is insolent."

His smirk deepened, his tone light—almost playful.

"That doesn't mean I go around stating all these things, now does it?"

Owen remained still.

Owen's expression remained unreadable, but Damien could see it.

The tension in his shoulders. The slight shift in his stance.

The butler was processing.

Processing the fact that the boy he had once dismissed—the useless heir, the pathetic disappointment—was now standing in front of him, looking him in the eye, and calling him out.

Finally, Owen adjusted his gloves, his voice firm.

"I will not tolerate these insults, Young Master."

Damien's smirk widened.

"Oh?" He tilted his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes glinting with amusement.

"And what are you going to do, Owen?"

He let the words hang in the air, his tone almost mocking.

"Are you going to snitch to my father?"

A pause.

His grin sharpened.

"Should I do the same?"

Owen's jaw tensed, ever so slightly.

Damien let out a quiet chuckle, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice.

"Owen."

His tone was softer now, almost casual—but there was no warmth in it.

"Mind your fucking place."

Silence.

Pure, heavy silence.

The butler's eyes flickered just slightly, but he said nothing.

"I want to respect all the effort you've put into this family," Damien continued, tilting his head. "Just like your predecessors."

There was weight in those words.

Owen came from a long line of butlers who had served the Elford family.

It was his duty.

And Damien was acknowledging that.

"But that doesn't mean," Damien's voice dropped lower, colder, "I'm going to swallow your underhanded, fucking remarks."

Owen inhaled sharply.

Because that—

That was foreign.

Not the insult.

Not the defiance.

But the swearing.

The Elford family did not tolerate crudeness.

His father had always enforced that rule.

And yet—

Here Damien was, standing before him, throwing filthy words into the air like they were nothing.

And Owen?

For the first time in two decades of serving this household—

Did not know how to respond.

Owen inhaled sharply, his sharp gaze locking onto Damien's.

The language was crude, unacceptable by Elford standards.

And yet—

He did not dislike it.

For years, the greatest flaw of the Elford lineage had been the lack of a suitable male heir.

A successor who commanded respect.

A man with presence, with conviction, with the ability to stand his ground.

Damien Elford had always been weak, spineless, a disgrace to the name he bore.

But now?

Now, he stood before him—unapologetic, unbending, unyielding.

At the very least…

It seemed the Young Master was finally growing a backbone.

Owen adjusted his gloves once more, his expression returning to its usual impassiveness.

He said nothing.

No reprimand.

No acknowledgment.

Instead, he simply turned on his heel.

"This way."

Damien smirked but said nothing, following behind as Owen led him through the grand hallways of the mansion.

The soft glow of high-end lighting reflected off the polished marble floors, the towering walls adorned with centuries of prestige.

Familiar surroundings.

But tonight, it all felt… different.

The power balance had shifted.

And as they approached the large, ornate doors leading to his father's private study, Damien exhaled slowly.

Owen stopped before the entrance, giving him a brief glance before pushing the doors open.

Damien stepped inside.