Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 73: School

The courtyard of Vermillion Private School was alive with energy, a stark contrast to Damien's quiet contemplation. Students filled the space, their voices overlapping in excited chatter as they reconnected after the summer break. Some clustered around the grand fountain in the center, its crystal-clear water catching the morning sun, while others leaned against the intricately carved stone benches that lined the cobbled pathways.

Laughter rang through the air as students shared their summer adventures. A group of boys in pressed blazers and polished shoes stood near the entrance, engaged in a spirited discussion about their family vacations.

"I swear, the yacht was bigger than my entire estate," one of them bragged, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. "We sailed across the Azure Coast, and the parties were unreal."

"Pffft," another scoffed, adjusting the golden cufflinks on his sleeves. "That's nothing. My father took us to an exclusive summit with the Council of Twelve. I actually met Lady Vortessa in person."

Gasps of envy followed, and the conversation quickly turned competitive, each boy attempting to one-up the other with tales of extravagant trips and powerful family connections.

On the other side of the courtyard, a group of girls was huddled together, voices lowered into hushed whispers as they exchanged gossip.

"Did you see Lillian's dress? Custom-tailored, straight from Lionesse Boutique."

"Ugh, she always has to flaunt her wealth. As if we don't all come from money."

"I heard her father is in talks with the Montclair family for a merger. If that happens, she'll be set for life."

Another girl smirked, flipping her chestnut curls over her shoulder. "Speaking of mergers, did you hear about Evelyn and Cedric? Apparently, their families are trying to arrange a courtship."

"No way!" a blonde gasped. "Evelyn always said she'd never do an arranged marriage."

"Well," the smirking girl shrugged, "money talks."

The laughter that followed was light but laced with the underlying truth of their world—alliances and power meant everything.

Nearby, a smaller group of students sat by a cherry blossom tree, their discussions more grounded. These were the ones who, while privileged, weren't interested in the power plays of their peers.

"I just hope the coursework isn't too brutal this year," one sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I barely made it through last term."

"Speak for yourself," a girl with glasses replied, flipping through a leather-bound planner. "I already got a head start on the reading list."

"You're insane, Emily," another boy chuckled. "Let us enjoy the last moments of freedom before the academic grind kicks in."

Near the grand fountain at the center of the courtyard, a group of girls stood in a loose circle, their polished nails gesturing dramatically as they caught up on gossip.

"I swear, Elena looks different," one of them whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "Did she get work done over the summer?"

"No way! She just got back from a private wellness retreat. Her parents paid a fortune for it."

"Must be nice," another girl sighed, flipping her hair. "Some of us had to endure the Hamptons with nothing but basic spa treatments."

"Poor thing," someone teased, prompting giggles from the group.

Across the way, a trio of boys stood with an air of relaxed arrogance, each one casually adjusting their ties or rolling their sleeves just enough to showcase expensive watches.

"This year's going to be interesting," one mused, glancing at the new arrivals. "You see the kid from the Westworth family? Heard he's gunning for top rank in Strategy Class."

"Pfft," another scoffed. "Doesn't matter. Everyone knows Vermillion is just the warm-up. The real game starts at Imperial Arcanum."

Not far from them, a few students gathered around a sleek tablet, scrolling through a list of upcoming school events.

"The Annual Investors' Gala is earlier this year," one of them pointed out. "My father says the Council will be in attendance."

"That means high stakes for networking. My family's already got a seat at the main table—what about yours?"

The courtyard remained abuzz with conversation, the flow of gossip seamlessly shifting from summer escapades to the real subject of interest—who would be attending Vermillion Private School this year.

"Well, I heard Vincent Sterling is back."

"No way. After what happened last year?"

"Oh, please. His father practically owns half the banking sector. You think a little scandal would actually keep him out?"

A few students cast furtive glances around, as if expecting the infamous heir to appear at any moment.

"I'd be more worried about who's new," a boy in a dark navy blazer remarked, tapping his fingers against his crossed arms. "I heard that one of the Montclairs is transferring in."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Montclair?" a girl repeated in hushed shock. "You mean that Montclair? The family that—"

Before she could finish, another voice cut in.

"No, no, forget the Montclairs." A boy smirked, adjusting the platinum pin on his lapel. "The real news is her."

The moment the words left his mouth, an unnatural hush fell over the courtyard, like a ripple of silent anticipation passing through the students.

They all knew exactly who he meant.

Then, as if summoned by their whispers, she appeared.

Iris Blackwood.

She moved with an effortless grace, her every step composed, deliberate. Long, emerald-green hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, catching the light like polished silk. Her piercing red eyes, sharp and unreadable, swept over the courtyard as if surveying a kingdom.

The Blackwood family was legendary. Their wealth and influence spanned generations, and their hold on the Council of Twelve was unquestionable. They were kingmakers, empire-builders, the silent architects of Azaria Dominion's highest echelons of power.

And Iris?

She was their heir.

The students parted instinctively as she walked, as if an invisible force demanded it. Her uniform—immaculate, tailored to perfection—only enhanced the aura of power she exuded. She did not need to flaunt her status. Her mere presence commanded respect.

Some students watched her with admiration. Others with wariness.

And then there were those who barely concealed their envy.

"She's even more intimidating in person," someone whispered.

"Well, what did you expect? Her family's on the Council."

As if she could hear them, Iris tilted her head ever so slightly, the faintest hint of amusement playing at the corners of her lips. It was a look that sent a shiver through more than a few students.

She knew exactly the effect she had.

And she enjoyed it.

Without a word, she continued walking, heading toward the school's grand entrance.

The hushed whispers resumed the moment she passed.

"She's terrifying."

As Iris Blackwood disappeared into the grand entrance of Vermillion Private School, the courtyard slowly regained its rhythm. Conversations resumed, though there was still an air of unease—of reverence. The weight of her presence lingered, her name still a murmur on the lips of those who had witnessed her arrival.

But before the murmurs could settle into true discussion, another shift occurred.

This time, it was different.

It wasn't a presence that commanded silence through power. It wasn't the aura of dominance that forced others to acknowledge it.

No—this was something else entirely.

This was beauty.

The kind that made time itself hesitate.

The moment Celia Everwyn stepped through the grand iron gates, it was as if the world exhaled in slow motion.

Her long, sapphire-blue hair cascaded in waves down her back, the morning light catching every strand, giving it an ethereal glow. Her emerald-green eyes, framed by long lashes, held a quiet, almost otherworldly serenity. She moved with a natural grace—light, deliberate, effortless. If Iris Blackwood was a queen commanding an empire, Celia Everwyn was a goddess descending to earth.

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Students turned before they even realized they were looking.

Gasps, whispers, stunned silence—all of it followed her.

"She's here…"

"She's even more beautiful than last year."

"She hasn't changed a bit…"

Unlike Iris, who exuded authority, Celia's presence drew admiration in an entirely different way. She didn't need power to be noticed—people simply couldn't look away.

Her uniform was flawless, tailored to perfection, accentuating her delicate frame. A faint breeze lifted the edges of her skirt, and for a brief moment, she looked almost unreal—like a vision crafted by an artist's brush rather than a living, breathing girl.

Yet, beyond her beauty, there was another reason why everyone whispered her name with such weight.

Her engagement.

The hushed murmurs followed Celia Everwyn as she stepped further into the school grounds, her presence casting an almost dreamlike stillness over the students she passed.

She was used to it.

The stolen glances. The admiration in their eyes. The envy in their whispers.

None of it fazed her.

Her movements remained graceful, fluid, untouched by the weight of expectation. With every step toward the school's grand entrance, the marble floors beneath her heels echoed softly, a rhythmic contrast to the flurry of murmurs still buzzing in the courtyard.

She did not falter.

She did not waver.

And yet, for the briefest second, she hesitated.

Because she could feel it.

A familiar weight. A presence watching her.

Her emerald-green eyes flicked up, and in that moment, she met Iris Blackwood's gaze.

A silent clash.