Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 110: Tension

The moment the words left Damien's mouth, the tension in the classroom shifted.

Like the air had been sucked out.

Like something sharp had just sliced through the atmosphere, leaving nothing but a suffocating silence.

Leon's breath hitched.

His blood boiled.

His fingers, which had been idly tapping against the desk just moments ago, suddenly stopped—freezing mid-motion.

His golden-brown eyes widened, then darkened, rage flaring through his veins so fast, so violently, it nearly burned his skin.

"Your father must be enjoying his vacation."

Damien's voice had been casual. Lazy. Drawled out with that same sharp-edged amusement, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with something both mocking and calculated.

He knew.

This wasn't a simple taunt.

This wasn't just another one of Damien's cruel, cutting jabs meant to provoke a reaction.

This was intentional.

Damien Elford wasn't just poking at Leon's pride.

He was digging into his open wound.

The wound he had been trying to ignore.

The one that had been festering inside him ever since that fucking night.

Ever since his father—General Magnus Ardent—had been stripped of his rank. Exiled to the eastern border like a disposable pawn.

Because of him.

Because of his stupidity.

Because of one fucking punch.

Leon could still feel the bruises on his ribs, the aftermath of his father's rage, the way his voice had roared in his ears—

"You absolute idiot!"

"Do you even understand what you've done?!"

"You've ruined everything!"

His father's hands had struck harder than ever before. But none of that compared to the way he had looked at him afterward—

With disgust.

With shame.

Like he wasn't even his son anymore.

And now, this bastard—

This arrogant, condescending piece of shit—

DAMIEN ELFORD—

Was laughing at it.

Laughing at him.

Leon's jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth threatened to crack.

The entire classroom was still.

The students who had been chuckling just moments ago had gone silent.

No one was laughing anymore.

Even Moren, who had just been humiliated beyond belief, had taken a step back, sensing the danger radiating off of Leon.

Because Leon wasn't just angry.

He wanted to kill him.

His fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his skin, but he barely felt it.

His chest heaved, his breathing turning slow and deep, like a beast trying to contain itself before the slaughter.

But Damien?

Damien just watched.

His lazy smirk remained, his sharp blue eyes never leaving Leon's face, his posture relaxed, almost bored.

Like he was waiting.

Like he wanted Leon to move.

Like he was challenging him.

And that made it worse.

That made Leon's rage explode.

The chair screeched against the floor.

The sound of wood cracking echoed through the room as Leon shot to his feet, his body moving before his brain could catch up—

He didn't want to just hit Damien.

He wanted to rip him apart.

His vision tunneled, his heartbeat pounding in his ears—

His arm drew back—

Ready to swing—

Ready to BREAK HIM—

But—

A hand caught his wrist.

A cold, iron grip.

"Enough."

The sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air like a blade, snapping Leon's spiraling mind back to reality—

The room was frozen.

Every single student held their breath as Instructor Galen Kross stood behind Leon, his iron grip locking his wrist in place.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then—Kross tightened his hold.

A sharp, unmistakable pressure shot through Leon's arm, forcing his muscles to seize up. His breathing hitched. His rage hadn't faded, but his body refused to move.

Because this wasn't just strength.

It was control.

"Enough."

Kross's voice was low, sharp—absolute. A sound that cut through the tension like a blade, slicing through Leon's rage before it could take full form.

The golden-haired instructor released him, stepping forward, placing himself directly between Leon and Damien.

Leon staggered back, his entire body still burning with fury, but Kross's piercing, steel-gray eyes were already locking onto him.

And then—

Kross's gaze sharpened.

"You were using mana just now."

The words were spoken calmly, but they carried the weight of a hammer.

A ripple of unease spread through the classroom.

Some students instinctively straightened in their seats. Others exchanged nervous glances.

Because this wasn't just a scolding.

This was serious.

Leon's eyes widened—just slightly—before narrowing, his chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths.

"I didn't—"

"Don't waste my time with excuses," Kross cut him off immediately.

His expression was unreadable—cold, measured, his gray eyes unforgiving.

"You channeled mana, even if it was unconscious. The moment your intent spiked, the air shifted. The moment you moved, your aura surged."

Leon stiffened.

Because he knew Kross was right.

He had felt it—the way his body had tensed, the way his blood had surged forward, the way something deeper, darker had begun to rise.

For a split second, he had stopped thinking entirely.

He hadn't just wanted to hit Damien.

He had wanted to kill him.

And his mana had begun to respond.

A deep cold settled in his stomach.

This wasn't just a mistake.

This was a violation.

"You of all people should know the laws," Kross continued, his voice cutting through Leon's haze of fury like a blade of ice. "There are countless rules limiting the use of mana in society. And those restrictions are even stricter in a place like Vermillion."

Leon clenched his fists.

"Awakened or not, you are not above the law," Kross continued, his tone brooking no argument. "If this were anywhere else, you would already be in custody."

A fresh wave of tension rippled through the classroom.

A few students instinctively leaned away from Leon.

Because Kross was right.

The rules for Awakened individuals were strict. Unforgiving.

And using mana—even passively—in a public space?

It was a serious offense.

Leon ground his teeth, his nails digging into his palms, his fury still simmering just beneath the surface.

Damn it.

He hadn't meant to—but that didn't matter.

What mattered was that he had done it.

And now—he would pay for it.

Kross took a step back, his presence looming.

"Midday. You will follow me to my office," he stated flatly. "You will receive disciplinary action for exuding killing intent in a public space."

Damien exhaled through his nose, a slow, amused sound.

Leon snapped his head toward him, but before he could speak—

"Not. A word," Kross said, his voice sharp.

Leon gritted his teeth.

The fury inside him hadn't faded.

Not even slightly.

But there was nothing he could do.

Not now.

Not yet.

His fists clenched as he forced himself to sit back down.

The moment he did, Kross turned—his piercing gray eyes flickering toward Damien.

For the first time, Damien raised an eyebrow.

Kross stared at him for a long moment.

Then—

"Watch yourself, Elford," he said coolly.

Damien's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it deepened.

"Of course, Instructor," he said smoothly, tilting his head.

The moment Damien spoke again, his voice was light, almost thoughtful.

"I mean, really," he mused, tapping his fingers lazily against the desk. "I was just wishing Leon's father a good holiday."

Leon's fingers dug into the wood of his desk.

Damien's smirk widened.

"I sincerely hope a hardworking man like General Ardent is able to relax after all those years of service," Damien continued, his tone smooth, almost genuine—if not for the unmistakable mockery laced beneath. "It must be nice to get some time away from all the stress. No responsibilities, no expectations… Just a long, peaceful stay at the Eastern Border."

Leon's chair creaked beneath his grip.

A few students shifted uncomfortably.

They weren't idiots. They knew exactly what Damien was doing.

He wasn't just taunting Leon.

He was humiliating him.

Turning his father's downfall into a casual, meaningless joke.

Leon's breath was heavy.

But Damien wasn't done.

"An honest worker like your father," Damien went on, feigning admiration. "I'm sure he'll make the most of his new position. No doubt, he'll handle all those… lovely conditions at the border with pride."

Leon saw red.

The Eastern Border.

A goddamn death sentence.

A place filled with endless warfare, lawless factions, and nothing but mud, blood, and misery.

His father, a General of the Dominion, reduced to a discarded soldier in the middle of nowhere.

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All because of him.

Because of one punch.

And now—this smug bastard—

This fucking bastard—

He was laughing about it.

A deep, trembling rage clawed its way up Leon's throat, burning through his veins like molten steel.

His muscles tensed again—

But Kross's voice cut through the tension.

"That's enough."

Cold. Absolute.

A warning.

But Damien?

Damien just chuckled.

"Of course, Instructor," he said lazily, tilting his head ever so slightly. "I was just showing my… concern for a fellow student's family. After all, we should always appreciate the sacrifices of those who serve, shouldn't we?"