Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 111: Killing Intent

Instructor Galen Kross's eyes lingered on Damien for a beat too long, that cold steel-gray gaze narrowing slightly, not out of fear—but scrutiny. The smirk hadn't left the boy's face, and though his tone had remained mockingly polite, there was a venom buried in every syllable that refused to go unnoticed. It wasn't just Leon who had been drawn into this twisted verbal snare—every student in the room had felt it. Like a scalpel dragging across exposed nerves.

Damien had turned a personal tragedy into an arena. And he was winning.

"Enough," Galen said again, quieter this time, but sharper. Sharper in that way only trained soldiers knew—low enough that the warning carried more weight than a shout ever could. His voice didn't rise. It cut.

Damien's fingers slowed their rhythm against the desk, but the smirk didn't fully vanish. He leaned back in his seat, giving a half-hearted nod as if to say, as you wish, Commander. And Galen didn't miss the flicker of defiance in his eyes—like a spark beneath the surface, waiting to flare again at the right moment.

Galen exhaled, then pivoted to face the rest of the class. The air was still thick with tension. A few students sat like statues, others were visibly shaken. But Galen didn't allow that to show in his expression. If anything, his voice became more formal. More clinical.

"Now that everyone's finished… bonding," he said dryly, "we're returning to the schedule."

Some of the students straightened, others paled.

"Today's orientation was supposed to begin with a basic skills assessment. However…" His gaze swept over the room, lingering just long enough on Leon, then Damien. "Given the enthusiasm some of you are showing already, I see no reason to delay."

He paused for effect.

"You'll be undergoing quizzes for four subjects today

The room remained still, the tension from moments ago shifting into something quieter, heavier. No one dared to speak. Even the usual murmurs that followed after an announcement of an exam were absent. The air was thick with unspoken words, with the remnants of the sharp-edged exchange between Damien and Leon, but Galen had no interest in entertaining distractions any longer.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, before speaking again, his voice firm, carrying a weight that allowed for no argument.

"All of you are already familiar with the assessment system. This is not new. The format remains unchanged, and I assume none of you are so incapable that you've forgotten how this works." His steel-gray eyes flickered over the class, assessing, weighing. "But for the sake of thoroughness, I will explain it again."

A few students shifted in their seats, more out of tension than impatience. No one wanted to be caught looking unprepared.

"These quizzes will cover four core subjects—Language and Comprehension, Mathematics, Social Science, and Science, which includes Physics, Chemistry, and Biology." His voice remained level, clinical. "Each subject consists of five questions. You will have ten minutes per section. No more, no less. If you finish early, you are to remain seated and review your answers. If you run out of time, your paper will be collected as is."

Another pause. A calculated beat.

"And as usual, these results will be sent to your parents or guardians."

That did it.

The reaction was immediate. Some students tensed. Others subtly straightened in their seats, as if somehow improving their posture could retroactively prepare them for what was about to happen. Even those who had been previously indifferent were now fully alert.

Good.

Galen continued as if he hadn't noticed their reactions.

"This assessment is not just a test of knowledge—it is a measure of discipline, of how well you handle pressure. If you cannot manage five questions under timed conditions, then perhaps you should reconsider your place at Vermillion." His tone was flat, not mocking, but the meaning behind his words was clear.

He moved to his desk, retrieving a stack of neatly arranged papers. The crisp, clean sheets carried the weight of an unspoken challenge—one that every student in the room was about to face, whether they were ready or not.

"I will now distribute the papers," Galen said, stepping forward. "Keep your desks clear. You will write your name at the top and wait for my signal before beginning. If I see anyone attempting to start early…" His gaze swept over them, cold and sharp. "You will not appreciate the consequences."

Not a single student spoke.

Galen moved with precision, placing the papers on each desk, his presence looming behind every student for just a second longer than necessary. A reminder. A warning.

When the last paper was placed, he returned to the front of the room, checking his watch. The countdown had begun.

"Your time starts now."

And with that—

The quiz began.

*****

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of scribbling pens and the occasional rustling of paper. The air was thick with concentration, the tension from earlier now funneled into the quiet, frantic movement of students racing against time.

Galen Kross stood at the front of the classroom, his steel-gray eyes scanning the room with unwavering focus. He noted every subtle shift in posture, every glance, every student who hesitated before writing an answer. Some worked with steady confidence, their expressions calm and composed. Others moved their pens too quickly, a telltale sign of second-guessing. A few glanced at the clock far too often.

Ten minutes per section. Forty minutes in total.

Not a single student dared to speak.

Time passed in a steady, controlled rhythm, marked only by the occasional click of Galen's watch as he checked the minutes ticking down.

And then—

"Time's up. Pens down."

A collective exhale rippled through the classroom. Some students leaned back in their seats, relieved, while others visibly tensed, their eyes darting down to unfinished answers they had no choice but to leave behind.

Galen wasted no time. He strode forward with measured steps, collecting each sheet with the efficiency of someone who had done this far too many times before. There was no conversation, no last-minute pleading. Just the quiet shuffle of papers stacking neatly in his hands as he made his way down each row.

By the time he reached the front of the room, the last paper added to the pile, his voice rang out once more—firm, unwavering.

"This concludes today's assessment."

Another ripple of movement. A few students stretched, others flexed their fingers after gripping their pens too tightly. But no one dared to speak first, not until they were dismissed.

Galen placed the stack of quizzes on his desk, straightening them into a perfect pile before leveling his gaze at the class.

"Lunch break begins now. You are dismissed."

The silence broke all at once. The moment he finished speaking, students wasted no time gathering their things. Chairs scraped against the floor, hushed conversations resumed, and a collective breath of relief settled over the room as they filed toward the door. Some hurried out immediately, eager to put the test—and the morning's tension—behind them. Others lingered, slower in their movements, casting cautious glances at their classmates, at Damien, at Leon.

Damien, of course, looked completely unbothered. He stretched lazily, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the stiffness of sitting still for too long. His smirk had returned, but it was quieter now, subdued, as if today had merely been an interesting distraction.

Leon, on the other hand, was still tense. His hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, the weight of unspoken anger and frustration pressing down on him. But he didn't lash out. Not yet. He simply shouldered his bag and made his way toward the door.

But before he could step out—

"Leon Ardent."

The words were sharp. A command, not a request.

Leon stopped mid-step.

Every student in the doorway instinctively turned, sensing something more. Some hesitated, as if debating whether to stay and watch, but a single glance from Galen sent them on their way. The door clicked shut behind them.

And then, it was just the two of them.

Leon inhaled slowly before turning around, his golden-brown eyes still simmering with restrained fury. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

"You will report to my office immediately after lunch," Galen said, his voice clipped, professional, absolute. "You are under review for disciplinary action."

Leon's breath hitched ever so slightly.

Galen didn't give him the chance to argue.

"This is a formal summons. You will comply. Do you understand?"

Leon's fists clenched at his sides. A thousand words pressed against his lips, burning to be said. But something about the cold, final tone in Galen's voice kept him silent.

"…Yes, Instructor," he bit out, his voice stiff.

Galen gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable.

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"Good. Now leave."

Leon turned sharply on his heel and walked out.

Only once the door shut behind him did Galen allow himself a slow exhale.

This was going to be a long afternoon.

Without wasting another second, he moved to his desk, pulling out a separate folder—one labeled with a single title: Disciplinary Committee Review.

This wasn't just another scolding. This was serious.

Leon Ardent had lost control. He had used mana in an enclosed space, nearly crossing a line that could not be ignored. If Galen hadn't stepped in when he did, the outcome could have been catastrophic. And given the way tensions were already mounting this early in the year, leaving this unaddressed was not an option.

He straightened the documents inside, his mind already working through the formalities. He would need to assemble the committee members. The review would require official statements. The decision would need to be swift but precise.

And above all else—

It would have to be handled before Damien decided to escalate things himself.

Galen sighed, rubbing his temple briefly before rising to his feet.