Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate

Capítulo 340: Resonance Cycle (2)

So that was it.

That was the real secret.

No formulas. No doctrines.

Just experience. Survival, burned into the body so deep, it became structure.

He leaned back slightly, the thought warm in his chest.

“No wonder the ones who survived the Cradle always came out monsters.”

There wasn’t just strength in that place. There was function.

It restructured you.

Or it killed you.

Either way, something new came out.

His smile twitched wider. Crooked. Quiet.

“Heh…”

It made sense now.

Not just the power.

The why of it.

The beast hadn’t protected him out of mercy.

It had shown him something.

And now, every breath he took was echoing that memory—refining mana not through intent, but through resonance.

Damien straightened his back slightly, keeping his posture anchored. The room around him dimmed just a little as the filtration deepened—each thread of ambient mana now spiraling inward, folding tighter, meeting the core’s standard and being accepted.

Not forced in.

Invited.

But as the seconds passed, and that flow continued—clean, efficient, unbroken—Damien realized something else.

It was slow.

Not the process itself. That was smooth. Consistent.

But the volume?

Barely a thread of mana entered at a time. Every cycle of breath brought in less than a droplet. And while it refined cleanly, while it fit—his core barely noticed the difference.

His inner eye drifted toward the core space again, observing the pool of Origin mana that lived there.

Still small.

Still shallow.

Of course it was.

He understood it now.

This was why cultivation took time. Why even prodigies needed years to climb through the early stages.

The core wasn’t a container.

It was a muscle.

You didn’t just fill it. You exercised it.

And with each repetition—each drop of mana refined and accepted—it stretched. Strengthened. Expanded.

Only when it reached its natural limit could it evolve. Break and reform into something stronger.

That was breakthrough.

That was progression.

And right now?

He was at the very beginning.

“Alright,” Damien muttered, almost amused. “So this is what they meant by foundation building.”

He let the thought pass through him and didn’t push against it.

There was no rush.

He didn’t need to become a monster overnight.

He just had to build right.

He settled deeper into his seat, focusing on that soft intake again—refining, spiraling, accepting. The tempo wasn’t fast. It wasn’t flashy. But it was his.

And then, slowly, something shifted around him.

He’d noticed it before. The mana here—structured. Clean. But up until now, he hadn’t been able to use that.

The Origin mana in his core was too different. Too selective. It filtered everything, rejecting anything that didn’t match its rhythm.

But now?

Now that he was refining—mirroring the structure—it was starting to synchronize.

Each time a thread of mana entered his lungs, his bloodstream, it felt easier.

It moved faster.

As if the room itself had noticed what he was doing—and was adjusting in kind.

Damien’s fingers twitched faintly in his lap.

“So it adapts,” he whispered. “Not just me.”

That made sense too.

The Stabilization Room wasn’t just a chamber.

It was a forge.

Not one that burned hotter—but one that kept its edge aligned with the blade being shaped.

The moment you knew how to use it… it moved with you.

And now?

It was helping him.

Refinement sped up. Still clean, still exact—but no longer a trickle. It began to pulse in rhythm with his breath. In with one. Out with the next. And with each rotation, the core beneath his ribs responded.

It didn’t grow yet.

But it throbbed.

A beat.

A signal.

Damien’s eyes stayed closed, the corner of his mouth ticking up slightly.

“This might take a while,” he murmured. “But I think I’m gonna like it.”

And then he went quiet.

Letting the world slow around him.

Breathing in.

Folding.

Refining.

And building—drop by drop—the start of something terrifying.

****

Outside the stabilization wing, the silence was different.

The suite was quiet.

Wide windows stretched along the far wall, though the view outside wasn’t natural—just a softly refracting mana field meant to simulate twilight. No real stars. No sun. Just light bent to feel earned.

Kael moved with casual ease through the space, hands loose at his sides, jacket already unbuttoned. He stopped near the bar tucked into the corner and turned his head over his shoulder.

“You want one?”

Dominic, who’d been standing with arms crossed near the simulated window, gave him a glance.

“That depends.”

Kael pulled open the narrow fridge drawer, fingers drifting over the row of bottles.

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Your favorite.”

Dominic’s brow lifted. “You have this here?”

“Yep.”

He held the bottle up—a matte black cylinder with minimal labeling, its neck wrapped in gold filament.

Dominic walked over without another word.

Kael poured two fingers into each glass and handed one over.

No toast. No ritual.

They just drank.

It wasn’t silence between them—just stillness with intent.

Finally, Kael broke it.

“How long do you think he’ll take?”

Dominic didn’t answer right away. He took another slow sip, then lowered the glass to his knee.

“At least a whole day,” he said. “If he’s being thorough.”

Kael tilted his head slightly.

“Only a day?”

“That’s the minimum. If he cuts corners.”

Kael smirked.

“He doesn’t strike me as the corner-cutting type.”

“He isn’t.”

“Still,” Kael mused, swirling his glass, “he went in clean. No blockages. Flow was raw, but responsive. Kid’s instinctive.”

Dominic grunted once. Neutral.

Kael leaned back into the armchair, letting one leg rest across the other. His voice stayed light, but not without substance.

“You think he’ll break the average?”

Dominic didn’t flinch. “I didn’t want him doing it here in the first place.”

Kael didn’t ask why. He already knew.

“It takes time,” Dominic said. “For most, it’s five days—minimum. A full week if they’re cautious or if their core throws fits.”

Kael nodded along.

“Two days if they’re trained geniuses,” Dominic added.

“And one,” Kael said, picking up the thread, “if they’re born for it.”

“Mm.”

“The heir of the Xirenth family,” Kael said after a beat. “What’s her name again?”

“Elira.”

“Right. Elira Xirenth. She stabilized in twenty-three hours.”

“She also had a custom-seeded core,” Dominic said. “Grown in vitro, synchronized through daily resonance checks since age six.”

Kael raised a brow. “So… rigged?”

“Not rigged,” Dominic said. “Just… optimized.”

Kael took another sip and chuckled.

“And here you are, dropping your son into a mountain lab instead of a family sanctum. I imagine Vivienne’s going to love that.”

Dominic’s jaw twitched. Just slightly.

“She’s already sent three pings.”

“She’ll send three more before sunrise.”

“She can wait.”

Kael gave him a long, sideways glance. Not mocking. Just amused.

“She’s going to say you kept him here on purpose. That you’re grooming him to detach.”

“She can really wait.”

Kael snorted quietly.

But he didn’t press.

There was a reason Dominic had wanted Damien to stabilize at home. In controlled space. With trusted anchors. And with Vivienne watching closely, he wouldn’t have been pulled in a dozen directions by well-meaning relatives or surveillance threads disguised as ‘concern.’

But that wasn’t the only reason.

“…His core’s different.”

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