Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate Chapter 363: You are not the only one who can see the future

Capítulo 363: You are not the only one who can see the future (2)

“Grandmother. You are not the only one who can see the future.”

Erin’s brows lifted—just slightly, but enough to fracture the centuries of composure etched into her face.

“…What?” she said.

Vivienne’s breath caught. Dominic’s shoulders tightened.

“What do you an, Damien?” Vivienne asked, voice sharp but laced with dread.

Damien staggered slightly, his knees nearly buckling beneath him before he caught himself on the edge of a broken rune-etched pillar. Blood still ran from the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t wipe it this ti. His hand trembled. Not from weakness.

From weight.

“I wanted to hide this a little longer,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded. “I wanted more ti. But I guess the mont ca sooner than I thought.”

His gaze lifted, locking onto Erin’s with a clarity that silenced the chamber once more.

“I saw a future.”

The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. They fell with the gravity of prophecy.

Erin froze.

And this ti, the silence wasn’t control.

It was recognition.

Because she knew.

The Valeheart family—her family—were not just Readers of threads. Not just Seers. They were Witnesses of the Mystery. And sotis, rarely, the threads granted a glimpse not just of the present or the past—but of what may be. A possible future. A thread spun farther down the weave.

Not guaranteed.

Not absolute.

But true, in its way.

When she had tested Vivienne and Dominic days ago—examining the potential shapes of their fate, asuring the proximity of Damien’s power to theirs—it had taken all her restraint not to fall deeper. The Mystery whispered possibilities, but never more than hints. It was rare. Dangerous. And always conditional.

But now—

“You saw a future?” she asked, carefully.

Damien nodded.

Not with triumph this ti. But gravity.

“I saw what happens if I keep walking as I was,” he said. “Not the boy you rember. Not the coward who curled inward whenever the world pressed back. The real one. The one even I didn’t want to see.”

He looked at Dominic. Then Vivienne. Then, last, back to her.

“I saw what I beca. What I let myself beco. I saw tragedy, destruction—because I was too weak. Too obsessed. Too angry at all the wrong things. Too… blind.”

The blood from his lips glinted like ink, but his voice was clean.

“I saw lives ending because I failed to act. I saw people I loved—yes, loved—die, because I didn’t move fast enough. Because I hesitated. Because I kept living like a spoiled, bitter child.”

He swallowed hard.

“And I hated him.”

His voice dropped.

“That version of . I hated everything about him. His excuses. His cowardice. His rot. And when I saw the end of that thread, when I saw what he beca… I knew I had to cut it.”

The mana in the room stilled. Even the threads of fate, usually rustling like wind behind Erin’s eyes, felt… paused.

Damien pressed on, softer now, but more resolved than ever.

“It wasn’t just a dream. It wasn’t a vision. I lived it. I felt every loss. Every breath. I saw myself crumble, again and again, until there was nothing left worth calling a man.”

He raised his head higher.

“And I decided I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Erin’s mouth parted, but she didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to.

Because he wasn’t done.

“I’m not so parasite,” he said. “I didn’t steal this body. I didn’t wake up pretending to be soone. I am Damien Elford. And when I saw what I was going to beco, I chose to kill that future. I ended it. Not because soone told to. Not because a god reached down and rewrote .”

He tapped his chest, weakly—but it still echoed in the space between them.

“Because I chose it.”

His breath was ragged. But his words were not.

“I chose to be sothing else. Sothing better. That’s why I changed.”

He smiled—not with mockery this ti, but with weight.

“With pain. With cost. With scars you can’t see.”

He looked up at Erin again.

“Isn’t that what you always wanted, Grandmother?”

And this ti—this ti—Erin did not speak.

Because there was nothing she could say.

Damien let the silence linger just long enough to settle into their bones.

Then, through cracked breath, he added, “That’s why I said you were an arrogant woman.”

Erin’s eyes, sharp and unmoved through so many battles and decades of truth, flinched. Just slightly. But it was real.

“You’ve beco one,” he said. “So sure of your sight. So sure of your judgnt. You, who see through emperors and liars and gods—couldn’t even consider the possibility that I might’ve seen sothing too.”

His voice deepened, not louder, but heavier.

“That soone like might carry Mystery in a way even you couldn’t understand.”

He took one step forward. The blood on his boots left prints behind.

“Even the idea that I might choose this path—choose to climb out of my own rot—never passed through your mind. Why? Because you already decided what I was.”

He paused.

“You, who have seen countless lives. Threads shattered. Worlds turned.”

Then he said it.

The old words. The family’s original creed. Not the refined phrasing they used in formal rites. Not the version etched in silver along the Hall of Founders.

But the raw one.

The one Erin herself had been forced to learn as a child, back when her own mother still wore the Seat and ruled the family like fla through glass.

“The eyes that see must doubt first—else they go blind before they go deep.”

Erin’s breath caught. Visibly.

Her mana stuttered.

Because she had forgotten.

Not the words.

But what they ant.

And now—now—the sha settled.

She had mixed her certainty with pride. Her insight with ego. Her vision, her fad clarity, had been clouded by her own expectations. Her disgust. Her disappointnt.

And she hadn’t seen it.

Not until now.

Not until her grandson, bloodied and defiant, reminded her what her own mother had once carved into her ribs with magic and fury.

And now—she saw.

It made sense.

The sudden shift in Damien’s presence.

The brutal discipline.

The willpower that should have taken decades, manifesting in months.

The impossible Awakening under Cradle.

The severing of the old path.

If what he said was true—if he had seen what he claid—then everything aligned.

It fit.

Vivienne stepped forward, voice faint. “What did you see, Damien?” she asked, not as a demand, but as a plea.

He looked at her. His mother.

Then at Erin again.

And softly—calmly—he said, “I can’t tell you.”

A single breath passed.

And Vivienne closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

Because she knew.

And Erin did too.

It was the law of their power. The nature of Mystery itself.

Even those who touched the shape of futures could not speak them aloud. Not truly. Not in full. To reveal the shape was to change the thread, warp the weave, turn the possible into poison.

To speak a true future was to kill it.

Damien said it anyway, for their sake.

“It’s a restriction of the Mystery,” he murmured. “I saw it. I lived it. But I can’t share it.”

He looked down, fingers curling into the air as if holding the weight of that truth.

“All I can do,” he whispered, “is prove that I’m not him anymore.”

And for the first ti—

Erin lowered her hand.

The spell unraveled into nothing.

Not out of rcy.

Not out of acceptance.

But because—for the first ti since this began—

She believed him.