Damien walked through the dimly lit halls of the mansion, his footsteps steady against the polished marble floors. The cold air of the corridor kissed his skin, the scent of old wood and expensive polish lingering in the space.

But his mind was elsewhere.

Elysia.

That moment—when she had first entered the room, when their gazes had met—his body had shaken.

Even now, just thinking about it made his jaw tighten.

It wasn't fear. Not entirely.

It was the trait.

[SImp]

A disgusting, wretched thing that had clawed at his insides the second her piercing green eyes locked onto him.

The body's instinct had been to submit, to flinch, to wilt under her cold, calculating stare.

But he refused.

He would not bow to this pathetic curse shackled to him.

And so he overcame it. Forced himself to move past it. Conquered it with sheer will alone.

And the result?

Ding!

The system's notification echoed in his mind.

[Hidden Quest: Move Elysia's cold heart and make her unable to understand.]

Achieved.

Reward: +50 SP

[Hidden Quest: Make Elysia clothe you.]

Achieved.

Reward: +10 SP

A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

And then, one final message.

[Host acted like a scoundrel. Reward pending…]

Ah.

Now that was interesting.

The system hadn't given him a concrete number yet. Instead, it was waiting. Calculating, perhaps, or judging the weight of his actions.

Damien exhaled through his nose, amused.

A scoundrel, huh?

It seemed the system truly was tailored to his desires. My Virtual Library Empire (M|V|LE1MPYR) thanks you for reading at the source.

His steps remained steady, hands tucked into his pockets as he moved through the familiar halls.

The corridor stretched before him, bathed in the soft glow of high-end luminescent panels embedded seamlessly into the sleek metallic ceiling. Their light was warm, diffused, yet carried an almost artificial perfection—an intentional blend of luxury and technological advancement.

The world outside had long since evolved beyond the limitations of simple electricity. Light in this age wasn't just light—it was carefully crafted ambiance, tailored to enhance the grandeur of the environment. The walls themselves, lined with subtle holo-ornaments, displayed shifting patterns of classical elegance. Every few steps, a soft pulse of gold shimmered across the surface, an automated response to motion.

It was modern futurism, wrapped in old-world wealth.

The Elford Mansion was a relic and a statement. A place built on aristocratic roots yet reinforced with cutting-edge advancements, where status wasn't just flaunted—it was embedded into the very architecture.

But Damien paid no attention to the grandeur around him. His mind was elsewhere.

Ding!

A notification shimmered before his eyes.

[Hidden Quest: Act Like a Scoundrel]

Achieved.

Reward: +25 SP, +50 EXP

With that, his total SP had climbed to 95.

He clicked his tongue, glancing at the numbers as he walked.

Even after accumulating this much, he had yet to reach Level 1.

That alone told him plenty.

The system wasn't going to hand him power on a silver platter.

It was clear that different actions yielded different rewards.

Shaving his body? +10 SP.

Having Elysia clothe him? +10 SP.

Simple, menial tasks. They required no effort beyond initiative. It wasn't hard to deduce that basic self-improvement granted only minor gains.

But then—

Moving Elysia's heart, making her falter even for a moment? +50 SP.

Acting like a scoundrel? Even more.

It wasn't just about playing the role. It wasn't about brute force or empty rebellion.

The system was responding to him.

Who he was.

How he carried himself.

And, more importantly—

How much he defied the weaknesses of his old self.

The Simp trait. That disgusting shackle that had tried to bend him under Elysia's gaze.

He had rejected it.

Overcome it.

And the system had rewarded him for it.

As Damien continued down the corridor, his thoughts churned, piecing things together.

'System,' he called out inwardly, his gaze never leaving the path ahead. 'Explain something to me. These rewards—they aren't just about acting like a scoundrel, are they?'

[The system rewards actions that align with the host's nature and defy the constraints placed upon him by external forces, including his own inherent flaws.]

His smirk deepened. So he was right.

'So it's not about playing a role. It's about resisting the bullshit that held me back.'

[Affirmative. The host's growth is determined by his ability to break free from his imposed limitations. The stronger the resistance, the greater the rewards.]

Damien let out a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his damp hair.

'So if I keep acting like myself… If I continue rejecting the pathetic impulses of the old Damien Elford… this system will help me thrive.'

[Correct. However, the system also acknowledges that true growth comes with risk. Not all challenges will be simple to overcome. The host will be tested.]

He clicked his tongue, amused. 'Is that supposed to scare me?'

[It is a warning. Growth is neither free nor easy.]

Damien exhaled through his nose, considering that for a moment. Then, a low laugh rumbled in his chest.

'I wouldn't have it any other way.'

The system remained silent, but he didn't need a response.

He had already made up his mind.

This wasn't just some random gift. It was an opportunity—one he would exploit to its fullest.

His pace quickened, his posture shifting subtly. No longer was he simply walking—he was striding. With intent. With purpose.

Damien's steps remained unwavering as he moved through the grand halls of the Elford mansion, his hands tucked into his pockets. His thoughts still lingered on the system's last message, but he shoved them aside as the scent of roasted meats and aged wine drifted through the air.

The dining hall loomed ahead—tall, imposing, and bathed in the soft glow of chandelier light.

As he stepped through the massive double doors, a presence immediately made itself known.

The butler, an aging man with sharp eyes, was already waiting. His gaze flickered with something unreadable before he spoke in his usual measured tone.

"Young master… dinner has begun. Sir and Madam—"

Damien met the butler's gaze, his smirk unwavering. The old man—Regis—stood tall, his face carved from stone, but Damien saw it. That barely veiled contempt. The way his eyes flickered with silent judgment, his mouth pressing into a thin line, as if simply acknowledging Damien's presence was beneath him.

'Ah. You still think you can look down on me, don't you, old man?'

He nearly laughed. The sheer audacity of it. Regis had served the family for decades, long enough to see Damien's rise—and his fall. To him, Damien was still the same pathetic boy who once groveled for his father's approval, who once flinched under his mother's cold indifference.

That was fine.

'Let him think that. Let him believe I'm still that weak, trembling fool. I'll deal with him later.'

Without a word, Damien stepped past him, his pace unhurried, but purposeful.

The moment he crossed the threshold into the dining hall, the air shifted.

The clink of silverware. The soft murmur of conversation. The scent of perfectly seasoned meats, of fine wine poured into crystal glasses.

And then—

"You are late, Damien."