The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]

But who would’ve thought he’d see that part of his design in action today?

Because of a development no one had predicted, the battle took a sharp turn.

Marshal Julian’s grip on Luca’s mecha arm tightened, just as a sharp hiss sounded. A split second later, the white mecha’s left arm detached entirely, breaking free with a jolt as Luca drove a puncturing tool directly into the severed forearm.

Fluid erupted in a sudden spray.

”!!!”

”What the—”

The crowd reeled, stunned into silence before noise returned in a rush.

Duke Leander jolted up with a strangled sob, horrified at the sight of his son’s mecha losing an arm. His trembling hands clutched at the railing as he swayed in shock.

But then—

”No. Look, our son... He actually detached it himself,” Duchess Amelia said in a similarly surprised fashion, eyes narrowing. ”Look closer.”

And she was right.

The fluid hadn’t come from internal damage. It burst outward in a deliberate arc, spraying across the Marshal’s mecha like it had been made to do just that.

Luca had shielded himself just in time and leapt backward with startling control, keeping the mecha steady despite the loss of a limb.

Julian moved to follow—only to halt mid-step.

His brows furrowed.

Something resisted.

A quick systems check revealed the cause.

Ice. And it was spreading fast.

It coiled up from the legs of his mecha in delicate, crystalline patterns.

Too late, he realized why Luca had shielded himself during the detachment: the fluid had been cryogenic.

The entire move wasn’t exactly planned. But it was one that Luca thought he could pull off. And maybe it’d be a way for mechanics to deal with situations where the power gap was just impossible to bridge. Maybe they could do something in the same fashion.

Because, honestly, there were really times when it was much better to just bolt.

Like now.

So while the Marshal stood frozen in every sense of the word, Luca disappeared once again, slipping into stealth mode.

This time, he didn’t retreat in the direction everyone expected. The fading image of his mecha had been a ruse. The real Luca had already veered the opposite way.

Inside the cockpit, his hands trembled from the adrenaline. His breath came in short bursts, and for a moment, he could hear nothing but the hammering of his own heartbeat.

Then, a grin tugged at his lips.

”Wow,” he exhaled. ”I’ve never fought like that before.”

He sounded stunned by himself, but undeniably thrilled. Somehow, he was still standing.

After gaining enough distance, Luca pulled up his interface, fingers steadying as he accessed the mecha’s space button, from where a replacement arm emerged. Using his internal stabilizers, he guided the component into position. Sparks flew as the mechanized arms handled the attachment process. Cables slotted in. Servos hummed. The limb flexed, fully operational within seconds

And just like that, the mecha was back to normal. Or as normal as a mecha that originally looked part machine, part myth could look like.

Back in the arena, the crowd could barely comprehend what they’d witnessed.

Many clutched their hearts, while others stood frozen, unsure whether to cheer, cry, or collapse.

But among them, one prince sat calmly in the middle of the chaos.

Xavier’s expression remained serene, but his lips twitched slightly as he suppressed a smile. He could imagine exactly how his little wife must’ve felt in that moment—clever, excited, probably still high on instinct and panic.

Perhaps next time, he ought to ask his uncle for more ”mock battles” like this.

Around him, the spectators were reacting in waves of disbelief, awe, and reluctant respect. Some wept. Some applauded. While others still looked baffled and confused.

Meanwhile, a certain blonde had nearly scaled his boyfriend’s shoulders in full-body panic.

”MY BROTHER’S MECHA ISN’T EVEN MEANT FOR COMBAT!” Ollie cried out, equal parts proud and appalled as he was completely taken by the scene that just unfolded.

Kyle reached up, tugged him down from his perch, and held him in place as the arena echoed with one final announcement.

”See? It’s the end of testing.”

Ollie froze. He actually forgot it was a test.

One that definitely had an ending.

Then, upon processing the announcement, he immediately launched himself into the air again, throwing both hands up in joy.

”I knew it! I’ve always believed in my brother! If anyone could escape that, it would be him!”

Sure, that was one way to put it.

Although in that scenario, one cadet, one system, one guardian mecha, and one unlucky piece of human cargo actually made it out. The last of which was still shaking and seriously questioning every decision that had led him to this moment—wherever ’this’ even was.

Deputy Officer Curtis closed his eyes and sighed as his internal organs finally stopped spinning.

Maybe he should consider submitting his early retirement paperwork tomorrow?

Just... just... right after he finished throwing up.

Blergh!

__

Then again, maybe retirement would have to wait.

At the rate things were going, they were all about to become so overwhelmingly busy that multitasking during sleep might become standard procedure. Schedules? Gone. Weekends? A myth. Sleep? Optional.

And the reason for this glorious chaos?

A cadet.

A cadet who, without hesitation, carried a very confused mecha pilot like he was presenting a treasured gift to the Empire.

Curtis dangled in the white mecha’s grasp, arms flopped and eyes unfocused, blinking like he still hadn’t caught up with reality.

Of course, Curtis was important.

But not that important.

Because the moment Luca’s mecha descended and the retrieval sequence completed, every single master mechanic in the vicinity stopped caring about anything that wasn’t made of alloy, tubing, plating, or energy nodes.

Pandemonium followed.

A stampede.

Well... the elderly equivalent of one.

Old men and women shuffled as fast as their knees would allow, robes hitched up, canes discarded, shoes squeaking, as they all made a mad rush for the mechas they hadn’t been allowed to examine until today.

It wasn’t graceful. But it was passionate.

All except two.

Master Allan remained rooted where he stood, watching as the cadet with the soft smile was engulfed by a crowd of frenzied, excited mecha masters, each shouting questions and circling him like pilgrims visiting a sacred site.

And just a few steps away, Master Quinn adjusted his coat and began his slow descent toward the arena, hands neatly behind his back.

But before leaving, he paused beside Allan.

The man’s expression was unreadable, but his wide eyes trembled slightly as he stared down at the scene unfolding below.

Quinn spoke softly, voice almost wistful.

”Allan, no one wanted to stop dreaming. Not them, not me, and certainly not you.”

He didn’t look for a reaction. He simply continued.

”All we did was buy time—holding on as long as we could, just to give those who could fulfill those dreams a real fighting chance.”

Then, with a sideways glance and a teasing smile, Quinn added, ”And while you didn’t exactly age like fine wine, I do hope you won’t miss the chance when it’s finally presented to you.”

He walked away after that, leaving Allan standing alone in silence.

There were a thousand things Allan wanted to say.

He wanted to scoff, to shout, to finally call Quinn out for vanishing, for leaving, for abandoning what they had built. He wanted to accuse them all of running away.

But somewhere deep down, he hesitated.

Because maybe... just maybe... it hadn’t been them who walked away from science, innovation, and humanity.

Maybe it was him.

He was the one who stayed behind. The one who marched forward alone. The one who insisted on pushing through with a system that, back then, couldn’t even move.

And now, as he watched that young cadet surrounded by admiration, as he saw the shine of new metal and new ideas—

He realized it.

That mecha the Marshal had used? That was proof enough of the cadet’s brilliance. He was clearly capable of making mechas of that caliber, but the mecha he chose to showcase today... was a support-type.

Something no one would have ever expected.

Something humble. Practical. Timely.

Something that answered the current need.

And maybe, in the grand scheme of things, that was what a true genius looked like.

Allan exhaled slowly.

”Apologies, Duke Zorath,” he murmured under his breath before taking a step forward. ”It looks like we’re going to lose this time.”