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

A far-end corner booth leading outside.

As in outside-outside, not one of those booths that would lead to bigger adjacent rooms that would have at least offered extra space.

And as if fate wanted to doom them all, it was one of those booths where you get a diagonal landing for an entrance. Not only would it effectively reduce the opening allowed, but it would also limit the possible designs for the entrance.

That was what DG had been assigned after literally everyone, including the other vendors, got their own picks.

This year, there would be over two hundred fifty booths. While not all attending guilds were participating in the Astral Cup selection, this period was still the most anticipated time of the year for trade guilds and concessionaires. Every booth space was a battleground. Every square meter was a potential gold mine.

So as expected, the competition was brutal.

And of course, priority was given to guilds that secured the top spots in the ending Astral Cup.

Which meant guilds like the Silver Serpent, along with the guilds supported by the Dukes, practically waltzed their way into choosing the best locations. The ones near the entrance. The ones near the stage. The ones right along the foot traffic rivers that guaranteed massive exposure.

Naturally, they took the biggest spaces. The prime real estate.

Because who would willingly choose the disadvantaged spots?

Certainly not them.

Everything was going exactly as the organizers expected. That part was fine. Perfectly fine.

What was not fine was the thing they had been ignoring for days.

They had not heard back from DG at all.

Not a peep. Not a single confirmation. Not even a confused emoji.

They sent a sudden notice for the booth draw, and then just shrugged and let it be.

After all, there were only nine student members. Maybe the kids did not care about booth placement. Perhaps they were humble. Or maybe they were the quiet type who didn’t fuss over these details.

With the facade of their guild base, the others simply assumed they were like that. Also, with nine members, where only five of them were mecha pilots, surely they wouldn’t be going for the Astral Cup?

Then again, if everyone else was being honest, they chalked it up to DG already being wildly popular.

They were so popular that even if more people wanted to enter their establishment, it would be impossible to accommodate them. So what were they even supposed to promote? And was there truly any need for promotion when even they could not secure memberships because the daycare was already packed to the brim?

In the end, the organizers attributed their lack of communication to them simply not caring.

They didn’t push for communication.

They didn’t follow up.

Nor did they even send a second reminder.

Which, in hindsight, was the first mistake in a growing pile of mistakes.

Because while they assumed DG was simply too laid-back to respond, the truth was now flooding across Star Net like a spiritual tsunami.

Those cadets were fighting in a Mature Contaminated Zone, where they probably weren’t allowed outside contact.

Yes, fighting.

Oh, and they were fighting in a catastrophe-level battle at that.

With every hour passing, more clips poured out. More shaky footage. More eyewitness accounts of the nine cadets being terrifyingly competent. More forum threads filled with shock and awe.

And the organizers watched all of it in dawning horror.

They wouldn’t even be able to claim mild inconvenience when everyone could see exactly what that inconvenience looked like.

It was becoming more and more obvious that none of the nine could possibly have taken a moment to attend a mere booth draw.

And that was why the organizers were in despair.

Because how would the public react when they realized that the guild that fought beside the Marshal now had a booth that required everyone to trek to the farthest, coldest, least glamorous end of the building?

Of course, Adrian was losing his mind.

He had warned them.

He had warned the entire board.

He had said, very clearly, that perhaps they should send a second notice. Or a reminder. Or literally any form of communication to the newest guild in years, a guild that probably did not know all the new expo rules and placements yet.

But the old committee members simply scoffed. They said there was no need to waste time. As if Adrian didn’t know that they were just out there protecting the interests of their favorite guilds.

And now here they were.

Forced to stare at endless posts praising the DG cadets. Posts of shocked officers describing their battles. Posts of soldiers recounting events because they couldn’t accept the sensationalized headlines they saw upon returning.

More than that, they were now forced to face the newest wave of forum posts.

People asking supposedly simple questions.

”Where was DG’s booth going to be?”

”Where should they go?”

The organizers stared at the booth map.

At the very end.

Far corner.

Next to an exit.

Goddammit.

But before Chairman Lan, whose hands were already trying to keep his head from sliding off his body in despair, could speak, someone burst into the meeting room like a fired projectile.

The door slammed open.

”Imelda, what is this about?!” one of the senior organizers barked, offended at being interrupted mid-suffering.

But the frantic secretary did not even spare him a glance.

She went straight to Chairman Lan with the panic of someone who had seen their entire life flash before their eyes. ”Chairman Lan, there is communication from DG. They’re asking about their booth placement.” Her voice grew faster with every word, as if increasing speed could somehow reduce the severity of the disaster.

That immediately shut everyone up.

Someone finally managed to croak, ”What did you tell them? You told them we would call back later, right?”

Imelda looked at him as if he had personally cursed her entire bloodline. ”No,” she said tightly. ”Because they’re still on the line. Willing to wait. Sir, we have Young Lord Luca Kyros and Young Lord Kyle Nox waiting on the line. And they said they called because the other guilds have already posted their booth locations for the public to see.”

Silence.

Chairman Lan turned back to the screen displaying the endless praise for DG on Star Net. He let out a very long exhale, one that clearly carried the weight of every bad decision ever made in the history of the Expo Committee.

”Fine,” he said. ”I will speak to them.”

The room exploded.

”Chairman!” someone protested immediately. ”As you can see, the others already announced their locations. We cannot simply move their booths now just because of this. That will look even worse!”

”Yes, that’s correct,” another joined in. ”It’ll be seen as favoritism.”

A wave of murmurs followed. Heads nodded. A few even crossed their arms as if trying to brace themselves.

Chairman Lan slowly raised his hand.

The room stilled.

”You all seem to forget why we hold the Astral Cup and the Expo in the first place.”

No one dared speak.

”How inspired do you think people will be if they learn that worthy sacrifices result in punishment? We don’t need to shower them with rewards, but do you honestly believe others will consider a military career when they see we penalize the ones who prioritize the Empire’s safety?”

Everyone looked away.

Chairman Lan leaned forward. ”Allow me to illustrate. Let me send you to one of the zones. Let you face what they faced. And then upon your return, I will inform all of you that you have been replaced. Tell me, how impressive would that look?”

No one answered, because no one could.

Their objections died on their tongues, leaving the room quiet enough to hear the whir of the overhead lights.

Only then did Chairman Lan stand. ”Good. If there are no more brilliant arguments, I will speak to the cadets.”

Imelda sighed in relief as she hurried to connect the line.

__

Meanwhile, in one of the meeting rooms of the Dungeon-linked space...

Luca and Kyle were waiting in front of the shared terminal projection, surrounded by the rest of the guild, who were similarly waiting for feedback.

”Are they still busy?” Princess Kira whispered, peeking over Kyle’s shoulder.

Kyle did not answer. He simply looked over at Xavier, and the prince looked back.

It was a wordless exchange.

A conversation of raised eyebrows, narrowed eyes, and a shared understanding that they were being made to wait much longer than expected.

Luca fidgeted beside them. His feet tapped quietly, and his hands tightened around his notepad.

He was excited.

Too excited.

And that was exactly why Kyle was sweating internally.

Because an excited Luca meant two things.

A hardworking Xavier.

And an even more overworked Kyle Nox.

But the adjutant simply inhaled deeply. Because in truth, his little star had also approached him with that kind of wiggle that was admittedly worrisome. But with him being similarly excited like that, how could Kyle fail such a negotiation?

If they did not secure a good location, would the universe collapse?

Possibly.

But he didn’t want to be there for it.

So he was planning an all-kill and was preparing suggestions on how they could move things around.

The organizers, on the other hand, were steeling themselves with equal dread. They had no idea what kind of negotiation they were about to enter.

So when a smiling cadet with a jovial voice came to say hello, the council didn’t expect to hear an odd proposal.