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

Forget?

Well, not like anyone would ever believe they did.

For when the day finally came, the idea itself would have felt absurd.

__

The empire, particularly Planet Solara, rose much earlier than usual.

And in the wee hours of the morning, one Mylor took it upon himself to drive his entire family insane.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The sound of metal on metal echoed through the house like a war cry, loud enough to make neighbors from another city wonder if a meteor had just landed in their living room.

”RISE AND SHINE!”

A giant teen barreled down the hallway, holding two pans with the kind of determination commonly seen in soldiers charging into battle. Owen Mylor had never been awake this early in his short life unless bribes, punishments, or the potential loss of allowance (or his life) had been involved.

But today was different.

Today was sacred.

Today was the day.

He sprinted into bedrooms, into the kitchen, onto the sofa, into the grand hall, back into the hallways, then skidded across the floor because his socks had betrayed him.

”BIG DAY AHEAD!”

CLANG!

”WAKE UP! WAKE UP!”

CLANG CLANG!

”Everyone look alive!”

CLANG!

A pillow was launched at his head. A slipper joined it. Then another slipper. Then a blanket that covered his entire face.

But none of it stopped him.

Because how could he stop? How could anyone sleep in on a day like this?

The pans continued their torturous melody, and the Mylors’ capital manor suffered in chorus.

Owen kept yelling excitedly, ”Expo day! Expo day!” His voice cracked with enthusiasm as he tried to yank the curtains open and nearly ripped them clean off.

He was unstoppable.

Unstoppable and loud.

Very loud.

But unfortunately, for everyone within a 7,000-kilometer radius, he was not the only one.

Across Planet Solara, more than just a handful of people were awake at this ungodly hour. In fact, the only saving grace was that the Annual Expo was only held once a year. If it happened more often, there would probably be riots.

The organizers were awake. And pale. They were a single shove away from being escorted to the medical bay for suspected cardiac distress.

The participants were awake. And rehearsing. And re-rehearsing. And rehearsing the rehearsal of the rehearsal, because their lives absolutely seemed to depend on getting everything perfect.

The military and capital guards were awake. Their security concerns had multiplied by a hundredfold, and no one was emotionally ready for it.

Star Net employees were awake too. Not by choice, but because they were staking their entire livelihoods on delivering a seamless and perfectly covered stream. A single glitch would be career suicide.

Not being able to see that random 17-degree angle that no one should even care about? Death.

Inside the Imperial Palace, the household was operating with the frenzy of wedding preparations. Servants hustled. Advisors buzzed. Schedules clashed violently. The Imperial Family was preparing as if the empire itself were getting married.

Then there was the Academy.

The educators were awake.

And confused.

Deeply, profoundly confused.

Even at this final hour, not a single one of them knew exactly what was happening to a handful of their prized students.

Then again, if the members of the Academy were confused, what more the netizens who had been simmering restlessly for nearly two weeks?

The forums were alive. Chaotic enough that the servers occasionally wheezed. The betting threads were active, vicious, and multiplying like star-bound rabbits. Predictions were in abundance, and each new guess somehow sparked its own controversy.

It reached the point where hypothetical scenarios were being discussed as if they were historical events. Custom dramatic edits had been made. Fan art was circulating. Some people were even writing pre-emptive eulogies for the teams they supported.

But truly, who could blame them?

Because the news about the incoming foreign delegations had nearly lagged Star Net into oblivion.

[Federation Delegation Arrives in Matching Outfits. What are they trying to prove? Cohesion? Terrorism? A bold fashion statement?]

[Federation’s Youngest Delegate Spotted. Is He Twelve? Is He Forty?]

[A Different Elven Prince? A Fake Delegation?]

[Orc Delegation Touches Down. Ground Trembles as the King Arrives.]

[Aerun Princess Allegedly Caused Six Traffic Accidents By Existing]

The people couldn’t be stopped, and then, predictably, the panic began when the netizens couldn’t get enough news about the preparations of the guilds they were rooting for.

Because how come they had not been able to see even their shadow?

Where were they? Why had not even a blurry, pixelated, security-camera frame of a cadet appeared online?

The mystery thickened.

__

Meanwhile, somewhere in the confines of a pit, a golden-eyed cadet just woke from a lovely nap.

ACHOO!

The sneeze echoed loudly through the sealed space, causing everyone nearby to jolt as if they had been struck by lightning.

”Brother?!” One blonde panicked.

Princess Kira gasped. ”Is he sick?”

Ada, ever-prepared, held up a diagnostic scanner. ”Maybe we should check for good measure?”

Xavier, who was right beside Luca, immediately looked to assess his wife.

The newly awakened cadet, however, simply blinked and looked very pleased with himself. ”I’m fine, really! But, wow! With weather like this, it seems we made the right call.”

D-29 scanned the air while Theo looked at him with the same expression one would give a toddler dancing too close to a cliff.

But Luca only grinned, eyes sparkling brightly.

He looked up. Then around. Then up again.

The place still wasn’t lit despite everything being nearly done, but to Luca?

It was beautiful.

Everything they had done. Every improvised device. Every decoration. It was all becoming real.

He could practically feel the excitement humming under his skin.

His first interschool event.

A dream he had never thought he would ever be allowed to reach.

How exciting.

His little heart practically jumped.

__

If only he knew.

If only he knew how many others felt the same rising thrill.

__

Just a few buildings away, inside a temporary office overlooking the gleaming expanse of the Imperial Summit Exhibition Center, a young man sat behind a polished black desk.

Cassian Elion Veyra.

The Federation’s golden heir.

He leaned back slightly as he stared out at the distant buildings of the ISEC, where banners fluttered, and shuttles descended in perfect formation.

He looked calm.

Calm in a way that made the air feel too still.

A knock broke the silence.

Rhys Corvan stepped in, bowing slightly as he approached. ”Sir, it is time. The rest are waiting at the designated location as you commanded.”

Cassian did not turn to face him immediately.

His eyes remained on the sprawling view outside.

”Any more news?” he asked quietly.

Rhys shook his head. ”Nothing useful or remarkable, Sir.”

”Hmm.” Cassian tapped his fingers once on the armrest. ”Even to the very last moment... Interesting.”

Silence stretched a little.

Then he stood.

”Very well. Let’s go. I’d like to witness all of this with my own eyes.”

Rhys bowed again. ”Yes, Sir.”

Cassian stepped forward, and the adjutant caught the faintest smirk tugging at those lips.

Nothing good really comes when he’s amused. Thought Rhys, but such thoughts would never see the light of day.

Behind them, the door slid shut slowly.

Click.

And it sounded like the beginning of a new Chapter.