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

”What on the ever-loving hell—” Tyson started, then stopped, because whatever he had been about to say clearly required a few more seconds of processing.

Owen felt that in his soul.

Because when Kyle had told them to head inside, Owen had been picturing something reasonable. Maybe a few rooms connected to the reception hall. Maybe a lounge. Maybe a hall with seats and signs and polite lighting.

Not this.

So much for a room.

The space opened up so suddenly that Owen’s brain lagged a full second behind his eyes. His steps slowed without him realizing it, his body reacting before his thoughts could catch up.

Glass stretched everywhere.

It layered over steel beams that curved upward in elegant arcs, soaring so high that the teen had to tilt his head back until his neck protested. Sunlight poured in from every angle, bright and unrestrained, scattering across the floor and walls until squinting became mandatory to look up.

Greenery climbed wherever it pleased.

Balconies stacked above them and vines spilled lazily over railings. Shrubs actually grew inside the structure, the foliage shooting out proudly like that had always been an expected outcome.

Owen’s mouth was confused with what to do first.

But then he ended up delaying that problem because there was something even more striking at the very end of the atrium—

His neck craned back even farther.

”Oh,” someone whispered behind him.

”Oh wow,” another voice corrected reverently.

Because standing at the very back of the space was a mecha.

Not a small one.

Not a decorative one.

A full, towering white machine with broad shoulders and wing-like extensions folded neatly behind it, positioned like a guardian watching over the entire space. It wasn’t doing anything.

But Owen thought that it wouldn’t really have to do anything but just stand there.

That would have been more than enough.

A few people clustered around its base, looking ridiculously small by comparison, frozen in the exact same stunned posture Owen and his friends had adopted. And judging by their expressions, they were just as trapped in the process of staring and rethinking their understanding of reality.

But how could they not spend enough time to stare and process life when there were just so many things to see.

To the right, a brightly marked area labeled ARCADE flashed with color. Machines stood in neat rows, painted in bold shades, fitted with levers, hoops, and unfamiliar contraptions that looked wildly different from the virtual pod games Owen’s generation had grown up with.

”What even is that?” Mason muttered.

Owen had no answer.

At the center of the atrium were circular couches arranged around recessed tables.

Tables filled with paint.

The giant teen blinked.

Huh, paint?

He leaned forward slightly, trying to figure out what exactly was happening there, but his inspection was cut short when someone elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

”Owen,” Tyson hissed. ”Look. Over there.”

The blond turned his head.

Then froze.

”...A kitchen,” he said slowly. ”That’s a kitchen.”

The words came out of him automatically, layered with disbelief and a strange sense of recognition.

The youngest Mylor muttered under his breath, for several reasons.

Unlike most of the Empire, who were only just beginning to learn about the concept and beauty of kitchens, and not just appliances, Owen had... experience.

For one, his parents had briefly gone insane and decided to outfit all of their properties with that thing called a kitchen.

At the time, Owen had questioned their sanity. Their health. Their financial judgment.

Then he learned what it was for.

Then he tasted the results.

And finally, he had reached the inevitable conclusion that his parents were, in fact, geniuses.

They had bought the appliances before everything sold out.

That alone made them such admirable visionaries in his eyes.

But while he could speak about the kitchen at their house, he couldn’t exactly talk about how he had personally learned to cook for his side-job. That secret was staying buried together with the NDAs he had signed.

But standing there now, staring at that unmistakable space with counters, equipment, and preparation areas, Owen felt excitement coil tight in his chest.

Because if there was a kitchen here.

Then that had to be it.

The place where the cooking lessons with Luca would happen!

The teens were still in the middle of an animated, half-whispered discussion when their excited kitchen conference ended up derailed at once.

It started with a shriek.

A gleeful, hair-raising, completely unrestrained shriek that echoed across the atrium and bounced right off the glass and steel above them.

”EEEEEEE!”

Everyone jumped.

Owen flinched so hard his shoulders nearly hit his ears.

”W-what was that?!” Tyson yelped while hiding behind one of their friends.

But before anyone could answer, something shiny caught Owen’s eye.

Golden strips.

Lots of them.

They were pouring out of a machine in a glittering cascade, fluttering down like some kind of absurd metallic snowfall.

”...Hey,” Mason began slowly, ”guys, what’s that supposed to be?”

”!!!”

The machine itself looked like it was losing its mind.

Lights flashed. Music blared. Popping sounds went off in rapid succession like it was celebrating a personal milestone carefully calibrated by one elf whose muse was one crazy little system.

The entire thing vibrated with enthusiasm, clearly convinced that whatever had just occurred was very important.

Standing in front of it was a stranger the teens did not recognize.

Well, he looked rather calm. Or maybe it was that he looked a bit lost?

But beside him, a girl with bright eyes and boundless energy was practically bouncing off the floor.

”REEVE! IT SAYS YOU WON SOMETHING!” Thea cried, clutching at the edge of the machine as if afraid it might take the moment back.

More tickets spilled out.

The pile grew.

The shriek resumed.

”I don’t know what this does,” she continued breathlessly, ”but it has to be good! Look at how happy it is!”

The machine responded by playing an even louder victory tune.

The teens stared.

Their mouths slowly opened.

”Oh,” Owen muttered. ”Oh wow.”

They had never played anything like that before, but recalled what Kyle mentioned earlier.

They didn’t know the rules, nor did they know the objective. And they certainly didn’t know what the tickets were for.

But judging by the lights, the sounds, and the sheer amount of enthusiasm radiating from both the machine and Thea, this was clearly something incredible.

”That,” Tyson said reverently, ”is definitely a good thing.”

”Guys...” Art whispered, vibrating from head to toe.

Owen blinked.

He slowly turned to look at his friends.

They looked back at him.

No one said a word.

They didn’t need to.

In perfect, wordless agreement, the group pivoted and rushed toward the machines that would cause who-knows-what-kind of riot.