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

But maybe one Elven Prince and his distressed aide shouldn’t have gone down there for the sake of their apparently fragile hearts?

Maybe.

However, the damage had already been done, and Rahil, for one, was now operating purely on survival instinct.

Survival from what, one might ask?

Well, from being quietly and efficiently eliminated by his own master.

Because Rahil could not, for the life of him, stop his body from shaking at the sheer audacity of the man’s impossible luck.

Snorting was not an option. Not now. Not ever. In fact, snorting would likely be the final nail in his coffin, the kind that would definitely seal shut before anyone even realized he had gone missing.

If his body refused to cooperate and betrayed him at the wrong moment, Rahil was certain he wouldn’t even make it to a formal execution. No. This would be a silent and clean affair. The sort where his ashes might be scattered into the wind before anyone could ask inconvenient questions like how or why such a tragedy occurred.

After all, as the primary witness to what had just happened, the only way to truly deny the reality of it was to ensure that he could never speak of it.

Permanently.

And yet, the situation begged the question.

Just what exactly had happened for him and the proud Elven Prince to end up tucked into a corner like this, with one of them dry-heaving into a handkerchief while the other had fully checked out?

__

It was, truly, a tale of what could have been.

Because in the span of time it would normally take other would-be couples, especially the deeply in-denial kind, to move from an offending doorway to the wall and then onward to a bed, one Elven Prince had managed only a single thing.

He had gone down from their perch.

And lined up.

That was it.

But, as it turned out, fate had blessed Prince Elior with the luck of the gods’ favorite child, paired, unfortunately, with the lived experience of a military training dummy.

And so, inevitably, it happened.

Waiting in line as discreetly as possible, Elior found himself shifting his stance every few moments.

Not because the line was long or uncomfortable. But because his thoughts absolutely refused to behave.

Was it really smart to be down here?

What if she recognized him?

Worse, what if she didn’t recognize him?

That thought made his stomach twist. And yet, almost immediately, he scolded himself for it. Of course, she wouldn’t recognize him. He barely recognized himself like this.

His scent was muted. Carefully layered and suppressed until it barely registered as anything distinct. His ears were tucked in just enough to pass as unusual rather than unmistakably elven, despite his height still making subtle excuses for him. His posture was restrained. His presence deliberately softened.

And he didn’t even try to use his abilities.

At this point, it would be useless. He’d seen the unusual way that booth detected the use of spiritual abilities and didn’t want to be called out that way.

More importantly, the moment he reached the counter, his terminal would still tag his identity to his Expo Pass. They had entered as part of the official elven delegation and were likely monitored, one way or another.

Then again, what of it?

It wouldn’t really matter what form he showed up in.

Because the truth was painfully simple.

It would be impossible for her to recognize someone who hadn’t even been honest about their entire self.

Especially now.

In fact, his most honest move so far had been showing her the scar across his torso. But he couldn’t possibly walk around topless, hoping she’d recognize him without outright killing him.

So really, what was she supposed to do with that embarrassing bit of honesty?

Nothing.

In fact, she didn’t need to do anything. Shouldn’t have to do anything.

This was his situation to navigate. His responsibility. And he couldn’t expect things to magically work out in his favor when he knew better than to expect anything, as someone who had since lived a disastrous life.

He really hadn’t known peace in a very long time.

And his life certainly wasn’t going to change today just because he had been lucky enough to see her stationed outside the booth.

That alone was already more luck than he deserved.

But then the ground rumbled.

Just slightly.

Elior blinked and looked up.

The people in front of them were shifting. Those who weren’t in line suddenly moved aside; some stepped back, others turned to see what was happening. The loose crowd parted in a way that immediately caught his attention.

And then he saw why.

Wading through the gathered people with unmistakable momentum was the female orc he had been unsuccessfully trying not to stare at for the past several hours.

Kira.

His heart nearly stopped.

No. It definitely stopped. Then restarted violently, thudding so hard against his ribs that he felt dizzy.

She was coming closer.

Fast.

Too fast.

His thoughts scrambled. Was she coming toward the line? Toward the counter? Toward him?

Rahil, standing beside him, watched in silent disbelief as the impossible unfolded. For one terrifying moment, even the pessimistic aide wondered if love truly was a form of insanity.

Could their relationship be so strong that it only took them coming down from that perch for his boss to be recognized?

Wow.

Understandably, Elior was frozen in place.

If even Rahil was frozen, then what else could be expected of the man who had a tally for missed greetings?

Elior’s breath caught. His vision narrowed. His heart slammed against his chest with wild, uncoordinated fervor. And as she closed the distance, smiling brightly and lifting a hand, his body acted before his brain could stop it.

He lifted his hand too.

A greeting.

A hopeful, foolish greeting.

To everyone else, the princess looked like she was charging forward with gusto, the kind that would send unfortunate bystanders stumbling if they failed to move out of the way fast enough.

But to Elior, blinded by devotion and selective perception, she was excitedly coming to him.

She was smiling.

She was waving.

She was approaching.

His heart pounded faster.

This was impossible.

This couldn’t be happening.

He wasn’t allowed this kind of fortune.

His hand hovered there, poised, trembling slightly, ready to meet hers.

And then.

She sidestepped him completely.

Princess Kira darted past his outstretched hand without so much as a pause and threw herself into greeting the person behind him.

”Miss Cece!”

The voice was bright and warm. And he should have known better than to expect it was meant for him.

Elior’s world momentarily shattered.

Behind him stood someone who definitely had to be Cece. A very short dwarf. So short that from most angles, she was completely obscured by Elior’s tall frame.

The two women greeted each other happily, laughing, hands clasped together, completely unaware of the devastation they had just caused.

Elior remained frozen.

His hand was still out.

Still raised.

Still empty.

Rahil stared.

Other people stared.

Time stretched.

And then.

Blood dripped.

Rahil noticed it first.

”...Your Highness,” he whispered in horror.

Elior blinked faintly as warm liquid slid down from his nose.

Of course.

Of course, this would happen.

At that moment, staring blankly ahead while the gods themselves seemed to laugh in unison, Elior found himself wondering a single, desperate thing.

Why had they not simply taken his life outright if they were this committed to watching him suffer?