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

To be fair, that had been days ago.

But just because a few days had passed since his world had once again been violently rocked didn’t mean Marshal Julian was emotionally prepared for fresh trauma.

It was already enough that these two dimwits, who were allegedly allergic to each other, now smelled one and the same.

Sigh.

Moreover, given everything he had endured in the span of a week, he felt entirely justified in cutting Curtis off the moment the man opened his mouth.

”Marshal, have you heard—”

”Umph.”

Julian didn’t even let him finish. He raised a single finger and pressed it lightly against Curtis’s mouth, effectively silencing him before the cursed phrase could fully manifest into reality.

”There’s no need,” the Marshal began flatly, already launching into his own exasperated monologue. ”I don’t require the specifics. At this point, I’ve heard so many variations of whatever it is you’re about to say that it would be more efficient for you to send me a wedding invitation. Preferably one that confirms you’ve both survived each other after a few more days.”

He sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of an overworked nation.

When he finally looked up, fully prepared to glare at Curtis—who was still in the middle of atoning for his idiocy—he was instead met with Eden blinking at him.

Calm.

Unbothered.

Almost polite.

”Ah, well, Marshal,” she said carefully, ”there’s that. But he was just about to say there’s an update regarding the possible whereabouts of my brother.”

Julian paused.

”...What?”

Curtis gently removed the Marshal’s gloved finger from his mouth because, at some point, that needed to happen.

”Yeah,” he continued, thankfully not restarting with those three doomed words. ”It took a while. The simulated destinations weren’t exactly easy to narrow down.”

Now that sounded different.

Marshal Julian looked surprised because, well, this one sounded like good news despite how they had gotten to this point.

”...A mining planet?” he asked slowly. ”This came from D-29?”

Eden and Curtis exchanged a brief glance.

”In a sense, yes, Marshal,” Eden replied.

Julian’s brow lifted.

”In a sense?”

Curtis cleared his throat.

”Well. D-29 obtained the information from pirates.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Julian stared at them.

They stared back.

”...Pirates,” he repeated.

”Yes, Marshal.”

Lord.

Lord, help him.

__

Maybe it wouldn’t make the Marshal feel any better, but he might at least find some grim comfort in knowing it wasn’t just him being tested by the universe.

This was, in fact, an observable phenomenon across the Empire of Solaris.

That bad?

Yes.

Because while several key figures were scrambling to manage after-shift duties, intelligence leaks, questionable activities, and the looming threat of Prince Eren, there was still one massive distraction running in the background.

The Annual Expo.

At this point, it had already been running for nine days.

Nine days of bliss for the lucky few.

Nine days of envy for the cursed.

And recently, nine days of unsolicited dog food for single dogs who surely didn’t ask for it.

Wasn’t it enough that some people couldn’t even attend the Expo in person? Now they had to watch from their homes as couples paraded around with matching plushies and matching smiles.

Truly preposterous.

At the very least, though, it proved that Marshal Julian wasn’t the only one flinching whenever someone started a sentence with, ”Hey, have you heard—”

Because that phrase was now commonly followed by statements like:

”They’re getting married next month! I heard he proposed with an actual piece of chocolate!”

”The soldiers who were invited to DG’s booth? They’re coming back as real couples, you know!”

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The researchers and the busybodies had joined in, too.

”The other lab just confirmed that even after several days, the claw machine prizes are still outputting a consistent level of spiritual energy.”

”My neighbor’s kid redeemed a plushie set after risking his life (not) for an all or nothing game. Now they’re remodeling their house to increase safety measures because he succeeded.”

”About Reeve, remember him? Apparently, he got promoted. His coworkers volunteered his name after he distributed his Jade Vine quietly.”

”It’s not just that, but because the articles about the food were so popular and so well-liked that there’s even a successful petition to have him cover the next biggest event!”

While certain leaders prepared for a potential war, the general populace was busy obsessing over expo statistics, redemption yields, and romantic developments.

And then there was the biggest headline of them all.

”Holy! Have you heard? Master Mechanic Allan is facing off with Master Quinn after so many years!”

”What?!”

”Yeah! They said it’s a polishing competition orchestrated by DG!”

”Huh? Two master mechanics participating in an event hosted by cadets?”

”What two? Have you been living under a rock? All the masters have expressed interest in joining!”

”!!!”

As expected, the news spread like wildfire.

Forums exploded. Analysts speculated. Old rivalries resurfaced. Young mechanics nearly fainted from excitement, even though they had no idea what that polishing competition was all about.

Not mecha building or designing, but polishing?

Hmm.

Sure enough, a lot of people talked about their insane speculations, pushing other headlines out of the way.

Normally, something like this would’ve irritated anyone trying to hog the limelight. But this time was different. For one particular baldy who’d been quietly praying particular headlines would vanish on their own, the shift in attention felt nothing short of divine intervention.

Because if the entire Empire was busy arguing about polishing techniques and master-level pride, perhaps they wouldn’t have time to dissect everything else that had happened recently.

Like the ones that had happened so recently they still felt warm, barely past the present moment. Like when he finally made it to the very front of the line at DG’s Expo booth.

It had been a long time coming, one that had almost killed him every time he lined up, only to either be called back by his guildmates or end up turned away because the Expo was closing for the day.

However, that couldn’t possibly be the case today. Because today was Doyle Rook’s day off, it meant he could devote the entire day to getting his revenge.

It wasn’t enough that he had been embarrassed in front of his schoolmates, but he had even had to grit his teeth online while hiding his activity from his own guildmates as he ended up accidentally promoting House of Kyros!

Every time he thought about things, it felt like he was ready to pop a vein. So today, he was going to show everyone just how lacking DG members were in school spirit!

Hmph!

It was just that Doyle didn’t quite expect a very bright and traumatizing greeting of, ”Uncle! You’re here!”