The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]-Chapter 490: Adjusting to Circumstances

Oliver Mylor was not kidding when he said he figured it out.

This wasn’t just some fluke success or divine intervention.

No.

This was the result of several hours (but in reality, days) of observations, and the absolute acceptance that he wasn’t anywhere near his brother’s level. Therefore, he shouldn’t be doing it like Luca.

And that was how the desperate blonde cracked the code.

But if he was being honest, a big part was probably due to his advantage as the person who once prepared all the bare parts.

At first, he had been winging it like everyone else, but obviously, he wasn’t going to accomplish anything if he kept at it; after all, the goal was perfection for this particular component.

Therefore, perfection for mass-produced parts meant uniformity, right?

Or at best, there must be a similarity between this one and all the other components with exactly the same readings.

That’s just logical, right?

Well, true enough.

Now, he wouldn’t be surprised if his brother skipped this method entirely, but for someone new like him, the best way would be to start with the best possible candidates.

"See, for us newbies," He began, pointing to himself with a thumb, "the outcome heavily depends on the unpolished part we start with."

Ollie started his explanation with practically the entire team gathering around him like they were about to tell horror stories around an invisible campfire.

The people’s expressions were changing, but none of them interrupted, just waiting for him to continue this rather expensive coaching session.

"See, if you look at these parts polished by my brother, you’d see that they practically look and feel like clones," the blonde started projecting a screen of the scans he took, eerily pointing out just how similar the parts were.

"But look at this, this was a work that was off by 2% CF. It’s a small number, and you’d be surprised because it’s just this little bend here that looks a bit different, that is causing this gap."

Gasps sounded one after the other, and someone had to ask, "Seriously?! But isn’t that from before polishing?"

"Yes. And that’s exactly what I was saying earlier. If there’s a slight error in the unpolished part, it’s going to affect the final component."

"What?! Then how much material would be wasted if even a little variance isn’t allowed?!" someone asked, posing a valid question that would seriously be the first concern of anyone from this era.

"It’s not that it would be wasted, because my brother is capable of spotting and correcting the defect that by the time he polishes it, it’s as if it started out as a perfect part!"

Awe.

Ollie could feel their genuine awe, and he could totally understand, because while he boasted about Luca’s achievements to his parents back then, he didn’t fully understand what it really meant.

Not like this. Not like now, when he felt faint after attempting to polish a single component.

"But see, we’re not him. And with how we all look and feel right now, I’m pretty sure it’d take a long time before we’re close to his level. Therefore, we must begin with assistance. And we could do that by making sure we get the ’perfect parts’."

"Also, if we don’t use the slightly defective parts right now, then we could still polish those when we get better, or maybe my brother could make use of them. That way, we don’t add to our reject pile. Because so far, these components could only withstand one round of polishing."

"So the best way we could do this is by making sure you know exactly what this component looks like. Every ridge, every nudge. Because it’s by repeating that exact same process that you’d be able to get the same result."

Silence fell. Thoughtful silence. Followed by the slow rise of hands.

"...Would you be willing to look over the parts I prepped earlier?"

"Can I bribe you for early feedback?"

"Uhm, do you accept snack commissions for tutoring?"

Ollie blinked.

"Are you guys serious?"

"Yes," someone replied immediately. Because they wanted a taste of the reward, and while they wanted the whole thing, it would be impossible to get even a bite if they didn’t get this right.

So what was a little commission in exchange for their lives?

And just like that, Oliver Mylor, usual food-hoarding blonde and professional wiggle-expert, became the most sought-after unofficial quality control inspector of the day.

But it was for the best. Because somewhere in the kitchen, the most beloved heir had started attracting an entourage.

And it was someone particularly difficult to dissuade.

"Ahem."

"My son, what are you making?" asked Duke Leander, who nearly missed this moment—if not for the instinctive biological radar passed down through generations of doting fathers.

That, and the unmistakable scent of butter.

It wafted through the corridor like a beacon of temptation, and the Duke, who had been on his way elsewhere, took one whiff before dramatically changing course.

"Hello, Papa!" Luca greeted with a bright smile, catching sight of the towering figure peeking over like a very curious, very eager puppy.

"Um, I’m making crepes. Or trying to make some. I used a fresh pan, and I’m sorry for using it like this, but I thought this would be faster," Luca explained, as he deposited a delicate golden crepe that came off the underside of the pan.

The Duke blinked. Then, he immediately shook his head. "No, no, no! You never need to apologize to your papa. Use whatever you want. We can always replace those! The pan is yours! The stove is yours! The—this—is all yours!"

His son gave a sheepish nod before explaining further. "Ah, well, they can be eaten plain like this, but crepes are usually rolled up with toppings or fillings."

The Duke leaned in. "Sweet ones?"

"Or savory," Luca nodded.

"Hm. I approve," the Duke declared, though it was clear he didn’t fully understand what a crepe was. It looked thin. It smelled good. That was enough.

But then he asked the real question. "Why are you making them?"

"Oh! It’s for the mechanics. I wanted to offer a reward for those who successfully polish components to the new standard."

The Duke tilted his head, confused. "A reward? But...isn’t that their job?"

Luca nodded seriously. "It is. But, Papa, I might have made the job very difficult."

"...How difficult?"

"Well..." Luca hesitated before sighing, "It’s been 51 hours, and so far, only my brother, Ollie, has managed to make a component that passed."

"WHAT?!" the Duke bellowed. "Only one?! And it’s one who hasn’t even graduated?! Are the mechanics underqualified?!"

"No, no, it’s just a new method, Papa," Luca explained quickly. "It’s taking longer than usual, but I think we’ll have a full mecha to show soon. If my timing’s right, maybe a few hours."

The Duke blinked. "You’re making a sample today?"

"Yes. I was hoping to do pre- and post-calibration testing soon. Actually... would it be possible to borrow three A-rank pilots? One for each mecha type."

"...Today?!"

"Yes, Papa. I’m nearly done with the three base mechas, and initially I was planning to test them myself, but I figured it won’t give the results I was hoping to see."

Three.

Three.

Leander’s eye twitched. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish trying to file a protest.

"Three?!" he repeated, hand flying to his chest like he needed medical assistance. "You just—yesterday—you—"

He gasped.

Because that facility was just expanded yesterday!

Wait.

Wait just one second.

Wasn’t this the first set of mechas Luca had made after his personal one?

Wasn’t this a historic moment?!

His child’s next-generation creation was being built right now under the family name!

Duke Leander clutched at his heart. He had to preserve this moment. Frame it. Bronze it. Etch it in stone.

"Son! I humbly request to ride the first one! Or at least store it! In a vault! For posterity!" he blurted, looking positively manic with excitement.

Luca blinked. "Papa...why would you store it? It’s a prototype?"

The Duke inhaled deeply, then dramatically placed a hand over his chest. "Because it’s a mecha made by you, my son. It should be honored. And I would love to have it!"

Luca tilted his head. "Then, Papa, do you not want a biomecha? Because I was planning on making you one."

The Duke stared at him.

Then slowly—gracefully—ascended into heaven.

His precious son was really the best.

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