The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]-Chapter 944: A Joke

It was as if oxygen had suddenly become a luxury Doyle couldn’t afford. His world kept shrinking with every word that tripped off Luca Kyros’s tongue.

By the time that little shit actually asked if he had any more "suggestions," Doyle felt like he was burning up with a fever while simultaneously freezing to death.

The tension was palpable; everyone around him had turned hostile, a stark contrast to the way Luca’s smile just kept widening. At that point, it wasn’t a question of whether someone was going to get to him, but who’d be the fastest to do it.

The correct answer would’ve been Luca. But the cadet was the type to launch an attack without even realizing he was holding a weapon. Moreover, the golden-eyed heir was genuinely, innocently waiting for an answer.

After all, in that little money-grubber’s mind, the shiny uncle might’ve had some serious anger issues, but his feedback had been great for the guild’s growth!

So really, Luca probably would’ve waited even longer for the man’s response if he hadn’t been called away for the polishing competition. With the master mechanics about to launch their rickety bodies at one another, Luca had to offer a quick apology for his early exit.

"Mister! I’m sorry, but it seems I’ve got to go! Maybe we could talk more later?"

Doyle definitely didn’t want a "later." Not now, and certainly not ever again.

"..."

"..."

With Luca out of the equation, the next best person to handle Doyle was Xavier.

The livid husband could’ve declared permanent "lights out" for the senior without even moving from his spot. But where was the satisfaction in that? Besides, Xavier knew better than to ruin his chances at a harmonious evening by stealing the joy from his own father-in-law.

So, it was Duke Leander Kyros who took on the vital task of "caring" for Doyle, while Star Net proceeded to rip the cadet into shreds so fine his own guild wouldn’t recognize the bits.

Actually, for daring to disrespect someone of Luca’s and Xavier’s rank, the moronic senior could’ve easily been sent to the mines. But that would’ve been the easy way out. It wouldn’t have left the kind of lasting impression needed for proper "rehabilitation."

The Duke had to consider the future—what if this man ended up raising children with the same personality? The Empire simply couldn’t have more of him running around.

Therefore, no matter where the baldy looked, the Duke was there to "entertain" him. If he walked to a quiet corner, Duke Leander was right next to him, wearing that horrifying smile. If he tried to hide by the bathroom, the door would swing open to reveal the Duke’s face, just waiting. It didn’t matter if Doyle was drinking, blinking, or just trying to breathe; the Duke was simply there.

What wasn’t there after fifteen minutes? Any student who valued their reputation. They came with him, but knew better than to be associated with him and his sinking boat.

After just one hour, Doyle didn’t want to be there anymore. The booth was exactly what everyone said it was: unreal. But in this magical place, he was the only one sweating buckets and dreaming of the exit. He already had a sinking feeling he’d be having nightmares about the Duke being everywhere for years to come.

However, just when Doyle thought the crowd was finally focused enough on the competition for him to slip away unnoticed, he heard a sound that stopped his heart.

"Tsk."

It wasn’t loud.

But it might as well have echoed across the planet and back.

It was the kind of sound that bypassed the ears and went straight to the spine.

It was so pronounced, so sharp, that it dragged up buried memories of Doyle’s youth. His entire body seized, reacting instinctively to the universal sound of a disappointed mother’s tongue-click.

Slowly, stiffly, he turned around.

Sure enough, when he did, Duke Leander was gone.

In his place stood someone far worse.

Duchess Amelia.

The unsuspecting senior didn’t even stand a chance; he ended up crumpled on the floor, instinctively trying to defend himself against the weight of a mother’s quiet, terrifying wrath.

For with mothers, running wasn’t even an option.

Duchess Amelia’s eyes flashed with a cold, sharp brilliance.

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t even move much.

But Doyle certainly felt his future disappear before him.

All it really took was her eyes narrowing a bit before Doyle’s survival instincts kicked in, and he began frantically bargaining for his life.

"Your Grace! It was a misunderstanding! Just a joke between schoolmates, I swear!"

The Duchess regarded him calmly.

"Ah," she said, her tone mild. "A joke."

Amelia tilted her head slightly, embodying the terrifying presence of a matriarch who’d seen it all.

"I see. Unfortunately, I’m probably getting older now, as it seems I’ve missed the punchline."

"So if you could humor this elder, then I’d truly appreciate it if you could explain which part was meant to be funny?"

A chill raced down Doyle’s spine as he looked up at her.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Sweat rolled down his temple.

Left with no logical explanation and his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, he finally blurted out, "I-it’s me! I’m the joke! I’m just a jealous senior who couldn’t believe there were such perfect juniors. They have the skills, the influence... they even have lush hair!"

He said it in one breath, nearly choking on his own sincerity and fear. Yeah, mostly fear.

The Duchess hummed thoughtfully. "Really? But not money?"

Doyle’s head snapped up before he hurriedly lowered it again.

"No, they definitely have money! So much money!" Doyle cried out, now fully on the ground in a desperate kneel.

But surprisingly, instead of telling him off, the matriarch of House Kyros actually offered a small, thin smile.

"You’re actually right about the lack of funds."

She sighed before looking pointedly at the ground.

"Unfortunately, the children wanted to start this venture on their own instead of relying on their parents, so there’s always a budget in place. Moreover, they also didn’t want to overcharge for their goods and services, as you can probably tell."

She said it like she was discussing the weather.

But who would have expected that it was at that moment, perhaps for the first time in the last year, that Doyle’s brain would decide to function?

A dreadful clarity descended upon him.

If there was a shortage—

"Then, as a senior who is deeply regretful about my actions," he said, words tumbling over themselves, "what about making a contribution to show my sincerity and support!"

"A contribution?" The Duchess raised a perfectly groomed brow.

"Yes! Your Grace! No strings attached, just my wish for them to succeed!" he insisted, bowing so low his forehead nearly hit the floor.

More accurately, it was his wish to survive.

"There would be no need for that," Duchess Amelia began smoothly, waving off the desperate proposal.

But Doyle was already scrambling to his feet, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed breathlessly toward the golden-eyed guild leader.

"Please, Your Grace! I insist!"

Duchess Amelia shrugged, saying, "Suit yourself."

It was meant for no one and everyone, as people listened quietly without daring to look.

Then the woman, who had everyone stopping for fear of breathing too loudly, turned around and patted his husband’s cheek as if expecting his presence.

Duke Leander appeared and stood there like an impressed ghost.

Then again, who would’ve expected anything else when there was nothing worse than a mother’s wrath?