The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 292

Chapter 292: Try Me
But not everyone could be as lucky as someone who could now skip cow therapy.

Especially not one Killian Nox who needed to extend his leave.

See, the Chief of Staff had been through enough today to last him the next five years.

He’s had to commute to a nearby planet only to be hijacked on the way. Then, he had to be led around by his younger brother’s gremlin.

But worse was how he’s been trying to avoid hearing and seeing more things to at least claim ignorance in all this.

But now what?

Now, he had stumbled on a scene that was, perhaps, the most damaging of all for a cannon fodder like him.

He had only come to check the corridor.

Just check.

His boots were quiet, his steps purposeful, and his internal monologue was already halfway through a debate about opting to be an only child.

And then he saw it.

Xavier—Imperial Crown Prince, perennial iceberg, supposed figurehead of the next century—gently leaning toward a bright-eyed, flustered cadet who was clutching a milk bottle like a lifeline.

Now, had he been threatening, Killian wouldn’t have thought anything odd about it.

But he was smiling as he murmured.

Yes, murmured and not murdered.

Killian backed up two steps and slammed into the corner of the wall, just out of view, eyes wide in horror.

Surely, he could ignore this as part of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, right?

And there would definitely be no need to relay anything to the concerned Empress.

He was still gaslighting himself when his younger brother and initial culprit passed by, apparently trying to slink off.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Killian’s voice was low—lethal.

It slithered down the corridor like a cold current, sharp and precise.

Kyle froze mid-step. His body went rigid, like prey that had just heard the click of a predator’s jaw.

He didn’t turn around right away. Of course not. He knew that voice too well.

Killian.

Who else?

Of all the places, of all the times, it had to be now and in this spacecraft.

Kyle turned slowly, like a robot who hadn’t been oiled properly. His expression was carefully schooled into something neutral—borderline sheepish, but not too sheepish. “Oh. Hey, big brother.”

“Oh, wow.”

“What do you know? The dead could speak?!” Killian’s voice was calm—too calm, in the way that promised impending psychological damage.

“Here we all thought you’d succumb to sudden death or loss of all limbs to the point where you couldn’t even hit answer on your terminal!”

Killian’s boots sounded unnervingly casual as he approached. “Let me guess—you were just going to disappear again, only to reemerge next year with a set of twins or something?!”

Kyle started slowly. “I was going to check the remaining pirates. You know, work.”

“Right,” Killian deadpanned.

“Because one worker who had dropped off the grid is claiming to work right now, of all times.”

Kyle opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I had three interplanetary search queries open,” Killian continued.

“Two trackers tracing your last social ping and one resignation letter drafted in case your corpse turned up somewhere unflattering and our parents decide to bury me alive with you.”

“You little shit!”

“I didn’t mean to drop comms,” Kyle muttered.

Okay, he did. But not because he was trying to skip work. In fact, he’d done it because he was trying to keep his post.

“Oh no, of course not.”

“Why keep your family updated when you could just go viral to shock us all?” Killian’s eyes narrowed.

“And don’t get me started on the zero incident reports. Because if my ass had not been here, you’d likely not submit anything about this.”

Fair point. Thought the younger brother, who had contingency plans for sweeping it all under the rug.

“There were…delays,” Kyle offered weakly.

“Sure, let me delay your oxygen intake!” Threatened the official, who felt more like a reaper right now.

Kyle exhaled. “Look. I know this looks bad—”

“Bad? No. Bad would be if you were caught smuggling black-market materials.” Killian gestured broadly to the general chaos of the lounge. “This is ‘resign or be reassigned to the Outer Rim’ bad.”

“I couldn’t say anything! Not that I didn’t want to—”

“You didn’t even say hi-bye.”

Kyle winced. “Okay, that one’s on me.”

Killian eyed him. “And your boss?”

The poor adjutant sighed. “Now, I can’t talk about that. If you’re going to strangle me, go ahead.”

For there are far worse ways to go.

Killian rubbed his temples. “Gods, I need a break.”

“I can’t explain everything yet,” Kyle said carefully. “Not without clearance.”

Killian raised a brow. “So give me a reason not to inform our parents that their baby boy is getting married.”

“Brother, are you crazy?!” Shrieked Kyle.

“Try me. Who do you think has been driving me crazy for years now?!”

Kyle narrowed his eyes at his relentless brother and figured he needed to use this plan. “Fine. I’ll make you a bet.”

“Please. Enlighten me.”

“One billion Star coins,” Kyle said. “That’s how sure I am. When you find out the full picture, you’ll agree it was right to stay quiet.”

Killian squinted at him. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, wouldn’t you want to know what kind of mess is worth that kind of bet?”

That actually got Killian to pause.

He sighed. “Fine. But you’re explaining everything. Eventually. And if you leave out anything, I’m adding another ten years to your service contract.”

Kyle offered a hand. “Deal.”

Killian took it—and squeezed hard enough to crack bone if not for Kyle’s S-rank physique.

Then he let go and turned away.

He’d file the emotional damage report later.

Maybe they’d both file a report and see who gets to submit it faster.

But first, they must finish dealing with today’s trash.

Because as much as he wanted to lie down and forget the last eight hours ever happened, there was still work to do.

And those pirates weren’t going to interrogate themselves.

He glanced around the room full of questionable people one last time and sighed.

Time to earn that extended leave.

“Alright,” he muttered darkly, “Let’s see which of these locked-up bastards feel like talking.”