The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 351

Chapter 351: Knocks
A few people actually had dreams about possible flavors as they talked about such grand possibilities.

But for one particular prodigal son, it might just remain a dream. For how on Solaris could he forget his hard-won appointment?

Still clad in another set of fuzzy pajamas, Ollie Mylor was actually sleeping soundly, snuggled against the broad back of an unsuspecting adjutant.

Now, this wasn’t far from what all the survivors were doing. The combination of adrenaline finally wearing off and the feeling of safety had gotten everyone knocked out cold.

In fact, Luca had needed Xavier’s help just to get into fresh clothes because he passed out midway to the bathroom, too tired to even pull off his socks.

Because while everyone rested yesterday in the space, none of them got to really sleep. And it was only after getting back into the dorms that Luca’s body finally gave way to exhaustion.

And Duchess Amelia, who thought she was finally going to get that long, cathartic cry she’d been promising herself? She ended up passed out in Leander’s arms the moment he scooped her up in his embrace.

It may have been unusual for such a strong and independent woman, but she did pick Leander for his ability to get her to surrender. Also, she might have missed her opportunity to cry her heart out, but the Duke, by now, should’ve cried enough for both of them.

Maybe cried enough for the entire family, even.

But while one Duke was busy sorting out his emotions, another father was flying across the galaxy with a singular mission as he prayed for his son’s safety.

Marquis Osmond Mylor was not a man to be trifled with.

Especially not when he’d just heard rumors about a hijacked commuter ship.

Now, under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have panicked. But for the first time in a very long while, their son had apparently taken that very same commuter ship!

This caused him and his wife to drop everything and leave far earlier than expected. And while the Marquis was supposed to meet with him today, how would it be possible to wait when they’ve got a critical issue?

The kicker was that everyone survived, which was a good thing, so why haven’t they heard a peep from their son?!

No call.

Not even a dramatic voicemail.

Nothing.

And after about three hours of waiting to be cleared for landing, the worried couple were surprised to learn that their son was still sleeping.

Elsewhere.

For when the frantic parents asked for their child’s dorm room under the guise of an emergency, they were surprised to see one shocked cadet who did not look even remotely close to the blonde firecracker that they were looking for.

Why, of course, because the said firecracker was busy blissfully drooling into Kyle’s back, unaware that his death sentence was en route.

Thankfully, the Mylors were a family of artists who could act to save their lives. And so one potentially dead son escaped the hands of the warden as Marquise Julienne pretended to have seen a message late while acting distraught enough to flee the scene in a hurry.

But maybe he should’ve just taken his chances with the warden, for when the mother catches the son, the sun might not rise from the correct side.

Technically, she wasn’t even supposed to be here, but what was a mother supposed to do when told that her son was actually a passenger on that ship?!

And what would you know, no one even called for a ransom?

Worse, no one called to return him with payment in hand!

Ollie was precious in her eyes, but her son had always been the type to scare the people with his actual presence. No, not his adorable antics and small stature, but the level of maintenance needed to keep that boy in line.

So the mother had always been worried about his future. For which woman would allow her son to survive after learning about his quirks?

Some were quirks that only a mother could love, so she was curious when she heard about her son having that many actual friends.

Like the best friend whom Ollie would always refer to as his good brother, and their current destination after not finding their son in his rightful dorm.

Thankfully, Sid was working overtime (as usual) and alerted a certain prince when two unfamiliar entities were detected rushing towards their room.

Xavier’s eyes shot open and flickered back to Luca, still fast asleep under layers of blankets, soft breaths puffing against his pillow, utterly unaware.

It was Xavier who greeted them first.

He was actually preparing for any sort of ambush as he opened the door with the same calm detachment one might use to welcome a deliveryman or a visiting diplomat.

His face was blank—expressionless in the way that only Xavier could manage, as if nothing could ruffle him.

Not until he realized who was before him. Technically, he shouldn’t have a problem, if not for this affecting his wife’s ventures.

Two elegantly dressed figures stood before him. Sharp suits, sharper gazes. Authority practically radiated off their polished shoes and perfectly tailored sleeves.

The Mylors.

The mop’s parents.

“Good morning,” Xavier said politely. “May I help you?” That was already several words. But his little chipmunk would be saddened if he offered less.

Marquise Julienne Mylor smiled—a smile that could cut glass. Marquis Osmond inclined his head, quiet and imposing.

“We’re looking for our son,” the Marquise said pleasantly, but even Xavier knew that look.

Xavier, for all his composure, knew better than to delay and asked for a moment.

Elsewhere in the dorms, a blaring buzz exploded from Kyle’s terminal, forcing him to bolt upright like someone had whacked the side of his head.

“WHAT—”

“It’s Ollie’s parents, they’re here.” Xavier’s calm voice echoed ominously.

“WHAT?!”

Kyle flung off his blanket, scanning the room. And there—there was the culprit. Snoring against him. Drooling. Dreaming happy, oblivious dreams, most likely about possible ice cream flavors.

He wouldn’t normally do it, but this was an emergency.

“Ollie! You have to wake up, now!” Kyle practically scooped him up, propping him up against the wall.

“…Kyle?” Ollie mumbled, squinting groggily as he rubbed his cheek, blinking at the bright light. “What’s…?”

“Your parents are here.” Kyle’s grip tightened.

“…Huh?”

“Here, Ollie, they already found the Captain!”

“W-what do you mean—?”

“YOUR. PARENTS. ARE. HERE.” Kyle enunciated every word like a death sentence.

The words seemed to ricochet inside Ollie’s brain, bouncing off the sleepy fog.

“…”

And then—

“!!!”

“WHAT?!”

Suddenly, a sharp, authoritative knock rattled the door like a cannon shot.

Ollie froze mid-sit-up. His pupils shrank into pinpricks. His lips parted in horrified realization.

A second knock, louder, more impatient.

“KYLE.” Ollie flung himself at him like a drowning man, arms winding around Kyle’s neck. “I CAN’T DIE YOUNG. I HAVEN’T EVEN FINISHED TASTING ALL THE FLAVORS—”

“Shh—shh—STOP STRANGLING ME!” Kyle wheezed, tugging at Ollie’s locked arms as the blonde practically wrapped himself around him like an octopus.

“I’M TOO YOUNG FOR A FUNERAL,” Ollie wailed. “I HAVEN’T EVEN WRITTEN A WILL—”

A third knock. Firm. Ominous.

“Kyle. Kyle. KYLE. WE CAN’T OPEN IT. THEY’LL KILL ME.”

“Would they really—”

“YES.”

Kyle grimaced. “Then… maybe if we just explain—”

But he couldn’t find the right words when the mop looked this spooked.

Kyle sighed, resigned. “You at least have another revive pill, right?”

“If I die, YOU have to use it on me,” Ollie declared solemnly, tightening his koala grip.

“…Sure.”

“I’M SERIOUS.”

“Sure, Ollie.”

Then—

A fourth knock.

The handle jiggled.

“…Okay, we’re opening it.” Kyle took a deep breath and stepped toward the door.

“NOOOO—” Ollie shrieked, scrabbling up Kyle’s back like a monkey scaling a tree, his legs wrapping around Kyle’s waist as he clung for dear life.

The door cracked open—

And a hand shot through the narrow gap with the speed of a striking snake.

Kyle twisted instinctively, spinning away from the reaching arm, his own arms wrapping protectively around the flailing Ollie as he leapt backward with a grunt.

Ollie scrambled higher onto Kyle’s shoulders. “HE’S GOING TO DIE—”

“WHO?” Kyle gasped, trying to stay upright.

“ME. I’M THE WHO. I’M DEAD. I CAN SEE THE LIGHT—”

“THAT’S JUST THE HALLWAY.”

Through the small opening, Marquise Julienne Mylor peered in, her expression calm, elegant, utterly unreadable.

One perfectly sculpted brow rose as her sharp eyes took in the chaotic sight: her son clinging to this guy’s head like a wild koala, both of them panting, flushed, caught mid-escape.

It was…an admirable effort.

But futile.

“…Oliver Astrea Mylor,” she said sweetly, her voice like honey laced with arsenic.

Ollie whimpered.

Behind her, Marquis Osmond loomed like a silent thundercloud, arms folded, watching with the quiet patience of a man ready to interrogate everyone in the building if necessary.

From the bathroom, Jax stumbled into view, yawning, scratching his head. He blinked blearily at the tableau—

“…Oh,” Jax said flatly. “Oh no.”

Thus began this week’s seventh brush with death.