The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 459: Succession

The sounds of footsteps outside the bathroom were driving a certain blonde crazy.

Each approaching step landed like a drumbeat inside his skull, especially marking a loud heartbeat that he wasn’t sure how to process.

It was an accident; he didn’t an to overhear their conversation.

Really!

But just as he was about to check if the coast was clear, he heard Kyle’s distinctive voice.

He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t even increasing his usual volu, but the utter silence made it so that his words were impossible to miss.

"I worship him. And the ground he walks on."

"..."

Ollie’s heart flatlined.

Then spiked.

His knees gave out almost instantly as the aning of those words caught up to his brain, dragging him down like a system error. And by the ti the footsteps stopped right outside the bathroom door, Ollie was crouched on the cold tiles like a panicked child mid-ltdown, hands over his ears as if that could rewind ti.

Too late.

He’d heard it.

He heard all of it.

And now he didn’t know how to exist.

But contrary to his warring emotions, on the other side of the door, there was silence.

One that was eventually broken by a low knock.

And then—the voice. That voice.

Calm. Warm. Dangerously close.

"Ollie?"

The blonde flinched like a startled cat.

"You missed breakfast," Kyle continued. "So you didn’t get your lunchbox either. I brought it over. I even packed your share from earlier...just in case." Kyle’s voice was full of casual amusent, light but unmistakably fond.

Ollie was curled like a shrimp, arms wrapped around his knees. "D-Don’t co in here," he mumbled, but very much not loud enough for the door to muffle.

From the other side, there was a soft chuckle.

"I won’t," he said, amused. "I’m not that heartless. So I’ll just leave the thermal bag here, okay?" Kyle added, gently placing the container down beside the door.

Clink.

"Try to have sothing before your class starts, or your stomach will feel uncomfortable."

"O-okay..."

"Good, I’ll go to class now so you can co out of there in peace."

Ollie, inside, bit his sleeve and lted into a puddle of nervous energy and unprocessed feelings.

Still blushing and clinging to what remained of his composure, Ollie finally cracked open the bathroom door.

The hallway was rcifully empty.

He peeked out like a raccoon scoping for snacks and sha, then snatched up the thermal bag like a loot drop and scurried down the corridor.

By the ti he made it to his classroom door, his ears were glowing red.

He wasn’t late. In fact, he still had ti to eat. But just as he was about to open the chanized door, he froze.

Voices filtered through from inside—loud enough to hear, quiet enough that they didn’t know he was listening.

"I guess I’ll have to tell my cousin not to hope for much," said a girl whose voice Ollie didn’t recognize.

"What do you an?" another girl asked.

"Ah, that was Kyle Nox earlier, right?" the first replied. "If so, he basically just confessed. So all those hoping to receive a marriage proposal from him should probably give up now."

"Wait—was he actually looking for marriage partners?"

"Well, probably not him personally. But when we were younger, there was this list of candidates going around. You know, the sa thing his older brother had."

"Whoa, really? I didn’t know that!"

"That’s only because you just ca in recently. It’s always been a huge deal for the girls back in the Capital. But with him being absent from events for years, the candidates never really got to compete for his attention."

"What about you? You didn’t sign up?"

"Nope. My cousin had already joined, and our family didn’t want us fighting over him. Plus, my cousin’s way better. If even she wasn’t confident, then what slim chance would I have?"

Ollie, frozen just outside the door, felt his heart do sothing that could only be described as a spiral.

Marriage? There was a list?

Kyle had marriage prospects?

His grip on the lunchbox tightened as a cold, clammy feeling spread over him.

For so reason, Ollie suddenly rembered when they made their contract—Kyle did ntion sothing about a list.

But he never said it was a marriage list!

Just how many people were on it?!

And they’re competing?!

It wasn’t just a sweetheart. But sweethearts?!

And now Ollie wasn’t sure whether to walk into the room or run out to interrogate that guy.

He was severely conflicted.

So conflicted, in fact, that he montarily lost his appetite, which, for Oliver Mylor, was a certified ergency.

But apparently, the universe wasn’t done with him yet.

Because just as he was trying to will himself through the door with pink ears and a dangerously overheating brain, another voice joined the conversation inside:

"But you heard him, right? It seems like it’s unrequited. He said Ollie says they’re just friends."

"So maybe it’s not hopeless for your cousin?"

"I an, even if Kyle likes him, but Ollie says no, then he’d still be available for an engagent."

"Also, what’s the guarantee that his family would honor his wishes? Families like that usually pick the best candidates."

"Is that why Lord Killian is still single?"

"Probably! Soone like him should’ve been married by now. And if he doesn’t settle soon, won’t Kyle have to do it for succession rights?"

Ollie froze, the last line hitting him like a sandbag to the soul.

Succession?!

Was that why Kyle had been adamant about the compensation?

His mind whirred as he thought back to when Kyle insisted it might be a problem for him if Ollie took too long to find a wife.

Was it because his family was on a tight tiline?

But Kyle promised he’d wait until after he found soone first...Kyle wouldn’t lie to him...right?

He clenched the lunchbox in one hand, the other curling into a fist by his side. Because since he’d known the man, he hasn’t seen him break a contract. He was many things, but he always honored his promises.

But what if it wasn’t Kyle?

What if his family forced him to?

Ollie’s breath hitched as a dreadful thought crept in like a virus.

Kyle was a Nox.

A real, honest-to-galaxies, high-standing, politically entangled noble family, Nox.

And wasn’t this the kind of thing noble families did? Sacrifice true love on the altar of succession? Swap out sweethearts like shoes to secure alliances?

He clutched the thermal bag tighter, panic blooming in his chest.

He...he promised his firstborn, so that should be enough guarantee, right? Ollie thought to himself, there was that in their contract, so Kyle shouldn’t be forced to marry to have a successor, right?

Right.

But what if he—Ollie, who was painfully single—didn’t have a child?

WHAT IF HE COULDN’T HAVE A CHILD?!?!

His mind spiraled, panic ping-ponging between taphysical crises and contract loopholes. As only then did he realize that he hadn’t thought about that part when they made that agreent!

He fumbled for his terminal, ready to ssage Kyle after realizing there was a problem when—

"Ahem."

Ollie jumped ten centiters into the air.

He spun around like a guilty cartoon character and faced the deeply unimpressed figure of Instructor Moore.

"Are you not going in?" the man asked, blinking slowly.

Ollie’s soul nearly left his body.

"Oh! Uh—yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" he said, bowing too fast, nearly flinging his lunchbox at the wall.

Moore squinted at him like soone evaluating a chaotic kitten.

"By the way, Cadet Mylor. If you and Luca are free by lunch, we can go to the library. I already filed the clearance request for those restricted materials you guys wanted."

Ollie’s internal monologue screeched to a halt. He blinked.

Right! That!

He had almost forgotten about that windfall that his brother managed to secure!

"Yes, please!" he chirped, nearly vibrating with excitent. "I’ll tell my brother!"

Moore gave a curt nod. "Good. In the anti, I suggest you focus on this class. Unless you want to add another subject to your problems."

Ollie straightened like he’d rembered his purpose. "Yes, sir!"

He walked into the classroom, eyes sharp, ears still pink, heart still a confused ss.

And he should be proud.

Because he really did concentrate.

Even if he accidentally wrote the word sweetheart seventeen tis in his notes.

Just seventeen. A far lesser number than the number of tis he stopped himself from calling a certain soone.