The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 554: One Last Click

And it was one everyone would rember.

Especially Master Allan, who had practically seasoned and swallowed his very own words. No condints required.

It had been close to ten hours now. Ten.

And yet, contrary to his earlier colorful comntary about a bird flaring its spiritual energy like a mating ritual gone wrong, that cadet—that child—had not let up.

No real breaks. No slowdowns. No rcy.

Instead, he made it look easy. Fast, even. So much so that by the ti they realized it was nearly midnight, the audience hadn’t even noticed the hours passing. Their dry eyes and bladders, yes, but their minds, very much not.

It was like the world was catching up with his pace.

And when most of the audience would’ve bowed out after the first hour or two, tops—the auditorium was still full. Not just full. Glued.

Like a room full of dignified captives bearing witness to sothing they instinctively knew they might never see again.

Not that they believed anything else could surprise them at this point. Surely, they’d seen it all?

One of the masters even removed his ventilator mask, finally relaxing with the serene certainty that the worst was over.

Until Master Quinn leaned over, all grace and grim knowledge, and gently handed it back.

"What?"

"I strongly recomnd you put this on again," said Quinn, like a man warning soone not to look Tortie directly in the eyes.

Because Luca was this close to assembly.

DING!

That was the sound of the detailing machine. A noise only audible to Luca—who had been patiently waiting for it like a small, kindhearted child waiting for recess.

It just couldn’t co any sooner.

Honestly, he had wanted to finish earlier. He’d even felt guilty seeing so many people staying behind to watch. When D-29 had finally told him it had been ten hours, his eyes had gone wide with concern.

Because that ant they hadn’t eaten?!

The mbers of DG and House Kyros were initially accustod to nutrient solutions, but he’d since introduced them to actual food, and they had grown disturbingly fond of it.

anwhile, he was the only one who managed to eat anything—a carefully prepared wrap that had been packed for him ahead of ti. Initially, he was planning on eating after the event. But before Luca left for the test, Xavier had handed sothing over. With directions to make sure he ate at least this while working. His husband even promised it wouldn’t interfere with work. And sure enough, it didn’t.

He was extrely touched.

And yet that made him feel even more concerned for everyone else.

So, yes. Luca wanted to speed things up. But he couldn’t exactly rush the detailing machine using spiritual energy, no matter how strong his intentions were.

He could have done it himself, technically. But both Sid and D-29 had staged a mini-intervention, citing reasons like "uniformity" and "dignity."

Luca hadn’t really understood, but both of them seed quite firm about it. Maybe if he could just see Sid, he’d realize how the guardian cha was practically vibrating with urgency, and D-29 had even brought up a research study about how mismatched finishes could lead to diplomatic incidents.

So Luca relented.

And good thing too.

Because at least in this way, he’d been able to save the Empire and the poor, innocent Marshal.

But like all things worth waiting for, the machine finally gave its lodic chi.

Luca, who had been working on tomorrow’s components while waiting (because of course he had), turned to finally look.

"Wow," he said with honest delight. "It’s kind of similar to Papa’s current cha! It’s very pretty!"

He ant it too. He circled the black-and-gold fra with the pure admiration of soone untainted by modesty or self-awareness.

anwhile, the master chanics present were valiantly attempting to look anywhere but directly at it, lest they fall to their knees and weep from sheer disbelief.

Master Allan, in particular, was shaking again. From exhaustion? From awe? Hard to tell.

And Master Quinn, who was helping prop up one of the older masters that had nearly fainted, quietly patted himself on the back for having the foresight to return that ventilator when he did.

But Quinn couldn’t even agree. Nor could he warn. Because the old man had made the terrible mistake of looking forward just as Luca began assembling the parts he’d distributed across the growing web of spiritual tendrils.

The tendrils had multiplied.

So had Quinn’s regrets.

He flinched, then urgently signaled for an assistant.

Just in case.

Because while they would all gladly die for the Young Lord, none of them wanted that death to be recorded as "cause: chanical wonder-induced heart failure."

How many assistants would they need at this rate?

Because the Young Lord was not just building quickly. He was outpacing reality.

If their usual speed builds could be considered impressive, then this was a full-on spiritual blitzkrieg.

The kind that left survivors wondering if they’d ever really known what speed ant.

"..."

Instructor Moore sat frozen.

He had thought he was desensitized. That after the first four hours, he had adapted. That nothing could shake him anymore.

But now?

What was he even supposed to teach after this?

How could he go back to his students and talk about finesse? About precision? About taking your ti?

When the boy in front of them was tossing parts like an assassin flipping knives, and everything still landed exactly where it was supposed to?

But contrary to public opinion, Luca had built every single piece with extre care.

He had morized the full layout and polishing sequence the day before.

And Luca was the type to trust in hard work. Right now, that trust gave him the confidence that every piece would fit if placed in the order he’d practiced.

Which ant yes, he was slapping the parts together. But he was doing it with the kind of accuracy that made most people feel like underachievers.

Just like now.

Click!

That was the sound of the cha’s head locking into place.

Luca had manually connected the last wiring and cables, then brought the head forward and attached it with both hands. Carefully. Deliberately.

Then, as always, he gave the cha a gentle pat on the top of its head.

Like a proud parent saying, "Well done, you made it."

It was a habit that had ford after he learned about sentient chas. He knew they were rare. Knew the chances were slim. But Luca thought that maybe—just maybe—every cha deserved to be welcod into the world properly. Because wouldn’t anyone who woke up to a personality be thrilled to know they’ve been wanted?

He knew he would!

So he always made sure to be the one to connect the final piece.

To be the first touch.

D-29 adored this ritual. Sid, for all his stoic grumbling, admitted it was a aningful gesture. Especially considering his personal history. It was really one of the things that made his little master the kind of chanic that any cha would love to have. Provided they weren’t trying to get a facelift.

It really was heartwarming.

That is, if the audience hadn’t lost their minds.

"..."

But could anyone bla them?

Because from their vantage point, sothing was very wrong.

Luca Soren Kyros was eye to eye with a giant cha.

He was levitated.

Yes. Levitated.

But not by a pad—But by his own spiritual energy.

Feet definitely not touching the floor. The spiritual tendrils supporting him like threads of light. He was midair, calmly placing the head of the cha while standing on what looked like a spiritual energy pillar. And anyti he moved, it’d follow, as if creating an elevated floor just for him.

And the problem was, he didn’t seem to notice.

Which sohow made it worse.

That was how Master Quinn ended up surrounded at a table by elders who were all gasping, trembling, and suddenly requesting nebulizers.

Soone even reached for holy water.

Because really, who wouldn’t panic at the sight of soone floating in the middle of a cha assembly, smiling serenely, like this was just another Wednesday?

But even that wasn’t the final blow.

Because just as the chaos reached a silent high, Luca Soren Kyros—who had just built a full cha in under twelve hours without breaking a sweat—ca running out of the enclosed area with the happiest grin on his face.

He waved toward the Marshal with zero hesitation and called out:

"Marshal Julian! It’s done now! Please destroy it tomorrow!"

"..."

"..."

And that, perhaps, was the mont they all realized.

He was batshit crazy.