The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 919: Under Review

Well, Xavier internally scoffed at the irony because if soone dared to say the sa thing about his wife, then he probably would have sent the person to the afterlife, too. Covertly at the least. So that Luca wouldn’t have to see such a disgusting sight.

Tch.

Unfortunately for him, he had larger problems.

To his side, said little wife was practically clutching at his cuffs, golden eyes shimring with distress as though soone was just about to announce the end of the world.

Technically, nothing had happened.

No injuries.

No official report.

And it would have been counterproductive to impose standard military punishnt on what had, by the grace of Princess Tharkira’s laughter, been rebranded as a proper orcish greeting.

So instead, Xavier decided on sothing more appropriate.

"Forfeiture of two-thirds pay per month for three months," he announced calmly. "And in replacent for confinent, as well as in accordance with the rules of this establishnt, prepare to be interrogated by a greatly affected party."

"!!!"

Curtis and Eden both looked up at the sa ti.

They couldn’t believe they were being let off just like that.

Under normal circumstances, a fistfight might have escaped formal reprimand. Pride had a way of smoothing over bruised egos when no concrete evidence was left behind.

But this?

This had happened under the direct gaze of mbers of the Imperial family.

In a public venue.

With civilians.

With cadets.

With witnesses.

With, quite frankly, terrible timing.

With Xavier’s personality, Curtis had fully expected three months at the mines.

Normally, it might have even resulted in a demotion or sothing even worse, had his punch actually landed. But everyone knew better than to demote Curtis.

No.

Because that would have been a gift to an adjutant perpetually hanging by a thread. He would have, in fact, treated it as a major bonus.

But the mines?

Yes.

That would have been fitting.

Instead, they received a pay deduction and an interrogation.

But before they could thank the Prince for his leniency, the two senior officers had to swallow both their shock and the small smile threatening to break across Eden’s face. Because, for so inexplicable reason, Young Lord Luca Kyros—the undeclared Crown Princess—looked as though he had just been handed a death sentence.

With two-thirds of their pay docked for three whole months, they might as well have been condemned in the eyes of one certified money-grubber.

The golden-eyed cadet’s expression trembled as though the Imperial Treasury itself had been set ablaze.

He even had to be consoled by his own husband.

Eden’s ears twitched faintly because she could have sworn she heard the Crown Prince mutter under his breath, without the courtesy of a spiritual barrier:

"They may not look it, but they’re very rich. They would definitely survive. And if they don’t, then they’d better share finances to tide each other over."

He didn’t bother hiding the pointed look he directed at both Eden and Curtis afterward, as if daring either of them to test his patience further.

Well, that didn’t calm DG’s guild leader.

If anything, it made his eyes tremble harder.

But then Young Lord Oliver Mylor suddenly stood up, rushed toward his distressed friend, and whispered loudly enough for the entire room to hear:

"Brother, it’s all good. I read that bonding over adversity counts as a shared experience. It’s good for couples."

It was then that it hit Curtis.

Perhaps being sent to the mines would have been a better punishnt.

At least in that case, he wouldn’t have ended up being interrogated by this clearly dubious "greatly affected party."

"...!"

__

"Ahem."

"Deputy Officer Curtis, please enlighten us about this excerpt where you allegedly said, ’You have the emotional range of a folding chair.’"

The words echoed across the room, and Curtis was certain the Prince made a strangled noise when Princess Kira even changed her tone to reenact that very distant past, which now resurfaced as part of his dark history.

Without even looking, the poor Deputy Officer—who might as well have had a spotlight shining directly on him in this makeshift interrogation room—could feel the way the woman with said emotional range shifted in her seat.

A brow rose.

Arms crossed over her chest.

She was waiting.

But even if she waited until tomorrow, Curtis wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

What kind of explanation was he supposed to give?

He tried to glance toward the Prince for guidance, but the attempt was short-lived because Xavier rely redirected him with a slight tilt of his head toward the cadets seated next to him.

Blazing gazes.

Anticipation.

Not an ounce of rcy.

So the Deputy Officer, who would have been better off digging a hole in the ground with his bare hands, cleared his throat.

"I did say that before, Your Highness," he admitted carefully. "But I believe that today I said sothing more along the lines of, ’You don’t have nine lives. Stop acting like you do,’ instead."

"..."

"..."

There was a montary silence.

It would have been fine if it had remained that way.

But suddenly, the room blared.

A sharp tone rang out as a giant red X mark flashed across the holographic display like a ga show rejection.

Curtis reacted instinctively.

His arm shot up in front of Eden’s face as if to shield her from an unseen threat.

Several cadets sucked in a breath.

Only then did Curtis realize what he had done.

Slowly, he withdrew his arm after realizing the Prince hadn’t really moved.

No one else seed alard, so there was probably no imdiate security threat.

Well, unbeknownst to the Deputy Officer, he was the threat.

At least, in the sensors of one very opinionated little system, Curtis’s partial cooperation with answering critical questions was deeply distressing.

If the officer continued gatekeeping his answers with polished military phrasing, then how would anyone extract the juic—important information necessary to fully understand the situation?

They likely wouldn’t be able to get the right details.

Therefore, sothing had to give.

In the midst of expressing D-29’s distaste for politically correct responses, the system decided that proper encouragent was in order.

It promptly checked with the boss.

"Host! I would like to petition a personal commission to assist in locating Lady Eden’s older brother in exchange for unrestricted access to honest answers."

"!!!"

"D-29, you can do that?" Luca asked in his mind, startled.

"Well, Host, I can do what she was planning to do, but better."

To the golden-eyed host, it sounded like a win-win situation.

Without much hesitation, he relayed the offer.

What Luca didn’t expect was the overwhelming response.

Tech Specialist Eden practically shot up from her seat.

"I’ll do it!" she declared imdiately. "If you can promise to assist in looking for him, I’ll answer. Ask anything."

The room froze.

Beside her, Curtis blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then he slowly turned his head.

She was staring at him with those familiar eyes.

Oh hell no.

There was no one alive who knew those eyes better than he did.

Those were the eyes of soone who would willingly disclose the exact count of underwear he had in his dresser if it ant securing cooperation.

Curtis inhaled slowly.

He really should have insisted on staying with the Marshal.