The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]-Chapter 946: Two Timers

"Your Highness, everything is in place."

Bram bowed as he spoke behind Prince Eren, his posture impeccable despite the weight pressing against his spine.

"We’ve received confirmation that Princess Marin has received clearance to enter and disembark. If no other interruptions occur, she should be meeting up with Prince Elior while the competition is still in full swing."

"Good."

Bram couldn’t help but shiver at that single word. In the ornate chamber, which boasted flawless heating and carefully maintained air circulation, he nevertheless felt a distinct chill seep into his bones.

If he were being honest with himself, he had once believed that perhaps, at some point, the Prince would reconsider.

But that possibility didn’t even look plausible in the face of such a callous response.

Now, the already doomed aide had no right to label anything as evil when he himself was marching to hell for being complicit in all of this. Still, even for someone raised to understand that in most royal families only the strongest survived uncontested, he couldn’t entirely rid himself of his reservations.

Especially when it came to messing with children. Especially one who wouldn’t even be able to contend for the throne even if she tried.

Therefore, in her stead, he tried.

"But Your Highness..."

Silence stretched between them.

"But?"

Prince Eren slowly turned to face him, his expression composed, almost curious. The look alone felt like judgment.

Bram bowed lower.

"Did I just hear you say ’but’?" the Prince continued mildly, as though generously offering his aide a chance to take it back.

"I’m sorry, Your Highness. I’ve made a grave mistake."

"Such a soft heart you have," Eren remarked, the faintest trace of amusement coloring his voice.

Then his gaze sharpened.

"Do you think they would think twice before getting rid of you—us?"

"...No, Your Highness."

"Mn."

Prince Eren turned away again, his attention returning to the panoramic view of his kingdom’s capital. His fingers began to drum lightly against the table, each tap deliberate, like someone pressing piano keys in a quiet recital.

"Just like every other generation, this is simply a matter of personal survival," he said evenly. "The only difference is that I don’t wish for their deaths to be useless. No—I want them to be remembered by our people as the key figures who sacrificed so we as a race could soar."

The rhythm of his fingers continued, controlled and steady.

"If I merely wanted to eliminate them, I could have used poison or arranged assassinations just like our predecessors did. And yet, I didn’t."

His hand paused for only a fraction of a second before resuming.

"Instead, I wanted them to take on better roles. I wanted them to participate actively, to leave their mark in history."

Only then did the drumming stop.

"So tell me," Eren asked calmly, "have I not been magnanimous enough?"

Bram stiffened. The question wasn’t truly a question.

He dropped to his knees, his forehead striking the floor in a full bow of remorse.

Prince Eren barely spared him a glance.

"Pick the perfect spot for launch," he instructed without emotion. "And since I’d like to grant my loyal aide a small concession, inform them they may at least allow for a hug."

Bram’s movements halted at once. A large lump rose in his throat, nearly choking him.

"...Thank you, Your Highness," he said, his voice barely steady.

__

Meanwhile, just as one disgruntled aide left to carry out his master’s orders, another was struggling to keep it together while maintaining proper posture despite everything he was witnessing.

Well.

More like seeing.

Yeah.

In the sea of spectators eagerly cheering for their favorite fossil, Rahil stood stiffly beside his alleged master when Ollie Mylor suddenly slammed his buzzer.

"I’m done!" the blonde declared, slightly out of breath as he lifted the component he’d been painstakingly polishing since he’d been accidentally roped into a competition that was supposedly meant for guests and customers.

Wearing the uniform of a booth staff member, the sparkling cadet was most certainly out of place amidst the masters and their apprentices alike.

For a split second, there was a sudden silence.

Then came the collective intake of breath.

A wave of disbelief rippled through the hall as people checked the timer, then checked it again. Rahil stared at the display in front of him and confirmed that the cadet had indeed finished far faster than most of the master mechanics present.

Save for Master Quinn, who pressed his own buzzer only seconds later.

Gasps broke out in clusters.

"That can’t be right."

"A cadet?"

"Is that record even valid?"

"How on Solara is that possible?"

Expressions of disbelief surrounded Rahil as terminals flickered to life, replaying timestamps and magnifying feeds. It didn’t help that Ollie was grinning like he hadn’t just shattered expectations.

Then, close to Rahil, someone spoke in a low, almost contemplative tone.

"It’s just like math."

"Huh? What?" asked a confused companion, turning toward him.

"Well, I also calculate fast," the first one said matter-of-factly.

"You? You calculate fast? Then 972 times 538?" the friend scoffed, crossing his arms in challenge.

"567890."

"Huh?!" The scoffer immediately checked his terminal. "Are you insane? That’s wrong. It’s supposed to be 522936."

"And?" the first replied, unbothered. "I said I could calculate fast. I never said I’d calculate it right."

"!!!"

The bewildered companion stared at him in disbelief.

Without missing a beat, the self-proclaimed sage continued, "Without grading each piece, how would we know if it was polished well? Even you could join and submit something if you’re only concerned about speed."

He received a sharp smack to the head for trying to sound philosophical.

"You punk!"

"Ow! Ow!"

Honestly, Rahil would’ve liked to listen more.

He would’ve liked to nod thoughtfully and pretend that this take was profound, even if it wasn’t particularly applicable in this case.

But that was impossible.

Because at the moment, he felt like he needed three sets of eyes to track everything unfolding around him.

Not to mention his increasingly sweaty palms.

But just as he tried to do something about that, his terminal pinged.

Safe to say, the awaiting aide nearly jolted, spine straightening instinctively as the notification flashed across his vision.

"..."

"Your Highness, Princess Marin has arrived."