The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 613

Chapter 613: Hovering Dreams

The call was unexpected.

Especially for someone who had been happily tailing his boyfriend, loudly insisting that everything his good brother made would definitely be good.

But of course, they went back after being sought out, with Ollie suddenly blurting out, "Brother! Is something wrong?" His wide eyes scanned left and right like a watchdog, because Luca’s hesitant expression had to mean danger, right?

"Well, brother," Luca said at last, his golden eyes flickering shyly, "remember the surprise I was working on? I’ve finished the parts I could do alone, but for us to actually complete it, I’m going to need your help with this." He gave a nervous little grin.

Surprise.

A word that was definitely within the Top Ten of Ollie Mylor’s all-time favorite words. His brain lagged for one second before he nearly took flight, squealing so loudly that Kyle instinctively stiffened for battle.

"SURPRISE?! REALLY?! You mean it, brother?!" Ollie gasped, now clutching Luca’s hands with the desperate intensity of a man clinging to the edge of a cliff.

"Yes, brother," Luca said, trying not to laugh at him. "Actually, I should apologize. This took longer than I expected. We tried several iterations to make the load manageable. After all, with something like this, I had to check in with Kyle first."

"Huh? Kyle?" Ollie blinked innocently, like someone hearing the word "responsibility" for the first time.

Luca only nodded, then extended a space button toward Kyle.

But to Ollie’s complete shock, Kyle didn’t keep it. He handed it straight to Ollie.

"EH???"

Ollie’s shriek ricocheted across the room. His head whipped between Luca, Kyle, and the seemingly glowing space button in his palm like he’d just been handed the fate of the Empire by accident.

That reaction was enough to make everyone else stop what they were doing. Heads turned. Conversations died. And just like that, Ollie’s parents, who had already gone through more shocks in one day than should be legal, found themselves staring yet again.

Marquis Osmond Mylor was the first to pale. His earlier mental preparation, the one he swore would help him withstand any outrageous event in the dungeon, was apparently being tested again.

Today’s revelations had already included learning about his son’s secret relationship. Then came the ordeal of actually handing him over. Then came the shock of the auction items, the new biomechas, the endless arsenal.

But this?

This was the very sudden, completely unanticipated scenario of his child becoming... a pseudo-mecha pilot?

The Marquis clutched at his chest. Was he really still in the land of the living?

Probably not.

Because surely, their little Ollie wasn’t about to pilot one of those giant masterpieces?!

Well. Apparently, not entirely.

Because in a sense, Oliver Mylor—sworn brother of Luca Soren Kyros, self-proclaimed cutest mechanic alive—was about to add a brand new title to his collection.

He might actually be the very first person in history to call himself...

...the cutest companion mecha pilot.

And considering the stunned silence echoing through the chamber, he was probably also the only one. Absolutely no competition there.

In front of everyone stood a cobalt blue medium biomecha, its proportions sharp and lean like a duelist sculpted for precision. Every line was streamlined, sleek, and efficient. But no one cared about the frame.

Because the wings stole everything.

Vast crystalline structures shimmered like sculpted blades of light, spreading wide behind it in a display so dazzling that even the most seasoned onlookers forgot to breathe. Beautiful. Intimidating. And, above all, unusual.

Medium mechas could have wings, yes, but they were typically slim auxiliary ones designed for agility or stealth. Or sometimes, they’d exist solely because a certain designer—such as D-29— would insist on aesthetics. But this? These wings were entirely out of place.

And that was because Luca had made a decision.

A companion mecha.

At first, Kyle’s biomecha loomed like a blue seraph, its nine vast feathered wings stretched wide, scattering light in shards like broken rainbows. The wings shifted, folding inward as though the mecha itself was drawing breath. One by one, each segmented plate contracted, radiant "feathers" locking together into armored blades.

Then came the sound. A deep mechanical resonance. A thrumming that reverberated through the hangar, rattling spines. Energy veins along the wings flared brighter.

With a decisive snap, the entire wing structure began to pull free from the biomecha’s spine.

What looked like ornamentation—a mere flourish of plating—wasn’t.

The wings detached.

And with them, so did the soul of Master Quinn, who actually staggered and clutched at his chest, while Ollie’s knees turned into jelly as he slumped into Kyle’s arms.

In a single heartbeat, the wings contorted midair, folding and twisting with the precision of something that had always been meant to transform. The blades compressed, rearranging into a new chassis. From radiant feathers came six jointed limbs, clicking open with insect-like grace. Major parts collapsed into a sleek carapace, crimson optics sparking awake like a predator’s glare.

What had been part of the mecha’s silhouette seconds ago now stood beside it.

A smaller butterfly-hexapod biomecha, cobalt-blue and humming with its own reactor. Alive. Separate. Watching.

[Congratulations! You have been offered a promotion to Dungeon Manager. Accept?]

[YES]

[NO]

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