The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 544

Chapter 544: Emergency Council

Some meetings began with grace.

This was not one of them.

"What do you mean he rewrote the calibration thresholds?! Who let him do that?!"

"Sir, it was the exam..."

"Don’t give me that! We’ve been calibrating since before he was born! I thought it was a prank!"

Several masters were already pacing; one had his head in his hands, and another was standing on a chair, trying to get a better signal for his terminal, as if that had ever been a problem.

Instructor Moore sat quietly at the corner of the chaos, watching them spiral like well-aged tops. His expression said it all.

He’d warned them.

"Are we sure this isn’t some setup?" someone muttered.

"Oh, please," said Master Colton, who was currently trying to yell into his terminal. "I’ve seen scams. This isn’t one. This is a catastrophe! Quinn! Pick up the call, damn you!"

Across the room, one of the older masters grunted, "Well, the first exam was to repair, and his second exam was supposed to be making a part."

"Yes," said another, pointing at the shared screen. "But he already did both. At the same time. And then some!"

"Then why are we still here yelling?! Just pass him! And talk to him about the real problems! Like how in the name of all holy circuitry did he calibrate like that?!"

"Exactly! We’re meeting because we want to talk to him, but how do you even start a conversation with someone like that?! That kid just redid an entire power grid like it was embroidery!"

"Oh? You think that’s easy? Then you try calibrating his setup!"

"Gladly!" the other huffed—and promptly shut up when someone pulled up footage of his earlier calibration dud.

Moore watched the spiraling storm with a sigh. Advisor Arlow, who had joined the room halfway through, slowly leaned over.

"Are they always like this?"

"No," Moore said, pinching his nose. "This is unusually coherent."

"...Oh."

He stood, raising his voice. "Masters, right now Cadet Kyros is outside waiting to take his second exam. What would you like me to tell him?"

Groans. Actual groans from grown men.

Then finally—

"QUINN! You son of a gun! It took SIX calls for you to pick up?! What if I were dying?!"

"Then die faster!" came the gravelly voice of Master Quinn from the holographic screen.

"Why would you be stupid enough to call someone so far away when you have an emergency?! Why are you even calling me?! Is someone actually dead?!"

"No, bastard! But I’m calling because we have a problem!"

"Then solve it! You’ve got enough masters in that room to fix a collapsing reactor! Or ten!"

"Well, this is different! Is the heir to the House Kyros not important enough, you stuck-up old man?!"

There was a pause.

Then Master Quinn leaned into the screen. "Colton. Why didn’t you say so? This is why you’d die early! How could you not start with the important things first!"

"Shut up! We’re deliberating on his status. We need an honest opinion."

"...How much have you taught him?" someone asked, eyes wide.

Quinn barked out a laugh. "Taught him?! Me? Teach him?"

The entire room froze.

"We’ve all known each other for decades. I could replicate all your builds in my sleep. So tell me. Do you see any of my techniques when he builds mechas?"

"Or are you asking because you haven’t seen his work?"

The room fell quiet.

Not from tension. But from realization.

Then the murmurs started again.

Until Moore, ever the quiet observer, finally asked the question that everyone had been dancing around.

"Master Quinn," he said slowly, "he’s capable of building a mecha? As in, from scratch?"

Quinn tilted his head, squinting thoughtfully from the holographic screen. "A mecha?" He gave a noncommittal hum, as though they had just asked him if Luca could boil water.

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