The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 782

Capítulo 782: Parade Crisis Management

To be fair, it wasn’t like they didn’t prepare anything for the parade.

They actually did.

They did their due diligence, studied past Annual Expo parades, and even consulted with former members of the famous Golden Phoenix Guild.

So they prepared their nine-person march.

The soundtrack for that.

And the flags they would have to wave really, really well.

They knew they had to compensate. After watching last year’s parade, it was obvious they wouldn’t be able to pull off the elaborate formations and synchronized waves the other guilds managed with solely their members. There were only nine of them, after all, while the rest had enough people to perform entire stunt routines.

Still, they were confident about speed and enthusiasm. They just had to work on synchronization and endurance because Ollie and Theo weren’t surviving past the halfway mark, while Princess Kira and Ada were spinning a little too fast, that they would sometimes lift off the ground

That was definitely unacceptable.

So even in the middle of their booth preparations, D-29 scheduled the mandatory practice for flagging because Butler Gary and Duke Leander had both been adamant that one basis for might was the guild members’ ability to spin, toss, and wave.

So they all attended practice.

Then again, how could they not, when Luca had once again overheard the soldiers talking about the importance of this year’s parade?

It was a chance at redemption and an opportunity to remind everyone that House Kyros still existed.

Luca felt responsible for representing his people. While he didn’t care so much about his image, it was another thing to drag the other members of their House, so he really wanted to do a great job.

Moreover, as his first interschool event, the young cadet could not possibly treat things lightly!

And it was the sentiment they had all taken to heart until the very last minute before the start of the parade.

But then they saw the first segment and everything imploded.

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It was Tragic with a capital T.

The moment several jets descended with a dramatic swoop, Sid knew they were fucked.

Sure, there had been a moment of denial. Maybe the Imperial military and the guards were not performing flagging because they obviously weren’t students.

But deep inside, the guardian mecha knew.

And sure enough, the dwarves zoomed in with their engines revving, and everything just came apart.

D-29 wailed like its internals were on fire, while Ollie kept wilting by the second.

Apparently, they needed an overhaul, and they needed it fast.

It was then that the little system practically rebooted and came back possessed.

When D-29 finished gathering everyone in the dungeon-linked space, the insane dictator decided that if it said jump, everyone would just jump.

Yes. They would not even ask “how high” because, apparently, there was no time for that, especially as more and more things became apparent to the system that had started crashing out.

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D-29 was not having a good day.

From the very first steps of the enemy delegations, the little system had felt something inside it crack. The cadence. The rhythm. The unified stomping that made the air vibrate. It was already irritated.

Then came the aerial tricks. The expensive vehicles. The glittering trails of light that spelled money. The custom-made parade uniforms that practically screamed budget. The embroidered crests that twinkled in the sun with smug self-importance.

A marching band appeared.

D-29 twitched.

Daytime fireworks went off.

D-29 glitched.

Smoke cannons blasted dramatic plumes across the sky.

D-29 rebooted twice.

Confetti rained down like the universe had decided to sprinkle salt directly into its circuits.

D-29 practically convulsed.

Then the worst happened.

Someone on the enemy side released spiritual energy for visual effect.

That was the moment the little system understood: they were going to lose.

Lose.

Lose in public.

Lose in front of every living being with eyes.

Absolutely not.

D-29 could not afford such a disgrace. Its pride was small, but it was dense. Dense enough to create gravity. Dense enough to crush mountains. Dense enough to require emergency emotional calibration routines.

But what to do?

What does one do when facing defeat so catastrophic it made D-29 wish it could throw itself into a recycle bin?

The answer came to it with the clarity of a divine revelation.

Well, what else but combine the full power of every research topic it had ever studied?

Parade dynamics.

Spectator psychology.

Cinematic timing.

Aerial misdirection.

Ground-impact techniques.

Mecha acoustics.

Lighting physics.

Emotional manipulation through visual overload.

Color theory.

Glow theory.

Very illegal theory.

And its favorite resource of all: Its host.

D-29 could feel the calculations spinning at light speed.

It pieced together charts.

It layered formations.

It ran nine thousand simulations in twelve seconds.

Five exploded.

Three caught fire in the theoretical space.

One would have had people attempting to sue the little system for workplace negligence.

But that’s okay because the remaining ones were perfect.

Good.

Very good.

Now, D-29 just needed everyone’s absolute and undivided cooperation.

“Host! I have a plan.”

And it was a great plan, alright. At least theoretically.

Because it looked great on the projection, but how exactly were they going to do such a thing when the organizers said they couldn’t damage people and property?

“Why not just put a spiritual barrier on?” shrugged Elder Feng.

Everyone turned to look at him wide-eyed.

Just how exactly would they even be able to do that?

But apparently not everyone shared the same abject disbelief, because one hand suddenly rose as if asking a question, “If we protect the floor and the audience, would that be enough?”

Well, it would be. But still, not only would that be impossible, but would that even solve all the problems listed by their overly enthusiastic coordinator?

Yes.

Apparently, yes, it would.

No robotic props and aerial exhibitions? Mechas outfitted with specific flight trajectories.

No music? Mecha body percussion led by a cue that would appear for every pilot.

No smoke or fireworks? Mecha propulsion discharge.

No intimidating beast? Choose between a stylish tortoise or a demonic goat.

No confetti? Reduce, reuse, recycle.

The proposal started to sound logical and shockingly plausible, and the listeners began nodding in approval as they imagined one system’s dreams and aspirations, when suddenly another hand went up.

“Excuse me, I like the idea so far, but how exactly are we getting down?” asked the curious blonde who regretted ever raising his hand.

For when it came down to it, he ended up being thrown out of Xavier’s gate while gripping two revive pills as he crashed down to his death.

But he was going to smile, because if he didn’t, D-29 might ask him to do it all over again.