The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 808

Chapter 808: Doing the Math

It didn’t take very long for reality to sink in.

Eventually, the attendees realized that there was a very real possibility that they could actually take something home.

Not just memories, but actual prizes.

After watching how tickets could be accumulated, people began revising their expectations at a frightening speed. Many had assumed that earning even a single ticket would be a matter of life and death, considering the absurdity of the prize list on display.

But apparently not.

Shock rippled through the crowd, mirrored by the netizens watching from elsewhere, all of them rapidly scrapping and rebuilding calculations in their heads as Reeve stood there trembling slightly while collecting the golden tickets he had just earned.

Then the Orc Princess added something else.

Casually.

“Oh,” Princess Kira said brightly, as if this were an afterthought. “Tickets can actually be pooled, provided everyone involved agreed to it.”

“!!!”

The pause was immediate and universal.

She smiled wider.

“Of course,” she continued in the same relaxed manner, “stealing tickets or coercing others will result in consequences I would personally describe as unpleasant for the person involved but likely satisfying for me.”

That did it.

The gathered flock nodded in perfect unison.

Satisfied, Princess Kira reminded everyone that not all games would give out tickets. Some would award prizes directly. Others were simply meant for fun or honest competition.

And with that, the crowd dispersed.

Guests scattered in every direction, laughter breaking out as excitement overtook restraint. People rushed toward machines, booths, and counters with barely contained enthusiasm.

The princess watched them go, grin still firmly in place.

Only then did it occur to her that she might have forgotten to remind them about one small thing.

Time.

But really, who wanted to be constantly reminded that fun had a deadline?

__

Thankfully, that concern did not particularly apply to the invitees. For the most part, they only needed to keep track of amenities that required reservations. Everything else was theirs to enjoy freely.

And among those guests was a group of teens who were still processing everything they had just witnessed.

Owen Mylor and his friends stood together in a loose cluster, eyes bright and slightly unfocused. Maybe it was the natural ability of youth to adapt to chaos, but they did not need much explanation to understand that something incredible was happening.

The moment they heard about the arcade redemption booth, they were ready.

“Let’s go,” Mason said, already moving.

They barely made it three steps.

“You!”

The voice rang out like a war horn.

The teens skidded to a halt so abruptly that one of them nearly toppled over. Shoes squeaked against the floor as bodies lurched awkwardly forward.

Owen froze.

Slowly, he pointed at himself.

“…Me?”

He looked left.

Looked right.

Unfortunately, there was no one else behind them.

Princess Kira loomed nearby, laughing heartily at the sight. “Yes, you,” she said cheerfully.

Every teen straightened instantly and bowed so fast it was almost synchronized.

“Your Highness!” they chorused.

She waved a hand dismissively, nodding at the polite little pebbles that sported such unique hair colors. “Relax. I’m a friend of your older brother.”

Owen blinked.

“…Brother?”

Princess Kira grinned. “Of course, your brother! Ollie, our lighthouse!”

Understanding and confusion hit at the same time.

“Oh!”

She tilted her head, studying him. “I just wanted to ask. Did you bring enough allowance for the arcade?”

Owen hesitated. “Um… I think so?”

“Well,” she continued casually, giving him a thumbs up, “if you didn’t bring extra, just tell me when you recharge. Kyle said to charge it to his account if you needed it.”

Owen’s face turned red.

“I did bring allowance!” he blurted out, then hurriedly added, “But thank you! I’ll thank my brother-in-law later!”

The other teens stared at him.

Jealousy bloomed instantly.

They were just about to pounce when their terminals began pinging.

All of them.

Simultaneously.

The teens froze.

Slowly, they looked at their screens.

Then at each other.

“…Why do you all look like that?” Owen asked cautiously.

Mason lifted his terminal. “Well, I’m not sure what happened, but my allowance…”

“What?”

“I was told I don’t have a limit today.”

“Huh?”

Tyson frowned at his own screen. “Yeah. Me too. It says I should spend as much as I can.”

Another ping went off.

“Hey!” Jonah suddenly protested. “How come I’m the only one told to make my family proud?!”

“…”

“…”

The teens burst out laughing.

Still laughing, they were ushered toward the games at last.

__

But really, how could they not receive such messages?

Their parents had finally realized exactly where their children had said they would be going that day. Elation mixed with panic spread with remarkable efficiency. Calls were made. Accounts were checked. Transfer limits were questioned and then promptly ignored.

Chunks of family wealth were hurriedly prepared for transfer, just in case.

Because what if their children missed something?

What if there was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and they simply did not have enough funds at the moment it appeared?

The thought alone was unacceptable.

Would their ancestors not rise from their graves just to chastise them for such a failure?

Thankfully, the teens themselves were far more sensible.

They checked their allowance, debated briefly, and then spent it on what they unanimously agreed was the most important thing.

Fun.

Which was how they ended up at the claw machine.

Of course, this fateful decision only came after they had absolutely demolished one another in a game labeled air hockey.

None of them had expected physical games like this to be so engaging without a virtual pod. Yet every time the puck slammed into the goal, competitiveness flared. Taunts flew. Victories were loudly celebrated.

Before they realized it, a small crowd had gathered.

One of their matches was even livestreamed after a guy named Reeve politely asked if they were okay with it.

Naturally, they agreed.

Who would not want such a glorious match immortalized?

If only they had known how popular Reeve’s livestream actually was. Perhaps then they would have refrained from teasing one another about dark childhood incidents in an attempt to throw each other off.

Then again, teens were teens.

Surely, in ten years, no one would remember who once went to school wearing two socks on one foot.

Probably.

And even if they did, that memory would soon be replaced.

Because that was when they noticed it.

An arcade machine that stood out even among the chaos of lights and sound.

Sleek. Eye-catching. Impossible to ignore.

The kind of machine that drew people in before they even realized they had stopped walking.

And just like that, the Empire’s next favorite game had found its first victims.