The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 1191: The Beebriefing

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on who was supposed to benefit, contrary to Master Quinn’s greatest fears, the twins responsible for the fiasco involving the supposedly possessed master mechanics weren’t exactly reaping the rewards they’d expected.

Having just returned from yet another rendezvous with their newly acquired puppets, the siblings gracefully inclined their heads toward the countless admirers greeting them along the way.

Outwardly, they appeared as elegant and composed as ever, but the faint tightness around their eyes betrayed the irritation they were trying so hard to hide.

The moment they were out of immediate earshot, the two unfolded their metallic fans and raised them over the lower halves of their faces. The specially crafted fans were more than mere accessories, serving to prevent those around them from overhearing their conversation while also shielding their lips from being read by spies and curious onlookers alike.

"Are you telling me they know absolutely nothing about that Mylor’s mecha?" Lyrian asked, his voice low with disbelief.

"No!"

"They’re useless," Cyrion hissed in frustration. "I’ve had to sit through endless yapping about blasting techniques, the lack of suitable alloys, the bets they’ve been making over what they think that blonde punk is building and what they assume it’s made from, but not a single thing our people didn’t already know."

"That can’t be right. Are you saying the cadet didn’t even clear the design with the association?"

"Yes! That’s exactly what I’ve been saying! They actually have no say over that guy’s build. If anything, the only useful thing we’ve learned is that the Empire doesn’t have nearly as tight a grip on its people as we’d assumed."

Ordinarily, that would’ve been valuable information.

Had they known before the Expo, quite a few of their plans could’ve been different. They might’ve chosen to quietly worm their way in instead of placing themselves under such an obvious spotlight.

Now, however, it was little more than confirmation of something most observant people had already begun suspecting.

Cyrion clicked his tongue, thoroughly dissatisfied with the amount of information they’d managed to gather considering everything they’d risked to obtain it. Beside him, Lyrian unconsciously bit at his thumb while weighing their remaining options.

They’d already gone this far.

Backing out now was no longer an option.

"And brother," Cyrion asked quietly, struggling to keep the panic from creeping into his eyes, "what do we do about that unruly mechanic? He ran off earlier. What if he actually tells someone about us?"

Lyrian considered the question for a moment.

"He can certainly try," he replied calmly. "But who would believe him?"

After all, there was hardly any evidence they’d done anything at all. Sure, they could be seen entering the masters’ lounge, but anyone with some sort of invitation was free to visit, especially before the day’s session began.

As for the masters’ sudden devotion to the two of them... even if every affected mechanic were subjected to every medical examination available, the results would come back perfectly normal. That certainty was precisely why they’d dared to use their ability in the first place.

Besides, how was anyone supposed to prove they’d manipulated something as subjective as interest?

With the reputation they enjoyed throughout the known universe, who would even think to question them and their widely-acknowledged appeal?

"If he speaks up," Lyrian continued, "he’ll only end up helping us."

Cyrion frowned.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

As he subtly angled himself toward his brother, cheers suddenly erupted throughout the arena.

Oliver Mylor moved through the middle of the testing grounds with far greater familiarity, looking far more like a mechanic than he had throughout the entirety of the first day. After all, instead of repeatedly subjecting metal to increasingly violent processes, he was now assembling the intricate internal components that would allow every part of the mecha to actually function.

But despite the important scene unfolding below them, neither twin spared him so much as a glance, their attention remaining fixed on the rather tricky situation they’d found themselves in.

"We’re going to let the trash take itself out," Lyrian murmured. "And if it doesn’t, then in the worst-case scenario, we’ll finally have a reason to meet the people we actually came here to see."

"You really think that’ll happen?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. It all depends on whether they’re willing to leave Quinn’s accusations alone and abandon their supposed comrades in their current condition. Either way, even if we don’t get exactly what we’re after, drawing the pillars of the Empire’s Mecha Manufacturing Association to our side should still count for something, don’t you think?"

"Well..."

"I know what you’re thinking. We’re not giving up on our original goal. After all, I doubt you’d want to settle for them when there are simply better options we could choose instead. I’m only saying we’re not in a losing position just yet."

"...That’s true."

The siblings exchanged satisfied glances, their brief exchange doing much to reassure them that their situation wasn’t nearly as dire as it’d first seemed.

And if they truly couldn’t make use of the people they’d worked so hard to beguile as originally intended, then they could simply push them to the edge until no one else could make proper use of them either.

Perhaps things weren’t so bad after all.

Unfortunately, caught up in their little celebration, neither of them realized that every supposedly secret word of their carefully concealed conversation was already being relayed elsewhere through a series of extremely emotional and exceptionally dramatic waggles.

__

Orange’s covert operation had apparently been a tremendous success.

All that remained was the debriefing.

Her audience consisted of her own fathers, Killian and Jax, along with Luca, Xavier, Princess Kira, Noah, Count Alexander, and Duchess Amelia.

The baby Queen Bee, who’d proudly insisted on being referred to as Izzie, wasted no time taking center stage.

But since she couldn’t speak the same language, she settled for the next best thing by doing something Queen Bees wouldn’t traditionally do.

She vigorously performed an extremely modified version of the waggle dance while throwing out one exaggerated facial expression after another, all of which she’d very obviously picked up from the other girls and their antics.

Every frantic wiggle, dramatic turn, and indignant little stomp looked exactly like a tiny child enthusiastically tattling to an audience that couldn’t possibly be more invested.

Granted, her parents had already relayed everything they’d seen through their shared vision. But that hardly mattered to Isabelle, who simply wanted to offer her own take on the very same intel.