The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]-Chapter 353: Punished

But none of it could probably be heavier than Jax’s breathing as he attempted to fuse himself with the bathroom wall.

Honestly, it was an immediate betrayal of his recent oath of never leaving first.

Because frankly, he realized that if he stayed, he might not make it out, either.

He’d taken one look at that room, at those parents, and realized: nope.

And besides, he only barely heard of what happened when they all suddenly disappeared.

So, just what would he tell these expectant adults?

Thankfully, his father had never been one to look for him, and he likely wouldn’t have to go through something like this. And so, with admirable survival instincts, the actual dorm owner dipped straight into Luca’s dungeon space.

Only to come across the Duchess when he ran outside.

Duchess Amelia blinked down at him, her brows lifting slightly. "Is everything alright?" she asked, concerned.

Jax, still catching his breath, looked up with a grim expression. "Not exactly, Your Grace..."

She looked him up and down, taking in his rumpled shirt, room slippers, and how his hair was sticking up at impossible angles. "Did you roll straight out of bed?"

"Sort of, Your Grace," Jax said flatly. "And I wish I’d stayed there."

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "What happened?"

"The Mylors, they-they showed up. In person. Looking for their son." He rubbed his face like he could scrub the memory away. "They’re in there now. Talking to him."

Amelia’s lips parted slightly. "Oh."

Her mind worked quickly, piecing things together. "And they hadn’t seen him since?"

"Since he left to return to Planet Nova," Jax confirmed grimly. "It’s just that it seems like they’ve somehow heard about the hijacking incident."

"Ah."

A soft exhale left the Duchess as her eyes softened with understanding and a touch of sympathy for the Mylors.

But also for Ollie.

For in all fairness to the child, what happened was out of his control. So maybe it would help if she explained it as someone who could attest to their unusual situation.

It was just that she couldn’t exactly waltz into the dorms unannounced, especially since she hadn’t gone through the proper arrival procedures of Planet Nova.

Hm.

Amelia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Then...please tell Luca and the others that I’d like to extend an invitation to the Mylors to join our small gathering later. That way, I can at least explain things to them properly."

Jax straightened a little. "Understood, Your Grace."

Then he paused.

"..."

"Actually," he added slowly, "maybe I’ll message Kyle instead."

Amelia raised a brow. "Why?"

The messenger gave a wan smile. "Call it instinct, Your Grace."

He also didn’t elaborate, for the back of his neck was all tingly. Also, how would he explain how it felt dangerous to randomly badger the Captain lately?

But his other best friend wasn’t doing as well.

The said adjutant was standing right outside the door, shoulders stiff, ear tilted toward the faintest sounds filtering through.

Yelp.

Thud.

Another yelp.

Kyle winced sympathetically.

What in the Emperor’s name are they doing to him in there? He thought to himself.

And then he heard it.

"One! Two! One! Two!"

Kyle blinked.

Huh?

It was worrying, but how come the muffled groans sounded familiar?

But of course. As a soldier who had been keeping up with his training daily, it would be impossible to be unfamiliar with these sounds.

Inside the borrowed room, a certain prodigal son could be seen fighting for his life.

Not in the sense of fists or belts or even thrown slippers.

No.

See, people often assumed that noble families like the Mylors would discipline their heirs traditionally, with stern lectures and corporal punishment.

But that was because most, if not nearly everyone, were unaware of the Astrea side of Ollie’s lineage.

Oh no.

Because while the Mylors were known for their contributions to commerce and economic stability, the Astreas were...something else entirely.

Classified, Ollie was always told the same word, which was basically how he described that side of the family.

All he knew was that his mother’s side was a specialized military family.

And that meant that the family believed in discipline through physical conditioning.

And his delicate-looking mother?

An absolute tyrant in disguise.

Elegant? Yes.

Refined? Certainly.

But beneath that graceful exterior was a woman who could probably out-benchpress soldiers half her age.

This was why, at this very moment, Oliver Astrea Mylor was on the dorm floor, sweating buckets and barely able to lift his trembling arms.

"Thirty more burpees, Oliver!" his mother commanded cheerfully.

"M-mom, please—anything...!" Ollie gasped between huffs. "Anything but burpees!"

There was a pause.

"I see, you’ve graduated from mere burpees, huh? Very well, diving drills then!"

"NOOO—" cried out the teary-eyed mop who had his hand outstretched towards his mother.

"Planking."

"..."

The choice wasn’t as good, but Ollie was not one to turn down such a grace when it could’ve been worse for the little mechanic who had sticks for arms.

Ollie’s face crumpled. "I-I accept my fate," he whispered, the light fading from his eyes.

Even Marquis Mylor winced at this. His physique may be hulking, and was something that all his children, save for Ollie, inherited, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed such drills.

In fact, because of his take on fights, the reluctant father’s method of punishment was to cut off their vital blood—money.

He would chase them around to disable their terminals and put their accounts on survival mode.

They would be able to use it for their basic needs and actual academic expenses, but all of it would be reported back to him for checking.

It was a brutal thing for the young Mylors, but it was nothing compared to the nearly unending punishments of their mother.

"...Kyle—" Ollie whimpered faintly toward the crack of the door. "Tell... my story..."

And so, it came to pass that the prodigal son, in fuzzy pajamas and bunny slippers, was subjected to a full-body military warm-up inside someone else’s dorm room.

If anything, there was likely one big difference this time around, for even Ollie understood why he’s being subjected to this.

Their mother had always instilled the possibility of threats lurking everywhere, but he’d never really taken it that seriously, only worrying and imagining scenarios that didn’t really seem possible.

But look at him now?

And when he felt that powerlessness earlier, he figured it was because he always attempted to escape this punishment.

So, with trembling eyes, and well trembling everything, he tried to survive his punishment.

But then—

His mother squatted down, leveling with him, only to open her arms for her struggling son.

"...Come here, my Oliver," Marquise Julienne said softly.

Ollie sniffled.

Paused.

And then launched himself into her embrace, sobbing like a giant baby.

"Mooooom—!" he wailed. "It’s not my fault! I swear I didn’t mean to! Nobody loves me anymore!"

"Shhh." She held him tight, stroking his sweat-soaked hair, her smile fond but victorious. "My poor darling."

Ollie buried his face into her shoulder. "I’m gonna diiieee."

"...Not today, sweetheart."

"Maybe after you tell us just what happened to you, we can decide," she added before Ollie burst into more tears and complaints.

Outside, one redhead told Kyle about the invitation extended by the Duchess, and the adjutant rubbed the bridge of his nose as he thought of how to invite them without dying.