Chapter 557: Their Expectations

Words : 1310 Updated : Feb 3rd, 2026

Chapter 557 of "The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]" opens presenting key developments: Chapter 557: Their Expectations Arena Three, Noon The crowd arrived early. Much earlier than they should have. And... Read on!

Chapter 557: Their Expectations Arena Three, Noon The crowd arrived early. Much earlier than they should have. And despite the bigger venue, it was still the same people from yesterday’s spectacle who filled it out before the exam had even started. No newcomers were allowed. That had been a unanimous decision by the master mechanics. Not because they wanted to hoard knowledge or play favorites—no, it was because no one wanted to deal with questions. Questions like, "How did he do that?" or "What technique was that called?" or the dreaded "Where can I learn to make something like that?" No one had answers. No one wanted to pretend they did. So the solution was simple. Only allow people who have already accepted their ignorance. Strangely enough, this meant the entire mecha manufacturing faculty got the day off. Mostly because none of them returned to their classrooms yesterday. Administrators were baffled. But when all the present masters claimed it was for "future mechanic education," even the Academy had to shut up and nod along. That was yesterday. Today, no one was quite sure what they were about to witness. Would it be the sight of Luca calibrating yesterday’s innocent mecha like some magical priest performing a resurrection? Would it be Marshal Julian having what looked suspiciously like a personal crisis? Or perhaps something even stranger? Either way, the anticipation had increased to a level that felt suffocating. After yesterday’s insanity, some of the older masters had started dreaming again. Real, vivid dreams of mechas they’d once imagined as children. It was borderline embarrassing. What would House Kyros unleash this time? Would this be the grand, majestic sibling of the first mecha? Would he need another test pilot? Perhaps a volunteer? The questions were endless. Even Master Allan, who once loudly claimed the boy was a glorified stunt, now found himself waking up in a cold sweat at three in the morning, muttering about tendrils and sacred materials. But when Luca began today’s build, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t what they expected. Someone whispered, "That looks... kind of ordinary, doesn’t it?" Another murmured, "Wait. Isn’t that the standard hybrid metal composite? The one we use all the time?" "Yes. It is. That’s definitely hybrid alloy." More murmurs spread. Surprise rippled through the crowd like someone had poured cold water over their dreams. No one wanted to say it out loud, but after yesterday’s gravemaw build, it was hard not to feel... underwhelmed. Still, Luca looked completely focused. Not disappointed. Not unsure. Just quietly determined. Because unlike the first mecha, this one wasn’t built from urgency. It wasn’t about a need. It was about intent. This wasn’t a showpiece or a dare to the laws of engineering. This was for something more personal. A nod to who he was trying to be. A mechanic. So the build today was quicker. Understandably so. Hybrid metal composites were a far cry from gravemaw chitin. They didn’t try to bite back. They didn’t reject power tools, equipment, and even spiritual energy like a vengeful ghost. And most importantly, they didn’t have the durability of ancient guardians. So yes, the work went faster. By the time the detailing machine began its finishing pass, the entire arena had fallen into a kind of hush. Not necessarily silence out of boredom, although some soldiers might been sleeping with their eyes open, but for most people, it was just an oddly focused kind of quiet. Yesterday had been a rollercoaster of screams, gasps, and nearly dying elders. Today felt different. People were watching with bated breath, like they were trying to understand what Luca was doing at every step. No one dared sneeze. No one dared blink. But then Luca stepped out of the enclosed space and, with perfect sincerity, asked if he could begin calibrating the Marshal’s mecha. It was like someone flipped a switch. Suddenly, interest spiked. Even the master mechanics began shuffling, itching to go down into the arena to observe the calibration from up close. They might have even started making their way down the stairs if Master Colton hadn’t raised a single hand and reminded them this was still, technically, an exam. There were a few offended grumbles, one master muttering something about how "rules were for the weak," but they all returned to their seats. So they watched. Marshal Julian, meanwhile, wasn’t exactly sure how to answer Luca’s calibration questions. Because—let’s be honest—how was he supposed to compare this mecha with anything? It was better than his official unit. Better by a terrifying margin. So when Luca asked, "How’s the responsiveness in the left elbow joint?" or "Do you feel drag when pivoting to your non-dominant side?" all Julian could do was pause and blink. Was he supposed to feel drag? Apparently, yes. Because Luca was already noting potential improvements. "If there’s a slight lag when rotating the shoulder axis, we can adjust the energy relay nodes near the joint. Also, Marshal, how’s the weight distribution when you’re in a right-side stance?" "Uh," Julian muttered. "It’s... good?" "Sir, what about flexibility at the knee joint? Can you shift into a crouch without pressure buildup?" Julian’s mouth opened and closed. "Marshal," Luca suddenly said as if remembering something important, " I apologize for almost forgetting. This mecha has a different energy flow grid. The idea is to avoid wasting spiritual energy when holding the basic stance by reversing the way the mecha prioritizes energy distribution. It might take a bit of getting used to since it changes the burst start-up of the mecha, but I believe it would be more beneficial for the pilots in the long run." Julian froze. Reverse the what? Wait. That was it. That was why it had felt so different yesterday. It wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t his imagination. Luca had deliberately messed with the foundational layout of the mecha’s core grid system. His brain short-circuited for a moment. Because if this was intentional... if that level of performance came from that level of design... then the mechanics still sitting smugly at their table upstairs would cry if they ever heard this conversation. And he wouldn’t hear the end of it because of their envy. Still, aside from learning something ground-breaking, Marshal Julian realized that Luca was a rather purposeful person, so it was impossible for him to just declare things without a reason. So he risked it and asked. Julian cleared his throat. "Cadet Kyros." Luca looked up from the panel he’d been adjusting. "Yes, sir?" "What exactly are you trying to build that requires destroying a mecha?" Luca blinked. Then, as if finally realizing it was time, he nodded. "I was hoping to introduce a support-type mecha, sir. So for the demonstration, I was hoping you would allow me to stay nearby." Julian stared. That was... not the answer he expected. "That is dangerous," he said, narrowing his eyes. Luca, bless him, smiled like a sunbeam. "So is the battlefield, sir. And if this type of mecha is going to help anyone out there, it needs to survive more than just theory." Julian looked away. That answer wasn’t just correct. It was difficult to argue with. He also couldn’t exactly say, ’Well, it might be inappropriate to have a likely future Imperial prince consort standing in the middle of a simulated warzone.’ Not that he had anything against anyone participating in combat, but what if a certain someone decided he didn’t like a little hair-pulling and sought revenge? After all, like father, like son. And who knew he’d never hear the end of it? But he could only swallow the sigh trying to crawl up his throat. "Fine," he said instead. "I’ve already arranged a training drill. A few volunteers should be arriving shortly." Only... he didn’t quite expect to need a few more for this.

Chapter 557: Their Expectations

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