The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]-Chapter 502: Daughter

And Princess Kira wasn’t alone in this thought.

Ada, standing just behind her, couldn’t help but think how lucky they were to even be in this position.

Not the part where they might very well get dragged back home in shame at any moment—no, that was still very much on the table—but the part where everyone else in the room was far too bewitched by the precious goods before them to think of anything else.

It was the kind of temptation that came in every size, every flavor, and every impossible price point.

And everything had been going so well.

Until that noble opened his mouth to doom them all.

He definitely deserved a slap upside the head.

See, the cooking lessons were doing wonders not only for everyone’s morale but also serving as a great distraction.

Yes, there were occasional screams of regret from those who realized they’d missed out on the assorted fruit and vegetable baskets—apparently, that was a much bigger deal than anyone realized—but overall, things were still under control.

After all, people were still excited about those huge eggs. Eggs!

They were marveling at the dozens of ways eggs could be cooked, people shouting out ideas as though they’d just invented fire.

It was good. It was great.

And then someone just had to ask about the appliances.

One could practically hear the collective snap of everyone’s composure when they realized the instructional video they’d been watching featured...an actual kitchen.

A real, functioning kitchen.

With...counters. And cabinets. And something called an oven, which all of them bought.

A hush fell as nobles all across the room slowly turned pale with horror, realizing they had no idea whether their own houses even had a place for something like cooking and washing.

It was, as Ada thought grimly, the start of their downfall.

Admittedly, it was an innocent question.

A hand went up, and a shaky voice asked:

"How does one go about renovating one’s residence to accommodate... a kitchen like that?"

And just like that, Jax—who was already standing with his trademark salesman grin and a prepared explanation about the appliances—unleashed chaos.

The moment he began explaining how kitchens could be renovated to maximize efficiency and flavor output, it was over.

Members scrambled for their terminals, calling aides, wives, husbands, and architects.

"I want my kitchen done before I get back!" barked one man into his communicator.

"Knock down the west wing if you have to!" another screamed.

"Sell the summer villa! That thing doesn’t look like it could accommodate a decent kitchen!" someone else howled.

Ada, watching this unfold, quietly blamed herself.

If she’d just slipped the King’s aide a bit more dairy earlier to keep him quiet, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to raise his hand and ask Princess Kira what kind of kitchen she would recommend for their estate.

And maybe, just maybe, Ada wouldn’t be here now.

In the military headquarters arena.

Praying to survive another wave of attacks.

While her boss stood in the center, crying out in pure indignation while hurling blows toward his father.

The wind howled, sweeping through the arena, strong enough that Ada’s feet, which were firmly digging into the ground, began to skid back, her boots leaving lines in the dirt.

Why?!

Why was it always like this?!

Because the moment the question left his mouth, her ever-charming boss practically saw it as the chance to jump the gun.

Princess Kira had looked him dead in the eye and replied—politely, oh so politely—that she didn’t need a kitchen renovation. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Because she wasn’t planning on going home yet.

That "yet" should have been a comfort.

But apparently it wasn’t.

Because that was exactly how the King’s spiritual pressure had spiked, the air had cracked, and now, here they were, "sparring" for their right to stay.

King Garick wasn’t exactly sure when he snapped.

One moment, he was standing inside the daycare, staring at his daughter’s calm, unusually polite smile.

Next, he was outside.

In one of those arenas in the Empire’s Military Headquarters.

It took him a full second to register the clang of reinforced gates locking behind him, the sudden loss of spiritual energy in the air becoming suddenly obvious, and a few people watching silently from the stands above.

When realization finally dawned, he didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

Because this...this looked like it had been planned all along.

Who in their right mind had a contingency like this ready to go at a moment’s notice?

His daughter, apparently.

She’d reserved the Empire’s military headquarters training facility ahead of time—just in case it "came to this."

The audacity.

No. The sheer nerve.

The King’s fists clenched at his sides as his golden eyes narrowed on the young woman standing across the arena.

His daughter stood there, perfectly composed, her hands clasped behind her back.

Not a single hair out of place.

How dare she?

How dare she suddenly make such claims of staying here—staying behind—when that hadn’t been their agreement?

They’d discussed this already. He’d already given her so much leeway.

But then she still had such inappropriate thoughts?!

And yet there she stood, her posture defiant, as if daring him to say otherwise, like a true Orc who knew how to take what she wanted.

The King exhaled slowly, the air around him shimmering as his spiritual pressure began to rise.

His eyes glowed.

Fine.

If it had come to this...then so be it.

He’d remind her who she was.

And whose daughter she still was.

Well, it wasn’t like she didn’t know.

In fact, she was well aware of this fact. And it was precisely that knowledge that led her to prepare such a thing.

After all, out of everyone, she understood him best, at least in this sense.

Where else could she have gotten that personality, that pride, and especially that stubbornness?

And because of this, someone like her father, who wouldn’t be satisfied with quiet words or gentle persuasion, would likely end up in this scenario.

Settling matters the traditional way.

Blow for blow.

But even though she expected this, there was still something in her she wanted to try.

Something she’d learned from her friends.

Something she’d seen in their parents—reluctant at first, but in the end... supportive.

And she wanted that, too.

The arena rang with the clash of spiritual force, shockwaves rattling the stands as the King and Princess traded strikes.

The ground cracked beneath their feet. The air rippled and howled with every exchange.

Finally, between blows, Kira raised her voice, clear and firm, even as her legs dug into the ground to block his strike.

"Father," she called, "I mean it. I really want to stay!"

The King didn’t answer at first.

But his spiritual energy surged, the pressure so thick that even the veteran soldiers flinched.

He swung his arm wide, summoning a roaring blade of wind that tore through the air between them.

"You’ve gone mad!" he barked over the howl of the gale. "Blinded by love and the insincere promises of these humans!"

He snarled, the sound low and sharp, even as his strikes kept coming.

Because he knew better.

Kira wasn’t the first.

She hadn’t been born yet, hadn’t been there to see his younger sister fall for a human’s honeyed words.

And then fall into ruin.

He remembered how she had smiled so foolishly, how her human "partner" had left her to die.

How he had fought a bitter war in her name after her death, fueled by grief and rage.

Even now, decades later, the scars of it burned deep.

And now his daughter wanted to throw herself into that same fire?

No.

It was already bad enough that she had gone this far.

But to stand here and say she wanted to stay?

That was something else entirely.

He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the shift.

Until it hit him.

A strike—not just strong, but different.

His eyes widened as the impact sent him skidding back a full pace, his boots carving into the dirt.

What was this?

That strength...that force...it was beyond her usual.

And when he looked up, his daughter was already closing the distance.

Her eyes blazed with determination as she thrust forward, her hand stopping just short of his chest.

"Father," she said firmly, her breath steady despite everything, "I know you have your opinions. I know what you’ve seen, what you’ve lost..."

"But please..."

Her voice softened then, just enough to cut through the roar of his spiritual pressure.

"Please see me."

"I’m not my aunt."

"I’m your daughter."

"Please...see how much I’ve grown."