The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 811

Chapter 811: Invitations and Aftershocks

However, what absolutely should be reported was the visible panic gripping the organizers as they struggled to make sense of what in Solaris was happening to their event.

Because no.

Everything was not fine.

By this point, several committee members were in varying states of bedriddenness, not because they were injured, but because their families would not stop hounding them.

Calls came in from neighboring systems. Messages arrived from distant galaxies. And if there was a way for people from the afterlife to call, they were certain they would have gotten those calls too.

"What do you mean you can’t go inside?!" one wife demanded over a call, her voice sharp enough to cut through reinforced walls.

"I told you!" her unfortunate husband hissed back, rubbing his temples. "Even as organizers, we can’t just barge in there. The judges can. Not me!"

He looked around helplessly.

Every other committee member nearby was engaged in the same conversation, just phrased in ten different tones of desperation. Some were pleading. Some were bargaining. Some were outright lying and hoping it would stick.

None of it worked.

Assistant Adrian stood off to the side, quietly observing the supposed big shots who had very clearly shot themselves in the foot.

Repeatedly.

With enthusiasm.

They had been condescending and overconfident right up until DG’s parade entrance. Even after that, they had clung to hope. Surely it would taper off. Surely the novelty would fade.

Then the first wave of news dropped.

And now?

Now those same people were slumped against walls, sitting on the floor, or staring hollowly into their terminals like they were witnessing their careers evaporate in real time.

What could they even do?

Nothing came close to that originally inconspicuous booth. The one that had not bothered hiring a single advertising service.

No holoboards.

No premium placements.

No roving blimps.

DG had ignored everything other guilds swore by.

Everyone had thought they were insane.

And yet here the committee was, desperately rerouting foot traffic because hardly anyone wanted to stay in the designated high traffic zones anymore when they all wanted to try their luck with that demented wheel.

Worse still, the VIPs were restless.

Foreign delegations. Imperial leaders. Influential figures who couldn’t understand what was wrong with their questions were looking at them for answers.

All of them were asking the same thing.

When could they visit that booth?

And how long would they be allowed to stay?

The master mechanics were the worst.

Relentless did not begin to cover it.

They had been calling, messaging, and appearing in person with alarming frequency. Chairman Lan had developed a migraine so severe that even the sound of a terminal notification made him flinch.

Unfortunately, the answer could not change.

"Roughly twenty minutes."

Yes.

Give or take.

Twenty minutes.

The same amount of time allotted to every booth on the guided tour, a schedule carefully designed to avoid favoritism while ensuring smaller guilds still had a chance to present themselves.

In previous years, visits ran longer. But this year, with foreign delegations and nearly double the number of VIPs, the schedule had been tightened. Security. Logistics. Movement of massive groups.

Everything had been calculated.

They could not afford to spend excessive time at any one booth. They certainly could not force VIPs to linger at displays that might not hold their attention past the allotted window.

The number had been chosen for a reason.

Who could have known it would become catastrophically counterproductive when people wanted to stay in one booth for an entire day?

And yet, the most bitter irony of all rested with the very people who had wronged DG in the first place.

How could they suddenly demand invitations from a guild when even the Imperial family had secured their own invites out of respect and procedure, while the Marshal had won his with blood, sweat, and unbeknownst to them, tears?

That reality hit hardest when the Imperial family, led by the Imperial Princess herself, politely bid everyone farewell as they departed to attend their personal schedules.

No fanfare, no added explanations.

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