The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 912

Chapter 912: One Foot in Hell

Once upon a time, Eden had a great life. A noble lineage, progressive parents, and an admirable older brother.

As the younger sister of Enzo Harcrest, she admittedly had an easier life where she only had to chase flies who were after her brother, as well as tolerate his ragtag circle of worshippers that included Curtis’s annoying face and Tavian’s even more annoying existence.

Eden used to complain about them always being at their house when they clearly had their own homes. But as the only person six years older, Enzo would always tell her to be nice.

"Their parents are currently deployed. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to keep them company for a while?" He always said it with that signature smile that was hard to forget.

Unfortunately for her, she heeded his advice.

She played nice.

If only she hadn’t been too nice, then maybe she would have still been able to proudly introduce herself as Eden Harcrest instead of Tech Specialist Eden.

If only she had the skills she had now, then maybe she would have been able to keep her family intact.

If only she had stuck to her guns, then maybe she wouldn’t be the same woman who needed to drag a whole idiot off to the side for damage control.

And drag him she did.

Curtis barely had time to process the movement before his wrist was seized and he was pulled across the hall, past a row of decorative partitions and toward a corner that, suspiciously, seemed like a blind spot.

He stumbled half a step before regaining balance. "What are you doing?" he demanded under his breath as she released him.

Eden didn’t answer.

Instead, she turned her back to him and began fixing herself up with alarming efficiency.

The messy bun by the top of her head was undone in one swift motion. Black hair cascaded down her back as she shook it out, fingers combing through to smooth it into something deliberate rather than careless.

From her pocket, she produced a small tube. She applied a subtle tint to her lips, pressing them together before puckering slightly to even the color.

Only then did she glance at him through the reflection of a nearby polished surface.

"Weaponizing," she said calmly.

Curtis blinked.

"...Excuse me?"

Eden turned fully this time and looked him up and down, gaze clinical and assessing, as though he were a piece of outdated hardware she was considering upgrading.

She didn’t adjust him. Didn’t fix his collar. Didn’t smooth his hair.

It had been years.

But she guessed even prigs just had to look presentable.

__

Curtis was admittedly confused. And he was even more confused because how could there be so much change from just flipping her long hair around?

Or was it because he hadn’t seen her with her hair down in nearly a decade?

The difference was unsettling.

The sharp, efficient tech specialist who kept her hair twisted up like a warning label was suddenly replaced by something deliberate. Softer lines. Dark waves framing her face. A faint tint to her lips that drew attention without trying too hard.

But she said weaponize.

Did she apply poison to her lips, or did she simply need to make it pretty before spewing curses?

Maybe both.

Hopefully both.

Because those were much better options than her going through extra steps simply to impress that bastard Tavian Orell.

Yes. House Orell’s current heir.

The golden child who allowed such a vile house to stay in power.

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