Kairie

“Unlucky” would be the nice way to describe Lucas’ luck. He wasn’t just down bad. He was practically cursed.

As someone who never asked to exist, he’s had to experience medical torture, imprisonment, and eventually death. And that was just his first life.

Then, just as he thought of escaping his fate, he transmigrates into the body of the Empire’s most useless Flower Vase. 

Great, now he should have status, wealth, and beauty, right?

Wrong.

Because his new body, Young Lord Luca Kyros, was a vegetable. And what’s worse was that no one else seemed to know the truth. To everyone else, he was just your typical rebellious heir. 

He wouldn’t have minded that. He was used to being called a harlot or similar names for being a defective Guide. But the problem was he woke up right smack in the middle of the Royal Military Academy’s Assessment test.

And his double body, the one who should be attending school, perished in an ambush.

So now, he’s forced to resolve his existential crisis while attending a school he never even enrolled in. 

He’ll have to conquer his flimsy body, his brooding roommate, and his picky-eater “dungeon”—all that on top of surviving impending doom.

Someone definitely needs a miracle.

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

They were supposed to be gone in ten minutes—fifteen at max—if something went wrong.

Pirate Veeka, second in command of the Riftmaw Ravagers, was not a patient woman. And right now, her boot tapped against the pristine metal floor of a far-too-clean luxury commuter craft, echoing louder than the hushed curses of her crew.

They should've left the place by now.

Except they were still here trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

Their target beast was nowhere to be found.

"Where is the passenger manifest?" she snapped, grabbing the holo-terminal from one of her men before he could hand it over.

"Yeah. It was a list, boss. The Problem is that it listed everyone, including those who only bought tickets."

Her eyes skimmed over the names. Nobles. Functionaries. The usual list of fat-pocketed twits who booked seats just to say they had them.