Chapter 625: Kidnapped by Bureaucracy
Then it would have been far worse of a disaster than what was already about to come.
When the time finally came to register the Duke’s mecha, the one who actually went through with it was Duchess Amelia.
For one, mechas of the great families—especially those who ranked closest to the top of the military department—were required to be registered at headquarters.
And while a proxy could technically handle the process, it was highly encouraged for someone of significant standing to make an appearance. That was why the Duchess herself had gone in person when she registered her own new biomecha.
This time, however, the registration was supposed to be a surprise. That was the excuse given to the office—that it was a surprise gift for her husband.
Duchess Amelia hoped they would not try to confirm anything with Leander, considering even he supposedly had no idea yet.
But then something strange happened.
The longer she stayed, the more people seemed to be called into the registration office.
Until finally, even she could not ignore it.
"Hello, by any chance, is there an event today? I’ve never seen this many people gathering in this office."
"O-oh! Your Grace," stammered the receptionist, practically choking on air. "There’s no event today, ah, it just seems that there was... something with the scanning machine."
The receptionist was sweating bullets. Honestly, she had no idea what was happening. All she knew was that the moment she reported the Duchess had come to register a mecha on behalf of her husband, she was told to stall.
Stall? How exactly was she supposed to stall the Duchess of Kyros?
She was just a receptionist!
Still, she was not completely oblivious. She had heard the gossip circulating around the department. They were desperate to find a way to ask someone—anyone—about the suspicious flood of new mechas.
She just never thought she would be the poor soul on duty when the Duchess showed up.
"Then, if there is something wrong with the machine, should I just come back another time?"
"W-wait! I’ll check on them. Maybe they’ve figured out what’s wrong, or perhaps it’s just routine maintenance. It wouldn’t be good for you to have to come all the way here again, Your Grace."
The receptionist bowed low, voice cracking, before bolting away like a rabbit fleeing a predator.
Amelia blinked, watching her run off. She had not even pressed that hard.
Meanwhile, inside the back room, the receptionist practically wailed at the cluster of employees huddled together.
"Guys! She’s already asking why there are so many people! And if it takes any longer, she’ll leave! She even asked if she should just come back another day! What are you all doing?!"
Her voice cracked with indignation, but when the others turned to look at her, she froze.
Their faces.
Why were they looking like that?
Well, how could they look normal after realizing that, even after the tenth scan, the results were still the same?
The bars were all maxed out.
Still maxed out.
And the recurring question hung in the air like doom itself: was something like this even possible?
Alas, if they could have returned to the days when they were checking the other newly registered mechas under the same mysterious ID, they would have seen similar anomalies. But those earlier ones had all ended with the machine safely spitting out an "S-class" result after the assessments were complete. That way, nothing seemed unusual enough to make the staff lean over the charts with trembling hands and wide eyes.
But this time was different.
This time, the machine simply refused to label it.
Which was why half the office had crowded inside the room, staring at the charts like they might suddenly change under pressure.
Because instead of declaring a class, the display repeated one infuriating result: "Not Applicable."
"Hey, we’re not sure what to do either..."
"Huh? What do you mean? Is this really a machine issue? Maybe we can just convince the Duchess to return another time?"
"No, I already checked the machine. If you scan other mechas, it works perfectly. But look at this."
The receptionist, who had been hyperventilating outside, finally squeezed forward to see what everyone else was gawking at.
"Huh? Full bars? On everything???" She nearly swallowed her tongue. "Surely there’s a problem with the machine!"
"Like I said, that’s not the case. This is already the tenth scan. Every aspect is maxed. It’s like the machine is trying to say this is some kind of perfect mecha."
"What?!" The receptionist recoiled, gripping the doorframe for support. "You’re saying the Duchess brought in a perfect S-grade mecha?!"
"Actually..." One of the staff leaned in, voice grim. "I don’t think this is even an S-grade mecha."
"???" The receptionist’s brain screeched to a halt. Surprisingly, she was the only one still confused.
"Look, if even the system says ’Not Applicable,’ then maybe it’s because it doesn’t fit. Maybe all the aspects are perfect because it’s supposed to be higher than S-grade."
"!!!"
"Wait. Is there even a higher class for mechas?!"
"...No."
"But there’s always a first time."
The room fell silent. Even the humming machines seemed to pause, as though they, too, were stunned.
But someone couldn’t marinate in this silence. Not when her life was possibly on the line.
"Shit! Then what do I even tell the Duchess?!"
"Tell her the mecha has to be sent to the capital as part of protocol."
"Wait a second! Do we even have such a protocol?!"
"No, but we’re about to have one. Because how else are we supposed to explain this?"
The receptionist wanted to retire on the spot. They really wanted her to end her career today. The poor woman had been hastily promised two consecutive days off if she survived this ordeal, with her colleagues even offering to cover her shifts.
But honestly, two days? That was pocket change compared to the momentary killing intent she swore radiated from Duchess Amelia’s perfectly polite smile. That alone deserved a month-long vacation.
"I’m sorry, but this is an important mecha," Amelia said coolly. "It’s something we’ve long prepared for my husband. If it needs to go to the capital, then I would gladly bring it there myself."
"Y-your Grace," stammered one of the braver employees, "about that... we asked if the Marshal could do it instead. That way you could be reassured of the mecha’s safety."
The Duchess’s eyes narrowed, though her smile remained flawless. At least this way, it would be in the Marshal’s hands for what was apparently another "test," since the machine could not produce a final classification.
Of course, Amelia had an inkling about the reason. She had hoped no one else would notice, but apparently, it would be impossible to hide something that glaring.
"Then if you can guarantee that the Marshal will take it, we’ll come to the capital to claim it," she said firmly.
Thankfully, their space buttons were useless without the proper authorization. For now, the staff could only keep running scans unless they dared to ask to see the mecha directly.
That same morning, the Duchess left with the terrible news—and with a new problem: how to contain her husband’s impending outrage.
Sure enough, no one could really prepare for Duke Leander’s anguish.
If anything, all they could do was follow him. Because when the mecha was "kidnapped" and sent to the capital, Leander was this close to staging a vigil outside headquarters—or worse, flying there himself with or without company.
And so, the proud people of House Kyros ended up in the capital in one stormy charge a day earlier than planned. Only, they didn’t expect to see a different kind of headline:
"Is the Heir of House Kyros About to Officially Debut?"