Ho-cheol’s plan lasted a full 10 minutes.
It was an improvised plan he came up with after entering the dean’s office.
Despite that, his explanation showed no hesitation or second-guessing.
The core framework of the plan was solid.
“But in that situation, I’ll intentionally miss. To allow an escape.”
Soon, his explanation was nearing its end.
Engrossed in his explanation, he clenched and unclenched his fist, raising his voice.
“After confirming everyone’s backing there, the rest will be arrested.”
Finally finishing his explanation, Ho-cheol sat on the arm of the sofa.
He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes full of confidence as he looked at the dean.
“How about it? It’s not easy to wrap things up this neatly, right?”
The dean was simply astounded by Ho-cheol’s confident demeanor.
There were gaps in between, and indeed, some parts were risky and illegal, not to mention impossible given the current state of the academy.
Yet, Ho-cheol’s plan was undeniably persuasive.
It was certainly better than the vague plan of simply increasing security personnel.
The illegal and sloppy parts could be overlooked or amended.
However…
The essential condition of the plan was far too risky.
The dean sighed silently.
During Ho-cheol’s presentation, his reactions were quite varied.
His expression showed interest, doubt, dismay, anger, and finally, a sense of defeat.
How many times he wanted to interrupt and ask if he was insane.
His head throbbing, the dean closed his eyes and covered them with his hand.
A long silence.
Ho-cheol had said his piece and was waiting for a response, while the dean was speechless, at a loss for words.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“This is insane. It’s just too dangerous.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
Ho-cheol grimaced with a bitter smile.
It was somewhat fortunate that he didn’t storm out calling him a madman.
That was a relief in itself.
The dean spread the fingers covering his eyes.
Between his fingers, his narrow eyes glared at Ho-cheol.
“I can understand adjusting the academy’s defense system or security rotation to induce an attack timing. But…”
He sighed again.
“But it’s too much to expect me to leave the academy entirely. Isn’t that leaving the academy completely defenseless?”
[Execution day, the dean will be absent from the academy.]
“No matter how I think about it, it’s too much.”
For the dean, it was a condition too difficult to accept.
“No. Even if it’s too much, there’s no choice.”
However, Ho-cheol was adamant.
While some conditions might be negotiable, this was not merely a choice but a necessity.
If the dean refused to comply until the end, the plan would simply fall apart.
Ho-cheol crossed his arms, tapping his forearm with his index finger.
“Anyway, the academy’s defense system or security is just a side dish. If the main course doesn’t show up, it’s just a minor incident to overlook.”
The academy’s unique defense system? Professors who were former heroes? Security armed like the military?
These were just a small part of the academy’s forces.
The dean was the academy’s strongest card.
If it were a proper card game, revealing it would guarantee a win.
But the opponent was a villain.
Rules were of no interest to them, and winning wasn’t their main concern.
Whatever sacrifices they had to make, as long as they achieved their goal, it was worth it.
Ho-cheol crossed his legs as he spoke.
“It’s not just about creating a timing to call them. What would happen if the old man stays holed up in his office?”
If he were a villain, such assumptions wouldn’t even be necessary.
Even as they were speaking, dozens of methods to neutralize the dean flashed through Ho-cheol’s mind.
Most were successful, and at the same time, they would have caused massive casualties.
It was a rather dreadful thought.
“The villains think they have no chance if the old man is at the academy. So, how do they ensure the old man can’t interfere with their plans? Just chase him out of the academy. And how easy is that to arrange?”
Ho-cheol stood up.
“The simplest way that comes to mind is causing simultaneous terror attacks in the cities near the academy.”
There were cities around the academy, and due to its unique location, these cities had fewer and lower-quality heroes compared to their size.
If the villains were to launch a planned terror attack?
The academy would receive requests for support, and the dean couldn’t just sit idly by.
“Even then, you wouldn’t stick around at the academy, would you?”
The dean couldn’t respond.
As Ho-cheol said, if a terror attack occurred in the nearby cities, it would be natural to send everyone except a minimum staff to help.
Staying at the academy to prepare for villains who hadn’t even arrived yet would invite criticism from the media, and in the worst case, the remaining villains might even delay their plans upon seeing the dean there.
The dean asked with a much more serious expression than before.
“How large would the terror attack be?”
“Well, the important thing is that the old man has to leave the academy. It would be big enough that a few professors couldn’t handle it.”
The dean’s expression twisted.
Just to divert his attention, innocent civilians would be harmed and killed?
The mere thought made his blood boil.
Ho-cheol grimaced with a bitter smile.
“Even if it’s a winning card, it’s useless against someone who has no intention of playing by the rules.”
“So, if I’m away from the academy, there won’t be any external terror attacks?”
The dean’s question was met with a nod from Ho-cheol, who didn’t need to think twice.
“Using people to divert attention from the academy attack would certainly increase the success rate.”
The majority of the academy’s faculty were retired from active duty, and their combat effectiveness had diminished, which was part of the reasoning.
The dean sighed, not knowing how many times he had done so already.
A sudden question came to mind, and he asked again.
“What if the villains realize that this situation is a trap we’ve set and choose not to act?”
“That’s why we push them even more. I told you earlier. Leak the reason for the absence to the press.”
The dean belatedly understood the second essential condition Ho-cheol had proposed.
“…Are you talking about a new dean candidate?”
At Klingon Academy, the deanship had traditionally been held by retired S-class heroes.
Naturally, the candidates for dean were also S-class.
Even if they weren’t from a combat background, mediocre villains couldn’t even scratch them if they drove a truck at them.
Controlling even one S-class hero required a city-wide terror attack, what more for two?
It was certainly fake news, but from the villains’ perspective, without knowing the truth, it was a chilling prospect.
“Rather, if the villains have plans that span months or years, they should cancel everything and attack us instead. There’s no better bait to induce their impatience.”
Ho-cheol spoke firmly as he watched the dean, who seemed still troubled.
In such a critical situation, seeing the dean ponder ethics, law, and morality, it seemed to Ho-cheol as if the heroes had never really caught him.
“Yes. It’s fake news, and morally problematic. Some retired S-class heroes might get harassed by the media, but so what? Who gets hurt? Who dies? Any financial, or time losses? Can you even compare those to people getting hurt? Just endure it.”
Ho-cheol didn’t elaborate further.
To someone like the dean, a reasonably trustworthy hero, there was no need to divulge more than necessary.
The less people knew valuable information, the more valuable it remained.
“Besides, if we follow your plan, you’d have to face most of the villains yourself. Is that even possible in your current state?”
“Ah, that…”
Ho-cheol closed his mouth for a moment.
He had realized something minor when he had experimented overtly; it was conspicuous to test it again, so he had decided to use this incident as a chance to check it covertly.
He shrugged and smiled slyly.
“This time is a bit special, so maybe it will pass a bit over the line?”
“Is that so?”
The dean closed his eyes.
He slowly chewed over Ho-cheol’s plan.
His forehead creased, and a pained sigh continuously escaped from his tightly closed lips.
Still with his eyes closed, he said, “This plan, at best, breaks even. If it’s only half successful, we fail. And if we fail, we could end up in prison without any surprise.”
Formally retired heroes, even in the worst-case scenario, would only need to step down according to the manual.
If his own honor and safety were his priorities, he could just reject Ho-cheol’s suggestion.
After all, he held the moral high ground.
However, he couldn’t do that.
Because he was a hero.
But Ho-cheol in front of him was neither a hero nor an educator.
Just because he had seen a positive side of Ho-cheol once, he couldn’t trust him.
“I am a hero, and as the dean of Clington Academy, I can do whatever it takes to protect my students. That’s why, even though I know it’s dangerous, I can’t refuse your suggestion. But you are not. Even if you pursue being a good human, there are limits. Isn’t it time for you to be cautious to mitigate your sentence? What’s the reason for taking such risks?”
Ho-cheol did not answer.
After a long silence, the dean opened his eyes first.
There was much more he wanted to ask.
But he closed his mouth again.
Ho-cheol’s expression was resolute, and his confidence was palpable.
Any question seemed trivial in front of someone who believed they were right.
The dean sighed deeply, this time with a different meaning.
Raising his head, he asked another question.
“What’s the exact timing?”
***
Two days later, on Monday at the educational building 2, the locked door opened at exactly 9 AM.
The students gathered at the entrance began to enter in sequence.
Among the entering students, including Choi Da-yeon’s group, a blond student yawned tiredly, complaining.
“Ah, what a hassle to start with this on a Monday first period.”
The girl with twin pigtails next to her flapped her coat like a penguin, hands in her pockets.
“Still, aren’t you a bit excited?”
“What’s there to be excited about?”
“This educational building is usually only used by third-year students or external heroes for grade assessment. It’s the first time for second-year students to enter, according to the administration assistant. Plus…”
She pulled a palm-sized staff from her pocket and spun it around.
“They even asked us to bring personal weapons. I’ve been wanting to really use mine.”
They had brought their individual weapons as instructed by the administrative office.
The blond student nodded slightly in agreement.
She, too, preferred physical activity over fidgeting with a pen in a cramped classroom.
Of course, it was questionable how intense the ‘practical’ set by a villain-origin professor would be.
She then looked back at Choi Da-yeon standing a step behind.
Her expression was as bored as ever, and her bow protruded up and down behind her back, stealing the gaze.
She couldn’t understand it.
Why was she still insisting on using a bow?
Wasn’t it about time to give up?
Truly stubborn.
Of course, she didn’t say it out loud, fearing the repercussions.
As they entered inside, a spacious interior reminiscent of a gymnasium welcomed them.
In the center of the empty educational hall, only a common chair was placed.
What was that chair doing there?
As they pondered this question, Ho-cheol’s voice came from behind them.
“43 students. No tardiness or truancy, I see.”
Everyone turned around at once.
Ho-cheol, dressed in the same suit as last week, stood with his hands behind his back.
The students parted like the tide, forming two groups.
As the door of the educational hall closed, Ho-cheol stepped forward between them, looking straight ahead without giving anyone a glance.
“We’re supposed to have a test today.”
A few students’ complexions turned sour.
Even if they knew it, who likes taking tests?
Ho-cheol had soon stepped off the path made by the students and stood in the center of the hall.
He habitually adjusted his attire and then plopped down on the chair.
“That schedule is canceled.”
The students’ expressions brightened.
Ho-cheol had planned to test their application skills in real combat scenarios.
However, with a villain attack almost confirmed, there was no point in exhausting the students’ stamina and focus on a test.
Why was a combat-preparedness test necessary anyway?
Just a little more, and they would see.
If we wait, the real ones will come.
“There are still a few things to do before that.”
Ho-cheol paused momentarily and scanned the students.
Despite not raising his voice like before, the students instinctively took a step back, feeling a chill spreading from their spines throughout their bodies.
“We will elect a class president.”
The previously tense atmosphere suddenly relaxed.
The students murmured amongst themselves in hushed tones.
They had expected something significant, but it was just the election of a class president.
Not a school-wide representative, just a class president—hardly something that would be considered a major credential after graduation.
Moreover, there was an underlying atmosphere of disregard for Ho-cheol, suggesting that perhaps no one would volunteer.
Unaware of the mood, Ho-cheol opened his bag and took out a notebook and pen.
“Anyone who wants to apply, step forward.”
Most students expected no one to volunteer.
Indeed, no one seemed eager to step up.
Or so it appeared.
Da-yeon straightened up, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders.
She adjusted the shoulder of her uniform with her thumb and index finger.
By nature, a position like class president, which required standing in front of others, was not something she would usually consider valuable.
But now was different.
Her relationship with Ho-cheol was, at best, that of a student and a professor.
The bi-weekly tutoring sessions started merely out of Ho-cheol’s kindness and curiosity and could end at any time without being strange.
For her, aspiring for more than a student-teacher relationship, the position of class president was a chance not to be missed.
Moreover, being class president could, admittedly for calculated reasons, potentially increase the number of weekend tutoring sessions or extend their duration.
Without hesitation, she walked towards Ho-cheol.
The surrounding students called out to her in surprise, but she didn’t care.
Or more precisely, she couldn’t even hear their voices.
After all, the only fitting class president for Ho-cheol was undoubtedly herself.
Thus, her stride was confident.
‘I’m the only one.’
She muttered to herself as she emerged from the group of students and stood before Ho-cheol.
Ye-jin sighed from a corner.
She remembered the situation from a week ago.
Even in a private setting, she was told to participate actively in lectures.
He had even thrown a line that bordered on asking about her family.
Certainly, she must be the student who remained most vividly in Ho-cheol’s memory in this class.
She didn’t want to volunteer as a test subject and attract unwanted attention in such a situation, but what could she do?
She was already marked, positively or negatively.
Moreover, a professor-recommended scholarship depended more on the professor’s evaluation than on grades.
For her, starving for a scholarship, becoming class president was a necessary appeal.
The only concern was that her part-time job hours were packed after lunch on Mondays, but surely being class president wouldn’t involve errands outside of lecture times?
She made her way through the group of students on the opposite side.
Thus, the two students who thought “He must have called me.” approached Ho-cheol without hesitation, and only after reaching him did they realize the other’s presence.
They stopped simultaneously, turning only their heads to look at each other.
Though no words were exchanged, the look in their eyes easily read, “What is this girl doing here?”
Ho-cheol muttered as if surprised.
“Two applicants, huh? Unexpected.”
Being class president usually comes with no real authority, and often just a lot of needless work.
Who would have thought there would be two volunteers?
After a moment of consideration, he asked them, “I haven’t prepared anything for a vote. So first…”
Crack—
A faint and subtle noise, more felt than heard, caused Ho-cheol to stand up.
He turned his head to look at a corner of the gymnasium.
In a corner unnoticed by all, black mist began to rise slowly.
Ho-cheol pulled out his phone from his pocket.
The screen showed ‘No Service,’ and most functions were disabled.
The entrance must have been tampered with and completely locked down.
With no windows in the gymnasium, Ho-cheol and the students were now perfectly isolated.
Clearly, they were well-prepared.
The mist quickly grew, reaching the size of a person.
“What is that?”
A few students, noticing the mist too late, began to murmur as they looked towards it.
Ho-cheol, his eyes fixed on the black mist, spoke, “It’s a villain. Move back and divide into groups of four by attendance number. You all learned about villain situations in your first year, so I won’t explain the procedures.”
Villain.
That word was heard clearly.
“…A villain?”
Ye-jin asked incredulously.
It seemed unbelievable, yet the intense malice and murderous intent felt beyond the mist made it clear that this was no mere prank or happening.
And Ho-cheol, betraying their expectations in a too calm and brief declaration, said, “If you panic, you die.”
Cliche Novel 