As the break neared its end, the doors to the education hall burst open with a force that made them seem on the verge of breaking. Heavily armed security guards—over a dozen of them—stormed in, followed closely by several professors.
Ho-cheol clicked his tongue in exasperation as he observed the scene.
“How punctual,” he muttered.
He hadn’t expected much from them, but actually seeing their ineffectiveness left him feeling deeply frustrated.
To be fair, neither the security team nor the professors could do much. The black mist enveloped not just the interior but also the exterior of the education hall. Despite their presence, all they could do was shuffle around nervously.
In a situation where the nature and characteristics of the phenomenon were unknown, acting rashly would be akin to suicide. It wasn’t just about personal injury—provoking the mist and endangering the students inside would result in a catastrophe.
Moreover, the academy’s real forces were preoccupied with managing other crises unfolding around the academy grounds.
The guards and professors entered the education hall, tense and on high alert. However, they soon eased their stances and froze in place after taking just a few steps.
The scene before them was unexpectedly peaceful.
The intruders, presumed to be villains, were bound and shoved into a corner, while the students were either chatting in small groups or lounging comfortably.
Though baffling, the professionals quickly regained their composure and set about their duties.
The lead security officer raised a hand to signal his team. They split into three groups, each heading toward the students, the villains, and Ho-cheol, respectively.
The first two teams had straightforward objectives: protect and detain.
But the team assigned to Ho-cheol had a different mission altogether.
“Figures,” Ho-cheol muttered, clicking his tongue again as he watched the guards approach him.
Unlike the other two teams, who had lowered their weapons, the guards facing him kept their fingers close to the trigger, eyes brimming with suspicion.
Ho-cheol wasn’t surprised, nor was he particularly bothered. He had anticipated this.
Still…
“I should’ve skipped ahead in the lecture,” he sighed. It was clear he wouldn’t be resuming class anytime soon.
***
The following morning, Ho-cheol sat at his desk in his dorm, his face tired and drawn.
The students had been allowed to go home after answering some perfunctory questions and reporting any damages. But not Ho-cheol.
As a professor, he avoided the indignity of being handcuffed, but the investigation dragged on relentlessly until dawn.
He was both a key witness and a suspect in the incident.
The timing was too perfect: villains had infiltrated the academy during one of Ho-cheol’s rare weekly lectures. On top of that, the lecture had taken place in an unusual venue.
It would have been odd not to suspect some connection between Ho-cheol and the villains.
The academy thoroughly investigated the possibility of collusion.
In the face of their near-conviction-level suspicion, Ho-cheol had few avenues to prove his innocence. Fortunately, the dean’s intervention and guarantee soon cleared him of criminal suspicion.
This leniency stemmed largely from Ho-cheol’s fabricated identity.
With the dean vouching for him and the villains being relatively low-threat C-rank, the academy’s vigilance softened.
The association, however, was in uproar.
Claims emerged accusing Ho-cheol of mobilizing his hidden organization to orchestrate the attack. Calls to detain him and lock him away gained traction.
It wasn’t until So-hee, expending every last bit of her abilities—including those reserved for her evening duties—managed to stall any decisions. Even then, it came after over 10 grueling hours of questioning by investigators sent by the association.
Nearly 20 hours of interrogation and scrutiny later, Ho-cheol was free.
Not that such trivialities were the real source of his exhaustion.
He pulled out a stack of documents from his bag, spreading them out on his desk. Verifying the facts took precedence over eating or sleeping.
The documents contained profiles of second-year students in the augmentation department. Ho-cheol paused as he flipped through the pages.
On the top left corner of one page was a photo of Choi Da-yeon.
Unlike the other students, who each had a single-page profile, her file spanned three pages.
That alone spoke volumes about her significance and the wealth of information on her. Notably, the second page bore a Level 1 Confidential stamp, access granted only to assigned professors. Even department heads couldn’t easily view it.
Ho-cheol’s gaze lingered on her family relations section. Typically, student profiles didn’t delve into family details, but Da-yeon’s case was different.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, unable to contain his disbelief.
He’d known since her first lecture that she was the child of an S-rank hero. But he hadn’t thought to ask which one.
Why would he care? Building connections or seeking favors wasn’t his style. Better not to know than risk forming prejudices.
At least, that’s what he’d thought—until yesterday.
When a villain had casually mentioned an S-rank hero’s name, Ho-cheol had barely managed to keep his composure.
“It’s true,” he muttered dryly.
In the “Father” field, a name stood out: Choi Hak-do. His profession was unmistakably listed as Hero.
There was no mistaking it. Choi Hak-do, also known as the Demon Blade, was her father.
“Of all people, I’m teaching the Demon Blade’s kid,” he sighed, his mutter heavy with resignation.
From where she lay on the floor fiddling with her phone, So-hee raised her head at his words.
“Huh? You know each other?”
Normally, she wouldn’t invade his personal space. But given the fallout from the recent incident, she’d been ordered to stick close to him, excluding sleep hours.
“Kind of… when he was still A-rank,” Ho-cheol replied nonchalantly.
Curious, So-hee wriggled her way to his side, propping herself up on his chair’s armrest.
“That’s weird. The association’s files didn’t mention any connection with the Demon Blade.”
She’d reviewed classified information about Ho-cheol’s villain days, including his relationships and abilities, but this was news to her.
Ho-cheol shrugged indifferently.
‘No reason it would. Back then, we didn’t meet as hero and villain. He probably snuck into the gate without reporting it. I went in secretly too. Neither of us had any reason to brag about it, so it’s no wonder there aren’t any rumors.’
He mused to himself. If the association or the academy had known, they would never have paired him with the Demon Blade’s kid.
Looking back, he’d made plenty of enemies. Maybe he should’ve toned down his personality. No regrets, but a few lingering “what-ifs.”
“Hey, don’t trail off like that. Spill it! I’m dying of curiosity here,” So-hee prodded, jabbing his side impatiently.
“It’s nothing impressive,” Ho-cheol remarked, resting his chin on his hand as he dredged up memories of the past.
At that time, Ho-cheol was focused on expanding his organization and making a name for himself, while Choi Hak-do had just been recognized as an A-rank hero.
The two had crossed paths at a gate with the same goal.
“I was looking for a particular item. Since it was gate material, there was no legal way to get it, and it wasn’t showing up on the black market either. So, I went to track it down myself. Turns out, the Demon Blade was after the same thing.”
After scouring dozens of gates, Ho-cheol had finally found the rare material—something money couldn’t buy and was urgent enough for him to act personally. That decision turned out to be the right one.
If he had just sent subordinates, he wouldn’t have retrieved the item—or even their bodies.
Although Choi Hak-do’s reclusive personality kept his public and media approval ratings low, leaving him stuck at A-rank, his skills were already at an S-rank level.
Thinking back, Da-yeon’s personality was uncannily similar to her father’s. Of all the things to inherit… Still, at least she got his diligence, too.
So-hee widened her eyes.
“So, did you fight?”
“Calling it a fight is overstating it. Let’s just say there was a minor conflict, or a trivial scuffle,” Ho-cheol replied.
One item. Two people in desperate need of it. The solution was simple. They fought, and the victor claimed it.
“So, who won?” So-hee asked, though she immediately felt it was a stupid question.
Ho-cheol felt the same but answered regardless.
“Obviously, I did.”
If he hadn’t won, he wouldn’t be here to tell the story.
“What kind of item was so important that an S-rank hero and a villain were fighting to the death over it?”
“A Rainbow Cosmos.”
So-hee blinked, caught off guard. She had expected it to be a byproduct of a high-tier monster or a dungeon core, but the answer left her feeling not just let down but utterly baffled.
“That… sells for ten thousand won online,” she pointed out.
The flower, with petals that shimmered like a rainbow depending on the angle, was a popular ornamental plant.
“Well, it’s mass-produced now. Back then, it wasn’t,” Ho-cheol explained.
“So, you and the Demon Blade must really not get along, huh?”
“Who knows.”
Even Ho-cheol couldn’t say for sure. He had won and achieved his goal, so their relationship wasn’t one of animosity or camaraderie—just a hazy memory.
If anything, the fact that he only remembered Choi Hak-do’s name yesterday said it all.
What Choi Hak-do thought of him, though, was another matter.
“Well, if he bore a grudge or was out for revenge, wouldn’t he have shown up with a blade in his mouth when I was arrested?”
The Choi Hak-do Ho-cheol remembered was an intensely self-centered individual—someone utterly unfit to be a hero.
Why else would he be called the Demon Blade?
The title came from people saying he seemed possessed by a ghost while wielding his sword—or that he might die wielding it.
He cared about nothing but honing his own skills. His choice to become a hero was purely pragmatic: it gave him plenty of free time and decent income.
Since Choi Hak-do hadn’t bothered to visit or show any interest after Ho-cheol’s capture, he had likely forgotten all about him.
“Well, we’re unlikely to meet again.”
And as for parenting? No way would Choi Hak-do care enough to notice that his child’s professor had fought him a decade ago.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. Staying out of sight was the best option.
“You really should’ve mentioned this kind of thing sooner,” So-hee grumbled, placing her hands on her hips.
“I just forgot. Isn’t it enough that I told you now?” Ho-cheol replied nonchalantly as he shifted his attention back to the documents.
He focused on the section detailing Da-yeon’s abilities. During the villain attack yesterday, she had only used her physical strength.
What kind of ability did she have that she refrained from using it even in such a dire situation?
When he finally read her ability description, Ho-cheol immediately understood why people around her had pressured her to give up archery.
Her ability wasn’t extraordinary or outstanding—it was downright peculiar.
Though technically categorized as an augmentation-type ability, its name was poorly defined, its description was vague, and its suggested improvements were abstract at best.
But Ho-cheol saw its true essence. Tapping the document with his fingers, he mused, “That’s a tough ability.”
It was a jack-of-all-trades kind of power—adaptable in any situation yet useless in most.
That explained her underwhelming practical performance.
The academy’s current education and evaluation systems weren’t capable of accurately measuring her potential.
“Very difficult indeed,” he murmured.
As he prepared to review the abilities of other noteworthy students—
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
Ho-cheol rarely had visitors, especially since So-hee, under the pretext of monitoring him, was already lounging around in his space.
Who could it be?
Muttering to himself, he opened the door to find a lanky young man standing outside.
It was someone he had never seen before.
The visitor wasn’t wearing a uniform, so he likely wasn’t a student, and he looked too young to be a professor. His tired expression and dull eyes made him resemble a corpse.
The young man bowed politely and introduced himself.
“Hello, sir. I’m a staff member from the Augmentation Department’s administrative office. I apologize for the intrusion—I know it’s improper to visit you at your dorm. I originally intended to meet you after your lecture yesterday, but… well, given what happened…”
Indeed, a lot had happened yesterday.
Acknowledging his effort, Ho-cheol nodded and returned the greeting.
“You’ve been through a lot. What’s this about?”
The nervous staff member handed Ho-cheol a thin booklet.
“It’s a guide for new professors.”
“A guide?”
As Ho-cheol accepted it, the man explained, “Since new professors often struggle to adapt to the academy’s systems, we’ve compiled this guide to help ease the process, especially for our department.”
Flipping through the booklet, Ho-cheol quickly scanned its contents.
It was full of useful information he had been curious about but didn’t know how to find: an academy map, internal contact lists, academic schedules, instructions for using the professor portal, and more.
After closing the booklet, he nodded with satisfaction.
“This is great. I was thinking something like this would be helpful. Your team must be quite capable.”
“Haha, thank you. I’m sorry for delivering it so late.”
The staff member smiled in relief.
Typically, this guide was given after the first week of lectures. However, due to Ho-cheol’s unexpected schedule changes and the chaos yesterday, the handoff had been delayed.
Young professors usually reacted poorly to such delays, but Ho-cheol’s calm demeanor was a pleasant surprise.
Encouraged, the staff member hesitated before speaking again.
“Um… Professor, I heard you went through a lot yesterday.”
“It’s not exactly a pleasant topic,” Ho-cheol replied, his tone flat.
“Ah, I apologize, but this might be something that could help you,” the staff member said, lowering his voice and glancing around nervously.
Leaning forward conspiratorially, he whispered, “Professor… have you ever considered joining the union?”
Cliche Novel 