A brief silence followed, and then Ho-cheol finally realized what the words meant.
“Class rep. Oh right, we were supposed to pick one back then but didn’t.”
He subtly covered his mouth with the back of his hand. His half-closed eyes seemed to express just how much he hated dealing with such trivial matters.
Why is this one so interested in something like this, while the Demon blade couldn’t care less about titles or recognition?
Still, it didn’t feel right to outright dismiss her for being annoying.
‘Should I just tell her to take the role?’
While he was pondering, Ho-cheol turned his head to the back.
He noticed Da-yeon’s friends, as well as Ye-jin, who had leaned out far enough to expose not just their heads but their torsos.
‘So it was them. I thought I felt some boring stares ever since we started talking.’
Ho-cheol raised his hand and beckoned with his finger.
Da-yeon’s friends tilted their heads away, instinctively realizing they weren’t the ones being called.
Ye-jin descended the stairs and stood beside Da-yeon with a peculiar expression. A mixture of gratitude for being acknowledged, guilt for meddling during her shift, and curiosity about the class rep position all flickered across her face.
Ho-cheol glanced at her attire and asked, “Do you work here?”
“…Yes.”
“I see. But if you were curious about who would become the class rep, you should’ve come along. Don’t just send your friend.”
Ye-jin waved her hands in a flustered response.
“No! That was just her acting on her own! And we’re not even friends!”
“Then you’re not interested in being the class rep?”
After briefly gauging Ho-cheol’s expression, Ye-jin lowered her hands and answered quietly.
“That’s not it…”
“Alright.”
Ho-cheol crossed his arms and alternated his gaze between the two.
“To be honest, neither of you seems fit to be the class rep. Like how kindling and logs serve different purposes, you’re not the type to lead and take care of others.”
The blunt evaluation made Ye-jin shrink back, and even Da-yeon, who had been standing confidently, began to look deflated.
Ho-cheol raised three fingers over his crossed arms.
“Both of you lack qualifications. The only difference is how many friends you have who might vote for you.”
Neither of you has the eloquence to win people over, the charisma to dominate a room, or the ability to embrace and guide others.
“To give you an idea of how minor the difference is, if someone bought hamburgers for everyone during the next lecture, they’d likely get picked as class rep.”
Based on potential voting outcomes, Da-yeon, who at least had a small group of acquaintances, might win. But if a class rep were to be chosen, shouldn’t it at least be someone who could actually help the students?
After a moment of silent contemplation, Ho-cheol seemed to come to a decision and reopened his eyes.
“For now, take turns. We’ll go with a biweekly rotation system for the class rep.”
“What?”
Both of them let out dumbfounded exclamations in unison.
What academy in the world alternates its class reps every other week?
Besides, neither of them was in it for the flimsy title or trivial bragging rights that being a class rep might bring.
The role itself didn’t matter much—it was merely a means to an end.
But a biweekly rotation? That meant splitting any opportunities in half, and no matter how they looked at it, it felt like a loss.
However, Ho-cheol, already firm in his decision, asked them sternly, “Do you know the names of all your classmates?”
Both of them fell silent simultaneously.
They didn’t.
There was no reason they would.
Their reaction was an answer in itself, and Ho-cheol chuckled incredulously.
“I may not take attendance seriously, just counting heads and moving on, but I’m sure there are classes where the instructor calls out names for roll call. This just shows how little interest you have in the class.”
Ho-cheol’s gaze shifted back to the students still on the stairs.
“What about you guys? Does anyone here know all the names of our classmates?”
A single student with pigtails timidly raised her hand.
“I do know all their names.”
“Then she’d make a better class rep, wouldn’t she?”
“Ahaha…”
The girl let out a small laugh but quickly shut her mouth when she felt the piercing gazes from Ye-jin and Da-yeon.
Ho-cheol turned back to the two and said, “I can’t just hand over the title to someone solely because they applied. Prove that you have at least the minimum qualifications—communication, leadership, charisma, anything.”
At last, Ye-jin and Da-yeon nodded seriously, seemingly accepting his words.
They even felt a twinge of shame.
Their motives for seeking the position had been purely self-serving, but Ho-cheol seemed to be taking the matter seriously.
Of course, Ho-cheol’s true intentions were far from noble.
What was a class rep? Unlike other instructors, he couldn’t have an assistant under his supervision, so this was his one legitimate way of obtaining someone to do his bidding.
The difference between having one person and two was enormous.
There were lecture materials to prepare, after all. This arrangement worked out perfectly.
“Take turns for now. In a month, there’s a midterm evaluation. Around then, we’ll hold a vote to decide who’s better suited to lead the class.”
Both of them nodded vigorously.
“This is an assignment just for the two of you. Oh, and as for whoever gets picked as class rep this time…”
Since he’d stirred up competition, he figured he might as well dangle a carrot to make them work harder.
Ho-cheol grinned.
“I’ll give more positive consideration to that suggestion you brought up back then. No promises, though.”
The words sounded impressive but were essentially empty.
Still, Ye-jin and Da-yeon’s eyes widened in surprise.
Even though they instinctively knew it was likely a bluff, the reward was too enticing to dismiss.
As they mulled over his words, a new question came to mind.
He had said “you both,” not “you.”
What had the other person proposed to Ho-cheol?
Could it be… the same thing as me?
Realizing this, both of them shot sharp glares at each other simultaneously.
The class rep title was negotiable, but this was not something they could yield.
“Oh.”
Ho-cheol added one last thing.
“Obviously, if neither of you meets the mark by then, there’ll be no vote. I’ll just make her the class rep.”
“Wait, I’m not comfortable with that.”
“I’ll give you extra credit.”
“…I’ll do my utmost.”
“That’s settled, then.”
Ho-cheol gestured with both hands, shooing them away.
“Now, stop blocking the café entrance and get going.”
***
The following evening, Ho-cheol responded to a sudden summons to the dean’s office. It wasn’t entirely unexpected; in fact, it was surprising that it had taken four days for this call to come.
The dean’s business trip, which Ho-cheol thought would last a day or two at most, had stretched nearly three days.
Ho-cheol entered without knocking and froze in place momentarily.
He frowned, covering his nose with his index finger.
“Did you have blood stew or something?”
Even someone like Ho-cheol, who was accustomed to the scent of blood, found the stench overwhelming. How many people had to die for it to smell this strong? If no one had died, that would be even more horrifying.
The dean, standing with his hands behind his back and staring silently out the window, lowered the blinds. He turned to face Ho-cheol.
The man looked like he had aged ten years in just four days.
After a long moment of silence, he motioned toward the sofa with his chin.
“Sit down. Let’s talk.”
Ho-cheol sat comfortably on the sofa while the dean took the seat opposite him.
“A lot has changed in just a few days. First…”
The dean rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.
“You’ve joined the union, haven’t you?”
“Yeah. I was lying down yesterday, and it pissed me off how the salary association keeps bleeding us dry. But you didn’t call me just to give me flak for that, did you?”
“No. You did well. Either way, you must have suspected something. You think this recent attack is tied to the union?”
Ho-cheol, testing the waters, probed to see how much the dean already knew. Judging by his response, the dean was fully aware of the academy’s current situation.
“…If you knew, then that’s its own problem. It means you’re aware but can’t act.”
“I have my suspicions, but only circumstantial evidence—no hard proof. And more than that…”
The dean sighed and ran a hand down his face.
“Because they were once comrades. I suppose I want to believe in them to the very end. But now, with things escalating this far…”
“No, you keep believing.”
Ho-cheol interrupted, propping his legs up on the cracked coffee table and wiggling his toes.
“I’ll do the doubting. Let’s stick to what we’re good at.”
“I’ve ended up burdening you unnecessarily. The union is a tricky area for me to handle. It seems they have stronger ties with the media than I expected, and we’d lose in a public opinion battle.”
“That so? Makes sense. To challenge someone of S-rank power, they’d need that kind of influence. So, is that really why you called me here? To talk about the union?”
“Of course not.”
The dean pulled a fist-sized mechanical device from his pocket. Pressing a button on it released a faint static noise.
“What’s that?”
“A signal jammer. Your wristwatch—it has a listening function, doesn’t it? What I’m about to tell you is too sensitive to let the association overhear.”
At the dean’s request, So-hee waited outside the room.
The association would likely detect the jamming signal and summon her within three minutes, so they needed to finish the conversation quickly.
The dean wasted no time getting to the point.
“Over the past four days, we interrogated the villains you subdued and traced their backers. They’re no ordinary group. The way they covered their tracks, leaving no evidence, reminded me of your villain days.”
“I was thorough with cleanup back then. But is that the important part?”
“No. What’s significant is where the trail went cold. At that location, we found one piece of evidence left behind—as if they wanted to show us they’d been there. It was deliberate, almost boastful.”
Ho-cheol smirked cynically.
“Well, there’s no shortage of egotistical, delusional villains. Maybe this’ll be easier than I thought. People like that are 99% overconfident fools.”
He thought the dean could probably crush this group without even needing union involvement.
“This is what they left.”
The dean pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Ho-cheol.
“Couldn’t you have just sent a team to deal with—”
Ho-cheol unfolded the paper and stopped mid-sentence.
Even the mocking smile that had lingered on his lips vanished completely.
He flipped the paper over to check the back, then looked up at the dean.
The dean’s expression was grave, devoid of any jest or exaggeration.
Ho-cheol leaned back against the sofa.
“Even asking if this is real feels stupid. I know it is. But just in case…”
He let out a hollow laugh.
“Is this real?”
“It is.”
The dean nodded solemnly, understanding Ho-cheol’s reaction. It had taken him multiple confirmations before he could accept the reality himself. If it had shaken him this much, how would it affect Ho-cheol?
The dean spoke to Ho-cheol, who was staring dumbly at the paper.
“Is this karma catching up?”
Ho-cheol snapped out of it and folded the paper in half. He knew this was the kind of thing that would make the association froth at the mouth if they found out.
“Let’s not get dramatic with words like ‘karma.’ It’s just…”
After a brief pause, he chuckled bitterly.
“Trash I thought I’d cleaned up crawling out from under the bed again.”
The organization had no name.
Neither heroes nor villains knew its true nature.
Even the few who might have understood it had been swallowed by the darkness it resided in.
The only trace it left was a single distorted chrysanthemum wherever it struck, as if mocking its victims.
Ho-cheol tilted his head back and muttered under his breath.
“This is driving me insane.”
“It’s not just a copycat, is it?”
“How many fully functioning villain organizations would be crazy enough to mimic this?”
The former symbol of fear, Ho-cheol, ran his fingers through his hair roughly, clutching the paper tightly between his index and middle fingers.
The folded paper revealed glimpses of a chrysanthemum drawing.
“Why is this back?”
The organization Ho-cheol had once dismantled and buried had reemerged before him.
Cliche Novel 