The reaction was expected.
“Is this really such a big deal? A self-introduction?”
Of course, not even half the students looked at Ho-cheol with incredulity. The other half, however, remained on edge.
This was, after all, ‘Ho-cheol’s’ self-introduction task.
Given everything he’d taught up to this point, there was no way this was going to be an ordinary introduction. Holding their breaths, the students waited for what he would say next.
“How should we decide the order?”
Ho-cheol opened his bag and pulled out the notebook he always used.
“Let’s just go in attendance order. Number one, stand up.”
The student assigned number one rose from their seat with a nervous expression. Unlike those with later numbers, they had no examples or guidelines to follow. They had to rely entirely on their instincts to complete the self-introduction. Their lips felt dry as they prepared to speak.
Ho-cheol opened his notebook and lightly flicked his pen up and down in his hand.
“Alright, begin.”
The tense student swallowed hard and slowly began to speak.
One by one, the introductions progressed.
“…That concludes my self-introduction.”
It ended more easily than expected.
The student glanced at Ho-cheol for a reaction, then cautiously returned to their seat. Contrary to expectations, the introduction was remarkably ordinary and uneventful. Ho-cheol didn’t offer any evaluation or comment. He simply twirled his pen silently in his hand.
After a brief moment of thought, he slowly shook his head from side to side.
“Alright, fine. Next.”
As the introductions continued, they reached the tenth student.
Ho-cheol only gave slight nods of acknowledgment and occasionally jotted something down in his notebook. That was it.
Seeing this, the students who had been on edge began to relax.
There were evaluation criteria, but they appeared trivial.
“Is that all there is to it? It really is just a regular self-introduction.”
Even the previously stiff students started to ease up, focusing their attention on the self-introduction session.
Of course, it was merely the students’ imagination. The reality was far from it.
The reason Ho-cheol showed no reaction was not because their introductions were correct. It was because they were such a mess that he couldn’t even figure out where to start criticizing or scolding them.
What he demanded from their self-introductions wasn’t their names, hobbies, future dreams, favorite foods, or seasons.
What is a self-introduction? At its essence, it was a condensed exchange of information pushed to the extreme.
Information that could be revealed without harm and information that must be concealed at all costs, sometimes even false information for the sake of deception.
When they became heroes in the future, their information would inevitably become widely known as vulnerabilities. But it wasn’t just heroes. For villains, managing information wasn’t a choice—it was a necessity.
In this line of work, where even trivial information could cost a life, understanding this was a fundamental part of their education. Yet the sight of the students failing to grasp the essence of this and delivering ordinary introductions was beyond absurd—it was outright astonishing.
Normally, he would have stopped everything immediately and taught them how to do a proper self-introduction. But…
Watching them enthusiastically declare their future dream of becoming S-rank heroes left him deflated. He could only sit quietly and listen.
Well, fine… maybe they deserved a break after last week’s hard work. And, who knows, their future dreams or favorite foods might not be entirely useless information.
A bit of goodwill like this was part of a professor’s charm, wasn’t it?
Eventually, all the students had finished their introductions. Ho-cheol closed his notebook and leaned against the lectern.
“Originally, today’s class was supposed to include an urban combat exercise. We’d divide into teams of heroes and villains and conduct a combat simulation. But due to unforeseen circumstances, we can’t use the training facility.”
Those damned villain scum had disrupted the schedule and caused endless headaches.
He turned around and stood before the blackboard on the wall.
“So, unfortunately, we’re stuck with a meaningless theory lecture.”
Ho-cheol wasn’t particularly thrilled, but what could he do? His theoretical knowledge came from a few books he’d read just in case, books that made him think, ‘It’s not bad to know this, but do heroes really need it?’
Sure, he could arrange the content somewhat, but theoretical lectures all ended up the same, didn’t they?
The remaining time passed with a tedious lecture that felt like a word-for-word reading of the textbook.
***
Ho-cheol checked the time and put down the chalk he was holding.
The massive blackboard covering one wall of the lecture hall was densely filled with what he had written.
Looking at the students, who had been frantically taking notes without a moment to breathe, he said casually,
“Let’s wrap it up here for today.”
Ho-cheol left, but not a single student stood up. They couldn’t even think about leaving until they finished copying everything down.
Murmurs of confusion mixed with disbelief echoed throughout the room.
What? Why is he such a good teacher?
There wasn’t a shred of doubt about Ho-cheol’s abilities. The overwhelming display of his power last week, defying matchups and grades, had left them speechless.
But his skill as a teacher was an entirely different matter. He had no prior experience as an educator and, being a former villain, expectations for his teaching skills were nonexistent.
Yet today’s lecture had completely overturned their assumptions.
He was good. That was the only way to describe it.
Although he sped through the material at a grueling pace without breaks, it was simply his style of teaching and not necessarily a flaw.
One by one, the students finished taking notes, stood up, and left the lecture hall.
Before long, the room was quiet. Only Da-yeon remained seated.
Arms crossed, she stared blankly at the blackboard.
Her friends, noticing her lingering, approached cautiously.
“…What’s wrong?”
Though her face was expressionless, her friends, who had spent nearly a year by her side, knew better.
Da-yeon was clearly upset. Not quite angry, but more than just sulking—a uniquely ambiguous state. In any case, it wasn’t good.
One of them glanced between Da-yeon and the blackboard and asked, “Was the lecture not good?”
Da-yeon slowly shook her head.
There was no way it wasn’t good. No, it was undeniably excellent. It was incomparable to the other lectures that merely regurgitated theory and recited textbook content.
Even when based on the same materials, Ho-cheol’s lecture stood apart. His unique perspective led to different interpretations and alternative solutions to the same problems.
Da-yeon’s discontent wasn’t with Ho-cheol’s lecture, but with the situation that followed.
She was deeply unsettled by the soaring recognition of Ho-cheol’s abilities.
Every time he revealed a new skill, her desire to monopolize him as her own mentor only grew stronger. Yet the likelihood of that future seemed to diminish even further.
When other students dismissed him, she had already hesitated to make her case. Now, with him gaining widespread acknowledgment from the class, the idea of him becoming exclusively her mentor felt even more unattainable.
She simply couldn’t imagine such a scenario.
Initially, she thought the key was to make up for her own inadequacies and become someone worthy of his guidance. But now, it felt like he was advancing far beyond her reach.
She pulled out her phone.
Dialing a familiar number, she bit her lip anxiously.
It was no longer a time to worry about means or methods.
***
As Ho-cheol descended the stairs of the lecture hall, he rubbed his forearm.
“Figures. Theoretical stuff just doesn’t suit me.”
Standing in a cramped lecture room, chalk in hand, droning on and on, made him feel like breaking out in hives.
He was halfway down the stairs between the third and second floors when someone hurried over to his side.
“Hello, Professor.”
By now, there was no need to wonder who it might be.
It was the staff member who had previously encouraged him to join the union.
Without stopping, Ho-cheol asked, “What’s the matter?”
He had joined the union and figured he wouldn’t need to deal with them for a while, but…
“I just wanted to inform you that your union membership process is complete.”
The staff member matched his pace and handed him a shopping bag.
“Here are a badge with the union logo, a T-shirt, and other commemorative items.”
“Ah. I see.”
The items, mostly in red hues, struck him as a bit ideologically suspicious. Surely, they wouldn’t dare put something like ‘Paradise for the Workers and the People’ on the logo, right?
“Congratulations on joining the union.”
He was now officially part of the union. So-hee had joined too, for good measure.
As ridiculous as it all seemed, if someone in the union was indeed leaking academy information, there was no way he could let it slide.
Even though no one else was around, the staff member glanced around cautiously before lowering their voice.
“And the union leader has expressed a desire to meet with you.”
Ho-cheol’s hand, which had been rummaging through the shopping bag, froze.
“Oh, really?”
This was news he welcomed.
If he were to point fingers at the most suspicious person in the union, it would undoubtedly be the union leader.
If that leader turned out to be the one selling academy secrets, it would be a simple matter of delivering a few well-placed punches to resolve the issue.
Figuring it out wouldn’t be hard. With his experience, it would take just a few exchanged words and a bit of eye contact to get a solid read.
“Should I go to them?”
Come to think of it, who even was the union leader? Probably one of the professors.
Still, anyone capable of standing up to the dean wouldn’t be an ordinary figure.
“Oh, no need for that. The leader plans to visit you personally in the near future.”
“I see.”
“And…”
The staff member pulled out a new envelope and handed it over.
“Here’s a new official memo.”
Apparently, the internal systems were undergoing a full inspection, so emails and other communications had been completely shut down, forcing everything to be delivered manually.
‘What a hassle. Honestly, wouldn’t it have been easier to just use the regular postal service instead of all this fuss?’
Ho-cheol opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. As he slowly read through the memo, his eyes widened.
“What the…”
He stopped in his tracks, stunned, his mouth agape.
Seeing his reaction, the staff member offered further explanation.
“It’s only natural for you to be surprised, Professor. Yes, all the other professors reacted the same way.”
“…So, if this memo isn’t some cruel joke—if it’s actually serious…”
The staff member confirmed with finality.
“Yes. The inter-departmental MT has been scheduled.”
“Huh.”
A faint exclamation escaped Ho-cheol’s lips, though it was far from a positive one.
“Truly, this is just the kind of event the academy would come up with.”
Holding a villain attack against the academy, and yet planning an outdoor event? Clearly, someone had gone mad. Moreover…
“There wasn’t even an MT scheduled in the original academic calendar.”
To think they’d conjure up an event out of thin air.
“Correct.”
The staff member nodded promptly, well aware of the situation.
In the long history of Clington, the concept of an MT (Membership Training) had never existed. It didn’t align with the academy’s ideals, and with mountains and lakes conveniently located within the campus grounds, there was no need to travel far.
Sure, there were camping programs, but even those were always resolved within academy grounds.
“Also, according to the schedule, it overlaps with the athletic competition. Could this be a replacement for that?”
“Due to the villain attack, the athletic competition has been canceled entirely.”
Every mid-April, the academy hosted an athletic competition.
It was one of the few large-scale events where the academy opened its doors to the public. Citizens and external guests would flock to the event, making it a spectacle.
But given the current climate, it was understandable that hosting such a large event would feel too risky.
Despite its role in showcasing the academy’s prestige and securing donations and sponsorships, the risks far outweighed the benefits.
If anything, proceeding with it would likely face significant backlash. The cancellation made sense.
But replacing it with an MT?
Whose harebrained idea was this?
“So, where’s the location?”
The staff member widened their eyes slightly at the unexpected question but quickly returned to their usual expression and responded matter-of-factly.
“That’s for you to decide, Professor.”
Ho-cheol looked back at the memo. Unlike the athletic competition, which was conducted as a large-scale event, the MTs would be divided by departments and sub-groups.
Everything, including the location and schedule, was left entirely to the discretion of the assigned professor.
If one wished, they could choose a leisurely retreat at a resort, or, on the contrary, opt for intense, hellish training.
This part was rather appealing.
As he slowly descended the stairs, he asked again,
“If it’s an MT, it means the students will leave the academy grounds. Isn’t that even more burdensome?”
To his muttered question, the staff member responded as if waiting for it.
“Exactly. No matter how secretive the location is, ensuring absolute safety is impossible. That’s why our union opposed this plan, but unfortunately, the dean pushed it forward adamantly, leaving us with no choice.”
Ho-cheol furrowed his brow and came to a stop.
“This was the dean’s idea?”
“Yes.”
If such a crazy suggestion had come up, one might expect it to be shut down at the dean’s level. But to think the source of this madness was the dean himself.
For a moment, Ho-cheol wondered if the dean had lost his mind. Seeing his expression, the staff member quickly chimed in.
“We also find it difficult to understand the dean’s intent. An MT, in this climate? The official reasoning is that it emphasizes unity and camaraderie among students over competition, unlike the athletic competition. But frankly, it’s hard to accept.”
“Unbelievable.”
They had, of course, attached some lofty justification, but it lacked any substance.
“The union opposed the MT, right?”
“Not just the union. Professors aligned with the dean, as well as the neutral parties—essentially, everyone except the dean himself—are in overwhelming agreement that this MT is a bad idea.”
“Anyone sane would think so.”
Even from a villain’s perspective, Ho-cheol couldn’t justify it. How much less, then, would hero-affiliated academy staff accept such nonsense?
Why?
The dean, the union, the students—this was a risky choice that benefited no one.
And yet, if the dean was pushing it so fervently, there had to be some ulterior motive behind it. If it wasn’t senility, there was undoubtedly a scheme in play.
He let out yet another sigh and folded the memo in half.
“Well, I understand.”
“Very well, then.”
As the staff member disappeared, Ho-cheol perched on the stairway railing, sinking deep into thought.
In truth, Ho-cheol didn’t have an issue with the concept of the MT itself. It was just bad timing.
The intent behind it was clear.
Compared to the athletic competition, where students were pitted against each other and had to show off their abilities to a broad audience, the MT allowed for tailored scenarios and methods, making it far more beneficial for growth.
Even with a simple two-night, three-day course, he could think of more training ideas than he could count on both hands.
If the students were currently at a 10 out of 100, the MT could likely push them to at least a 30.
As he pondered this, still mulling over the implications, a familiar face appeared from below.
So-hee looked up at him with wide eyes and asked,
“What are you doing up there?”
“What about you?”
“It’s been a while since the lecture ended, but you still hadn’t come down.”
“Ah, nothing much.”
He slid down the handrail and landed at the bottom of the stairs.
In So-hee’s hand was a shopping bag identical to his. She must have received hers just now.
Looking at her, he asked,
“You’ve heard about the MT, right?”
“Oh, yes. I heard from the association that a cooperation request was sent. I don’t have any assigned classes or groups, so I figured the academy would let me know later.”
“Is that so? Then take a look at this.”
Ho-cheol pulled the folded memo from between his fingers and handed it to her.
As So-hee read through the memo, he asked, “What’s this cooperation request about?”
“It’s about related matters. Every assigned professor is supposed to accompany their group, but the contract with the association prohibits you from leaving academy grounds, right?”
Under the contract between the academy, the association, and Ho-cheol, he was strictly forbidden from stepping outside the designated boundaries of the academy under any circumstances—even in cases of natural disasters or national emergencies.
“That’s right. That’s true. So, what am I supposed to do? Not go?”
It seemed like he’d be stuck hosting an MT within the academy grounds. Not that he minded, but the students might shed tears of blood.
“That’s why they sent the cooperation request. It’s a formal request to make an exception for official duties, allowing you to leave the grounds.”
And at that moment—
“Hah.”
Ho-cheol clicked his tongue in disbelief. He realized the dean’s intentions.
Cliche Novel 