Ho-cheol swallowed the praise rising to the tip of his tongue once again.
Caught in the narrow confines of the academy, it was no wonder he couldn’t find an answer.
He had to admit it—this time, the dean’s hero-centric thinking was a step ahead of his own.
The dean had no interest in trivial matters like the academy’s internal position or the resistance from labor unions.
He brushed off their opposition effortlessly and instead was orchestrating the situation from a much loftier vantage point.
Ho-cheol leaned sideways against the railing.
Seeing him like that, So-hee asked with concern,
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just got lost in thought for a moment.”
He closed his mouth again, deep in contemplation.
Folding his thumb, he pressed it firmly against his forehead and temple.
How far had the dean planned, and how much had he achieved?
The dean’s objective had nothing to do with the MT trip or the labor union.
Most likely, his target was the very contract between Ho-cheol and the association itself.
And Ho-cheol’s guess was spot on.
For the dean, the only things that truly mattered were the lives of the citizens and the safety of the students.
Faced with such absolute values, authority or honor was practically meaningless.
And currently, the greatest threat to those values within the academy was villains targeting the students—or more precisely, the existence of the “organization.”
The dean understood the dangers of the organization all too well.
Even though one of its major pillars, Ho-cheol, had left, and it was unlikely villains of equivalent strength existed, the fact that they bore the organization’s name made it impossible for the dean to turn a blind eye.
But even with such a clear and present danger, the situation was far from favorable.
The academy was fractured by differences in interests and ideologies, the students’ and professors’ levels were relatively subpar, and the dean’s capabilities were a shadow of their former prime.
Asking for help from other S-rank heroes wasn’t an option either.
The hero society was grappling with an unprecedented manpower shortage.
It was impossible to mobilize resources against villains with only circumstantial evidence.
Requesting assistance from the association was also out of the question.
Even if the new organization operated at half the capacity of Ho-cheol’s former one, there were bound to be at least a dozen spies planted within the association.
How could anyone trust mere civil servants who weren’t even heroes?
Thus, the dean turned his gaze elsewhere—not to heroes or the association, but to someone else.
Jeong Ho-cheol.
A man well-versed in the organization, whose personal combat prowess rivaled that of an S-rank hero, and who spent most of his time as a semi-retired professor giving a single lecture a week.
Moreover, the dean didn’t need to worry about betrayal, as Ho-cheol himself deemed the organization a threat.
However, Ho-cheol had his own limitations.
His activities were strictly constrained by his contract with the association.
So, the dean arrived at a single solution.
All he needed was a small degree of freedom, and he could provide the catalyst for it.
The absurd schedule of the MT trip was devised precisely to create that opportunity.
Ho-cheol uncrossed his arms and turned his gaze to So-hee.
Of course, to know the dean’s true intentions, he would need to hear them directly.
But he figured he was on the right track.
The association’s reaction would be the key.
He asked So-hee, who was sitting on the stairs inspecting souvenirs given by the labor union,
“So, what’s the association’s stance?”
“It’s unclear. Some say exceptions should be made for public service, while others insist there should be absolutely no exceptions.”
“They’ll allow it in the end.”
Ho-cheol’s tone was calm yet filled with conviction.
So-hee shrugged.
“Well, the academy ultimately holds the upper hand.
The opposing side may have their justifications, but there’s no practical benefit, so their resistance will weaken.”
The power dynamics between Ho-cheol and the association weren’t entirely clear-cut.
From the beginning, Ho-cheol wasn’t particularly desperate for freedom or release, and the association had only brought him out due to their dire manpower shortage, treating him as a last resort.
However, between the association and the academy, the hierarchical relationship was clear.
Strictly speaking, the association was the higher organization.
Yet, with the dean being a former S-rank hero and the presence of Ho-cheol, the balance of power was completely overturned.
The academy, tasked with managing the ticking time bomb that was Ho-cheol, found itself in a pivotal position.
The moment the academy rejected Ho-cheol, the association would be left adrift, caught between the two.
Since it was the academy that had accommodated Ho-cheol so far, the association had no choice but to yield on this issue.
Above all, the association had ulterior motives.
To achieve their goals, they needed to avoid petty conflicts like this.
“Alright. Let me know as soon as the results come in.”
“Got it.”
Even if the odds were fifty-fifty now, the answer would arrive soon enough.
Of course, it would align with what he and the dean wanted.
“Let’s go grab some food.”
“So, have you made up your mind?”
“Yeah.”
Ho-cheol briefly glanced down at his wristwatch.
The space, time, and constraints that had bound him until now—
“I feel like having pork cutlet today.”
“The cafeteria’s pork cutlet isn’t great. It’s steamed, not fried.”
“Well, that’s healthy and good…”
And now, only time and constraints remained.
The next day, an official document regarding the exceptional contract modification arrived via So-hee.
***
Two days later, around lunchtime.
Ho-cheol summoned Da-yeon and Ye-jin.
Despite being in the same department and year, the two rarely shared overlapping classes, leaving little time to meet.
It was ironic that students were busier than professors.
After much schedule adjustment, they finally gathered.
At the same café they had stumbled upon last time, the three sat around a table on the terrace.
After taking a sip of his coffee, Ho-cheol set down the cup and spoke briefly.
“We’re going on an MT in two weeks.”
“Huh?”
“What?”
The two, who had been staring at him with tense expressions, suddenly looked dumbfounded.
“But only the fact that we’re going is confirmed. They haven’t even thought about the schedule, let alone the location.”
A lie.
The location and schedule had already been planned down to the minute.
This precious two-night, three-day trip would be entirely dedicated to training, with not a second wasted.
“Since you two are the class representatives, I thought you should know. And I wanted to hear your thoughts while we’re at it.”
Despite having everything preplanned, Ho-cheol called them here and lied for a simple reason.
Strictly speaking, they were scapegoats.
Considering what would happen during the MT, complaints would surely reach the heavens.
Aside from the focus on improving their skills, it would be an unbearably grueling time.
Thus, he intended to use the two as shields.
By giving them a choice and making them think it was their decision, they’d have no choice but to endure whatever hardships came their way.
Unaware of this, the two simply bounced in their seats, excited at the prospect of the unexpected event.
Ho-cheol brought up the purpose of the meeting.
“For the MT, should we go to the mountains or the sea?”
The two rolled their eyes to the sides, pondering for a moment.
And then, as if having made up their minds, they answered.
“It’s the mountains.”
“I want to go to the sea.”
Their answers diverged simultaneously.
‘Oh, for crying out loud.’
Ho-cheol propped his chin on his hand with a sigh.
Why couldn’t anything ever go smoothly? If they had agreed, it would’ve been much easier.
Not that it mattered to him since the outcome would be the same regardless of their choice.
‘This is going to be tricky now.’
Though the two typically ignored each other, this time, neither was willing to back down.
Ye-jin, brimming with excitement, placed both hands on the table and began listing reasons why they should go to the mountains.
“It’s not summer, so the sea is out. It’s too cold to even dip your feet in, let alone swim. And as for the mountain, the only problem is bugs, but now’s the perfect time—no mosquitoes or gnats.”
Of course, there were other reasons, but these were merely nominal.
Her real reasoning was entirely different.
To her, the sea equaled a tourist trap with overpriced goods.
Even a bottle of water would cost a premium.
But mountains? They were bountiful with edible plants like wild asparagus and yam. Food and drink were abundant and cost nothing.
Sure, the seaside also offered its own harvests, but swimming wasn’t her forte.
And most of the food there needed to be fresh.
Above all, she didn’t have money to buy a swimsuit.
That was the most critical factor.
“I prefer the sea. I want to go to the sea for the MT.”
Da-yeon, keeping her eyes fixed on Ho-cheol, stated her stance.
After all, there were several mountains within the academy grounds already.
If you wanted to sleep on a mountain, you could hike one of the academy’s peaks and camp out—why go all the way to an MT for that?
Neither could comprehend the other’s reasoning.
“If we go to the sea now, what are we even going to do? You can’t swim, so you’ll just splash your feet? If that’s the case, wouldn’t a valley be better?”
“The sea. If you’re planning on hiking during an MT, why not just go by yourself?”
Their argument grew more heated, with no sign of compromise.
Ho-cheol silently watched the debate drag on for almost ten minutes.
There was no end in sight.
Finally, he gulped down the half-finished coffee in front of him, stood up, and said,
“Well, try to work it out between yourselves. If you can’t, we’ll settle it with a vote next week.”
At the mention of a vote, the two nodded enthusiastically.
Unlike the half-hearted class rep election, this decision would affect them in just a few weeks, so neither was willing to back down.
Seeing this, Ho-cheol couldn’t help but chuckle quietly.
Whatever the vote’s result, their destination had already been decided.
And that destination was hell.
***
On the way back to his dorm, Ho-cheol stopped by a convenience store to pick up some snacks before sitting on a bench.
With So-hee practically living in his dorm, moments like this—where he could enjoy solitude—were rare.
She claimed her close watch had ended, but her actions said otherwise.
Not only did she stick around, but she also chattered endlessly until her shift ended.
Not that he minded, but everyone needed some alone time now and then.
Leaning back against the bench, he closed his eyes.
He reflected on the two issues he was currently facing.
First, improving the students’ performance to secure his sentence reduction.
The unresolved handling of the organization from his villain days.
For Ho-cheol, these two issues were significant challenges.
Yet, giving up on either was not an option, making the situation immensely stressful.
If the new organization adhered to the “blood rules” Ho-cheol had once created, they couldn’t simply be dismissed as a mere villain group.
Their nature was fundamentally different from just being powerful.
They were not just villains but seasoned hunters.
Relentless, exploiting weaknesses to exhaust their prey, they waited patiently for the weakest moment to strike, tearing into the throat like a beast.
Until victory was certain, they wouldn’t even show a strand of hair.
The only thing that could overcome their numbers and strategies was overwhelming brute strength.
Ho-cheol clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly.
In terms of raw stats, he was no weaker than he was in his prime.
If anything, his accumulated experience surpassed that.
But in precision, sharpness, and improvisational instincts, he couldn’t even compare.
To prepare for the worst, he desperately needed practice close to real combat.
The best training would be a full-on battle against real villains or heroes, but that was unrealistic.
And showing his true strength against students who’d collapse from a single blow was laughable.
As he mulled over his plans, he sensed someone approaching and opened his eyes.
On the quiet street, a child stood before him.
Just a few steps away, the child clutched a teddy bear and stared at Ho-cheol.
The teddy bear in her arms seemed to be staring at him too.
She appeared to be about ten years old, teetering on the ambiguous line between child and girl.
Her pristine clothes and the shiny fur of her teddy bear suggested they were both expensive.
Ho-cheol leaned forward slowly, lowering himself to her eye level.
When their gazes were roughly aligned, he reached into his pocket.
When his hand emerged, it held a single piece of candy.
He wasn’t fond of kids, but he wasn’t mean enough to show it outright.
Balancing the candy on his palm, he extended it toward her.
The girl silently stared at the candy Ho-cheol offered.
Then, without taking it, she turned her head away sharply.
Ho-cheol awkwardly retracted his hand.
‘Not a fan of the roasted rice flavor, huh?’
Instead of taking the candy, the girl walked over to him and sat beside him.
Her feet, too short to touch the ground, swung back and forth in the air.
A brief silence hung between them before she spoke.
“A substandard educator, huh.”
The hand unwrapping the candy froze mid-motion.
Ho-cheol couldn’t forget that phrase—it was what he’d said in his very first lecture.
He slowly turned his head to look at the girl beside him.
Her puffed cheeks, filled with some unspoken complaint, looked soft enough to pinch.
As the air deflated from her cheeks with a slow hissing sound, she continued.
“In the end, it means being below par, essentially useless.”
Her mature tone and vocabulary didn’t match her appearance, but the atmosphere was too serious to point that out.
“Do you have any idea how much effort the academy’s professors have put in to cultivate righteous, exceptional, and great heroes? Can you even fathom the dedication and perseverance?”
Ho-cheol said nothing, silently watching the girl.
Her tone grew increasingly intense, and her swinging feet moved faster and faster.
“A mere C-rank villain taking the liberty to brand us as a collective of fools—do you know how outrageous that is?”
She hopped off the bench.
“On the other hand, I got curious.”
Walking away slowly with her back to him, she suddenly turned around with a grin.
“Let’s see the skills of someone who advocates for real combat. Are you all talk, or…?”
The teddy bear in her arms was noticeably larger than before.
It wasn’t just his imagination.
She lightly tossed the bear forward.
Instead of falling to the ground, the bear landed gracefully and began to expand.
The two-hand-sized teddy bear swelled until it became large enough for Ho-cheol to look up at.
“Let’s find out if you’re the real deal, someone even other professors can evaluate.”
The teddy bear—or rather, the now fully transformed bear—raised a massive paw high into the air.
“Prove it. Don’t worry, it’s just a light test.”
And then, the paw came crashing down toward Ho-cheol.
BOOM—!
The ground trembled, and a massive crater formed where the teddy bear’s paw had struck.
A cloud of dust billowed upward.
The girl covered her mouth with her sleeve.
The sheer power of the strike was incomparable to that of an ordinary bear.
It could reduce not just an average person but even a low-ranked awakened individual to a pulp.
Yet she wasn’t worried—her target wasn’t Ho-cheol but the ground beneath his feet.
It was merely a warning shot.
‘Let’s see that skill you supposedly used to take down those villains in one fell swoop.’
Despite the time that had passed, there was no movement within the dust cloud.
The girl furrowed her brows.
‘Did he faint?’
Just as that thought crossed her mind—
“Ah.”
A low voice, almost a sigh, came from within the dust.
“So, that’s what this is about. All because of one little comment, you come trailing after me, throwing a tantrum.”
Thwack, thwack.
He slowly dusted off his clothes, letting out a deep sigh.
“I get it. Feeling ignored can be upsetting. But jumping straight to smashing things? That’s hardly reasonable. As far as initiations go, this is overkill. Does this academy have too many people who are neither heroes nor decent human beings?”
As the dust settled, Ho-cheol ran a hand down his face.
“Or is it because I’m a former villain, and you feel the need to start off by looking down on me?”
Emerging from the haze, he stepped forward.
“A light test? I’d like to test something myself—just how impressive are the skills of this supposedly outstanding professor?”
Loosening up his shoulders, he declared,
“If you’re below my standards, I’ll make sure your backside burns until you learn some manners.”
Cliche Novel 