A brief silence passed.
“By any chance…”
Da-yeon slowly began to speak, her voice trembling slightly with tension.
“By any chance, do you not like custom-made specialty items like this?”
There were some heroes who despised support items or exclusive weapons.
They claimed that relying on tools went against the essence of a hero—that a hero forged by tools was not a hero of true skill, but one crafted by the performance of their equipment.
Of course, there was some validity to their arguments.
Tools designed to support abilities or exclusive weapons often created a stark disparity compared to barehanded capabilities.
At one point, there had even been discussions about regulating the performance of support items.
While this bow didn’t overwhelmingly amplify raw ability, it was custom-made and thus classified as an exclusive tool.
If Ho-cheol held such beliefs, presenting this bow to him would have been difficult—practically impossible.
“No,” he said.
Contrary to Da-yeon’s apprehension, Ho-cheol shrugged nonchalantly.
“Being good at using tools is a skill too.”
A craftsman never blames their tools.
However, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t use good tools when available.
Why wouldn’t a skilled craftsman, capable of delivering excellent results with standard tools, choose proper tools to create even greater masterpieces?
In that sense, Ho-cheol saw no problem with heroes using exclusive support items.
Of course, he despised heroes overly dependent on such tools, the ones who couldn’t function without them.
But as long as there was a reasonable balance, why not?
After all, even during his days as a villain, he had used absurdly powerful equipment.
What mattered wasn’t the peak performance but the stability of the baseline.
Da-yeon was further bewildered by his unexpected response.
“Then why…?”
If it wasn’t a hatred for support items, why had he called it trash?
To her question, Ho-cheol pointed at the bow.
“That bow—I said it’s trash because its performance is trash. It looks like something picked up from a dumpster.”
The excitement she had felt while anticipating the moment of unveiling this bow was utterly shattered.
From the time she requested it from the butler to the day she received it, she had barely been able to sleep out of anticipation.
Now, the thrill she felt as she prepared to show it off to him turned into something akin to heartbreak.
Da-yeon glanced back and forth between Ho-cheol and the bow in her hands, visibly flustered.
Clutching the bow tightly to her chest, she exclaimed,
“It’s not trash!”
Had she ever raised her voice this much against Ho-cheol?
That’s how anxious she felt.
He must have been mistaken.
How could he judge it after just a glance and a brief touch?
Besides, she had tested it before the lesson to get a feel for it.
It was significantly more comfortable and accurate than the bow she had been using.
But Ho-cheol crossed his arms and made a dismissive gesture.
“Well, if you say so.”
If she insisted it hadn’t been picked up from a dumpster, then fine.
But even if it hadn’t come from one, its destination seemed destined for the trash.
Da-yeon anxiously asked again after seeing his indifferent expression.
“Is it really that bad?”
Ho-cheol, arms still crossed, studied her for a moment.
Not unusable.
For someone stuck perpetually at B-rank or barely scraping into A-rank, it might even be beneficial.
The bow provided extra features compensating for its lack of power.
But she had said it herself—she aspired to be S-rank.
If an S-rank hero wanted to fight at full power, this bow’s lifespan would be around 5… no, maybe 4 seconds.
Its durability fell far short of mass-produced equipment made solely for toughness.
“Hmm. The design’s nice. If you don’t want to throw it away, maybe hang it on the wall. It’d make for decent interior decoration,” he said.
A bow good only as decoration.
His forced attempt to find something positive about it made the evaluation even more disheartening.
“The answer’s already decided, isn’t it?”
“That’s my answer. Yours can be different, can’t it?”
Though her answer wouldn’t just be different—it would be wrong.
“What exactly is wrong with it?”
“Well, if I had to point something out…”
Ho-cheol extended his palm upward.
Da-yeon blinked at his hand before cautiously placing hers on top of it.
His hand, larger than hers, felt as warm as it looked.
The texture was unexpectedly soft.
Ho-cheol, seemingly caught off guard, spoke in a rare moment of fluster.
“No, I meant give me the bow.”
“Oh. Ah. Uh…”
Da-yeon hurriedly withdrew her hand and placed the bow in his palm instead.
Her cheeks, partially hidden by her hand, burned with embarrassment.
Ho-cheol inspected the bow more thoroughly this time.
And he was certain.
Handing it back, he shook his head.
“Nope. It’s definitely unusable.”
“…Why?”
He pulled back the string with a flex of his fingers.
“It’s made for precision and control, not enhancement. Its tension, flexibility, and durability are all seriously lacking.”
For now, her current skill level might allow her to use it more comfortably due to its compensations.
But once she reached the upper levels of A-rank, the bow’s fatal flaws would become apparent.
Da-yeon slumped, deeply disappointed.
“But with a bit more practice—”
She looked up at Ho-cheol, unable to finish her sentence.
His utterly uninterested, bored expression spoke volumes.
Ho-cheol shrugged.
“Do whatever you want.”
In truth, he was growing somewhat annoyed with her persistence.
He had agreed to help her, even going as far as providing private lessons.
But that was on the condition that she would fully trust and accept his guidance.
If she kept clinging to such unfeasible ideas… well, then this arrangement might as well be over.
Ho-cheol wasn’t the most patient person when it came to handling individuals who insisted on their opinions despite lacking talent.
If someone asked for help, he’d lend it easily.
But if he deemed them unnecessary, he’d cut them off without hesitation.
Da-yeon’s hand drooped helplessly.
“…I won’t use it.”
“Good. Smart choice. If you stick to a weapon that doesn’t suit you, and it becomes familiar, that’s a headache in itself. By the way, did you bring another bow besides this one?”
“Just in case, I brought the one I usually use.”
“Good thinking.”
As Da-yeon pulled out her usual bow from her bag, a question suddenly came to her.
“Then, is there a particular brand you’d recommend?”
“A brand, huh? I’m not sure about that. Anything sturdy is usually the best bet.”
The brands Ho-cheol knew were evaluated over ten years ago.
He wasn’t even sure if those manufacturers were still in business.
Besides, most of the brands he had favored catered exclusively to villains through black-market dealings.
“Ah.”
Ho-cheol snapped his fingers, as if recalling something.
He didn’t know brands or product names.
But—
“Have you heard of the S-rank hero, ‘Dread Archer,’ who was active more than ten years ago?”
“I have.”
Of course, she knew.
Among the few S-rank heroes who used a bow, he was the only one with an augmentation-type ability.
After retiring, he disappeared from the media, reportedly living under a new identity.
“The bow that guy used would be perfect for you.”
Their wingspan and body type were similar.
Once she got used to it, she’d likely find it comfortable in no time.
“Where is that bow now?”
“He lost it during a gate-sealing operation.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Isn’t it?”
Da-yeon gripped her usual bow and took her stance.
Feeling the familiar grip in her hands, she smiled wryly.
So, it’s back to this one after all.
“Today, we’re doing ‘Mulgajung.’”
“…Mulgajung?”
“No,’Mulgajung.’ ‘Far,’ ‘Near,’ and ‘Mid.’ Last time, we focused on basic stances. This time, we’ll work on distance.”
Fortunately, the archery range had several targets at varying distances, making adjustments simple.
“A distant target, a nearby target, and one at mid-range—you can’t approach them all the same way, right?”
“Right.”
“On top of that, we’ll add scenarios: when the target is unaware of you, when they’re aware but don’t know your position, and when they’ve pinpointed your exact location. That makes nine total scenarios.”
Da-yeon’s excitement was evident as she wriggled slightly.
This had been her biggest dilemma while practicing archery alone.
Adjusting techniques based on the distance and the target’s reaction was a given.
Though she had tried moving targets to practice, her efforts yielded little progress, leaving her half-defeated.
She never imagined she’d get to learn it like this.
“Alright, let’s start with the basics.”
“Yes.”
She drew her usual bow with all her might.
***
Ho-cheol checked the time.
“That’s enough for today.”
Less than two hours had passed, yet Da-yeon was utterly drained, slumping to the floor without even replying.
She had pushed her limits so far she didn’t have the energy to respond.
It had been a while since she felt this exhausted.
Eyes shut, she gasped for air, drenched in sweat that felt like rain pouring down her body.
This wasn’t just about shooting arrows.
Her posture and axis had to shift depending on the scenario.
It demanded not only high focus on the target but also keen awareness of subtle changes around her, as well as swift reaction times.
The session was several times more taxing than the previous lesson, both physically and mentally.
Watching Da-yeon sprawled on the ground, Ho-cheol stroked his chin.
“You really need to work on your stamina.”
“I’m already working hard…”
She protested faintly, but Ho-cheol didn’t seem to hear.
“Work harder. Still, you did well.”
“Thank you…”
Her sense of improvement and competitive drive were incomparable to those of her peers.
Once taught, she hardly ever forgot or failed to grasp the lesson, making her rewarding to teach despite the challenges.
As he stood to tidy up, a youthful voice called out from behind.
“Diligent even on weekends. Truly the model educator.”
Turning around, Ho-cheol saw the Chairwoman standing at the entrance of the range.
Arms crossed and leaning casually against a tree, she fixed a piercing gaze on him.
At her feet sat a bear plushie mimicking her pose, its arms crossed.
Its side, which Ho-cheol had torn open previously, was messily stitched back together.
The Chairwoman twisted her lips into a smirk.
“Giving private lessons to a student on the weekend? This is way beyond simply answering questions. You’re not getting away with this scot-free.”
A finger poked out from her crossed arms, wagging slightly.
“If I officially report this, you’ll be looking at at least a suspension. Probably.”
Her confident attitude made Ho-cheol furrow his brow.
Was that even a rule?
He didn’t bother familiarizing himself with the academy’s encyclopedia-length regulations.
Still, as the Chairwoman of the staff union, she likely wasn’t lying or making up a rule.
He wouldn’t mind a minor disciplinary action like a warning or pay cut, but a suspension would be problematic.
His contract stipulated that anything beyond suspension would send him straight back to prison.
Even so, he wasn’t concerned—just mildly annoyed.
Her tone, expression, and posture didn’t suggest she was seriously trying to get him in trouble.
From the beginning, this private lesson had been acknowledged by both the association and the academy president.
Even if disciplinary discussions came up, it was clear they’d fizzle out.
“Do what you want.”
“Tch.”
She clicked her tongue.
She had hoped to rattle him a bit, but as expected, his reaction wasn’t amusing.
Da-yeon, having gotten back to her feet, stared quietly at the Chairwoman.
“…Who’s this?”
Da-yeon asked as she pointed a finger at the Chairwoman.
“You don’t know who she is?”
“No.”
Da-yeon slowly stood and approached the Chairwoman.
“But she’s really cute.”
With that, Da-yeon reached out her hand.
Before anyone could react, she grabbed the Chairwoman’s cheeks and began carefully stroking and kneading them.
The Chairwoman furrowed her brows in irritation, but in the current situation—where her cheeks were being freely squished—any sense of dignity was completely absent.
Ho-cheol was dumbfounded by the sight.
He could understand himself being unfamiliar with the academy after less than a month, but for Da-yeon, who had been here for over a year, to not recognize her?
Sensing his gaze, the Chairwoman offered an explanation in a defensive tone.
“There’s hardly any interaction between departments.
Even among students, there’s barely any communication.
How would anyone have information about professors?”
Surprisingly, the position of Union Chairwoman didn’t involve much public activity.
In fact, most academy students didn’t even know there was a union.
“Oh. So, you’re a professor?”
Startled, Da-yeon quickly stepped back, but Ho-cheol waved a hand dismissively.
“She is, but it’s fine.”
“In that case, thank you for letting me.”
“And why are you thanking her?”
As if misunderstanding the hierarchy entirely, Da-yeon resumed squeezing the Chairwoman’s cheeks the moment Ho-cheol gave his approval.
“Enough pointless chatter. I’d like to know how you got here and why,” Ho-cheol said.
“You asked to be treated for a meal next time.”
“Did I?”
Honestly, he barely remembered saying it.
“What a hassle.”
The Chairwoman shrugged and stepped away from the tree she’d been leaning on.
“As the head of an organization, it’s my duty to gauge the level of its members and build rapport. It’s part of my job, so follow along quietly. But first,” she said, pointing at Da-yeon, who was still kneeling and vigorously kneading her cheeks.
“Get her off me!”
***
Cafeteria.
For the Union Chairwoman, Seong Se-Ah, the situation couldn’t have been more awkward.
She’d already confirmed Ho-cheol’s abilities during the raid simulation.
This time, her intention was to evaluate his character and personality.
After all, from an educational standpoint, a person’s temperament often mattered more than their abilities or powers.
While the raid had been unusual, such meal-based interviews were standard for newly joined faculty members under the union.
The choice of cuisine was left entirely to the new member.
Korean, Japanese, Western, and occasionally Chinese cuisine—it was entirely up to them.
His choice, however, left Se-Ah baffled.
Propping her chin on her hand, she let out a sigh.
“This is my first time in the student cafeteria.”
A student cafeteria?
Yet, if you asked if his choice was out of frugality, it was hard to say yes outright.
That’s because Ho-cheol had gone all out, ordering the most expensive menu items and adding every topping available in an almost greedy display.
Normally, one could infer a person’s character based on their choice of restaurant or menu.
With Ho-cheol, however, it was impossible to pin him down.
Could you really call his choice of all the 1,000-won toppings evidence of vulgar greed?
Ho-cheol returned, holding a stack of meal tickets, and sat across from her.
“You seem to have a lot on your mind. Can you even eat with all that bottled up?”
He laid out the meal tickets on the table as he spoke, glancing at her with mild amusement.
“Let’s clear the air beforehand. I’ve got some questions too.”
“Questions, huh?”
Se-Ah’s eyes sparkled.
To her, Ho-cheol was a complete enigma.
Through this conversation, she might finally gather some useful information.
Ho-cheol leaned his chair back, balancing it precariously on its hind legs.
Tilting his head slightly forward, he locked eyes with her and asked.
“The rat selling academy secrets—who the hell is it?”
Then, slamming his chair back upright, he leaned forward and jabbed a finger at her.
“Who is it?”
Cliche Novel 