Ho-cheol shook his head and comforted So-hee.
“Bungee is probably in a good place now.”
“It’s just at the car repair shop. Anyone overhearing you would think it had died.”
“I mean it went to a good repair shop.”
So-hee let out a sigh of relief.
At least the series of events that had occurred today were classified as a work-related accident, resulting in a decent amount of compensation. Thanks to that, all she had to do now was wait for Bungee to return in top shape without spending much money.
Since Bungee was at the car repair shop, the vehicle they used to return was a government car provided by the association.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, So-hee meticulously adjusted the position of the chair and rearview mirror.
Fastening her seatbelt, she glanced at Ho-cheol through the rearview mirror and asked.
“But are you sure it’s okay not to meet with the director or the dean? They’re both in the lobby.”
“It’s fine.”
Ho-cheol waved his hand dismissively as if he were fed up.
Why bother meeting with those already grumpy from working over the weekend? A follow-up call on a better day would suffice.
In truth, he had seen the dean and the director chatting outside the building while sneaking snacks from the support team. But he settled for a brief exchange of glances as a greeting.
So-hee started the engine.
“So, what exactly did you say?”
“I just matched their childish behavior with a similar level of pettiness, that’s all.”
Ho-cheol smirked as he pulled out his phone from his pocket and waved it up and down.
“I sent a text explaining everything that happened today, saying I couldn’t stand this kind of treatment and that my old personality might resurface. That’s about it.”
“Hmm.”
So-hee scratched her cheek.
She thought it might be something dramatic, but it turned out to be that simple?
Of course, it was true that Ho-cheol’s past was colorful. But over the past month, Ho-cheol had demonstrated a morality, ethical awareness, and patience that exceeded that of an average citizen. Shouldn’t they trust him at least a little based on her evaluation report?
“If that’s all it took for them to react that way, it makes me wonder if the two of them are just a bit overly sensitive.”
“They wouldn’t react like that if they were in their right minds.”
Ho-cheol replied matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious.
As So-hee suspected, their reaction shouldn’t have been so intense. They knew that if their worst fears materialized, it wouldn’t be something as small as a text message—it would have already exploded.
“But they understood why I sent that message. So, they adjusted accordingly.”
The cunning pair easily saw through the essence of the message and responded perfectly as needed.
Their anger was meticulously calculated, political, and designed to benefit them.
“Since we both had matching needs, we could’ve smoothed it over more quietly, actually.”
Ho-cheol, resting his chin on his hand, gazed out the window.
“But they made it too obvious they were trying to use me. It was just a bit too audacious.”
“Use you for what?”
“The guy who started trouble today—he was bound to lose his head sooner or later, whether it was me or someone else.”
The superiors of the troublemaking officer had already planned to oust him and had chosen Ho-cheol as their instrument.
“If I succeeded, the project would collapse, which would be beneficial to them. If I failed, the officer they intended to dismiss would take the blame and lose his head. Either way, they win.”
It was a textbook example of using someone without dirtying their own hands—a way for faceless elders to benefit from any outcome.
And Ho-cheol simply couldn’t stand their scheming.
“So I sent that message to escalate things.”
Ho-cheol wouldn’t gain anything from the situation. In that case, no one else should either.
It was also a warning that anyone who dared to involve him in such petty tricks would face consequences.
Rather than flipping the game board, Ho-cheol had always been better at smashing the board someone else had set up.
“Knowing that, the dean and director responded in kind.”
With the engine running, So-hee muttered as she pressed the pedal.
“Still, it’s shocking. An officer stooping to use a villain for their schemes.”
“Well, technically, they just hired a middleman who doesn’t distinguish between legal and illegal work as long as they’re paid. They could always claim they never imagined the villains would accept the request.”
“That kind of flimsy logic?”
“Audit officials, arresting officers, judges—even the ones who make the laws—they all exploit that logic for their own benefit.”
So-hee let out another sigh.
She had pursued this job for stable income. While she didn’t harbor a particular sense of mission or pride in working for the Hero Association, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed in the organization this time.
Even the Legal Affairs Department, known for requiring the highest moral and ethical standards among the association’s subdivisions, operated this way. The other departments were probably worse.
“In the end, people are all the same, aren’t they?”
“Exactly.”
As the traffic light changed, the car came to a stop.
Then, So-hee cautiously asked, as if she had remembered something important.
“So, uh… where are we going?”
Still staring out the window, Ho-cheol answered.
“The Hero National Cemetery.”
So-hee, shocked, snapped her head toward Ho-cheol, struggling to believe what she had just heard.
“Where did you say?”
Resting his chin on his hand, he repeated.
“The Hero National Cemetery.”
***
The Hero National Cemetery.
A resting place for countless heroes, divided into sections according to rank.
Ho-cheol arrived at the section for C-class heroes.
So-hee, who followed him out of the car, asked.
“Are you sure you don’t want to buy flowers?”
“Yeah. What’s the point of flowers? It’s just a marketing ploy.”
Having refused to buy any offerings like food, drinks, or alcohol—citing the excuse that they might attract bugs or wildlife—Ho-cheol approached a grave empty-handed.
Walking slowly, he stopped in front of the tombstone.
“I’m here.”
With that blunt greeting, he silently stared at the name and inscription on the tombstone for a long time, as if weighing their significance.
He had so much to say and even more he wanted to hear.
But words escaped him, and he could only open and close his mouth wordlessly. Memories resurfaced, were mulled over, and eventually released with regret.
Who knew how much time had passed?
Squatting down to face the tombstone, he slowly reached out. His fingers brushed the edge of the stone.
With a sigh, he bowed his head deeply.
When he lifted his head again, he turned his body and sat beside the tombstone.
Though the area was well-maintained, a few stray weeds caught his eye.
Pulling them out and tossing them aside, he noticed the dust accumulating on the tombstone. With another sigh, he wiped it clean with his sleeve.
Sitting next to the grave, he blankly gazed at the horizon.
The sunset descended slowly, its light and colors spreading across the sky like paint.
“I thought I wouldn’t see it for another 20 years. But thanks to a few twists and turns, I got out in less than 10.”
It was more like a monologue than a conversation, but Ho-cheol spoke as if he had a genuine conversation partner.
“Is it livable there?”
Resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hand, he aimlessly plucked at the grass.
“I’ve quit being a villain, for now.”
He spoke slowly, almost in a whisper.
“You won’t believe it, but these days, I teach kids. Remember Clington? Anyway, they’ve got me working as a professor there. The old man with the explosions is the dean now, and as for The Sun, that guy went to prison after some mishap. Can you believe it? He used to foam at the mouth, telling me criminals like me should die. Maybe I’ll tease him about it one day.”
He continued rambling with trivial, insignificant stories.
The sun set, and under the now-darkened sky, faintly glowing lamps dotted the area.
“Ten years. Just ten years, and the world has changed so much. Or maybe it’s been as long as ten years. And the only thing that hasn’t changed is you. Probably never will.”
Ho-cheol stood up.
He dusted off his hands, which had gotten dirty with soil and dust, and lightly tapped the top of the tombstone. Waving his hand, he said, “I should get going. If things work out, I might visit more often. But no promises.”
He turned around and took a single step before stopping. Turning his head slightly toward the tombstone, he spoke.
“Take care.”
The wind blew past him, brushing his cheeks, forehead, and hair, as if someone had stroked him gently.
***
Back in the car, Ho-cheol chuckled softly.
So-hee, who had disembarked with him earlier, was already waiting in the driver’s seat.
“When did you get back?”
“I got bored waiting.”
She raised her hand to cover her mouth, feigning a yawn that came off noticeably awkward.
“Let’s just head back. I’ve been driving for hours today. I’m exhausted.”
Her excuse was blatantly obvious, and Ho-cheol let out a light laugh. Still, he felt oddly grateful for such small gestures of consideration, likely because he was emotionally drained.
He would’ve liked to drive on the way back to give her a break, but the regulations wouldn’t allow it.
Fastening his seatbelt, Ho-cheol’s gaze lingered on the graveyard.
After a moment of hesitation, So-hee asked, “Was that person very important to you?”
Her curiosity was natural—her records on Ho-cheol contained no information about this hero acquaintance.
“Not really.”
Ho-cheol answered in his usual nonchalant tone.
“Just a hero I crossed paths with a few times during my villain days. Not important, not even a friend. If anything, just an acquaintance. It’s just… I owed them more than I gave back, and that makes me feel a little guilty.”
“Owed them?”
He chuckled lightly and leaned his head against the window.
“They saved me and died doing it.”
“Oh.”
A small sound escaped her lips, a mix of awe and perhaps regret.
“They saved me and, even in their final moments, believed I could find my way back to being human.”
They gave him their life, their faith, and everything they had.
“Even receiving just one of those would’ve been a heavy burden, but somehow, I ended up with all of it. My shoulders feel like they’ll break.”
Despite having received so much, he had given back nothing. It was the only stain on his life and his greatest regret.
“I should’ve said thank you,” Ho-cheol muttered softly.
He sighed deeply as he gazed back at the grave. But then, he furrowed his brow at the sensation on top of his head.
“What’s this now?”
A hand rested gently on his head. So-hee, in a low voice, comforted him as she patted his head.
“It’s okay to cry. If it’s too embarrassing, I can step outside for a while.”
“Forget it. It’s been ten years. It’s too late to feel anything emotional—his face is blurry in my memory anyway.”
As if to signal he was done talking, Ho-cheol pulled out his phone and fiddled with it.
But So-hee, watching him, couldn’t bring herself to laugh. Should she point out that he was holding the phone upside down? No, perhaps it was better to just pretend she hadn’t noticed.
She started the car.
After driving for quite some time, So-hee asked, “So, what should we eat for dinner?”
Snapping back to the present, Ho-cheol replied in his usual leisurely tone.
“Pork cutlet.”
“Again? Your arteries are going to clog.”
“Then stir-fried spicy pork.”
“Ugh… Were you enemies with pigs in a past life?”
“Fine. Let’s get some Korean beef. You’re paying, anyway.”
“…Let’s just stop at the nearest rest area.”
***
The Hero Cemetery, contrary to its name, wasn’t exclusively for heroes.
Regardless of rank—S-class or C-class—the size of the graves and the tombstones remained uniform. However, high-ranking heroes were often allocated family plots in recognition of their contributions.
Da-yeon’s mother was one such case.
At the S-class hero section, Da-yeon knelt before a grave, tidying the flowers adorning it.
The rainbow-colored petals swayed in the breeze, scattering their hues.
She visited once a month, keeping the area well-maintained, so the cleaning didn’t take long. Satisfied with the now pristine tombstone and grave, she sat back comfortably.
“Looks like it’s kidnapping season again this year. They even infiltrated the academy and tried to take me.”
Da-yeon let out a self-deprecating laugh as she hugged her knees.
“It’s all because of this stupid title—being the child of the number one hero.”
She swayed slowly from side to side.
“I don’t even want it. Can’t someone just take it away from me?”
Whenever she came here, the emotions she had buried along with her mother’s coffin ten years ago resurfaced faintly.
Naturally, returning to this place brought back the feelings she had buried. But the emotions weren’t always welcome—most of them were negative.
“Not like that person would care whether I got kidnapped or not.”
Sure, he’d pay the ransom—money was no issue. But that would be the extent of it.
Even if the kidnappers used Da-yeon’s life to summon the Sword Demon, they wouldn’t even catch a glimpse of him.
She muttered in frustration, her hand gently brushing the tombstone.
“That guy hasn’t visited even once this year, has he?”
Da-yeon clenched her fist as it rested on the tombstone.
Her father wasn’t just uninterested in his family—he wasn’t even worth being called a human. Yet, he wasn’t devoted to any higher purpose like heroism either.
He simply lived for his own desires.
That’s why Da-yeon could never forgive him.
As she drifted further into her sea of melancholy, her head suddenly shot up.
“And guess what? A new professor joined this year, and he used to be a villain. Isn’t that fascinating?”
Though she forced herself to sound cheerful, her voice gradually rose with genuine excitement.
“Oh, and I asked Uncle to get me a really expensive bow. But when I showed it to him, he just called it trash…”
Her stories were longer than usual, and they all—no, entirely—centered around Ho-cheol.
It was only natural. Such stimulation was a rare event in her life.
How long did she continue her lively chatter? When the chill rising from the ground began to make her shiver, she finally stood up.
Leaving a faint smile on her lips as she looked at the tombstone, she waved.
“I’ll come again.”
As she walked toward the cemetery gate, she suddenly stopped. A car was slowly approaching the entrance.
Initially, she assumed it was just another visitor. But then she spotted the face through the car window and widened her eyes. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was Ho-cheol.
She quickly stepped off the path and hid behind a nearby tree.
What could he be doing here?
Fortunately, it seemed like he hadn’t noticed her.
The car stopped, and Ho-cheol stepped out from the passenger seat. A woman she vaguely recognized got out from the driver’s side. What were the odds of such an encounter during a weekend outing?
At first, she was simply glad and wanted to approach him. But then she remembered what kind of place this was and the emotions of those who came here.
Before she could take a single step, she hid again.
When Ho-cheol walked toward the C-class hero section, his expression was filled with sorrow, too deep for words.
So, she stayed at a respectful distance, quietly watching his back.
Under normal circumstances, Ho-cheol would have noticed her gaze in an instant. But this time, he gave no reaction.
He sat down beside a tombstone after murmuring something.
Though she was too far to hear him, his expression seemed even sadder than before.
It wasn’t until he returned to the car and drove away that she finally let out her breath.
After Ho-cheol disappeared, Da-yeon slowly approached the grave.
The name and the short inscription on the tombstone were unfamiliar to her.
She hesitated for a moment before speaking to the grave.
“Hello.”
She was used to talking to her mother’s grave, so it didn’t feel too awkward.
“What kind of relationship did you have with him?”
Of course, there was no answer.
Suddenly, a light bulb went off in her mind.
This was an opportunity.
Ho-cheol was notoriously private, but this grave belonged to a public hero. With a little effort, she could dig into their background and find out not only their relationship with Ho-cheol but also more about him.
What a jackpot of a chance.
She pulled out her phone, ready to call her assistant.
“Hmm.”
But then she hesitated.
It was a golden opportunity—so perfect it felt like destiny itself had handed it to her.
There was no chance Ho-cheol would find out. It wouldn’t even violate professional ethics.
Yet, despite her rational reasoning, her body refused to act.
The image of Ho-cheol’s face lingered in her mind—his expression of deep loss, something only those who had lost someone dear could understand.
She remembered the soft voice that once whispered in her ear, the warm hands that had tousled her hair, and the affectionate gaze that was now only a hazy memory.
But she vividly recalled how she had cried her heart out in sorrow at that moment.
In the end, she sighed and shook her head.
“Let’s save it for another time. There will be more chances.”
As she turned to leave, her eyes wandered back to the grave.
Despite Ho-cheol’s visit, the grave was barren, devoid of even a single flower.
“Did he seriously come empty-handed and leave the same way?”
She placed her hands on her hips and let out another sigh.
Well, considering his personality, it wasn’t surprising he lacked that kind of sentiment.
Da-yeon ran back to her mother’s grave and grabbed the bouquet she had brought.
Placing the flowers by the grave brightened up the somber atmosphere.
“They’re rainbow cosmos. I hope you don’t find them too flashy. If so…”
She bowed politely to the grave.
“Rest well.”
***
Monday morning.
It was Ho-cheol’s lecture time, already the fourth class of the semester.
After the week’s class representative—Choi Da-yeon—collected the assignments, the students straightened their backs and held their breaths.
Unusually, their attention was not on Ho-cheol but entirely on the chalkboard.
More precisely, their eyes followed the movement of the chalk in Ho-cheol’s hand.
Rustle—
Ho-cheol unfolded a card-sized piece of paper and raised the chalk to the board.
He drew a simple straight line.
Repeating this process several times, he finally set the chalk down.
“And so, through a thoroughly fair and democratic voting process…”
Leaning against the podium, he scanned the classroom lightly.
The students’ reactions were split—half disappointed, half elated.
“The destination for this MT is…”
He turned back to the board. Written there were the words ‘mountains’ and ‘sea’, each tally marked beneath.
The sea had four extra votes compared to the mountains.
“The sea.”
Cheers and applause erupted among the students who had voted for the sea. Those who voted for the mountains, though not thrilled, clapped along in agreement since they didn’t entirely dislike the idea of the sea.
No matter how much they aspired to be heroes, they were still kids. They couldn’t help but get excited about an outing like this.
Watching them, Ho-cheol smiled faintly.
“Yes, laugh while you still can.”
Cliche Novel 