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To think he’d say something like this.  

Not many people could tolerate seeing their own organization insulted right to their face.  

If this weren’t a place students frequented—if it were even a slightly more secluded area—she would’ve flipped the table without hesitation.  

No, could it be that he deliberately chose the cafeteria, calculating this exact reaction?  

If so, he was no ordinary schemer.  

Clang!

Water splashed out of the glass Se-ah slammed down forcefully.  

Lowering her voice menacingly, she growled, her glare sharp and fierce as it locked onto Ho-cheol.  

“Do you think you can take responsibility for those words?”  

“Responsibility?”  

Ho-cheol chuckled dryly, shrugging his shoulders.  

“Why would I?”  

“What?”  

“Sure, Cington Professor might be an accredited authority, but this isn’t an official setting, is it? This is just a casual meal. Off the record. Whatever I say here is just a personal opinion. Do I need to take responsibility for some idle chatter during lunch?”  

Leaning his chin on his hand, Ho-cheol casually tapped his fingers against the table.  

“The recent villain attack—it all lined up way too neatly, don’t you think? It feels like there’s a leak from within the academy. If that’s the case, who could it be?”  

Se-ah’s lips twitched in irritation at his nonchalant demeanor.  

“So you’re saying the union is the cause?”  

“Based on the evidence and reasoning, it seems the most likely.”  

Ho-cheol maintained his composed tone as he continued.  

“Don’t take it too personally. I just happened to have questions, and here you are, the head of the organization. Naturally, I had to ask.”  

“Don’t tell me… did you actually join the union just to figure that out?”  

“Well, if you put it like that, it sounds terrible. But wasn’t it you guys who insisted I join in the first place? Parading the benefits, pestering me relentlessly. Now you’re flipping the script?”  

Se-ah, having cooled down a bit, took another sip of water.  

“Considering my position and status, it’d be laughable to think I’d just let such nonsense slide. Instead of answering your baseless claims, how about I kick you out of the union entirely?”  

For a moment, Ho-cheol’s expression flickered with surprise, but then he burst into laughter.  

“Well, that’s unexpected.”  

Two days had passed since the union leader had confronted Ho-cheol.  

He hadn’t wasted that time; gathering information for two days had been more than enough.  

“This academy is wonderfully straightforward. Academic ties, regional ties, familial ties—all deeply entrenched. If someone shares the same traits, they’ll get support regardless of their ideology or stance.”  

The rhythm of his tapping quickened slightly.  

“The dean, being from the Enhancement Division, has the professors there entirely under their thumb. Honestly, who would dare join the union in that context? On the other hand, the Manipulation Division is firmly in your grasp since you’re both the union leader and the department head. The Miscellaneous Division is practically a name-only group, so let’s leave them out. And as for the Operators and Support Item Creation Departments, they’re just there to fill the numbers.”  

Tap, tap, tap.  

Se-ah found his rhythmic tapping increasingly grating.  

“So, the academy’s power struggles boil down to how much influence one can pull from the Enhancement Division. The balance has been maintained for now, but I, who manage an entire grade level, also hold considerable sway. Even if they’re villains, they wouldn’t take me lightly.”  

Ho-cheol’s fingers stopped tapping.  

“Considering all the political dynamics… if you can dismiss me purely for emotional reasons…”  

He pointed a raised finger at Se-ah.  

“Go ahead.”  

Se-ah wrapped her hands around her cup, her thumb brushing lightly over the rim.  

Outwardly, she showed anger, but her thoughts were far from simple.  

Her emotions were more tangled, her thoughts layered.  

Anyone could analyze this power dynamic and political reasoning.  

However, having the confidence to voice such conclusions was a different matter.  

Even in a private setting—no, especially in a private setting—it wasn’t something one could easily bring up.  

Did he have a reliable source of information?  

Or was he simply drawn in as a pawn to bolster their numbers?  

After a brief pause, Se-ah asked, “And you? Can you prove your innocence?”  

“If I weren’t innocent, I wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for my fried pork cutlet with cheese, mini rice bowl, and tempura udon. I’d have been dragged to the association ages ago.”  

It was true.  

In fact, Se-ah knew very well that Ho-cheol was one of the most innocent figures in the academy.  

For someone to endure such intense interrogations and investigations for a mere C-class villain incident was already excessive.  

The two exchanged a silent gaze.  

“How strange,” Se-ah finally said, breaking the silence.  

“Why are you only suspicious of our union? Sure, we have a lot of members, but there are still more staff who haven’t joined. Are the dean’s faction staff supposed to be trustworthy?”  

Ho-cheol shifted slightly, seemingly surprised by her remark.  

If he were unaware of Ho-cheol’s ties to the dean, her question was perfectly valid.  

But Ho-cheol’s surprise wasn’t directed at her reasoning.  

After a moment of consideration, he asked, “The dean is an S-class, right? Do you think they’d stoop to something like that?”  

“That’s naive. Sure, the dean is an outstanding hero; there’s no disputing that. But their character and achievements don’t necessarily reflect on their subordinates.”  

As expected.  

Ho-cheol found it unexpected.  

He had assumed that the union leader was at odds with the dean, but her respectful tone, even adding “sir” when referring to him, suggested a level of admiration and respect.  

So, they weren’t simply adversaries?  

This warranted further investigation.  

A moment of silence passed before Ho-cheol’s meal ticket number lit up on the display board.  

Rising from his seat, he excused himself.  

Se-ah stared at his retreating figure, trying to decipher his intentions but finding herself at a loss.  

Initially, when he had exposed the union’s vulnerabilities, she thought he was fishing for information to gain some advantage.  

But there seemed to be no ulterior motive.  

His tone was too arrogant for someone merely seeking information.  

Instead, it provoked and unsettled her, pushing her into a more defensive stance.  

After all, no organization is perfect.  

Even groups without self-interest can’t control the actions of individuals.  

How could a union, with all its vested interests, manage every member’s actions?  

People simply turned a blind eye when it was convenient.  

But if someone within the academy was leaking information…  

‘What kind of crazy person would do something like that, knowing what kind of fate awaits if caught?’  

Just last year, didn’t the professor originally in charge of this lecture lose their position after being caught leaking test questions to a private hero agency for a bribe?  

And that was just for cooperating with heroes.  

Leaking information connected to villains?  

In that case, even if their neck were literally severed, there would be no argument to make.  

But if, as Ho-cheol suggested, there truly was someone within the union leaking academy information—  

Crack—

The cup in her hand crumpled.  

There was no other explanation except that they had underestimated her.  

If she ever caught the person responsible, they’d be lucky if prison was the worst punishment they faced.  

Meanwhile, Ho-cheol, who had already returned with his food, casually picked up his knife and fork.  

“I’ve wanted to try this for a while, but it’s so expensive. Well then, let’s dig in.”  

After that, he didn’t mention the topic of the internal spy again, focusing solely on his meal.  

After all, he’d already achieved his goal.  

The best-case scenario would have been for her to confess everything, but that was impossible from the start.  

He hadn’t even expected it.  

As long as the eavesdropping feature on the watch remained active, his options were extremely limited.  

To dig for more information, he would have to disclose his own evidence or leads, but he couldn’t reveal his sources.  

All he could do was bluff.  

Ho-cheol’s purpose in bringing up the internal spy was purely to stir up trouble and sow discord.  

Even a small seed of doubt, making her wonder if such things could really happen in the union, was more than enough success for him.  

If just one person showed any suspicious behavior under such circumstances, that doubt would spiral uncontrollably.  

Even now, no matter how much she trusted the union members, human relationships were inherently more fragile than tissue paper.  

From just two meetings and a few minutes of conversation, it was clear she had strong attachment to the union.  

There was no need for him to go out of his way to identify the spy.  

They’d handle it themselves.  

Even if she were somehow connected to it, that didn’t matter.  

If an outsider like him could point it out, she’d be forced to tread more carefully for now.  

Sure enough, Se-ah was now deeply engrossed in narrowing down the list of suspicious individuals, hugging a teddy bear tightly.  

Her rounded chin pressed repeatedly against the bear’s head.  

She glanced over to Ho-cheol, who was diligently cutting his pork cutlet.  

He had plenty of personal strength, and his mind was sharp.  

He was brazen enough to call out the union’s corruption right to her face and had enough initiative to back it up.  

There was definitely something she could use him for.  

Lifting her head, she addressed him.  

“Honestly, I’m not sure. But if I had to guess, the Enhancement Division would be the first place to check.”  

“Enhancement, huh?”  

“The Manipulation Division professors are closely connected and have deep relationships with one another. It’s hard for anyone to do something shady without being noticed. Leaking information to the outside world while avoiding all those watchful eyes? Not easy. On the other hand, the Enhancement Division professors don’t interfere much with one another. It’d be much easier to pull something there.”  

Hearing her reasoning, Ho-cheol nodded.  

It seemed she had been somewhat aware of this herself.  

“That’s some pretty useful information.”  

After some thought, Ho-cheol reached into his pocket.  

“I don’t have much to give you in exchange for that.”  

When he pulled his hand back out, Se-ah’s expression twisted.  

Just the sight of the wrapper brought back the taste of that torment in her mouth.  

“How about a candy?”  

Unable to hold back, she threw her teddy bear at him.  

***

Sunday noon.

Ho-cheol was at his desk, spinning a pen idly between his fingers.  

Forget the union or any other organization—his priority was the fourth lecture scheduled for tomorrow.  

He had finally been hoping to hold a practical lesson in the training facility, but this time external heroes were coming in for a trait output test, so his request had been denied.  

It was absurd from his perspective, but having already used the facility once, he had been pushed down the priority list.  

He didn’t want to waste more time with another pointless theory class.  

As he mulled over the issue—  

Squeak.

The sound of buttons being pressed was followed by the door opening.  

At this point, she didn’t even bother knocking, treating the place like her own home.  

“Ah, you’re here.”  

Since it was lunchtime, Ho-cheol figured she’d brought food and got up from his chair to greet So-hee.  

But something was off.  

Standing by the entrance, she was dressed in a perfectly pressed suit, far from her usual attire.  

Her expression was also unusually stiff.  

Curious, Ho-cheol asked, “What’s this? Did you get invited to a wedding or something?”  

“Well, you see… I think something big is happening.”  

“Something big?”  

“The association suddenly summoned me.”  

“Working on the weekend, huh? That is pretty big.”  

No wonder she looked so grim.  

But that had nothing to do with Ho-cheol.  

“And I wasn’t the only one summoned.”  

She pointed at him.  

“They want you to come too.”  

“Why me?”  

“No idea… but the person who summoned us isn’t the director—it’s someone from the other faction.”  

“The other faction?”  

She added further explanation.  

“The faction opposed to the director.”  

“That’s… unsettling.”  

Ho-cheol clicked his tongue.  

If it was the faction opposed to the director, it was obvious.  

It meant the people who had opposed his release were involved, making it highly likely this summons was some kind of ploy.  

“What about refusing?”  

“Not an option, obviously.”  

And this was just the beginning.  

There was no doubt there would be plenty of annoying situations to deal with in the future.  

The fact that official business allowed for leaving the academy also meant that the association could summon him freely.  

While he would comply quietly this time since it was the first instance, he felt the need to arrange things to ensure it didn’t happen again.  

He opened the wardrobe.  

“All right, let’s just get this over with.”  

“Wait! Change your clothes after I leave!”  

***

In the car heading to the association, Ho-cheol, who had been asleep for over an hour, suddenly opened his eyes.  

As soon as he did, So-hee spoke as though she had been waiting for him.  

“We still have another hour to go before we get there.”  

However, he said nothing.  

Instead, he reached out and placed his hand over hers.  

“Uh?”  

Startled by the sudden contact, So-hee began to feel flustered.  

But what happened next made her earlier reaction seem like an understatement.  

Ho-cheol grabbed her hand, still on the steering wheel, and pulled it hard.  

The steering wheel jerked violently, causing the car tires to skid sharply.  

Screeeech!  

“Ahhhhhh!”  

Despite her quick reaction in slamming on the brakes, the already accelerating car spun wildly in circles.  

Long, black tire marks streaked across the road.  

Thud!

After her head slammed against the steering wheel, So-hee quickly lifted her head and shouted at Ho-cheol.  

“Have you lost your mind?!”  

But Ho-cheol didn’t even glance at her, his eyes fixed straight ahead.  

And then, just a few seconds later—  

Rumble!

Massive boulders the size of houses rolled down from the mountain beside the road, crashing onto the asphalt and blocking the path.  

So-hee took a moment to calculate.  

The speed, the remaining distance, the size of the boulders…  

If Ho-cheol hadn’t pulled the steering wheel and they had continued forward—  

Sweat beaded on her hands gripping the wheel.  

If it had been her alone, she would have been as flat as a dried fish.  

She asked with a trembling voice, “…How did you know?”  

No, more than that—  

“Thank you.”  

She heaved a sigh of relief, her chest rising and falling as she calmed her pounding heart.  

If there was ever a moment when “thanks to you, I survived” was appropriate, it was now.  

But Ho-cheol seemed uninterested in her gratitude.  

His eyes remained fixed on the boulders that had tumbled down the mountain.  

Leaning his elbow on the car window, he muttered indifferently.  

“What a surge in popularity.”  

“Excuse me?”  

When So-hee questioned him, Ho-cheol didn’t bother to respond.  

After all, the answer would soon come from those descending from above.  

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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?”

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The girl’s face flushed crimson at the mention of spanking her.  

She quickly sent her hands behind her back to cover her bottom.  

“Isn’t there something else you should say to someone older than you?”  

“Older? Are you really a professor?”  

Ho-cheol asked with a puzzled look. If they were a professor, it would explain their grating tone, and why they’d come to pick a fight.  

The girl didn’t answer, but instead made a large gesture.  

In response, the bear swung its fist again.  

The previous attack was both a protest and a test of skill. But because Ho-cheol didn’t show any reaction, the second objective wasn’t fulfilled.  

Was it because he recognized the attack wasn’t truly aimed at him? Or was it simply because he couldn’t react in time? Either way, it needed to be confirmed.  

The bear’s paw flew toward Ho-cheol’s chest.  

But before it could fully extend, Ho-cheol dodged the punch effortlessly.  

“For someone so full of confidence, this is all you’ve got? I can clearly see the average skill level of the academy professors. And as for their students, well, they must be just as predictable.”  

His blatant mockery caused the girl’s face to flush an even deeper red.  

“Fine. I was just planning to test you lightly. But this won’t do. I guess I’ll have to teach you a painful lesson.”  

Her enraged expression made Ho-cheol twist his lips into a smirk.  

Truthfully, he found this attack unremarkable.  

If he’d been truly angry, he would’ve dismantled this stuffed bear into “stuffed/bear/pieces” during the first strike.  

He was slightly annoyed, but only because he’d gotten dust all over himself.  

To be honest, the lack of killing intent was obvious, and it was clear they were attacking cautiously to avoid injuring him. Getting upset over that would hardly be mature.  

From the moment he accepted the position as an academy professor, situations like this were expected. In fact, he welcomed it.  

The girl in front of him, despite her youthful appearance, showed considerable skill even by his stringent standards.  

She possessed a manipulation-based ability rather than augmentation.  

If she could achieve this level of power and finesse without consuming significant energy, she was on par with or superior to most seasoned heroes.  

Where else could he encounter a hero—or even a villain—of this caliber?  

Just minutes ago, he had been wondering how to regain his edge for real combat situations. This was the perfect opportunity.  

Most importantly, he was the clear victim here.  

Attacked right in the middle of the academy, and with the first strike no less. He had every justification. Whatever happened next wouldn’t be on him.  

Of course, it was a little odd facing a kid, but judging by her behavior and skills, she was no kid.  

And she herself claimed to be older. It was probably some trait related to her appearance.  

Whoosh!

The bear’s paw grazed past the tip of his nose.  

Ho-cheol dodged the flurry of attacks with barely the width of a sheet of paper to spare.  

But it wasn’t by chance. Or maybe it was.  

A contradiction, but true nonetheless.  

Ho-cheol was holding back his abilities as much as possible while confronting the bear.  

Even the semi-automatic traits of his powers were being forcibly suppressed.  

At his current restraint, even a single mistake would lead to a fracture—or worse, a limb being sent flying.  

But instead of succumbing to instinct, Ho-cheol slowed himself further, squeezed every last ounce of physical capability from his body, and pushed himself into a state of extreme difficulty.  

Watching him, the girl let out a small sound of admiration.  

Each of his movements reflected an exceptional level of skill and experience in real combat.  

But that admiration soon transformed into another emotion.  

Whoosh!

Ho-cheol tilted his head back, narrowly avoiding the bear’s paw. A few strands of his hair were sliced off and scattered into the air.  

It’s easy to defeat an enemy with overwhelming power.  

But that isn’t true strength. That’s mere domination.  

True strength lies in defeating a powerful enemy with minimal force.  

And what Ho-cheol needed was to reawaken the strength etched into his body.  

To feel a sense of crisis, to push beyond mere tension, to the edge of death’s fear, until his body screamed.  

He dodged attacks that were too fast for the eye to follow—slowly, and with ease.  

Whoosh!  

In the fleeting moment between the bear’s attacks, Ho-cheol found an opening.  

He struck with his fist.  

Thunk!  

Because he was holding back his abilities to their limits, the impact wasn’t immense.  

However, it was a precise and meticulous strike, akin to threading dozens of needles at once. The damage steadily accumulated.  

Thunk!  

He struck the same spot repeatedly, until small cracks began to form where his punches landed.  

Crackle.  

Finally, on the fourteenth punch, as his fist pierced the bear’s side,  

Boom!  

The seams burst open, and stuffing exploded out like a geyser.  

The bear, which had been relentlessly attacking just moments ago, suddenly froze.  

It tilted to the side and collapsed with a loud thud.  

Ho-cheol prodded the fallen bear with the tip of his foot.  

Since it moved via manipulation abilities, its sudden loss of power suggested that maintaining its original form might have been a condition for its operation.  

Ho-cheol turned to the girl and asked, “So, what’s next? Don’t tell me that’s the end of the test.”  

The girl was too stunned to respond. She struggled to even process whether the scene before her was real.  

Her career as a hero, a hunter, and an academy professor—none of it was short-lived.  

Having survived countless battles and life-threatening situations, she was more than qualified to be called a professional in combat.  

As such, she was not one to misjudge her opponent’s capabilities.  

From the recent battle, Ho-cheol’s speed, strength, and reactions were all objectively C-rank—clearly weak, both objectively and subjectively.  

Yet, for the first time, she felt an inexplicable sense of the unknown against a weaker opponent.  

Barely regaining her composure, she shouted in a sharp voice, “Who… who are you!?”  

“I used to be a villain. Now, I’m a professor here. So, is that really all?”  

The girl’s hand went to a device at her waist.  

She had options, but using them would push things beyond a mere protest or test.  

After a brief hesitation, she let go of the device and sighed deeply, as if in resignation.  

“…Fine. It’s over.”  

The thought of being spanked at her age was horrifying. Maybe she should just run away now.  

As she debated internally, Ho-cheol clapped his hands together.  

“Well then, let’s wrap this up.”  

For once, he wore a light smile, as though he was genuinely refreshed. It felt like upgrading from a tricycle to a slightly more challenging bicycle.  

It wasn’t much, but in a fight without killing intent, this was the limit.  

Rolling his shoulders as if warming up, he asked, “You called this a test, right? So, what’s the verdict?”  

“…If I argued otherwise now, I’d just look petty. You’ve got enough skill to teach the kids. I can see why you insist on practical combat being so important.”  

She had reviewed the combat records from the villain attack.  

At the time, she had dismissed his victory as half luck, aided by an ambush and advantageous conditions.  

It certainly seemed that way then.  

But now that he had demonstrated it right in front of her, there was no room for doubt.  

“By the way,” Ho-cheol muttered, glancing around with a faintly troubled expression.  

“What are we supposed to do about this mess?”  

No matter how much he wanted to leave it all to her, the surroundings were in complete disarray.  

The ground was torn up, with three or four massive craters. The bench behind them was split in half, and the grass had been annihilated.  

If an environmental group saw this, they’d likely foam at the mouth and come after them.  

It was that bad.  

The girl crouched down, casually stuffing the bear’s side with more fluff.  

“It’s fine.”  

She spoke nonchalantly, as though it wasn’t a big deal.  

“One of the union chairperson’s privileges is to assess the skills of union-member professors. I’ve already reported this situation in advance, and all bystanders have been cleared. There won’t be any issues.”  

“That so?”  

Ho-cheol accepted her words in an overly calm tone but furrowed his brows slightly.  

Wait. Did he just hear something strange?  

Feeling his gaze, the girl—no, the union chairperson—looked up from stuffing the bear.  

“I told you I’d come find you.”  

“Unbelievable.”  

He had heard about it from a staff member, but who would have guessed it would happen this way?  

“And if you’ve joined the union, at least make an effort to know who the chairperson is.”  

She had already finished restuffing the bear’s side.  

The bear shrank back down like a deflated balloon, its torn parts miraculously mending.  

For some reason, the stuffed bear looked sadder now than before. Was it just his imagination?  

“Anyway, I warned you.”  

Ho-cheol strode forward, stopping directly in front of the union chairperson.  

“Eep.”  

Startled, she hid her bottom with the bear.  

Surely he wouldn’t actually hit her, right?  

Regardless of her youthful appearance, she was clearly much older than him. And even as a former villain, spanking her would be ridiculous.  

Contrary to her fears, Ho-cheol knelt down on one knee to meet her gaze.  

He stared at her intently for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.  

“Well, if I offended you, I’ll apologize. Maybe there’s some exceptional educational system I’m unaware of. Honestly, teaching the kids myself has been harder than I expected.”  

Of course, that didn’t mean he was retracting his earlier remark about the professors being subpar.  

He wasn’t wrong, after all.  

“But can you truly say that the current oversaturation of heroes, the decline in overall standards, and the precarious state of society have nothing to do with your faculty?”  

The chairperson’s lips pressed inward.  

The truth was, she had been most outraged by his criticisms because deep down, she shared a similar sentiment.  

As an individual professor, there was only so much she could change.  

She had tried targeting the academy’s principal to completely overhaul its teaching methods, but as someone who was only A-rank, she had failed.  

Her next-best option was forming this union.  

She couldn’t become the principal, but she could wield authority nearly equivalent to one.  

Ho-cheol smirked, though not mockingly.  

“At least you’re self-aware.”  

With that, he raised a hand and ruffled her hair.  

After thoroughly tousling it, he reached into his pocket.  

When his hand emerged, it was holding a single piece of candy.  

“Pardon me for a moment.”  

Grabbing her wrist, he forced her hand open and placed the candy on her palm.  

“If it’s complaints, I’ll listen. If it’s a story, I’ll share it. If it’s an opinion, I’ll discuss it. But don’t take your frustrations out on me.”  

He stood, then paused as a sudden thought struck him.  

“By the way, are you really that much older than me?”  

The chairperson hesitated, then muttered a number.  

Ho-cheol’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpectedly large number.  

He glanced up and down at her attire and style before muttering under his breath.  

“Interesting taste.”  

“…Show some respect.”  

“I respect it. I just don’t understand it.”  

Turning as though their conversation was over, Ho-cheol waved a hand dismissively.  

“Keep teaching the kids well, cut down on these antics, and if you’re really older, treat me to a meal sometime.”  

Before she knew it, he had already walked off into the distance.  

The chairperson watched his retreating figure and slowly unwrapped the candy.  

She typically avoided such treats due to her concern about diabetes, but for today, it might be fine.  

She brought the candy to her lips, savoring its sweetness—  

“Ugh!”  

Her face twisted in misery. Unable to spit it out, she frantically checked the wrapper.  

“C-Cinnamon?! That bastard!”  

The taste was indescribably awful, leaving her tearing up in humiliation and anger.  

***  

In a quiet café, a middle-aged man in a fedora approached Da-yeon’s table.  

Da-yeon, engrossed in her book, looked up as he greeted her.  

“It’s been a while. Have you been well?”  

“Yes, and you, sir?”  

Although they exchanged pleasantries once a month over the phone, it had been nearly half a year since they met face-to-face.  

Even so, their conversation remained strictly polite and formal.  

The butler, seated at the table, retrieved an envelope from his bag.  

“This contains the information you requested about the new professor, Miss.”  

“Thank you.”  

Da-yeon opened the envelope and examined its contents immediately.  

The amount of information was thinner than she expected, and its substance wasn’t particularly meaningful.  

Most of it was either details she already knew or things Ho-cheol would likely answer without hesitation.  

The only worthwhile piece was about his trait, which was quite fascinating.  

Still, it wasn’t what she wanted or needed at the moment.  

With a slight furrow of her brow, she asked the butler, “Is this all there is?”  

“Yes. It seems the Association is controlling the flow of information. With the current methods, this is the limit.”  

Da-yeon drained her teacup, her disappointment evident on her face.  

“When you say it’s the limit with the current methods, does that mean there are other ways to gather more information?”  

“Yes. This is merely the legal and official approach.”  

Da-yeon looked intrigued, her expression softening slightly as she leaned closer to the table.  

“What are the alternatives?”  

“There are two options: one is to be more blatant, and the other is to dig deeper.”  

The butler raised his index and middle fingers.  

“What do you mean by ‘blatant’?”  

“It involves openly prying into his personal life. Financial records, real estate, personal details—essentially stirring up all related information. Eventually, there will be a reaction. When the Association asks us to back off, we can use that as leverage to negotiate or strike a deal for the desired information. Of course, this method comes with the risk that the target may also find out.”  

Da-yeon immediately shook her head.  

It wasn’t even worth considering.  

If Ho-cheol found out about this, the fragile progress they’d made in their relationship would crumble instantly.  

It was worse than doing nothing at all.  

“What about the second option?”  

“That would involve using the underworld. Illegal brokers and informants specializing in villain information are everywhere. This would avoid conflicts with the Association or the target.”  

After some thought, she shook her head again.  

This wasn’t viable either.  

Judging from Ho-cheol’s behavior and words, he valued professional ethics and morality far more than a hero’s abilities.  

If he discovered she had used such shady methods for personal reasons… that was a future she didn’t want to imagine.  

“If neither option appeals to you, there is one other method. It’s both effective and safe.”  

“What is it?”  

The butler lowered his voice, as if about to reveal a critical secret.  

“You could seek assistance from the Master…”  

But before he could finish, Da-yeon shot up from her seat.  

Her face twisted in anger, and her clenched fists trembled slightly.  

“I told you not to mention him.”  

“Miss, the Master only…”  

“I’m leaving.”  

“Understood. I won’t bring him up again.”  

It wasn’t just a strained relationship.  

To Da-yeon, her father was someone she couldn’t stand to associate with—a wall she needed to overcome, or rather, an enemy.  

She hadn’t returned home even once since enrolling at the academy.  

The rift between her and the Sword Demon ran that deep.  

Ironically, the Sword Demon didn’t seem to care about her defiance.  

Or more accurately, he didn’t care about Da-yeon at all.  

That cycle of indifference and resentment had crossed a point of no return long ago.  

After shooting a glare at the apologizing butler, Da-yeon slowly sat back down.  

“If you keep suggesting I reconcile with him, I won’t see you anymore either.”  

“Understood. I’ll be careful,” the butler said with a nervous chuckle, then shifted the conversation as he reached for something else.  

“And here is the item you requested.”  

Thunk.  

He placed a heavy hard case on the table, one so weighty it took both hands to carry.  

With a soft click, he unlocked the case and opened it.  

Inside lay a gleaming white bow, its pristine surface contrasting sharply with the dark interior of the case.  

It seemed almost as if the bow emitted its own light.  

Da-yeon let out a soft murmur of admiration as she gazed at it.  

The butler, watching her reaction, smirked subtly.  

“This is unexpected. You always insisted on using mass-produced equipment, but now you’ve requested a top-of-the-line piece.”  

“It was time for a change.”  

“You wouldn’t believe the trouble I went through to acquire this. The waitlist was ridiculously long, and the manufacturer…”  

The butler’s recounting of his struggles faded into the background.  

Da-yeon’s eyes were fixed on the bow’s elegant curves, unable to look away.  

She reached out and gently ran her hand along its surface.  

It felt smooth yet simultaneously sturdy.  

How unfortunate that she couldn’t grip it and practice a proper stance in the café.  

“To be honest, Miss, the last time I saw you, it looked as though you’d completely lost interest in archery.”  

“Everyone goes through a slump,” Da-yeon replied, barely holding back a smirk tugging at her lips.  

She carefully closed the case and packed it away with great care.  

‘With this, I can do it too!’  

***  

It was the third session of Ho-cheol’s bi-weekly Saturday one-on-one tutoring.  

Da-yeon proudly unveiled her newly acquired bow.  

Skipping warm-ups entirely, she immediately held it out and strutted around in front of Ho-cheol.  

‘Hurry up and notice it!’  

If he asked where she got it, she planned to proudly brag about how it was a custom-made, top-of-the-line piece.  

“What’s this? Did you get a new bow…?”  

Ho-cheol trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.  

He stared at the bow with a mixture of confusion and distaste.  

After a moment of contemplation, he finally spoke.  

“…Where did you pick up this piece of trash?”  

“What?”  

Caught off guard by the completely unexpected reaction, Da-yeon could only let out a dumbfounded noise.  

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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.”  

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