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Why so obsessive?  

Without knowing Da-yeon’s background, current situation, or feelings, Ho-cheol couldn’t understand her proposal.  

Da-yeon answered simply.  

“I don’t have a proper mentor to teach me archery. Even with all my family’s connections, most heroes who specialize in archery focus on manipulation or release types. As someone with only an enhancement trait, their guidance would be useless to me.”  

Ho-cheol was about to ask why there were no enhancement type archers, but he closed his mouth again.  

The enhancement type archer hero he knew was S-class, incredibly busy in the past, with hardly any personal time. Would he be any less busy now?  

Even if he had time, it was doubtful he’d teach just any student.  

He slowly nodded.  

“That could be true. But I’m not the expert on archery you think I am. I barely exceed beginner level. If I were to teach you, I’d run out of things to teach in two days.”  

At Ho-cheol’s exaggeration, Da-yeon asked incredulously.  

“Has that ever been exposed?”  

“…No. I’ve never taught anyone before.”  

“Then it’s settled. It’s an issue that hasn’t even arisen yet. We can worry about it if it happens. Besides, I haven’t even surpassed beginner level yet.”  

Ho-cheol couldn’t argue with that.  

“That’s true too. But is that really the only reason?”  

Da-yeon glanced left and right. There were more reasons, but she didn’t want to say more.  

However, Ho-cheol’s glance showed no interest, maybe even distrust. If she said that was all, he would definitely refuse.  

After a moment of thought, she placed her hand over her heart.  

‘I wanted to keep this a secret because I’m embarrassed…’  

“Next, you’re the only one who recognized my talent.”  

“Talent?”  

“Yes, everyone around me says I have no talent for archery. They say it’s a waste of time, just an inefficient detour. But not you. What kind of incredible insight must you have had to see something in me? I’m so curious. If I really have talent, wouldn’t the person who discovered it be the best to develop it?”  

Ho-cheol was surprised.  

Certainly, her archery wasn’t the work of a genius or a ridiculous talent, but she had enough potential to make a living.  

He leaned his chin on his hand and spoke nonchalantly.  

“That’s not really about my great insight, but more about everyone else around being blind.”  

His blunt honesty was striking.  

Da-yeon’s eyes widened unexpectedly at the sudden praise.  

She quickly turned to the side.  

Her neatly organized hair became disheveled. She covered her mouth and coughed repeatedly as she glanced at Ho-cheol.  

To say such a thing all of a sudden. She vigorously shook her head, regaining her composure and returning to her expressionless mask.  

“And lastly.”  

Da-yeon opened her mouth to change the subject.  

“All the guys gathered in this classroom are blind.”  

“What? You’re suddenly bad-mouthing your classmates?”  

“That’s not it.”  

This was the biggest reason she had offered Ho-cheol the scout position.  

“They just dismiss you as merely a C-class villain. They probably won’t acknowledge you until the end of the lecture.”  

“Hmm. Is that so?”  

Ho-cheol murmured, stroking his chin.  

He had no intention of agreeing. In the next lecture, he planned to demonstrate ‘the overwhelming difference in power,’ the ‘absolute enemy that can’t be defeated.’  

Would they still look down on him then?  

As a professor, he might not be acknowledged, but if they couldn’t recognize that level of power and class difference, then that was really madness.  

Of course, he couldn’t spoil the next lecture’s content, so he just nodded vaguely.  

“That seems to be the mood right now.”  

“I can’t stand people not recognizing someone I acknowledge.”  

The idea of sharing a gem just because it was found in mud, regarded as dirty by ignorant fools, was not something Da-yeon was willing to endure.  

Her clenched fist trembled.  

This was a different, intense emotional expression from when Ho-cheol praised her. Once the shaking stopped, she spoke firmly.  

“I acknowledge you as a professor, even if you’re a C-class villain.”  

“Geez, a student deciding whether to acknowledge a professor.”  

It should have felt good to be recognized, but the mention of being C-class was stuck in his throat like swallowed food.  

“Well, okay. I understand the intent of your proposal is not disrespectful. So I’ll just say it outright.”  

Ho-cheol crossed his legs and replied.  

“In the end, I can’t do it. You may wish I would just quit, but that’s impossible. No matter what backing you have.”  

Initially, Ho-cheol couldn’t accept the proposal. He was a C-class villain only superficially. In reality, he was a heinous villain whose records had been erased.  

Not the Minister of Justice, the Dean, or any other high officials would let Ho-cheol go.  

“Even if I could mobilize an S-class hero?”  

Da-yeon’s confident attitude remained, but Ho-cheol was still unflustered.  

“Yeah. Unless you persuade all the S-class heroes, it’s impossible.”  

That was what he had expected. Only with an S-class hero’s backing could one negotiate with the Justice Department and the Academy.  

“Especially even if you convince all the S-class heroes.”  

He looked at Da-yeon more seriously than ever.  

“I won’t do it.”  

“Why?”  

Da-yeon was merely baffled by his reaction.  

It was an overly generous proposal, purely beneficial for Ho-cheol, which is why she had confidently stood before him, certain he would accept.  

“Why? Just because I don’t like it.”  

With those words, Ho-cheol stepped down from the podium. He waved his hand dismissively as he started to leave the classroom. Or rather, attempted to leave. Da-yeon reached out and grabbed the hem of his departing figure.  

“Explain.”  

He slowly turned his head back. Da-yeon spoke in an urgent tone.  

“I’ve told you all my honest feelings and reasons.”  

“So, I have to tell you my reasons honestly too?”  

“If you respect me as a student.”  

Ho-cheol glared back at Da-yeon, still gripping his hem.  

Unyielding, she met his gaze directly.  

“Ah, kids these days really won’t let anything go,” Ho-cheol grumbled, looking away first.  

Should he tell her or not?  

Contemplating this, he crossed his arms and waved his left hand dismissively.  

“You’re not qualified.”  

“Qualified?”  

“Yes.”  

With that, he seemed to indicate he had no further explanation to give, lightly pushing away the hand that was holding his hem.  

Leaving Da-yeon standing like a statue, he headed for the classroom door.  

As he touched the doorknob, he turned back.  

“Just focus on the lectures for now. That should be enough to make you an A-class hero.”  

“But I want to be an S-class.”  

Ho-cheol chuckled and flicked his index finger back and forth, signaling her to come closer.  

Da-yeon, as if enchanted, approached, and they were now only a few steps apart.  

At such a close distance, where even their breathing could be heard, Ho-cheol’s action was swift.  

He curled his flicking index finger into a circle and then sharply tapped Da-yeon’s forehead.  

Snap!  

With a resonant pop, Da-yeon clutched her forehead.  

“Ouch!”  

“Looking at you right now, you’re talking about being S-class when you’re barely fit for C-class.”  

A realm that even the most talented must strive relentlessly to reach.  

It was not a level a mere student could casually speak about.  

“Stop the nonsense. Come on Saturday after lunch to the archery range. I’ll at least look at your posture. I’ll teach you everything, scraping the bottom of the barrel.”  

Crouching down, rubbing her forehead, Da-yeon answered in a whisper.  

“……Yes.”  

“It’s getting cold, so dress warmly. Last time I saw you, you were wearing too thin.”  

With that, Ho-cheol pulled the door handle and left the classroom.  

Left alone in the spacious classroom, Da-yeon took a deep breath.  

An unexpected failure.  

Yet, she was neither discouraged nor saddened.  

She had experienced worse failures and more miserable situations.  

This was hardly even a trial by comparison.  

Moreover, she had secured a modest achievement—she would be learning archery personally every Saturday.  

Rising from her seat, she felt her forehead.  

A small bump was forming where she had been flicked.  

He was the first to ever hit her.  

She wasn’t in the mood for sentimental thoughts.  

She pulled out her cellphone from her pocket.  

Before even the first ring sounded, a low voice came through from the other side.  

[Yes, miss.]  

“Please investigate someone for me. It’s a bit challenging. The association and the academy are managing it. Okay.”  

What kind of qualifications does Ho-cheol desire?  

She couldn’t even begin to fathom that yet, but one day, she would definitely find out.  

“Characteristics? I can send you the basic profile and a photo right away.”  

After a moment of hesitation, she lowered her gaze.  

She fiddled with the fabric of her clothes over her chest with her free hand.  

The outfit seemed thinner than expected—was it a little too chilly for the crisp weather of early spring?  

She chuckled softly and gave a short reply.  

“Other than being kinder than expected, I don’t really know much.”  

***  

After the lecture ended, Ho-cheol was preparing a detailed lecture curriculum in his dormitory when lunchtime came around before he knew it.  

Usually, he’d make do with side dishes brought by So-hee or convenience store lunchboxes, but he had heard that the cafeteria had opened now that the semester had started.  

Since it wasn’t too far from the dorm, he decided to take a look.  

Arriving at the cafeteria, he stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropping at the sight before him.  

Snapping back to his senses, he muttered blankly.  

“What… Why is there so much?”  

The cafeteria was packed with people.  

He hadn’t expected it to be this popular.  

Regaining his composure, he quickly scanned his surroundings.  

Where was the ordering area?  

It was already disorienting as a first-timer, and the crowd made it even more confusing.  

He slowly made his way to a long queue and joined the end of the line.  

As the line in front disappeared, new people formed a queue behind him.  

The endless chain of people—could this be considered a kind of perpetual motion?  

While having such absurd thoughts, he suddenly realized the line had cleared ahead of him.  

What greeted him was the cold, solid steel heart of a machine that seemed devoid of human emotion.  

‘This is my first time seeing a meal ticket dispenser like this.’  

Ho-cheol didn’t even know the name of the machine before him.  

A kiosk.  

For Ho-cheol, who had been out of touch with the world for 10 years, the kiosk was an incomprehensible piece of alien technology.  

He froze with his index finger hovering uncertainly.  

“Well… This or that, it’s the same thing.”  

But at its core, it was just a meal ticket dispenser, albeit digital.  

The algorithm for dispensing tickets should be the same.  

Ho-cheol boldly pressed the “Order” button on the screen.  

Press this, and then this…  

Wait, was this wrong?  

He wasn’t sure what he’d done incorrectly, but the screen suddenly returned to the start menu.  

Calmly, he selected the menu again and moved to the next screen…  

“Ah.”  

He accidentally chose the takeout option instead of dining in.  

Reluctantly, he pressed the cancel button and returned to the start.  

Takeout at a school cafeteria? The thought left a bitter taste on his tongue.  

Ho-cheol was aware that the gazes stabbing into the back of his head were increasing.  

Stay calm.  

Getting worked up would only make it worse.  

What he needed now was a cool head and quick action.  

After overcoming several more hurdles, he finally reached the payment button—or so he thought.  

In a fleeting moment of misjudgment, he pressed the house-shaped button below it instead.  

A shocking message followed.  

[Returning to the start menu.]  

All his effort up to that point was wiped clean.  

Ho-cheol stood there, dazed, forgetting even that he needed to reorder.  

Dizziness washed over him, and he felt nauseous.  

Never since his release had he missed So-hee so much.  

If she were there, she would’ve handled everything for him.  

At that moment, a disgruntled voice came from right behind him.  

“Ugh, lunchtime’s going to be over. Hurry up and choose already!”  

Snapping back to reality, Ho-cheol was filled with both guilt and indignation.  

It had only been three or four minutes—was it really worth complaining about?  

Still, he didn’t have time to argue with the person behind him.  

If he had time for that, he’d rather finish his order.  

Switching payment methods, adding toppings, choosing between takeout and dine-in, using a points card, applying a staff discount—and ultimately failing to find his unique ID—he persevered through countless trials and tribulations.  

Finally, he pressed the confirm button.  

The kiosk spat out his meal ticket and receipt with an almost mocking “thwip” sound.  

“Hah…”  

He carefully put the ticket into his pocket and stepped aside from the kiosk.  

As he was searching for an empty seat, he turned his head to check on the owner of the earlier irritated voice.  

‘Might as well see their face.’  

The voice’s owner stared back, looking unapologetic, as if they hadn’t done anything wrong.  

Bright blonde hair cascading to the shoulder blades, emerald-green eyes, and metal-framed half-rim glasses added a strict air to her demeanor.  

Although she was clearly a stranger, something about her appearance felt oddly familiar.  

Had he seen them somewhere before?  

Surprisingly, the answer came from the other side.  

The student’s face went pale in an instant, and she bent into a sharp right-angle bow.  

“Hello, professor!”  

“Oh… right.”  

Judging by her reaction, there was no need to wonder who she was.  

At the same time, the vague memory in his mind became clearer.  

‘Ah, one of the few students who managed to hold her own in lectures.’  

Smiling at the back of the student still bowing deeply, he spoke.  

“This must be fate. Let’s eat together.”  

Since she was still bowing, he couldn’t see her face, but the back of their head quivered slightly, betraying her unease.  

Under her lowered head, he could faintly hear muttered words like, “Why is a professor at the cafeteria?”  

“What?”  

Ho-cheol stroked his chin as he addressed the still-bowed head.  

“Don’t like the idea?”  

The student, still maintaining her right-angle bow, slowly lifted only her head.  

She forced a smile, so awkward it seemed like the most unnatural expression in the world.  

“N-no way. I’d be honored.”  

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The lecture hall was still silent.

Ho-cheol frowned and leaned on the lectern with both hands. His already sharp features hardened, making the atmosphere rather menacing.

He openly displayed his displeasure.

“Doesn’t anyone here greet?”

Applause erupted belatedly among the students.

Ho-cheol used the applause as background music and slowly surveyed the entire lecture hall.

The spacious lecture hall, with seats spread out in a fan shape, was about half full—exactly 43 students, as he had heard.

The tiered seating made it easy to see the faces of even the students in the back row.

As he was checking each student’s face, his gaze stopped on one student.

With stark white hair, distinct features, and an emotionless, dry expression, the student’s remarkable appearance was instantly recognizable from the archery range.

For Ho-cheol, it was an unexpected reunion.

He knew the student was a second-year, dressed in a school uniform, but he hadn’t expected to see her in this lecture.

Given that bows typically matched control-type traits, he had assumed this student would be in that category, but perhaps it was enhancement instead.

Though the student might have multiple traits, in the case of mandatory majors, they could only attend classes related to their primary trait, indicating that enhancement was most suitable for her.

The student also stared back at Ho-cheol.

Like before, the student’s expression was mask-like, feigning disinterest, but the eyes fluttered slightly, unable to maintain complete composure.

After a brief staring contest, Ho-cheol lowered his gaze. His fingers, wrapped in white bandages, fidgeted.

What she had been up to for the past ten days was all too clear.

Regardless of recognizing a familiar face, there was still work to be done.

He slowly began to speak.

“I am originally from a villain background.”

His presence intensified, crushing the space with overwhelming pressure, making it hard to breathe and causing every nerve to stand on edge.

He intensified his aura, dominating the entire lecture hall.

It wasn’t just because the applause was weak or because no one had greeted him upon entry—though those feelings were slightly there, it wasn’t really the case.

It was more of a light test.

“This is part of a project conducted by the Hero Association’s Legal Department.”

Normally, there would be students ready to complain, but not now. They were merely holding on under Ho-cheol’s pressure.

Ho-cheol tapped his fingertips on the lectern.

Tap-tap—

Despite the students’ discomfort, the rhythm was leisurely and relaxed.

“In the first year, legal education and character education are the focus to obtain a temporary license, and the third year involves internships and license conversion as the main content. The only time purely focused on traits is the second year. This is the crucial period that defines a hero’s pure capabilities, and I believe no one wants to waste this important time questioning the qualifications of a professor.”

He stopped tapping and sat on the lectern.

“Those still dissatisfied can take it up with the director of the Hero Association’s Legal Department, the academy dean, and the S-class hero who endorsed my petition. Convince them, and I go back to prison, and a new, proper professor will replace me.”

Ho-cheol explicitly named these three, implying they should not bother him unnecessarily.

Assuming they understood the high regard in which he held these figures.

In reality, it was difficult for any student to meet even one of the three if Ho-cheol suggested it.

Ho-cheol reassessed the students’ conditions.

Was there anyone useful? This level of pressure was commonplace in the real scenarios a hero would face.

In less than three minutes of pressure, thirty-seven were overwhelmed, four barely hung on, and only two fully overcame it.

The fact that only a few out of over forty students were useful was truly sad. If they were freshmen, this might have been acceptable, but these were students who had already spent a year learning the basics of being a hero at the academy.

Even the enhancement type was lacking, let alone other types.

This is why untested rookies just don’t cut it. A decade ago, academy students were immediately pulled into the field…

Reflecting on the past academy standards, he stepped down from the lectern.

The oppressive atmosphere lifted.

The students, without anyone leading, sighed in relief or gasped for air. A few were nearly fainting.

Ho-cheol clicked his tongue again. How hard could it be?

“Today’s lecture won’t proceed as usual. Instead, I’ll just clarify the objectives of this course and some announcements, sort of an orientation.”

Given the current state, it wasn’t worth trying to conduct a lecture as there were few who would listen.

He picked up a piece of chalk.

Turning around, he drew a large circle on the blackboard, divided it into four quadrants with a cross, and wrote [Enhancement], [Emission], [Manipulation], and [Transmutation] in each section.

“Everyone knows there are four types of traits, and each type can be further divided into [Active], [Constant], and [Conceptual] forms. Normally, an academy lecture is handled in-depth by one professor per type or form, but not me.”

He erased the lines dividing the circle.

Effectively, he brought all four types together within one circle.

“Intuition governs traits. Some call it a sixth sense. While similar traits may exist indefinitely, no two traits are the same. How well can even a great hero understand a trait they have neither handled nor experienced?”

Then he erased all four types from the circle.

And in the empty circle, he wrote [Trait] in large letters.

“If there are a hundred awakeners, there are a hundred traits. A trait is individual because it is unique, and it is unique because it is a trait. How can such traits be categorized and taught together in vast categories?”

Ho-cheol sighed and shook his head.

“Academy professors are excellent heroes. However, how inefficient is it to convert experience and intuition into theory, write it on a chalkboard, and teach it? Can that experience and intuition even be expressed within a chalkboard? That’s why they are insufficient as educators.”

Someone gasped loudly. 

Soon after, murmurs spread throughout the room.

This remark was tantamount to a complete rejection of the Academy’s curriculum and its faculty.

Despite the confused atmosphere, Ho-cheol waited in silence. He had expected some disruption, though this was quite mild by comparison.

After a brief wait, the murmuring subsided. With everyone’s attention focused, Ho-cheol continued speaking.

“In this class, we won’t treat traits as mere academic subjects.”

He drew another circle next to the first and wrote ‘traits’ in it as well.

“We will analyze and understand each student’s unique traits, and after establishing a solid understanding through endless repetition and mastery, we will apply them in real situations.”

Ho-cheol clenched his fist and struck the blackboard.

Crack!

A large crack formed across the blackboard.

“There’s nothing for you to learn from looking at a blackboard here. Naturally, future lectures will be conducted in a form of practice very similar to real situations. There will be no need to gather in this box filled with chairs and desks.”

Practical training resembling real situations.

This statement only added to the confusion among the students.

“Forget about the records of top and bottom students from your first year. Those grades won’t serve as any reference or indicator in my lectures. If it were just about memorizing books and scoring, I wouldn’t see any reason or need to teach.”

He scanned the room with a sharp gaze. Some students, seemingly stung by his words, shrank and trembled.

In truth, ‘not doing it’ was less accurate than ‘unable to do it’.

What would Ho-cheol know about theory? Honestly, if he were handed a first-year exam right now, it would be a miracle if he even got half of it right.

“Assessments will also be 100% practical. It doesn’t matter if you’re a tin can when it comes to theory. After all, most outstanding heroes operate solely on their intuition.”

For the first time, several students visibly brightened, relieved. They felt confident in practical skills but struggled with written tests.

Conversely, those who excelled in theory looked utterly dismayed.

“Next week’s lecture will include a test. Make sure you manage your condition properly. There will be no leniency for poor performance due to poor health.”

The atmosphere sank again.

No student ever liked exams, especially those that affected their grades.

Ho-cheol checked the time.

He set down the chalk and leaned against the lectern, arms crossed, and surveyed the lecture hall.

“Any questions?”

The lecture hall remained silent. No one dared raise their hand or meet Ho-cheol’s eyes.

There were certainly many questions.

If his declaration held, this course would diverge significantly from typical Academy lectures. What would the specific curriculum look like, how would it be conducted, and how would individual traits be analyzed and in what order?

Not to mention his traits, exam schedule, grading scale…

All of this was of interest, but the students felt more anxiety than curiosity.

Instinctively, they knew raising a hand would mark them. Indeed, his gaze seemed to threaten to strangle anyone who spoke up.

“Even if it’s trivial or silly, it’s fine.”

He asked again.

“Really, none?”

But his words echoed emptily around the lecture hall and faded away.

Thus ended a truly suffocating orientation, without a hint of exaggeration.

After class, the students grouped together and disappeared from the lecture hall. It would be more accurate to say they fled.

Ho-cheol sighed as he looked around the now empty lecture hall.

“What a day.”

He hadn’t planned on delivering a rigid lecture or acting like an oppressive professor. How had it come to this?

He had intended to size up the students with a bit of intimidation at the start, but it was a light pressure, devoid of any real malice. Their overly tense reaction to such a minor pressure was excessive.

‘That’s the problem with the youth today!’

No one raising their hand when he asked if there were any questions was quite hurtful.

He rubbed his chin, mumbling gloomily.

‘Was I that scary?’

It seemed everyone was too intimidated to speak, even though he had added that even trivial or silly questions were welcome.

The Q&A session was something he had invested more effort into than the rest of the class preparation.

He had prepared various interesting anecdotes, like stories about his first love or nearly being killed by an S-class hero during his early villain days, to reduce the distance between himself and the students.

But the chance to unravel these stories never came.

He sighed again.

‘I’m not that stern, but I guess I’ve instilled a strange stereotype in the kids. Hopefully, they’ll understand eventually?’

“It seems tough.”

The response came from the front, where Ho-cheol raised his head.

That was why he had remained in the lecture hall. Below the podium, a female student stood.

Ho-cheol stuttered for a moment, then scratched his cheek.

“Right. We didn’t even formally introduce ourselves last time. I didn’t call roll, so I don’t know your name.”

“Choi Da-yeon.”

“Yes, Da-yeon. I thought you didn’t know who I was last time, which is why you were so quiet, but you’re still not very talkative.”

The student, or rather, Da-yeon, shivered slightly.

“That’s right.”

“You don’t need to respect me, but you should at least show some respect.”

Ho-cheol straightened up from leaning on the lectern and stood face-to-face with Da-yeon.

“I asked earlier if there were any questions, and you said nothing, so what do you need?”

Da-yeon didn’t answer. Instead, she just continued to stare at Ho-cheol.

And after a moment, her red lips slowly parted.

“Quit.”

“What?”

“Being a professor.”

Ho-cheol sighed. How many times had he sighed today? His already scarce patience seemed to be fading away.

That level of audacity might be unrivaled in the Academy, though her memory seemed poor.

“I told you. If you want me gone, start with the trio I mentioned…”

“No, not them firing you. I mean you quitting of your own will.”

Ho-cheol chuckled dryly.

“Isn’t that the same thing? You’re basically saying go back to prison.”

“That’s not it.”

What followed was a proposition so astounding that Ho-cheol was left speechless.

“Instead, please take charge of my personal instruction. I can erase your record and provide a new identity if you wish. I’ll match the pay whatever it is.”

For a moment, Ho-cheol’s thoughts stalled. Da-yeon’s offer was beyond his comprehension.

Eventually regaining his composure, he massaged his temples with his thumb and pinkie, his head throbbing. This was utter nonsense.

“So, this is…”

Before Ho-cheol could finish, Da-yeon interrupted.

“It’s a scout offer.”

Her eyes shone brighter than ever before, but not necessarily in a positive sense.

“I have to have what I want.”

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A female student lowered her bow and turned around.  

A few strands of hair that she hadn’t managed to tie back gently swayed in the wind.  

Her pale skin, distinct facial features, and eyes tinged with a faint blue hue stared at Ho-cheol.  

“What does that mean?”  

Her expression was impassive and her tone monotonous, as if she were dealing with a doll.  

As Ho-cheol stuffed an empty bread bag into his backpack, he replied,  

“It looks like you’ve searched the internet on how to shoot a bow and just went with that. From head to toe, it’s all a mess. If someone took money to teach you, you should shoot them in the head.”  

Continuing in such a bad posture will solidify it in a few months, leaving no room for correction.  

Even if corrected, it would take years of struggle.  

He crossed his legs and twitched his toes.  

“Right now, the target is stationary and doesn’t fight back, so it seems easy. What if there was a villain standing there? You’d probably have been able to shoot only once and then you’d be dead.”  

The student remained expressionless, but a trace of anger leaked from her eyes as her hidden hands trembled behind her.  

“Ah, wait a minute.”  

Ho-cheol snapped his fingers.  

He thought of another possibility and asked to confirm, even though he doubted it,  

“If you’re shooting arrows as part of character development, a club, or just as a hobby, I apologize. From that perspective, there really isn’t a problem.”  

Ho-cheol considered the bow a weapon honed for blood and violence, unaware of its spiritual aspects like Kyudo.  

Ethics, benevolence, and virtue seemed pointless when dealing with villains who only needed to be taken down.  

The student didn’t respond, but a slight twitch in her brow answered for her.  

“Looks like that’s not it,” he murmured.  

The student replied, still flicking her lips,  

“Then what?”  

“If you’re trying to be a hero with that kind of shooting, at best you’d be C-grade.”  

Again, there was no response, but the tendons in her hand holding the bow stood out more than ever before.  

Yet, Ho-cheol just nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders.  

“Even if you get mad, it’s no use. A B-grade villain could dodge those arrows with his eyes closed. They lack power, and there’s too much delay between each action.”  

Even if there were attributes related to archery, the basics were clearly lacking.  

The student asked,  

“A person specializing in the bow?”  

“No, but I know an archer who’s far superior. I’ve faced him a few times.”  

Ho-cheol rubbed the back of his neck and stood up from the bench.  

“Anyone can claim to be S-grade with words. I’ll show you, so try to assume the stance first.”  

The student immediately took the stance.  

It wasn’t that she trusted Ho-cheol’s words; rather, she didn’t believe him, which is why she followed his instructions.  

If there was even a hint of falseness or deceit, she was ready to show him how bitter it could taste.  

But if it turned out otherwise, it could be helpful.  

Either way, she had nothing to lose.  

“Right now, the focus for ordinary people is to maintain stable breathing and aiming. For someone with superior physical abilities, there’s no need to focus on that,” Ho-cheol said, standing next to the student, arms crossed, fingers twitching up and down.  

“Your head is tilted too much. Keep it straighter. Keep both eyes open.”  

He continued to critique her stance, adjusting her ankles, knees, pelvis, waist, shoulders, wrists, and even the angle of her head and gaze.  

The student, uncomfortable in the unfamiliar stance, narrowed her brow, but it wasn’t unbearable.  

Ho-cheol nodded as he observed the new stance.  

“That’s the basic. When you release the string, take a half-step to the right and twist your waist to the left. Try that. Oh, your right hand is idle. Again.”  

The strict standards forced the student to repeat the same stance over and over.  

After about a dozen tries, she got used to it, though getting used to it and meeting Ho-cheol’s standards were two different things.  

“You need to focus your weight on your left foot. The important thing is to keep your right foot free and only your left foot as the pivot. If the pivot is solid, then your stance and footing don’t matter. When fighting in urban areas, keep the pivot as narrow as possible.”  

Even a hero who specializes in long-range combat can’t always engage in distance fights.  

Close combat skills were essential, especially as villains who saw it as a weakness often attacked up close.  

After another 10 minutes of posture correction, Ho-cheol stepped back a few paces.  

“The form looks about right now. Try shooting an arrow.”  

The student placed the last arrow on the string.  

She assumed the new stance taught by Ho-cheol, pulled the string fully, and aimed at the target.  

Then she released the string.  

Thwack!  

The arrow flew and pierced the center of the target, embedding itself in the tree behind.  

The student just looked astonished, alternating her gaze between the bow in her hand and the target.  

Merely changing her stance had increased both the power and speed of the shot.  

The difference was embarrassingly overwhelming.  

Moreover, unlike her original, defenseless stance, the new stance allowed her to freely choose her next move.  

Ho-cheol sat back down on the bench as he watched the dazed student.  

“The essence of the bow isn’t long-range combat. It’s about adjusting the distance according to the opponent and selfishly taking away their options. For that, managing the tempo between actions is more important than power or accuracy.”  

The student finally came to her senses and bowed her head deeply.  

She bit her lips.  

The stance Ho-cheol taught was undoubtedly effective, but the joy of this new realization was short-lived.  

A deeper and heavier sense of depression overwhelmed her.  

Just a few tens of minutes of advice had advanced her skills by several levels.  

Had all her efforts until now been in vain? She couldn’t shake off that doubt.  

She hadn’t even been dealing with someone who specialized in the bow.  

Could this be what talent looked like?  

She had thought she was the hardest worker, but that thought made her feel the lack of talent all the more acutely.  

She had been striving for years before even entering the academy.  

Everyone around her had criticized her for her lack of talent, but she believed that effort would not betray her.  

Effort over talent, she had thought, and she never gave up.  

And now it was clear.  

Effort doesn’t betray you because it was never on your side to begin with.  

She clenched her eyes shut.  

The taste of bitter blood was in her mouth, whether from her lips or her tongue, she had bitten down too hard.  

But it didn’t hurt.  

Everything else was torn to shreds.  

When she opened her eyes again, she looked at the target, then turned around.  

She opened her backpack on the ground and packed away her bow and quiver.  

“What’s wrong? Why all of a sudden?” Ho-cheol asked.  

In a calm tone, the student replied, “That’s enough for today.”  

Whether today’s practice was all there was, or whether it was the end of archery for her, she couldn’t tell herself.  

A severe depression washed over her like a wave, and she felt helplessly swept away by it.  

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Ho-cheol teased her.  

“When you get the hang of it, you should practice. Are you the type who’s embarrassed to show effort or imperfection?”  

The student silently continued to pack her bow and arrows.  

“Well, I won’t force someone who wants to quit to keep going. Just keep at it. You have talent.”  

“Talent?”  

Her hand, packing the gear, paused.  

The tendons on the hand holding the arrow stood out.  

“Talent?”  

Ho-cheol responded nonchalantly,  

“Yes. You have good balance, and your absorption is decent. If you keep it up like this, you’ll improve quickly. Besides, the fact that you’ve stuck with it this long shows you’re quite ambitious… Ah, wait a sec.”  

Ho-cheol stopped talking and reached into his pocket.  

His phone was ringing loudly.  

The number was familiar. After all, there was only one person who would call him. 

He slightly pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the answer button.  

“Yeah.”  

[It’s not ‘yeah’! What are you doing right now?]  

“Out for a walk. Doing a good deed on the side.”  

[From dawn for a walk! You should have told me when you go out! You didn’t even do your morning check! And the good deed, well… I don’t know what it is, but good for you.]  

“I’m wearing the tracker, so you know my location anyway.”  

[I’m the one who comes instead of the special forces because I know that! Please be aware of your own situation!]  

“Okay, I get it, no need to come here. I’ll head down myself. It’s just a 10-minute run; stop getting angry, you might end up clutching your neck from stress.”  

He pressed the end call button and, still squatting, spoke to the back of the student’s head.  

“Just try practicing the form I showed you for three hours a day. You’ll see a difference.”  

Ho-cheol packed his bag hurriedly.  

“Remember, if you make it as a hero, you owe it to me.”  

With a teasing well-wishing, he left.  

The archery range was quiet after Ho-cheol left.  

The wind blew, tickling her face with her hair. Yet, she remained still in her place. It took another 10 minutes before she regained her composure.  

“Talent. He said I have talent.”  

The student, head bowed, mulled over those words for a long time.  

Then, she took the bow out of her bag again.  

***

The first day of the semester, also the day of Ho-cheol’s first lecture.  

At the entrance to the bachelor’s quarters where Ho-cheol stayed, So-hee and Ho-cheol stood facing each other.  

Holding a tablet in one hand, she asked,  

“Hey, it’s Monday, the third of the month, at 08:17:43 AM. I’ll check for any breaches of your first contract. Have you ever felt the urge to break the law or engage in any contra-contractual activities with the Ministry of Justice?”  

“No.”  

Ho-cheol answered promptly, and So-hee stared at his chest for a moment.  

His response, and the color of his voice visible to her, was clearly white.  

She sighed in relief.  

“Okay, checked. There are no breaches of contract.”  

She had checked dozens of times over the last two weeks, but it was always a tense moment. Although things were relatively stable now, human affairs were unpredictable. Any hint of a different color would have been disastrous.  

She quite liked the current unremarkable peace, especially considering the danger pay that came regularly for relatively easy work.  

Putting the tablet in her bag, she took a step back.  

The official business was over; now it was personal.  

She scanned Ho-cheol up and down and clicked her tongue. Reaching out, she straightened the shoulder line of his coat, pulled at his skewed tie, and smoothed his wrinkled shirt.  

“You can’t go to your first day of work looking this sloppy. People will talk.”  

It seems okay now from the front.  

She moved behind Ho-cheol and dusted off his back.  

“Well, it’s not bad enough to be criticized.”  

Ho-cheol felt awkward in his rare suit attire and kept twisting his body uncomfortably.  

He had planned to go to work in comfortable sportswear, but had to wear a suit due to So-hee’s insistence.  

Even though managing him was technically her main job, wasn’t this infringing on his personal life?  

He thought about arguing but ended up doing as she said, as she also took care of him in his daily life. His fridge was stocked with side dishes she had brought.  

“Did you prepare everything for the class? Got everything you need?”  

“Yeah.”  

His indifferent answer made her narrow her eyebrows slightly, but she relaxed her expression soon after. Despite his words, she had seen him preparing seriously over the last two weeks.  

After all, his sentence reduction was directly tied to this; he wouldn’t just slack off.  

“Do well and answer your phone on time.”  

She slapped his back with her palm, making a ‘pang’ sound.  

“Me doing well isn’t enough. The students need to work hard too.”  

Ho-cheol waved his hand dismissively.  

“Anyway, I’m off.”  

***

The lecture hall for [Advanced Applications of Augmentation Traits], despite being scheduled for the brutal time slot of Monday first period, was noisy.  

At the back of the classroom, a blonde female student sitting on a desk crossed her legs and said,  

“The professor in charge of this class isn’t a hero?”  

“What? Then, is he an external lecturer? Aren’t they only supposed to handle liberal arts? This isn’t just a major, it’s a mandatory major course.”  

“No, that’s not it.”  

She lowered her voice, cautious of eavesdroppers,  

“I heard he’s a villain. I overheard the administrative assistants talking about it. Something about a villain rehabilitation project brought him here.”  

“What?”  

Everyone doubted their ears.  

It was so absurd it was beyond ridicule.  

“The other professors accepted that? It wouldn’t be strange if there was a protest.”  

“I don’t know. According to the assistants, the dean decided it personally. No objections or challenges allowed.”  

Another student leaned on his elbow and grumbled with a sigh, “Even so, there’s supposed to be some standard. Why us? Let him play with the clueless first-year chicks.”  

Most of the faculty at the academy were B-grade origins, with a few being A-grade heroes, and occasionally, there was a C-grade who had achieved significant academic success.  

But a C-grade villain as a professor? It was not only surprising but also a hit to their pride. Even though they were students, they were confident they could easily overpower a C-grade villain. A weaker professor than themselves? It seemed absurd.  

“Should we organize a boycott of the lecture? What can we possibly learn from a C-grade?”  

The dominant female student looked back. A white-haired female student was flipping through a book, uninterested in the conversation.  

“Don’t you have any information?”  

“No.”  

She answered shortly without making eye contact.  

“But are you injured? Why are you wrapping a bandage around your hand?”  

The student didn’t answer but slightly raised her head to look at the seated student.  

“Get off the desk.”  

“Oh, sorry.”  

Startled, the student quickly sat down in her own chair. The attitude was like dealing with a subordinate, rude even among peers, but no one in the room pointed it out.  

She was the offspring of a current S-grade hero. In the Hero Academy, her influence was greater than that of most professors, making her an untouchable entity for anyone aspiring to be a hero. The hierarchy between the students was vast.  

Clap-  

The sudden silence was broken by another student, awkwardly clapping.  

“Let’s think positively. What would a villain know? He’ll probably just read from the textbook during lectures. At least the grades should be easy to get.”  

“That’s true.”  

What kind of person would he be?  

As speculations and conversations continued,  

Click-  

The front door of the classroom opened.  

All eyes turned to the front as Ho-cheol walked in through the open door.  

The classroom door opened.  

Everyone fell silent.  

Ho-cheol’s footsteps moved towards the podium.  

Everyone held their breath.  

Ho-cheol set his bag next to the podium.  

All eyes were glued to him without a moment’s distraction, and the clock at the back of the classroom ticked away, reminding them that time had not stopped here.  

C-grade villains were not a rare entity. Most of the students in the classroom had encountered villains of that level several times in their daily lives outside their aspirations to become heroes.  

And one thing was clear.  

This was a C-grade?  

If this was the average for a C-grade villain, the country would have been in ruins long ago.  

The presence and pressure emanating from Ho-cheol were intense.  

He slowly stretched out both hands and leaned on the podium.  

What would he say? Everyone stared only at Ho-cheol’s mouth.  

“I am Jeong Ho-cheol, in charge of Advanced Applications of Augmentation Traits, and I will be your instructor for the next two years.”  

A cliché greeting flowed out.  

His voice was faint and low, as if tinged with smoke, yet oddly enough, it was clear enough for everyone in the lecture hall to hear distinctly.  

“Nice to meet you.”  

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The door exploded, sending shards flying through the air.  

Despite the sudden explosion, Ho-cheol remained calm.  

The moment he realized the dean’s true identity, he had anticipated such a situation.  

He lightly tapped his thigh with the tip of his index finger.  

The accident accelerates.  

Within the compressed time, even the explosion seemed endlessly slow.  

The shards were the only issue; the force of the explosion was not significant.  

Even without using his abilities, he wouldn’t get a scratch.  

Still, it hurt his pride to be hit bare-bodied.  

His clothes would be shredded as well.  

Ho-cheol lightly clenched his fist.  

But before he could throw a punch,  

So-hee spread her arms and blocked him.  

Ho-cheol was astonished.  

No, it was beyond mere surprise; he was dumbfounded.  

Being protected by someone else was a rare occurrence in his life.  

Especially since there was an overwhelming difference in capability between him and So-hee, and she knew it well.  

It was a purely heroic act, moved without any calculation of interests or gains.  

It felt awkward, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.  

He relaxed the hand that was clenched into a fist and instead reached out to grasp the collar of So-hee’s shirt, pulling her back sharply.  

“Kek!”  

So-hee bit her tongue and let out a foolish scream, but it was better than having a hole in her body.  

As he pulled her back, he lightly rolled his foot.  

Bang!  

The shockwave created by stamping the floor repelled the incoming shards.  

Ho-cheol turned around.  

So-hee was rubbing her tailbone, wincing as she sat on the ground.  

He extended his hand.  

“I take back what I said about you being a loser. You’re a real hero.”  

So-hee wore a blank expression for a moment, then her eyes widened.  

She chuckled dejectedly and took his hand.  

“I did apologize when I first called you a loser, but I never took it back.”  

“I can’t say things I don’t mean.”  

“Thanks anyway.”  

From inside, an old man’s voice could be heard again.  

“Stop dawdling and come in; people are waiting.”  

“What right do you have to say that after blowing up the door first?”  

Ho-cheol replied gruffly and stepped inside.  

The spacious room reminded more of a study than an office, with the dean standing with his hands behind his back, facing away from the window.  

Though a bit older, it was the face Ho-cheol remembered.  

“Ah, it’s a face I’ve missed.”  

The appearance was of an ordinary old man, except for the black eye patch covering his left eye, which was strikingly out of place.  

The dean stared at Ho-cheol and clicked his tongue.  

“Huh, it really is you, Jeong Ho-cheol.”  

“Was there a fake Jeong Ho-cheol, then?”  

“It seems prison was bearable enough for you to survive.”  

“Did you already plan my funeral and look for a burial spot?”  

The conversation was too sharp to be considered a greeting.  

The dean, who had been standing with his hands behind his back, raised one to adjust his eyepatch.  

“Ten years is indeed a long time. To think I can maintain my composure with the person who gouged out my left eye right in front of me. In the past, I would have charged at you immediately.”  

“Sorry, or actually, I’m not sorry. Anyway, that incident was your karma. I almost died because of you then. Losing one eye was getting off cheap.”  

The dean’s ability was extremely simple.  

He could turn any inanimate object he touched into a bomb.  

The power of the explosion increased with the size of the object transformed.  

“So, who goes on a rampage in someone else’s place of business? And you weren’t even a hero.”  

“If someone heard you, they might think it was all legal.”  

Even when he had turned an entire small island into a bomb and detonated it, Ho-cheol thought he was done for.  

It was purely by luck that he survived.  

“So, why did you blow up the door all of a sudden?”  

“Just a light greeting… and a way to vent.”  

“You would.”  

“If you really mean that was just for venting…”  

So-hee, who had been silently listening, interjected.  

“I will formally protest on behalf of the association.”  

“Don’t get too heated. My hero rating turned into a disability rating because of that guy. Can’t I even vent this much?”  

“No, you can’t.”  

“Eh.”  

The dean scratched at his eyepatch.  

“This time we have a narrow-minded hero here. Complaining won’t do any good anyway.”  

“What?”  

He pointed to the pieces of the door scattered on the floor.  

“They’re just made of styrofoam, designed to look decent. The explosion was weak, and the actual power was probably just about as strong as the fireworks on a birthday cake. I swapped it out right away thinking of giving Jeong Ho-cheol a scare.”  

At that, So-hee stepped on a fragment of the door.  

Even though she only put a little weight on it, it crumbled too easily.  

Ho-cheol scratched the back of his head.  

“I had no idea.”  

How could one tell if a door was made of wood or styrofoam?  

The dean seemed pleased with himself and shrugged.  

“Like I said, just venting. I’m satisfied since you saw something good.”  

She sighed.  

It was clear that formally protesting would be futile.  

“Still, please restrain yourself in the future.”  

“Alright, alright.”  

“If you’ve received both a hero and a disability rating, doesn’t that mean your benefits have increased? Buy me a meal sometime.”  

Ignoring Ho-cheol’s sarcasm, the dean pointed to a nearby sofa.  

“Standing and talking is too bothersome, sit down first.”  

Ho-cheol narrowed his eyes and lightly kicked the sofa with the tip of his foot.  

“This isn’t another one of your bombs, is it?”  

“It’s an expensive sofa, so don’t leave footprints on it.”  

“Then it must be safe.”  

Ho-cheol plopped down on the sofa.  

So-hee took a seat opposite him, while the dean settled into the main seat at the center.  

The dean clicked his tongue again, looking at Ho-cheol who crossed his legs and leaned back comfortably.  

“As I thought, not even worth a cup of coffee for you. Just listen.”  

“I wouldn’t want coffee you made anyway. Who knows if you turned the sugar into a bomb?”  

Ignoring Ho-cheol’s comment, the dean turned to So-hee.  

“It’s different for Jeong Ho-cheol, but since you are a guest, let me offer you something. Would you like a drink?”  

So-hee smiled awkwardly and declined.  

“I’m fine.”  

Given the tense atmosphere and Ho-cheol’s recent comment, she felt uneasy.  

“It seems I’ve created a strange impression. Well, good. Let’s get straight to business then.”  

The dean handed over a document.  

“You’ll be in charge of the entire sophomore class of the Augmentation series. The total number of students is 43. The subject you will handle is [Advanced Applications of Augmentation Traits] for 210 minutes, a 4-credit course.”  

Still focused on the document, he muttered in amazement.  

“Handling an entire grade, that’s a big responsibility.”  

“Is that a problem?”  

“Hardly.”  

Whether it’s a C or B grade, as long as they graduate with a hero rating, he’s eligible for sentence reduction.  

He had expected to be responsible for only about a dozen students in a split class, so this was a pleasant surprise.  

He had read about half of the document when a sudden doubt made him frown.  

“But why sophomores, not freshmen? I thought once you take a class, you stick with them until graduation. What happened to the previous professor?”  

The dean, showing a weariness not seen before, sighed.  

“No matter that the faculty is made up of former heroes, in the end, humans always make mistakes at crucial times.”  

“Sounds like a major screw-up.”  

Ho-cheol nodded, understanding.  

Unauthorized access to personal records and sharing them, leaking exam questions, or manipulating grades.  

Just off the top of his head, dozens of misconducts came to mind.  

Probably committed one of those.  

He set the document down on the table in front of him.  

“Done. I’ve read it.”  

“Ah, and for the mandatory courses by series, you can choose your lecture times first. We might have to coordinate if there are overlaps, but go ahead and pick.”  

“Lecture times, huh? I’ll need to think about that.”  

Ho-cheol leaned his elbow on the armrest and propped his chin on his hand, closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek with his index finger, pondering.  

It was not an easy decision to make.  

Unlike other lectures, at least his would be practical and focused on real-world application.  

Since the efficiency of trait training varied greatly depending on physical condition and stamina, it naturally made sense to schedule classes when students were at their peak physically.  

Then, when are academy students most fit and in condition?  

“When is the first class?”  

“Regular lecture times are from 9 AM to 1 PM, and from 1 PM to 5 PM.”  

The dean looked at Ho-cheol with expectant eyes. It didn’t matter to him what time slot Ho-cheol would choose; he planned to use coordination as an excuse to slot him into the Monday 9 AM class regardless.  

A 210-minute class starting at 9 AM on Monday. The very thought was dreadful.  

This was the best revenge the current dean could offer.  

After finishing his contemplation, Ho-cheol opened his eyes and said, “Monday, first class. So, set it for Monday at 9 AM.”  

So-hee and the dean looked at him as if astounded, but Ho-cheol couldn’t understand their reactions.  

Isn’t 9 AM quite relaxed?  

He was a high school graduate.  

***  

After Ho-cheol and So-hee had left, the dean slowly tried to rise from his seat.  

As he half stood up, he staggered greatly.  

Ultimately, his legs gave out, and he slumped back down into his seat, leaning against the backrest of the sofa.  

“Heh.”  

It was a weary laugh.  

He pulled a document from his pocket—a report sent by the association a few days earlier about Ho-cheol.  

[Has established his own moral standards and strives to adhere to them. Long-term imprisonment and the administration of trait suppressants suggest it is unlikely he will demonstrate his former capabilities. Deemed sufficiently controllable by the academy’s internal personnel.]  

This was written by no one else but the director of the association’s legal department, who had interviewed Ho-cheol personally.  

He folded the report with disbelief and tapped it against his forehead.  

“Director, that young fellow really lacks discernment.”  

There were parts of the assessment he could agree with.  

The old Ho-cheol would have been utterly indifferent if an agent next to him were caught in an explosion; he might have even pushed them forward to use as a shield.  

Yet, he had clearly helped the agent who protected him.  

To the dean, who knew the original Ho-cheol, this was a massive shock.  

The petition was true—he really had reformed.  

At the very least, he was making an effort to change.  

But the claim that his capabilities had declined was not just incorrect—it was ludicrous.  

“After all, the guy was just a lower A-tier, so maybe it’s natural he couldn’t feel it. When one reaches such a level, it indeed becomes a quiet existence.”  

The difference was not just in power; it was an overwhelming disparity in level, a kind that the weak could not even perceive.  

To an ant, an elephant’s leg appears as merely a vast pillar; how could it conceive that it is part of a larger living creature?  

Only when rising to the level of a dog or a cat might one begin to comprehend the existence of an elephant.  

Ho-cheol was already at a singularity that transcended the dichotomous standards of heroes and villains, akin to the celebrated hero [Tae-yang].  

The hope of humanity, the hero among heroes, known as [Smiley].  

“How could he become even stronger in just ten years? No matter how I think about it, it seems wiser to keep such a monster quietly locked up.”  

He tucked the report back into his pocket.  

“Is this the right choice?”  

***  

Three days had passed since Ho-cheol was released, and during those three days, nothing happened.  

With ten days left until the new term started, it was foolish to expect any significant events.  

Ho-cheol’s daily routine was monotonous: wake up, wash, eat, wander around the academy, return to the lodging at sunset, eat again, and then sleep.  

He wanted to familiarize himself with the academy’s geography before classes began, but it wasn’t easy given its city-like size; just touring the grounds took days.  

Although Ho-cheol would have found it much easier to get around by car, the association, worried about the possibility of his escape, strictly controlled his access to personal transport, leaving him no choice but to walk.  

Using So-hee as a chauffeur wasn’t an option either, especially not at the crack of dawn when she wasn’t even working.  

“I move faster on foot anyway. Why is a car considered a higher escape risk?”  

Furthermore, it was absurd that bicycles were allowed but motorcycles were not, especially since he didn’t even have a license for powered vehicles.  

“It’s clear that those pencil-pushers in the office have air conditioning brains,” he muttered to himself as he walked.  

After about an hour of walking, feeling hunger rising from his gut, Ho-cheol looked for a place to eat breakfast.  

Eating on the street at dawn seemed too dismal, even if the streets were deserted.  

Then, a dull sound caught his attention.  

It was a rhythmic double thud that puzzled him at first, but he soon realized what it was.  

“An archery range?”  

As he approached the source of the sound, just as he had guessed, an archery range appeared.  

Hidden by thick bushes that acted as a natural screen, the range had a mysteriously secluded ambiance.  

“An archery range, huh. They really do have everything here.”  

Normally, he would have just noted its existence and moved on, but this time was different.  

There wasn’t much choice for breakfast anyway, and the setting seemed just right.  

It was a good opportunity to watch some archery while he was there.  

“At this hour? Must be some really diligent people around.”  

Humming a tune, Ho-cheol walked towards the entrance of the archery range.  

***  

Arriving at the archery range, Ho-cheol furrowed his brows as he surveyed the area.  

There were five targets set up at various positions, but there was only one shooting stand, designed as if for just one person.  

At this stand stood a woman.  

Her white hair, reaching down to her lower back, was neatly tied to avoid getting caught in the quiver, and despite the cool weather, sweat was on her forehead.  

What caught Ho-cheol’s attention most was the woman’s attire—a white academy uniform with a hint of pale blue.  

Honestly, he was quite surprised.  

School hadn’t even started yet, but here she was, already dressed in uniform, seemingly overflowing with pride for the academy.  

Or perhaps it was just her preference.  

Well, as long as she could shoot an arrow well, what did it matter what she wore?  

He sat down on a nearby bench, opened his bag, and took out some bread and milk he’d brought for breakfast.  

The student shooting the arrows seemed to notice his presence but didn’t spare him a glance, continuing to pull her bowstring.  

She released the tension in the string.  

Thwump—!  

The arrow shot through the air and struck dead center of the target, all four shots striking without a single deviation from 200 meters away.  

Ho-cheol’s body twitched at the sight, but he regained his composure and began unwrapping his bread.  

Thwump—!  

“Mmm.”  

He chewed on his bread, nodding his head.  

Thwump—!  

“Hooh.”  

With each shot the student fired, Ho-cheol made noises akin to exclamations.  

Thwump—! Thwump—!  

“Hmm.”  

Despite Ho-cheol’s interruptions, the student steadily emptied her quiver.  

Thwump—!  

“Heh.”  

The student reached for another arrow in her quiver and realized it was her last.  

As she was about to set it on the bowstring, Ho-cheol let out a small sigh.  

His blatantly obvious distraction was enough to momentarily stop the student’s hand, even though she had been intentionally ignoring him up to this point.  

Ho-cheol knew well that his behavior was impolite.  

Normally, he wouldn’t do something like this, but he couldn’t help himself.  

With a straw in his mouth, he muttered almost under his breath.  

“That’s not how you shoot an arrow.”  

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