Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 22: Old Friend

Ho-cheol shook his head, consoling So-hee.

“Bbi Bbi’s probably gone to a good place.”

“It’s at the repair shop! You make it sound dead.”

“I mean a good repair shop.”

So-hee sighed in relief.

The day’s incidents were classified as work-related hazards, earning hefty subsidies.

She wouldn’t have to open her wallet much—just wait for Bbi Bbi to return in top shape.

With Bbi Bbi in the shop, they used an association-provided official vehicle for the return trip.

In the driver’s seat, So-hee adjusted the chair and rearview mirror meticulously.

Fastening her seatbelt, she glanced at Ho-cheol through the mirror.

“You sure you don’t need to meet the director or president? They’re both in the lobby.”

“Nah.”

He waved dismissively, exasperated.

Why bother with two already pissed-off old-timers dragged out on a weekend?

He’d call when the mood was better.

He’d seen the president and director talking outside while raiding the support team’s snacks, but a quick glance sufficed as a greeting.

So-hee started the car.

“So what’d you say to them?”

“They were acting childish, so I matched their level.”

He chuckled, pulling out his phone and waving it.

“Explained today’s mess, said I can’t live like this, that my old temper might flare. Send texts like that.”

“Hm.”

She scratched her cheek.

That’s it?

She’d expected something big.

Sure, his criminal record was colorful, but the past month proved his morality, ethics, and patience beyond a normal citizen.

Wouldn’t her evaluation reports earn some trust?

“If that’s all it took for that reaction, aren’t they a bit paranoid?”

“Of course a sane person wouldn’t react like that.”

He replied instantly, as if it were obvious.

As she suspected, their reaction shouldn’t have been so intense.

If they truly feared that scenario, it’d have blown up without texts.

They knew that.

“But they knew why I sent those texts, so they played along.”

The seasoned duo saw through the texts’ intent and gave the perfect response.

Their rage was calculated, political, and self-serving—staged anger.

“Our needs are aligned. Could’ve gone smoother, but…”

Propping his chin, he gazed out the window.

“They were too obvious about using me. Gotta make them pay a bit.”

“Using you?”

“That exec today? His fate was sealed, with or without me.”

The exec’s superiors had planned to cut him loose, and Ho-cheol was their chosen trigger.

“Succeed, the project’s scrapped—profit. Fail, the exec takes the fall—profit.”

A classic way to discard someone without dirtying their hands.

Either way, faceless old men won.

Ho-cheol couldn’t stomach it.

“So I sent those texts to escalate things.”

He couldn’t gain from it, so no one should.

It was also a warning: mess with him like this, and this is what happens.

Rather than rigging the game, he was best at smashing others’ boards—a villain specialty.

“They knew, so the president and director reacted like that.”

Pressing the pedal, So-hee grumbled,

“Shocking. An exec using villains for schemes.”

“Not exactly. They hire brokers who don’t care about legal or illegal, then claim they didn’t know villains took the job.”

“That flimsy excuse?”

“Auditors, enforcers, punishers—even lawmakers—twist that logic to suit them.”

She sighed again.

Her job was for stable income, not some grand pride in the association.

But this time, the Legal Department—supposedly the most ethical—disappointed her.

If they were this bad, other departments were worse.

“People are all the same, I guess.”

“Yup.”

The light changed, and the car stopped.

Then she remembered the key question.

Cautiously, she asked,

“So, where to?”

Still looking out, he answered.

“Huh.”

Startled, she whipped her head around.

The shocking words forced her to double-check.

“Where?”

Propping his chin, he repeated.

“Hero National Cemetery.”

* * *

Hero National Cemetery.

Despite the name, it wasn’t just for heroes.

S-grade or C-grade, all heroes were equal—no difference in tomb or headstone size.

But high-grade heroes got family plots to honor their contributions.

Da-yeon’s mother was one such case.

In the S-grade section, Da-yeon knelt before a grave, tending its flowers.

Rainbow-hued petals shimmered in the breeze.

Visiting monthly, she kept it pristine, so cleaning didn’t take long.

Satisfied, she sat back comfortably.

“Another kidnapping season, it seems. They even hit the academy to grab me.”

She gave a self-deprecating laugh, hugging her knees.

“All because I’m the top hero’s kid.”

She rocked side to side.

“Don’t need it. Can’t someone take it?”

Here, her faded emotions surged stronger.

Natural, perhaps.

Ten years on, memories blurred, but she’d buried her feelings with her mother’s casket.

Returning here revived those emotions, though not always pleasantly.

Most were negative.

“He wouldn’t care if I got kidnapped.”

He’d pay the ransom—money was no issue.

But that’d be it.

If kidnappers used her to lure the Sword Demon, they’d never see him.

Muttering bitterly, she reached out, touching the headstone.

“He hasn’t visited once this year, right?”

Her hand clenched into a fist.

A father indifferent to family, barely human.

Not even driven by heroic duty—just personal desires.

That’s why she couldn’t forgive him.

Adrift in gloom, she snapped her head up.

“Oh, and a new professor came. A former villain. Crazy, right?”

Her forced cheer grew genuine, her voice rising with excitement.

“And I got the butler to get me this super expensive bow, but he called it trash…”

Her talk, twice as long as usual, was mostly—no, all—about Ho-cheol.

Naturally.

Few things in her life were this thrilling.

How long she spoke, she didn’t know.

A chill from the ground made her shiver, and she stood.

Smiling faintly at the headstone, she waved.

“See you next time.”

Heading to the cemetery’s gate, she stopped abruptly.

A car approached slowly.

Assuming it was a typical visitor, she froze when she saw the face through the window—Ho-cheol.

She darted behind a tree. What was he doing here?

Luckily, he didn’t notice.

The car stopped, and Ho-cheol stepped out from the passenger side.

The driver, a woman, was familiar too.

Such a coincidence on a weekend outing?

At first, she wanted to approach, excited.

But realizing the place and its visitors’ emotions, she held back.

Before taking a step, she hid again.

Until he reached the C-grade hero section, his expression was profoundly sad.

So she watched his back from a distance, silently.

Normally, he’d sense her gaze at this range, but he showed no reaction.

At a grave, he spoke, then sat beside the headstone.

Too far to eavesdrop, his face looked even sadder.

She couldn’t make a sound until he returned to the car and left.

After he was gone, she approached the grave.

The headstone’s name and brief epitaph were unfamiliar, naturally.

After a pause, she spoke to it.

“Hello.”

Talking to her mother’s grave often made this less awkward.

“What were you two to each other?”

No answer came.

Then a lightbulb flashed in her mind.

An opportunity.

Ho-cheol’s personal info was scarce, but this grave’s owner was a public hero.

Digging into their records would be easy, revealing their connection to Ho-cheol and more.

What a chance—a jackpot.

She pulled out her phone to call the butler.

“Hm.”

No, she tried to.

After hesitating, she lowered her hand.

An undeniable opportunity, like fate lifting her hand.

No risk of Ho-cheol finding out, no breach of heroic ethics.

Yet her body wouldn’t move.

His sad expression lingered.

She knew that loss, the grief of losing someone dear.

The soft voice in her ear, the warm hand on her hair, the loving gaze—now faint memories.

But the moment she poured out her emotions in tears remained vivid.

Sighing, she shook her head.

Fine.

Next time.

Plenty of chances.

Turning to leave, she glanced at the grave.

Despite Ho-cheol’s visit, it was bare—no flowers.

He came empty-handed?

Hands on hips, she sighed again.

His skills aside, he lacked this kind of sense.

Hurrying back, she grabbed the bouquet from her mother’s grave.

Placing it on this one brightened its barren look.

“Rainbow cosmos. Hope you don’t mind the flashiness.”

She bowed to the grave.

“Take care.”

* * *

Monday morning, Ho-cheol’s lecture time.

A month in, the fourth lecture.

Led by the week’s class leader—Choi Da-yeon—assignments were collected.

Everyone sat upright, holding their breath, tense.

Rarely, their focus wasn’t on Ho-cheol but the chalkboard, eyes tracking his chalk’s path.

Rustle—

He unfolded a business-card-sized paper.

Holding the chalk, he drew a simple line.

He repeated the process several times.

Stopping, he set the chalk down.

“Through this fair and democratic voting process…”

Turning, he leaned on the lectern, scanning the room.

Half the students looked disappointed, half excited, reactions split.

“This MT…”

He glanced back.

On the chalkboard, “sea” and “mountain” were written, with tally marks below.

The mountain had four, but the sea had seven.

“We’re going to the sea.”

Cheers and applause erupted from sea voters.

Mountain voters, not hating the sea, joined in moderately.

Aspiring heroes or not, they were kids—excited for an outing.

Ho-cheol smiled lightly at the sight.

Laugh while you can.