Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 24: Counseling

Seeing Ye-jin hesitate, Ho-cheol shook his head in disbelief.

Scared of this situation, yet bold enough to ride without a license?

Of course, he wasn’t crazy enough to invite a student into his solo apartment.

Why risk trouble?

With So-hee inside, he’d thought it fine to offer, but her reaction left him no choice.

He slipped on his shoes and stepped into the hallway.

“Fine, if you don’t want to. Let’s do it here.”

“Y-Yes…”

Leaning against the corridor wall, he said to Ye-jin.

“So. No license, right?”

More confirmation than question.

Realizing there was no escape, Ye-jin chewed her lip, then bowed her head, answering in a crawling voice.

“Yes. I’m sorry…”

“When my student’s out delivering coffee without a license, do you think I’m shocked or not?”

“…Shocked. Yes, I’m sorry.”

“You know part-time jobs are banned, right?”

The academy prohibited students from part-time work or private economic activities.

Few knew, and fewer followed, this outdated rule, so Ho-cheol hadn’t pressed her café job.

But unlicensed delivery?

That crossed the line.

“Y-Yes… I’m sorry.”

“How many jobs did you get?”

“Four… besides the café…”

Her voice grew gloomier with each answer.

When Ho-cheol sighed again, she flinched, trembling lightly.

He didn’t like that.

“Stop apologizing. I’m not here for apologies. Does saying sorry erase your unlicensed driving?”

“No… S-Sorry— I mean…”

No apologies, yet nothing else to say.

She just clasped her hands, picking at her nails.

She’d used the back entrance for deliveries, hiding behind a tinted helmet.

How’d she get caught?

“It’s not about danger. With an augmentation trait, a bike crash or car hit won’t hurt you.”

A dump truck might, but that was it.

Augmentation’s durability worried more for the vehicle.

“But if you’re caught or someone else gets hurt? One red mark, and your hero career’s done. Can you handle that future?”

“…No.”

Mid-lecture, he asked, puzzled.

“Why delivery? Get fired from the café?”

“Well… delivery pays hourly plus per order.”

“Money again.”

He’d tried respecting her privacy, avoiding questions, but now he had to ask.

“Why’re you so obsessed with money?”

He scanned her.

From head to toe, she was well-kept, but the cheap quality—material, vibe, finish—of her shoes to glasses was undeniable.

Her phone, seen in passing, was so old it was a miracle it worked.

Where was all her money going?

“Well… I mean…”

Glancing at him, she explained.

“I’m from a facility.”

Facilities— orphanages for kids displaced by gate disasters or villain incidents—numbered hundreds in this country alone.

Now stable, but a decade or two ago, countless died in such events.

“The facility I came from is struggling lately…”

Ho-cheol, stunned, asked.

“You’re sending all your money there?

They demand repayment for raising you?”

What kind of twisted facility exploited kids like that?

Ye-jin waved her hands frantically.

Her facility wasn’t like that.

Its financial woes came from taking in too many homeless kids.

“No, no! It’s not that. Support funds are drying up, donations stopped, so… I want the kids to eat well, learn properly. I thought I could…”

Ho-cheol, arms crossed, studied her expression.

No lie, it seemed.

A sigh escaped his pursed lips.

“Fine, I get your good intentions. But good intent doesn’t justify wrong methods.”

“Yes…”

He uncrossed his arms.

“Sacrificing your dream to fulfill theirs is its own tragedy. We’re partly to blame for oversight, so I’ll let your past actions slide.”

Her face lit up.

Caught, disciplined, suspended, license revoked, hero disqualification, life ruined—she’d feared the worst.

To escape so easily?

She clutched her chest, sighing in relief.

But then—

“No more part-time jobs, period.”

Her relief vanished.

“What? W-What?”

Her eyes widened in panic.

She’d expected to quit the café and delivery after being caught, but all jobs?

Beyond difficult—impossible.

Her monthly expenses dwarfed the meager subsidies.

She might need to ask the facility for living costs.

The director would send it, but.

She stomped in distress.

“That’s impossible!”

“Impossible? Didn’t expect that from you.”

He was firm.

“Your job now is building skills and qualities as a hero, not serving coffee or delivering.”

“I know that! But banning everything… I can’t…”

Tears welled behind her glasses. One nudge, and she’d collapse sobbing.

Ho-cheol watched, then pulled out his phone.

Scanning his short contact list, he hesitated, then dialed a number.

This issue needed someone with better knowledge.

He hadn’t expected to call first.

After a few rings.

[What’s this?]

A curt, youthful voice answered—union chair Seong Se-ah, more useful than the president here.

He asked bluntly,

“Got any open jobs?”

[You crazy?]

* * *

After explaining, Se-ah listened seriously.

With the context clear, he repeated his question.

“So, got any?”

[Second-year, augmentation-type. Hold on, let me check…]

Keys clacked, a chair creaked, and she spoke.

[Don’t bother with middlemen. The student needing the job’s there, right? Put them on. Direct’s faster.]

He handed the phone to Ye-jin.

“Take it.”

Confused but compliant, she answered.

“Yes, Jeong Ye-jin speaking.”

Ho-cheol waited for the call to end.

He couldn’t hear the details, but Ye-jin’s face brightened steadily, suggesting things were going well.

She held the phone respectfully with both hands, continuing.

“Yes! Yes! Absolutely possible!”

Whatever she heard, she repeated “possible” and “thank you” fervently.

Her expression went beyond gratitude to awe.

“Yes! That time works! Of course! Just tell me what to do! I’ll be there! Thank you! Oh, yes! He’s still here.”

Covering the receiver, she glanced at Ho-cheol.

“She wants to talk.”

“Oh?”

Taking the phone, before he could speak.

[This is a debt. I’ll collect, so don’t forget.]

Se-ah spat the words and hung up.

The odd glee in her tone made him uneasy.

Frowning, he pocketed the phone.

Bad call.

Should’ve asked the president.

It's too late now.

Sighing, he asked Ye-jin,

“So, sorted out?”

“Yes! They had a job perfect for me!”

Her eyes sparkled, excited.

She’d researched legal on-campus work-study programs and hoped for one, but the process—paperwork, weeks-long reviews, quarterly competitions for scarce spots—was daunting.

The call erased those worries.

Sure, slacking or incompetence meant instant firing, but diligence and sincerity?

She prided herself as the academy’s best at those.

No issue.

The hourly pay was lower than part-time jobs, but it was mostly night shifts.

Night bonuses, plus weekly allowances and meal subsidies—unheard of in regular jobs—made it more lucrative overall.

“Thank you! No, I pledge my loyalty!”

“What am I, a king?”

He added gruffly,

“Do well.”

“Yes!”

He opened the coffee bag, ice half-melted from their talk.

“Drink this and go. Walk the bike, don’t ride.”

“Thank you!”

Tucking her helmet under her arm, Ye-jin turned to leave.

After a few steps, she stopped, glancing back.

Hesitating, she asked,

“…Is this kindness because of that acquaintance you said I resemble?”

An unexpected question.

His brow furrowed.

“Think I’m giving you special treatment?”

“Yes. It’s rude to ask for your help, but if it’s just because of that…”

The kindness was excessive for a mere student.

If it stemmed from personal feelings… Her lips trembled.

The offer was too generous to refuse, yet her conscience clashed with reality.

He relaxed his expression.

Typical teenage delusion.

“That’s overthinking. You do resemble them, but that’s it.”

He’d have done this for any student, not just Ye-jin.

“As long as you wear the academy uniform and I’m your professor, I’m your teacher and guardian within these walls.”

His short-term goal was sentence reduction, but how sincerely he approached it was separate.

He didn’t see students as mere tools.

“Parents just give birth.”

He paused, realizing the slip.

Bad choice of words for a facility kid?

But Ye-jin listened earnestly, so he continued, relieved.

“Teachers show the right path. But that’s not enough. Creating the best environment for that path is my role. Choosing it is yours.”

He held himself to a stricter standard than his students, striving for perfection.

Ye-jin stared, stunned.

She’d never seen or heard of such an educator, here or before.

“The world’s unfair. What you’ve felt at the facility or academy is nothing compared to the hell out there. But I learned something when I was going astray.”

His gaze drifted, recalling the past.

“No matter how unfair or unjust, having one person who believes in you unconditionally makes it bearable. I want to do that for my students, at least.”

Looking at Ye-jin, he smiled lightly, leaning against the wall.

“So, my point is…”

“Don’t sacrifice yourself too much, even for good intentions. If kids’ options include sacrifice,

that’s the adults’ fault.”

His advice, lament, or confession done, he stood straight.

“A bit rambling, huh? Spoke off the cuff. You got the gist, right?”

Ye-jin nodded silently.

She barely understood half his words, but his emotions reached her heart.

So she didn’t reply, just bowed deeply and left.

After a brief counseling session, Ho-cheol re-entered the apartment.

So-hee, seeing him return after five minutes for food, asked curiously.

“Delivery was a student?”

“Yeah, I told her to stop.”

“Good. Bikes just shorten your life.”

She took the bag naturally.

While he washed his hands, she checked inside, blinking in confusion.

Wiping his hands, she asked,

“…Where’s my coffee?”

The order slip included hers, but the bag had one coffee and a cake slice.

“Oh, give it to her.”

“Ah.”

Nodding, So-hee realized its fate.

She propped herself on the floor, sliding close to Ho-cheol, fingers wiggling.

“Can I strangle you for a sec?”

“Nope.”

* * *

Days later, Friday.

Ho-cheol, out early, yawned as he reached a restaurant.

The president’s summons couldn’t be ignored.

“What a hassle, first thing.”

Already swamped grading reports, he was annoyed.

The students’ painstaking reports demanded more than pass-or-fail—scoring, evaluating, annotating, and feedback took time.

Even the shortest were dozens of pages.

His desk overflowed with ungraded reports.

Unlike his grumbling, So-hee was buoyant, steps light.

“Nice, though. Most famous Korean restaurant on campus.”

Early morning, at a restaurant?

Surely a meal was coming.

Her stomach growled with anticipation.

Chatting, they arrived.

A staffer led So-hee to another room, guiding Ho-cheol to a private one.

He opened the door, muttering in disbelief.

“Famous place, thought I’d get a decent meal…”

The table’s plates were spotless, not a trace of sauce or bone, as if boasting they’d been used.

His spot held a cake slice and a persimmon juice with pine nuts.

The president, done eating, wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“No coffee for a punk like you, let alone food. Have the dessert cake.”

“Had it yesterday. Korean place serving cake? No persimmons?”

Pulling a chair, Ho-cheol sat, crossing his legs.

Why call him here, not the office tower?

Not just for this prank.

Assuming the president had a reason, he asked something more pressing.

“So, that rookie exec?”

“Admitted all charges, stripped of rank, detained. His backers cut him loose. Doesn’t want to die in transit, so he’ll sit quietly in jail.”

Ho-cheol shook his head.

Excessive ambition, matched by incompetence, always ended messily.

Lucky it was the association—in a villain group, he’d be in a drum at the ocean floor.

“From what I heard…”

The president sipped coffee.

“Just a small fry, muddying the waters.”

Calling an association exec a small fry was arrogant, but both men in this room had the clout to say it.

“Thought he set a trap, but didn’t realize he was bait in it. A hunting dog thinking it controls the master ends tragically.”

“Sounds like my fate. So, how much did you squeeze?”

The president smirked.

“Not some street thug—‘squeeze’? I’d say we secured concessions.”

“Whatever, you got a lot. Not a small matter—could’ve torn the academy and association apart.”

Despite Ho-cheol’s status as a monitored ex-villain, he was an academy professor.

An association exec’s scheme to attack him was unprecedented.

With blame on the association, the academy could demand massive rights or compensation.

The association could’ve buried evidence, but Ho-cheol called the president before they could, leaving no time.

“So, money? Land?”

“Freedom.”

Grinning triumphantly, the president pulled out a fist-sized device.

Ho-cheol recognized it.

“Respect for minimal privacy—that kind of concession.”

Ho-cheol let out a surprised hum.

“Big deal, but didn’t expect they’d give that.”

“Academy secrets or official talks leaking to the association’s a burden. They had to concede this much.”

Even allies didn’t share all secrets.

Preventing academy leaks was the stated goal, but the truth was different.

This was a foundation to counter the “organization.”

“Without this, we could’ve gotten more.”

“They offered billions to let it slide.”

Swapping billions in compensation for mere minutes of freedom.

Yet neither showed regret.

They knew what was more valuable.

“So, you didn’t call me just for that. Real business?”

After a pause, the president placed his hand on the device.

Beep—

Harsh noise filled the room.

“Got new info on the organization.”

Ho-cheol’s hand, toying with cutlery, froze.

He set down the fork, rubbing his face.

“Well…”

Rolling his tongue, he gave a light laugh.

“That’s… intriguing.”

His lips curved faintly, but his eyes didn’t smile.