Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 25: Outing

“Do you know about the Lunard Auction?”

“Yeah, they were around even in my active days.”

Lunard Auction.

A place that boasted selling everything—stolen goods, awakened gear, illegal drugs, monster byproducts—since Ho-cheol’s villain days.

Even in the black market, notorious for backstabbing, Lunard ensured minimal trust, making it massive.

Ho-cheol had used it a few times as a villain.

They never sold what he truly needed, so he lost interest.

“But they’re still around?”

“Opposite. With all their connections, they’ve gone legit. Pay taxes now. The items are illegal, but they claim no liability—blame the sellers, not the auction itself.”

“What a world.”

Ignoring Ho-cheol’s grumble, the president continued.

“This batch’s auction includes items likely from the organization.”

“How’d you know?”

“Well…”

The president averted his gaze, trailing off.

Not something to brag about.

Days ago, when he got this intel, he was dumbfounded.

“Recently, one of the association’s seized goods warehouses got hit. The technique, evasion, and cleanup matched how the organization operated last time. Likely the same culprits.”

“Source?”

“Legal Department Director. Heard it during your association visit.”

Ho-cheol frowned.

Not some rumor—straight from the director.

No need to question its validity.

He asked, just in case.

“You didn’t spill everything about the organization to that guy, did you?”

The president waved dismissively.

“No. He’s not entirely untrustworthy, but lacks the clout. The fewer who know, the better—I’m aware. Just a conclusion from shared incident data.”

“Then why’d the director share it with you?”

Even with the academy and association’s cooperation, such cases had no overlap.

They’d hide it for a face, not share.

Like now, blocking eavesdropping to talk freely.

“Well, it’s not unrelated to the academy. Specifically, you.”

“What’s that mean?”

His question turned to shock.

“Your Purple Glass Sword. It was in that raided warehouse.”

A brief silence followed.

Ho-cheol was speechless, stunned.

The president, embarrassed, had nothing to say.

Even if it was the association’s mess, as a former hero, explaining their blunder to an ex-villain was humiliating.

He turned, staring at distant mountains outside.

Snapping out, Ho-cheol tapped the table irritably.

“Is this where I laugh? Lame joke, outrageous reality.”

“Level 2 secure storage wasn’t tightly managed, no denying that. But what can be said?”

“Useless idiots.”

Ho-cheol sighed, slumping.

The president, stung by his genuine contempt, could only purse his lips.

The director had asked to keep it secret.

No need to tell Ho-cheol—his weapon wouldn’t return to him.

But the president disagreed.

Facing the organization, withholding such info would erode trust.

“Why’s my weapon just Level 2 seized goods? Not even Level 1, let alone special-grade?”

“You’re officially a C-grade villain. It’s logged as a C-grade villain’s weapon.”

Ho-cheol lifted his head, rubbing his face.

He looked calmer.

Disappointment comes from expectation.

No expectation, no disappointment.

“Fine. I know you’re all incompetent better than anyone. Didn’t I nearly take half of this country? Thinking that way eases my mind.”

He rested his arms on the table.

“My brain’s catching up. But they’re just auctioning items. How do we catch them?”

“They secured seats with the items. VIP ones.”

Ho-cheol’s brow furrowed tightly.

“That’s the real deal. General seats and VIPs are separate zones.”

Even with the president’s S-grade hero status and absurd authority, that applied only in the open world.

The underworld didn’t welcome heroes.

Disguised heroes or officials could enter black markets or Lunard with connections, but VIP access—to the “real” items—filtered out suspicious types.

“Exactly. You’d have a VIP code, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s over a decade old. No guarantee it still works.”

As expected, during his villain days, Ho-cheol attended Lunard multiple times, a top-tier VIP.

“I could borrow the code, but who’d use it?”

“Manpower’s short. I can’t go by myself.”

Too famous, he’d be recognized by villains despite any disguise.

“I’ve got one trusted staffer I share everything with, but they’re physically lacking.”

“Rather than waiting anxiously for someone else’s results, I’d handle it myself.”

Ho-cheol grabbed the fork.

“But this is outside the academy—out of my hands.”

With clear evidence, solid context, and a perfect chance, he’d clean up the organization, even if it meant prison.

But acting on mere speculation was a heavy burden.

He stirred the persimmon juice with the fork, pine nuts swirling.

His gaze, though, was locked on his wristwatch.

“I can’t do much. We’re blocking eavesdropping now, but it’s limited. Trait suppressants, tracking…”

His hand froze mid-stir. No blink, no breath, as if time stopped.

In that fleeting moment, countless thoughts raced through his mind.

His current situation, countless responses, their outcomes—and one solution to it all.

Time resumed.

“When’s the auction?”

“Today—no, tomorrow, time-wise. Starts at 2.”

Ho-cheol grabbed the glass, chugging the juice, then slammed it down irritably.

“Damn old man. Who’s the villain here?”

Leaning back, he grumbled.

The watch shackling his wrist was his strongest constraint.

Conversely, without it, he’d be absurdly free.

No watch.

A simple fix for now.

Too simple.

He met the president’s eyes directly.

No words, yet they knew each other’s thoughts, desired outcomes, and processes.

“How deep’s the setup?”

“Asked the director about your watch’s stability, durability, and performance. Mentioned doubts enough times, so this won’t surprise him.”

“…Hah.”

An uncontrollable sigh escaped Ho-cheol.

Heroes or villains, at a certain level, their thinking converged.

No, the old man was closer to a villain here.

“Pain’s not my thing.”

“Got a better idea?”

“Nope.”

Sighing, he tossed the fork.

The president caught it mid-air, grinning.

“Legal revenge, finally.”

“Revenge, my ass.”

Ho-cheol extended his watch-bound arm.

The president, now standing, approached.

Ho-cheol, slightly unnerved, said,

“Go easy.”

“Easy? Actually…”

The president twirled the fork, then gripped it backhand.

“I wouldn’t, even if I could.”

He stabbed the watch.

Crunch—!

Metal pierced metal, then thin skin.

A sickening tear, and red blood sprayed.

Sometimes, no amount of thinking solves a problem.

In such cases, rather than fixating on solutions, destroying the problem itself is an answer.

Of course, creating such answers required a price.

At the academy infirmary’s entrance, Ho-cheol, treatment done, grimaced, twisting his bandaged wrist.

Damn old man.

Just break the watch, not my wrist.

Realism to avoid suspicion had limits.

“Hurts.”

So-hee, hearing him, scowled twice as hard.

Slap—slap—!*

She smacked his back.

“Stay still! Why keep moving your injured wrist!”

She snapped, recalling the chaos.

Eating in another room, she’d rushed to Ho-cheol’s at a crashing sound.

Inside was a wreck.

Blood pooling on the floor had shocked her.

A simple accident.

That’s what Ho-cheol and the president claimed.

Discussing the watch’s performance, the president, curious about durability, casually stabbed it with a fork.

Boasted to withstand tanks, it shattered with one poke—that was the president’s story.

Hard to believe, but what could be done?

The trait-specialized unit sent to restrain and transport Ho-cheol returned empty-handed.

By principle, Ho-cheol should’ve been detained regardless.

The problem was, that’d embarrass the president.

After the association’s recent blunder, refusing concessions here would tank academy relations.

With equal footing, they had to compromise.

The association buried the issue, choosing the best option.

So-hee stopped smacking him, lowering her hand.

“…Without the president’s statement, you’d be in prison, you know?”

“Yeah, just got an earful over the phone.”

“I got twice that. Be careful! I was freaking out. Ugh, my food’s not sitting right.”

“Alright, sorry. Won’t happen again.”

He meant it.

This worked because circumstances aligned perfectly.

No second chance.

The association’s incompetence didn’t make them fools.

On the way to the dorm, So-hee pouted, grumbling,

“I knew it. Last time, audio transmission failed. Probably some cheap imports.”

She easily believed their story.

If audio failed before, why trust durability?

Ho-cheol scratched his bandage, chiming in.

“What’s this metal? Gives me tetanus vibes. Like street stall junk, modded.”

“New watch comes Monday, so no outings till then.”

His watch wasn’t off-the-shelf but custom-made, costly, with no spares.

Remaking took days.

With a prior break, they’d likely make backups now.

Until then, a standard tracker and oral suppressants replaced it.

“And…”

So-hee pulled a bottle from her bag.

Half-filled with green liquid, it reeked unpleasantly when opened.

“Trait suppressant time.”

Its look, smell—nothing wasn’t repulsive.

Ho-cheol stepped back, grimacing.

Hesitating, he asked.

“…Can’t I get a shot?”

“Think those injections are easy to get?”

She thrust the bottle at him.

“Drink up.”

He took it, slowly bringing it to his mouth.

Even tilted, the thick liquid clung, crawling sluggishly.

Eyes shut tight, he tipped it vertical.

The liquid slid into his mouth.

Swallowing, he gagged, capping the bottle.

“Tastes like crushed spinach and sesame leaves. Potent stuff.”

“Makes you wanna live right?”

“Urgh.”

Back at the dorm, he dove onto the bed.

So-hee gripped the doorknob, stressing repeatedly,

“I’m writing reports.

Don’t—absolutely don’t—step outside! And keep the bandage on!”

* * *

Late at night.

Ho-cheol rose slowly.

His gaze fell on the temporary wrist tracker.

He didn’t touch it.

A decoy, just a hollow shell—no tracking or listening.

Instead, he unwrapped the bandage.

Peeling off the adhesive stuck to his skin, he tossed it in the trash.

That was the real tracker.

A common association trick—sometimes a coin, a pen, this time a bandage.

A cheap ploy, laughable to Ho-cheol.

No progress in ten years, association clowns.

Re-bandaging, he slipped on shoes, opened the door, and stepped out.

The cool night air carried a sweet scent, tickling his nose.

He found its source instantly.

Beside the door, So-hee leaned against the corridor wall, gazing at the moon through a window.

Hearing the door, she turned slowly.

Moonlight, veiled by clouds, hid her face in shadow.

But her expression, unlike her usual, was deadly serious.

Seeing her, he asked,

“You've been standing there all night?”

“It’s my job. So why’re you out?”

“Uh… well.”

Scratching his head, he shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d get some air, take a night stroll?”

She sighed, arms crossed.

“You know that’s not allowed, right?”

“Well, let’s see if it is or isn’t.”

He raised his hand, reaching toward her.