Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 54: Summon

Reading the excitement in Ho-cheol’s expression and voice, the dean furrowed his brow.

“You look awfully cheerful. Was there something pleasant in what we just discussed?”

“It’s just a bit funny.”

“Funny?”

Ho-cheol shrugged nonchalantly.

“The roles have completely flipped. The guy once called the greatest hero is now an escaped villain, while the villain who was supposed to ruin the country is teaching at the academy. And that guy said something to me back then.”

Ho-cheol still remembered that day ten years ago.

Amid a torrential downpour, with blood dripping from his hand, The Sun pointed at Ho-cheol and declared.

No matter the reason, a villain is a villain.

He’d make sure they paid for their sins with death.

What had Ho-cheol said in response?

It was such a chaotic moment, he couldn’t quite recall.

“He made that grand threat. Honestly, I’d like to meet him again and ask: Is that declaration still valid? Does a villain like you have the right to say that?”

The dean clicked his tongue, exasperated.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“The incorrigible one’s that guy who’s now a villain. But, like you said, we won the battle but lost the war.”

The Sun, an anomaly among villains, along with the less spotlighted silver medalists—how many A-Class villains had escaped?

From now on, society itself would be put to the test.

A precarious tightrope walk on the edge of a cliff.

If they made even the slightest mistake or responded halfheartedly, an era of unprecedented chaos and violence would dawn.

Ho-cheol rubbed his mouth with his bent index finger.

“That could be… kind of fun.”

The moment he heard that murmur, the dean felt a chill far surpassing the intensity of the recent battle.

His instincts blared a warning louder than when he lost his arm.

Until just moments ago, the man before him was Ho-cheol, the academy professor.

But now, something different stood in front of the dean.

Was it because he’d fought at full strength for the first time in nearly a decade?

Or had the unprecedented mass breakout triggered something?

His demeanor was unmistakably different from usual.

In the worst-case scenario…

The dean clenched his one remaining fist.

Even injured, he couldn’t just stand by.

But before he could act, Ho-cheol spoke.

“Don’t glare at me like that.”

He raised both hands to the sides of his head.

“I know what you’re worried about, but it’s not like that. I don’t have the intent or reason to go there.”

The dean kept his guard up, still watching Ho-cheol closely.

“You realize your vibe is different from usual, right?”

“I’m human too. Hearing all this, it’s only natural my heart’s racing a bit. But… I’m really fine.

Surprisingly, this teaching gig suits me.

Or maybe it’s just fun hanging out with the kids.

Or perhaps I’ve run dry.

Either way, even if you told me to go back to being a villain, I couldn’t do it.”

The dean relaxed his fist.

The trait energy gathered in his palm dissipated with a faint whoosh.

“Is that so?”

The tense atmosphere eased slightly.

Ho-cheol stretched lightly and added.

“As long as you don’t stab me in the back or something, I’m trying to live decently.”

“…I’ll take your word for it, for now.”

“And before we get into The Sun or the organization or whatever…”

With a grimace, Ho-cheol pointed at the dean’s arm tucked under his side.

“Do something about that arm quickly. It’s hard to know where to look.”

* * *

The next day, in the dean’s office, Ho-cheol fortunately wasn’t dragged off to the Hero Association.

At most, a staff member came to reattach the monitoring watch.

When they reviewed the contract, Ho-cheol had the moral high ground, and the situation was so dire that his actions were deemed justified self-defense.

More importantly, the Association had no bandwidth to focus on Ho-cheol.

The escape of The Sun, a villain with a danger level equal to Ho-cheol’s, was a matter of utmost gravity.

On top of that, several S-Class villains who survived The Sun’s attack had escaped, along with a triple-digit number of A- and B-Class villains.

They were likely too busy cleaning up that mess.

Ho-cheol leaned back on the sofa, skimming the morning paper.

“This is a real mess.”

Unlike the academy, which escaped with minimal damage, “mess” didn’t begin to describe the state of society.

The events of yesterday went far beyond a mere mass breakout.

Unlike Ho-cheol, whose name wasn’t widely known, The Sun was once the top hero, practically a legend.

His name was in a biography series, and a few more years would’ve seen him in textbooks.

That such a hero had turned villain, a fact kept hidden, and now escaped, sent shockwaves through society that were hard to fathom.

Add to that the countless villains who escaped alongside him.

Citizens were anxious, lambasting the incompetent Association.

Realistically, it was three wins and one loss, but to the public, only the loss mattered.

Watching the news, Ho-cheol clicked his tongue repeatedly.

“Man, all this whining about heroes—what’s it going to achieve? Nothing.”

Ho-cheol couldn’t understand the news or public opinion criticizing heroes and the Association.

Anxiety was understandable, but would bashing heroes suddenly make them more competent and fix everything?

If anything, the criticism might drive more to retire.

What was needed now was unity and cooperation.

High-ranking heroes should step up to calm the chaos and fear, but unfortunately, the current top hero, Swordmaster, wasn’t that kind of hero.

Ho-cheol folded the newspaper and looked at the dean sitting across from him.

“By the way, technology’s gotten pretty impressive, huh?”

His gaze fell on the dean’s left arm.

Despite the damage, it had been reattached in under an hour with no major issues.

“But they said no vigorous movements. Rehab’s going to take a while.”

“That it’s even possible is the weird part.”

Some healing traits could restore a body to its pre-injury state, but they often drained the user’s energy or lifespan.

That was something active heroes might risk, but for an aging dean, it was a heavy burden.

The dean clenched and unclenched his left hand, sighing.

“Years of rehab, huh? If a battle of this scale happens again, I’ll be completely out of commission.”

Though he’d only retired in name, always ready to fight when needed, the current situation forced the dean to face true retirement, a heavy reality.

Ho-cheol waved his hand dismissively.

“Enough. It’s weirder that a retired old man kept getting dragged into fights. Just focus on paperwork now. And if you’re done with that, hand it over.”

The dean passed Ho-cheol the stack of papers he’d been holding.

That stack was the real reason Ho-cheol had come here.

“Let’s take a look.”

The thick report, labeled “Damage Report,” dwarfed the newspaper.

Stamped with phrases like “Restricted to Authorized Personnel” and “Level 2 Classified,” Ho-cheol didn’t care.

Flipping through the pages, his eyes widened in surprise.

“What the—pretty detailed testimonies?”

The accounts from Zero—Chain’s guards and staff during the attack were remarkably detailed.

In such attacks, victims were usually dead or, at best, critically injured.

Testimonies like these were rare.

Finding unexpected information, Ho-cheol read the report with greater focus.

Turning to another page, he made a wry face.

“Even a description of the ringleader?”

For a mere staff member to recall the situation so vividly was absurdly incongruous.

“No mugshot due to a mosaic badge, but based on build and voice tone, it’s a woman.”

Of course, traits could alter appearance or distort perception, but if they’d intended to hide their identity that thoroughly, they wouldn’t have left witnesses.

Ho-cheol pressed his temples hard.

“And they meticulously erased all CCTV and recording devices.”

The organization’s actions were utterly inconsistent.

Unable to hold back, Ho-cheol looked up at the dean.

“Is this report some kind of prank?”

It was natural to suspect the dean had given him a fake.

The earlier testimonies were hard enough to believe, but the subsequent damage assessment was beyond unbelievable—it was outright nonsensical.

“How are there zero fatalities?”

As if expecting the question, the dean answered firmly.

“Your confusion is understandable. I couldn’t believe it either, so I checked with the Association.

But it’s no mistake. Zero deaths caused by the organization. That’s certain.”

Seeing Ho-cheol’s still-puzzled expression, he added.

“Of course, there are dozens of deaths overall, but those were caused by the villains imprisoned in Zero—Chain. At the very least, no deaths were caused by the organization’s villains.”

“If that’s true…”

Ho-cheol pressed his furrowed brow with his bent index finger.

The abundance of testimonies was simply because there were no deaths?

“That’s a problem.”

“What’s the problem? That there are no deaths?”

Ho-cheol ran a hand down his face, flipping the report back and forth.

The news of no deaths wasn’t simply good—it was one-dimensional thinking.

“Villains who claim non-lethality are worse than regular villains. They even seem to minimize serious injuries, so they probably have some kind of moral code.”

“Isn’t that better? Fewer victims compared to other villains.”

“…That’s the problem—it doesn’t work out that way.”

This wasn’t just Ho-cheol’s bias or personal opinion.

Some villains or organizations did claim non-lethality, but they only wore that mask for their own benefit.

This organization, however, took clear losses to uphold it.

They weren’t foolish enough to be consumed by their own concept.

He tapped the sofa’s armrest with his fingertips, faster than usual, leaving nail marks that betrayed his unease.

“I’m different from other villains—that sense of superiority makes them tolerate small inconveniences.”

Having seen similar villains before, Ho-cheol knew their hypocrisy wouldn’t last.

“The problem comes when those inconveniences grow too large for their activities. When they’re forced to kill for some reason, their brakes snap, and they spiral completely.”

Villains with low moral thresholds who clung to something as flimsy as non-lethality were one of two things:

“Either they’re not in their right mind, or they’re about to lose it.”

Either way, they’d inevitably create a horrific situation later.

“And what’s with copying me while preaching non-lethality?”

If they were going to act like the second generation of his organization, they shouldn’t bother.

Of course, Ho-cheol’s long-term plan also required some public support, so he avoided unnecessary civilian casualties.

But that only applied to ordinary citizens.

“So, in your view, what’s their goal? Destroying Zero—Chain? Freeing specific individuals? Or something else?”

“Looking at their actions, it’s not just about destruction…”

They discussed the organization’s goals and internal dynamics while reviewing the report.

How much time passed?

A knock came from outside the door.

“Come in.”

At the dean’s permission, the door opened halfway.

A familiar face peeked into the office.

“Hello.”

Ho-cheol raised a hand, waving lightly with a smile.

Han So-hee glanced at the room’s atmosphere before cautiously asking?

“Is now a good time? Are you busy?”

“Not particularly. What’s the matter?”

Looking at Ho-cheol, she said.

“They’re calling for you. I think we need to go right away.”

“Why? They said there wouldn’t be an investigation.”

Ho-cheol’s eyebrow twitched.

It hadn’t even been a few hours since they said there’d be no investigation or detention, and now they were changing their tune?

But So-hee shook her head.

“It’s not about an investigation for this incident. They want to talk about something else. If anything, it’s a summon.”

“The Legal Department’s got time to call me when they’re that busy?”

“Busy” didn’t even cover it.

The Association and heroes had moved quickly, capturing some of the smaller escaped villains.

They needed to be reincarcerated, but with the original prison destroyed, they’d have to find other facilities, a process far from smooth.

Add to that trials for escape charges and the paperwork and legal procedures—it was a lot.

What could be so important to summon him within a day?

“Oh, it’s not the Legal Department.”

So-hee scratched the back of her head.

“It’s a summon from Association Headquarters.”

That wasn’t much of an explanation.

The headquarters would be several times busier than the Legal Department.

Unlike the relatively intact Legal Department, hadn’t the headquarters building been half-destroyed?

“They’re even busier. Who’s got the free time to summon me?”

“Well, uh, it’s…”

So-hee trailed off, glancing around as if someone might overhear, then whispered.

“The Hero Association President…”

A brief silence followed, and Ho-cheol let out a chuckle.

“Now that’s someone with too much time on their hands.”