Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 56: Deal (2)

It was a deal he’d anticipated.

And yet, one he hadn’t.

He’d expected the summons to be about The Sun or the organization, but he hadn’t foreseen they’d propose capturing him with a “dead or alive” condition.

Whatever the president made of Ho-cheol’s reaction, he continued.

“Unfortunately, no hero in this era can single-handedly capture The Sun alive. Not even Swordmaster.”

In a straight-up slaughter, Swordmaster might hold his own, but as a hero, he was bound by duty.

In a simple subduing fight, The Sun’s trait countered every trait in existence.

In the past, it took three S-Class heroes to barely capture him, with two sustaining career-ending injuries—a “success” in name only.

If they were willing to accept such losses, they wouldn’t need Ho-cheol.

But the situation now was entirely different.

“There’d likely be massive losses. That’s what the Association wants to avoid at all costs.”

With triple-digit escaped villains, including two S-Class, heroes couldn’t focus solely on The Sun.

Moreover, the second-generation organization, now openly active, had risen as the Association’s greatest threat overnight.

It was the only villain organization ever to receive an S-Class danger rating on its first assessment.

Ho-cheol, listening silently, let out a chuckle.

“Kinda funny.”

The situation mirrored his past conversation with the Legal Department Director, though the context was reversed.

“You’re saying the same thing I did back then.”

He’d told the director that training students at the academy was less worthwhile than catching S-Class villains.

What had the director said in response?

Ho-cheol snapped his fingers.

“He said the purists in the Association would never allow it, right? So where are those purists now?”

His sarcasm drew openly displeased looks from several directors.

Ho-cheol memorized their faces.

They were the types who’d pick a fight or even make a move against him later.

For now, they were aligned, but a backstab wouldn’t surprise him.

“And now you’re changing your tune and offering a deal. It’s a nasty kind of comedy.”

The purists’ stance likely hadn’t changed.

Yet here they were, brazenly proposing a deal.

The reason was simple.

Ho-cheol crossed his legs the other way, smirking.

“Public opinion’s a scary thing, isn’t it?”

The name The Sun carried immense weight and influence.

Even as a villain, many still revered him, treating him as near untouchable.

Some public narratives even claimed he was framed by the Association, gaining traction.

That’s likely why the Association had gone to such lengths to hide his turn and imprisonment.

“Whether you catch him, fail to catch him, kill him, or capture him alive—whatever the outcome, you’ll face backlash.”

The Association, and any hero tasked with him, would be paralyzed by public scrutiny.

“But that’s only if a hero takes him on. I’m not a hero or anything else, so I could brush it off as a villain dispute. Still…”

Ho-cheol placed a hand on his thigh.

“You say minimizing losses is your true intent? That rubs me the wrong way.”

He closed his eyes, slowly tapping his thigh.

Something smelled off.

The foul stench of schemers hiding their true motives, a scent he’d encountered countless times as a villain.

When it came to sniffing out such deceit, Ho-cheol’s instincts were unmatched.

His old villain instincts, honed from preying on others’ weaknesses, were screaming.

“Dead or alive is fine? Just because I’m not a hero? Because managing him alive is harder? It’s not that simple, is it?”

The rhythm of his tapping quickened.

“And besides raw power, there are other escapees who need to be locked up faster than The Sun. The organization too. Yet you’re offering this deal solely for him, with no other conditions. Calling me without any prior arrangements with the academy reeks of urgency. It’s not me. It’s not the Association. So…”

His fingers stopped abruptly.

He opened his eyes.

“There’s something about The Sun. Something that makes it absolutely necessary to make him a corpse.”

It was just a hunch, not a certainty.

Yet Ho-cheol was confident.

The reactions of the president and the nine directors, however subtle, gave it away.

To an ordinary person, even an expert, their changes were imperceptible.

But Ho-cheol didn’t miss the tiniest crack.

A brief silence followed, and the president responded curtly.

“There’s no such reason. It’s simply to minimize manpower losses.”

“Sure, whatever. Same old scheming as ten years ago. Makes sense, given how things were back then.”

Ho-cheol shook his head.

He hadn’t come all this way to hear flimsy excuses.

“That’s not the point. Whatever you’re scheming doesn’t concern me. But separately…”

He stood slowly.

The curiosity and excitement he’d felt—Why’d they call me?—vanished instantly.

His expression screamed boredom, like he couldn’t stand another second.

“The math doesn’t add up. Not just some washed-up villains—The Sun. And you think wiping my sentence is enough? That’s something I could earn by teaching kids at the academy for a few years.”

He scanned the nine directors one by one, then yawned dramatically.

He kicked the stool he’d been sitting on.

“A deal needs balance, give and take. This is a scam. You’ve probably gotten your way by sitting anyone in this chair and intimidating them. But I’m not that kind of sucker. If you want something, pay a proper price.”

He shoved the stool, toppling it.

That damn chair, with no backrest, nearly made him fall twice.

Its shoddiness contributed to his sharper-than-usual attitude.

“Don’t call me until then. That ‘professor play’ you mentioned? It’s pretty busy.”

He placed a foot on the fallen stool.

Crunch—

The chair crumpled like paper.

“Calling me here with garbage hospitality is one thing, but sending clones made by traits? That’s a new low. Is this the Hero Association or the Villain Association?”

With nothing more to say, Ho-cheol left the room.

Then he poked his head back in, clicking his tongue.

“And it’s 187 years, not 188.”

With that, he left for good.

* * *

Descending to the lobby, So-hee approached from a nearby bench.

“All done?”

“For today, yeah, more or less.”

“What was it about?”

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

As a low-ranking Association member, she’d never even seen the president’s face, so her interest was natural.

Ho-cheol just shrugged nonchalantly.

“Just some nonsense and bullshit, something in that ballpark. What do you expect from people who call you in and stick you on a backless chair?”

“Ugh, that’s a bit much.”

So-hee let out a small laugh.

“You looked upset, so I was worried. No problems, then?”

“Well, not exactly a problem, but…”

Ho-cheol caught his reflection in a nearby window.

“Was it that obvious on my face?”

“I’ve known you for more than a day or two. Of course I’d notice.”

“Fair enough.”

Ho-cheol felt a bit conflicted.

Showing his true emotions was a weakness.

As a villain, even just a couple of months ago, no one could read his real feelings unless he chose to reveal them.

Was So-hee just that perceptive?

Or was he getting soft?

If it was the latter, it wasn’t a welcome change.

But he shook his head, dismissing the thought.

He’d given up the villain's life—what was there to worry about?

“What’s up all of a sudden?”

“Nothing.”

Ho-cheol chuckled and shrugged.

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

Zero casualties among students and civilians.

Fewer than ten minor injuries among professors and security.

Some buildings collapsed, but most were on the academy’s outskirts, so no one was harmed.

Even with the efforts of the dean, other professors, and Ho-cheol, this level of minimal damage was nothing short of miraculous.

Thanks to that, the academy quickly recovered and returned to normal.

At the forefront of that normalcy was Ho-cheol’s lecture.

The lecture proceeded as usual, but to Ho-cheol, the situation was far from normal.

He slowly scanned the classroom.

The room, capable of holding a hundred students, was packed beyond capacity.

Those without seats stood at the back or crouched on the side stairs.

He summed up the scene tersely.

“It’s a madhouse.”

He’d softened the phrase from “crawling with bugs.”

The irony was that there were now more auditors than his actual students—a natural outcome.

The students had ears and eyes.

Ho-cheol’s feats during the attack had spread, drawing everyone’s attention.

More than anything, it was his power.

The students in the underground shelter had clearly felt the space-shattering wave of his strength.

For aspiring heroes, it was impossible not to be drawn to that power.

Even if they couldn’t witness it directly, a lecture from someone with such strength was irresistible.

Last time, most auditors were from the Enhancement and Manipulation departments, but this time, Emission students were also present in numbers.

He couldn’t exactly kick out all the students who’d shown up at this hour.

With a sigh, he opened his book.

* * *

Mid-lecture, Ho-cheol checked the time.

This was meant to be a talk for his forty students, but with so many ears listening, he couldn’t skip it either.

Sighing, he closed the book and sat on the edge of the desk.

“You lot.”

The students, who’d been listening intently, sharpened their focus as his demeanor shifted.

All eyes locked onto him.

“Quit being heroes.”

The unexpected statement caused a stir. No matter how they racked their brains, they couldn’t grasp his meaning.

As they watched him cautiously, he elaborated.

“Among modern heroes, true heroes are a tiny minority. Most are just playing heroes.”

Eyes widened in shock.

Wasn’t this a bombshell?

“This isn’t about rank. Even a C-Class can be a true hero, while some S-Class are just playing the part.”

The students listened silently, without cheering or arguing, stunned by the audacity of his words.

“That’s fine. Even if their motives are shallow, frivolous, or hypocritical, as long as the results are just, that’s enough. That alone is dignified and valuable.”

He stepped down from the desk.

“But things will be different moving forward. An era is coming where playing the hero won’t cut it.”

Some students began to understand his meaning.

“You know that this weekend, the academy and other hero-related facilities were attacked.”

It was the country’s biggest news.

Aspiring heroes couldn’t possibly be unaware.

“That wasn’t just a villain organization’s doing. It was the opening shot of something much larger. What lies ahead is hell.”

Someone raised a hand.

One of his core students.

Ho-cheol nodded for them to speak.

“I don’t think any hero would quit just because villains are more active and it’s dangerous.

Calling it ‘hell’ is an exaggeration.”

“True. If someone would quit over villains, they wouldn’t have started in the first place.”

Ho-cheol readily agreed.

His students had already faced real combat at the academy and overcame it.

They wouldn’t quit just because villains grew more numerous.

He believed that.

But they were gravely mistaken.

“The hell I’m talking about isn’t created by villains.”

“Huh?”

Ho-cheol stepped down from the desk and walked to the student who spoke, bending to meet their eye level.

“When a hero dies fighting a villain, that’s a fate everyone acknowledges and can accept. But those heartwarming stories are rare.”

He leaned closer.

“Heroes don’t die by villains’ hands—they die by ordinary citizens. That’s the worst death a hero can face. And it’s the most common end.”

That was the hell Ho-cheol spoke of.