Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 57: Omen

Of course, Ho-cheol’s words weren’t entirely baseless, and the students weren’t oblivious to them.

But whether it was serious enough to warrant such grave discussion—that was questionable.

Scour the internet, and public opinion was always harsh on heroes.

Even high-ranking or popular heroes had their minor flaws picked apart, with people gleefully tearing into them all day long as if it were a game.

They held heroes to strict standards and rules, eagerly wielding clubs at the slightest misstep.

Naturally, it was a far tougher job than most.

But none of these students were fools unaware of that.

They were all captivated by the title of hero, willing to endure it all.

Ho-cheol straightened up.

“Society’s going to change completely. The attitude toward heroes, the demands placed on them—everything. The heroes you know won’t exist anymore.”

Still serious, he continued.

“The biggest reason heroes surrender their licenses isn’t villains—it’s the stress from citizens. And that’s also why some turn into villains.”

Heroes turning villain, retiring.

The classroom stirred for a moment.

In their year at the academy, such topics were taboo, an unspoken rule.

Professors and guest lecturers, often active heroes, avoided mentioning social issues that could affect students’ morale.

The media steered clear too.

But Ho-cheol was different.

He wasn’t a professor or a hero.

“The dark side of society, barely tracked by statistics, the biggest taboo in the hero world—everyone keeps their mouths shut and desperately looks away. But this is reality.”

Returning to the podium, he scanned the students.

“As time passes, that percentage will only grow, and the burden on remaining heroes will increase.”

Citizens vent their stress from villains onto heroes.

“In the next five years—maybe more—heroes will face the worst era.”

Ho-cheol declared calmly.

“If all hundred of you become pro heroes, nine will die by villains’ hands, and ninety will die from the stones thrown by citizens.”

He tapped the podium lightly with his fingertips.

“Think it over carefully. That’s it for today’s lecture.”

With that, he left the classroom.

No farewells.

Until the moment he exited, the students sat in silence, staring at the empty podium.

* * *

After the lecture, Ho-cheol returned to his quarters.

While quietly reading, the door swung open unceremoniously.

Seong Se-ah, a professor with a bandaged hand, stormed in.

She kicked off her shoes and charged at Ho-cheol, her expression and momentum fierce.

“You idiot!”

Reaching his side, she pummeled his arm with her small fist.

Despite her petite frame and fist, the blows stung sharply—enough to fracture a normal person’s bones.

The fact that she used her uncasted hand was perhaps her minimum concession to decency.

Ho-cheol blocked her punches with one hand.

“That hurts.”

“Good! That’s why I’m hitting you!”

“Don’t just stand there—help me out.”

“Uh, uh, sure.”

At Ho-cheol’s words, So-hee, lounging on the bed, got up.

“Calm down a bit.”

She slipped her hands under Se-ah’s armpits and pulled her back.

Se-ah flailed.

“Hey, let go! This guy needs a beating!”

“…Really?”

Instantly persuaded, So-hee released her.

Ho-cheol, pummeled again, was too dumbfounded to even tell her to stop.

He glanced between them.

“When did you two get so chummy?”

“After the MT, we were in the same hospital room. Got pretty close then.”

“Makes sense. You two are on the same wavelength. Same level too.”

One names her car “Bbi Bbi,” the other calls her bear doll “Gom-gom.”

Their mental ages seemed oddly similar.

Meanwhile, Se-ah escalated, now using Gom-gom to hit him.

After several minutes of enthusiastic thrashing, she finally stopped, placing her hands on her hips.

Wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, she snapped.

“Just stick to teaching in your lectures. Why’d you say that stuff?!”

“Oh, that’s what this is about.”

It was definitely the kind of thing that’d make other professors foam at the mouth.

“What else would it be?! And there were tons of auditors, not just your students!”

“That’s their fault for crashing my class.”

Ho-cheol closed his book and turned to face Se-ah.

“As a senior in the hero world, I was giving advice. I don’t think it was bad.”

“Telling hero aspirants at a hero academy to quit being heroes isn’t bad?! And calling yourself a hero senior!”

“No, I said the ‘hero world.’ Villains are part of that world too.”

“You’re such a con artist.”

Se-ah glared, narrowing her eyes.

“What if they actually quit en masse?!”

Ho-cheol responded as if it were obvious.

“If they’d quit over that, they should quit now. It’d be better for their lives to find another path sooner.”

So-hee, listening quietly, had a question mark hovering over her head.

“But did you really need to say that in class?”

Knowing his sentence reduction depended on students graduating as heroes, she couldn’t fathom his actions.

Scaring them into quitting seemed like a clear loss.

Ho-cheol shrugged nonchalantly.

If he were acting selfishly for sentence reduction, she’d be right.

But from an educator’s perspective, this was the right call.

The shock of facing that reality unprepared as a hero versus knowing it beforehand would make a huge difference.

His claim that ninety out of a hundred would die by citizens’ stones wasn’t an exaggeration.

Most of those deaths happened within the first three years.

But by warning them now, that number could drop to half—or less.

Explaining his intent, So-hee looked at him in surprise.

“Like a vaccine.”

“Something like that.”

“Hmph, you and your silver tongue.”

Se-ah understood his intentions too.

He’d addressed a harsh reality other professors and heroes avoided.

But his brazen attitude made it hard to thank him.

“So, you came just to complain?”

“Well, not just that.”

Se-ah crossed her arms, stepping back to size him up.

“They say two S-Class villains hit your side, and the dean was badly hurt. You okay?”

Her tone and expression were curt, but her eyes betrayed unmistakable concern.

The dean, with his severed arm and busy recovery, left the academy’s cleanup to Se-ah.

Despite wanting to check on Ho-cheol, she’d had no time until now.

“I just landed the finishing blow after the old man bled them dry.”

Se-ah hesitated, sighed lightly, and mumbled.

“…As long as you’re not hurt.”

“That was the real reason, huh?”

Ho-cheol sprang up.

Their height difference made Se-ah look up at him naturally.

As he stared down impassively, she raised her fists like a boxer.

“What, what’s that look?”

“Thanks for worrying.”

“…I’m not teasing you. As long as you’re fine! I’m leaving!”

Se-ah smacked his side once more and scurried off.

“You two get along well.”

“She’s a good person. Nice to be close with. Plus, her reactions are fun.”

So-hee nodded in agreement.

* * *

A clear defeat—or, generously, a draw.

That’s how the Association assessed the organization’s attack.

But the organization didn’t see it as a victory either.

Destroying four major powers was just a step toward their goal—a smokescreen to hide their true aim.

They were searching for one person in Zero—Chain.

But they failed.

Despite scouring even the deepest S-Class villain sector, their target was nowhere to be found.

They’d collapsed Zero—Chain but didn’t achieve their goal.

All they gained was absorbing some mid-tier A-Class villains, slightly expanding their ranks.

Ultimately, the incident was a loss for everyone, leaving only scars.

In the organization’s meeting room, the heavy atmosphere stifled any thought of speaking.

Except for one person.

The boss.

She sat silently, a hand on her forehead, staring ahead.

A murmur of irritation slipped through her slightly parted lips.

“Why?”

Everyone watched her cautiously.

Those present were all top-tier A-Class or near-S-Class, strengthened by her trait.

She could grant or strip power at will.

Here, she was the absolute authority.

Her pinkish-red hair floated slightly.

Bang—!

Her hand slammed the table, crumpling the metal like paper.

“Why?!”

No one dared speak, even at her furious shout.

They all knew opening their mouth risked their waist being the next to snap.

Scanning the room, she pointed at one member.

“What do you think?”

“Maybe they’re already dead…”

Crunch—

Before he could finish, the member’s arm twisted grotesquely.

A near-S-Class powerhouse, yet he couldn’t react.

It wasn’t visible or felt—just the result of a crushed arm.

“Urgh…”

He didn’t dare scream.

That would ensure worse than just an arm.

Speak, and you’re broken. Give an unwanted answer, and you’re broken.

“A worthless, stupid answer. Fine, you—speak.”

Cornered, another member spoke hesitantly.

“Maybe they’re not in Zero—Chain but another prison…”

“Hm. Unlikely, but not impossible. Alright, next.”

More members were called out, stammering to find answers that wouldn’t anger her.

Then someone offered the most plausible response.

“Maybe there’s a classified prison only accessible with Level 1 clearance or higher.”

The boss rubbed her chin with a bent index finger, then pointed at the speaker.

It wasn’t a satisfying answer, but it was the most substantial so far.

“A secret prison not in our intel.”

They had spies in the Association, but those could only access Level 2 information.

Level 1 and special-grade secrets were harder to obtain, as they were tagged with traits that logged access.

A single-person prison was a wasteful expense, but not impossible—especially for someone of their target’s value.

“Then we need to interrogate someone with Level 1 clearance. How many in the Association handle Level 1 or higher?”

“Around 1,130 for Level 1, fewer than 230 for special-grade.”

“Filter out those with clearance raised by two or more levels, those with excessive authority for their position, those with mismatched duties, or those with unclear external activity records.”

“Yes, understood.”

Soon, the member returned with the filtered list.

“Of those meeting at least one of your three conditions: 220 for Level 1, 19 for special-grade.”

“And those meeting all three?”

“Just one.”

“Who?”

He handed her a sheet of paper.

“The most suspicious one. Photo.”

“Here.”

Reading the paper, the boss nodded.

“No need to be cautious anymore. Good.”

She tapped the paper with the back of her hand.

“Bring this person in. I’ll interrogate them myself.”

She tossed the photo onto the table.

It was Han So-hee, smiling awkwardly at the camera.