Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 60: Midterm Exam

The word “test” sank the classroom’s atmosphere lower than ever.

Even Ho-cheol’s earlier urging to quit being heroes hadn’t hit this hard.

Well, if the mood were upbeat for a test, that’d be its own kind of insanity.

Ho-cheol had no use for such lunatics.

He tore open the tightly sealed paper bag and pulled out the exam sheets.

Even at a glance, the stack was thick.

He divided them into pre-portioned sets.

“No one’s late, right?”

It was a rote greeting—he’d already counted heads upon entering and confirmed no stragglers.

“Before we start, a few things.”

Sorting the exam sheets on the podium, he continued.

“This is an open-book test. I hope no one was dumb enough to show up with just a pen and calculator.”

He hadn’t announced it on purpose.

Unprepared heroes deserved to suffer.

Of course, his second-year students weren’t first-years; none came empty-handed.

But no one was thrilled about the open-book format either.

To them, it meant the questions wouldn’t be found in any book or notes, no matter how much they flipped through.

“And there are four sheets. If you run out of space, use the back. Time’s 180 minutes, same as the lecture. Finish early, you can leave.”

He walked among the students, distributing the four-sheet exams.

“This test is written, not practical, but it’s the kind that’ll be more useful in real combat than theory. Someday, it’ll definitely save your lives.”

He declared with unwavering confidence.

The exam sheets, still face-down on desks, were unreadable.

He placed a clock prominently on the podium and sat beside it.

“What’s a test? Just about memorization? Quick calculations? Ranking yourselves against others?”

He tapped the side of the podium with his heel.

“Of course not. It’s to review the knowledge you’ve built up and address gaps you didn’t know you had. In short…”

He paused.

Scratching the back of his neck, he rubbed under his nose with a bent finger.

His restless hands betrayed discomfort.

“So.”

During lectures, he suppressed emotions, focusing solely on delivering information and teaching.

As a villain-turned-professor with no pedigree, this was the best way to ensure student focus and lecture efficiency.

But—

This job’s a pain.

Muttering to himself, he lowered the hand covering his face.

With a faint smile, he shrugged.

“Don’t stress or obsess too much. It’s just a chance to revisit what you’ve learned. If you don’t know something after grading, you can learn it then, right?”

His tone and demeanor, softer than ever in a lecture, caught them off guard.

Yet the students didn’t falter.

He wasn’t holed up in his room outside of class, often wandering the campus multiple times a day.

They’d run into him frequently.

His sociable side outside lectures was well-known.

Some even said meeting him brought good luck—a popular tale in his class.

But to see it during a lecture was unexpected.

“Screw it up, so what? It’s just one test. There’s the final too. Mess up a bit, you can make up for it later. What I’m saying is simple.” He raised his index finger.

“Don’t overthink, don’t screw up, and do your best. Plus, there’s partial credit, so write down everything you know.”

More than mere encouragement, his words sank deep, resonating calmly but firmly in their hearts.

“Yes, sir!”

“Alright, then…”

Ho-cheol placed a hand on the clock.

“Begin.”

As the clock’s 180 ticked to 179, the students flipped their papers with vigor.

And then—

“…Urk.”

A stifled cough, laced with despair, echoed faintly.

Sighs, hopelessness, resignation—all mingled in that sound.

The cause was the first question.

One question per page.

A complex diagram, impossible to replicate, greeted them alongside an even more intricate problem.

Q1: The given image is part of a one-dimensional compressed structure’s junction under a spatial distortion trait.

Draw the shortest movement path between coordinates P and Q according to spatial distortion trait laws.

Describe the changes in the compressed structure when two interfering traits (A, B) are activated, and additionally describe the changes when your own trait (C) intervenes.

If your trait cannot intervene, use the trait corresponding to your attendance number from the attached table below.

Ye-jin, gripping her pen, blinked.

What the hell?

Where do I even start?

It wasn’t even an Enhancement trait problem.

Sure, some parts could be solved with Enhancement applications, but it was like claiming chicken in a pool makes chicken soup.

Half the students clutched their heads, tapping calculators.

Others scribbled frantically.

Put this on hold.

There are more questions—tackle what I know first.

She hurriedly flipped to the next page.

The second page had just one question too.

Q2: An energy barrier formed by an Emission-type trait is based on a polyhedral structure, with energy generated from each face as follows.

The barrier’s center is the focal point where energy converges.

The barrier is a tetrahedron, with given face areas and energy emission rates.

Calculate the total energy of the barrier under the given conditions.

From tetrahedron to octahedron, identify the form most easily disrupted or broken by your trait and calculate the minimum energy required.

Flip—

She rushed to the third page.

Q3: The given situation involves five traits.

Flip—

The fourth was the same.

Each demanded the highest-level trait disruption, from theoretical foundations to practical applications.

The more complex a trait, the more its concepts veered into pure academia, useless in practice.

The academy usually glossed over such topics.

But Ho-cheol dug them up deliberately.

Ye-jin looked up at him, sitting on the podium.

Their eyes met.

She shot him a resentful glance, protesting the brutal questions.

He smirked and tapped the clock.

The 175 had dropped to 174. Five minutes just to read the questions.

Biting her lip, she bowed her head.

His advice about partial credit wasn’t for nothing.

* * *

As students grappled with the exam, Ho-cheol sat on the podium, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The only sounds were scratching pens and flipping pages.

It was so dull he could fall asleep if he closed his eyes.

It was open-book, so cheating wasn’t an issue, and no one was bold enough to orchestrate group cheating.

Occasional groans of anguish kept his drifting mind tethered.

He chuckled.

Wonder if they knew it was supposed to be ten questions, cut to four after the dean and Se-ah chewed me out.

A massive failure in difficulty calibration.

But what could he do?

It was his first time teaching and taking exams.

The difficulty was off, but the questions themselves were solid.

Even the dean and Se-ah had briefly marveled at them.

Ho-cheol’s questions tackled extreme theoretical concepts but were grounded in practical application.

Did he make them just to watch students suffer?

Well, maybe a little.

Not entirely absent.

But there was a bigger reason.

This exam covered foundational knowledge for countering the organization in the future.

If these students pursued hero careers, the organization would be their greatest enemy.

Recent Zero—Chain attacks revealed specific traits: spatial movement, fragment shield, trait fusion conversion, compression.

These four were dangerous regardless of user proficiency.

If the organization’s boss distributed these traits to subordinates, they could be reused repeatedly.

So he crafted questions to teach countermeasures.

Even as theory, grasping the basics and concepts would boost survival odds.

They might see it as sadistic now, but the answers they wracked their brains for would one day save their lives.

His pre-exam words weren’t an exaggeration.

Even if it earned resentment or complaints, so what?

His top priority was the students.

* * *

Mid-exam, So-hee, supervising at the back, checked her phone and stepped outside.

Ho-cheol noticed and followed her discreetly.

“What’s up?”

She gave an awkward smile, waving her phone.

“I forgot to send some paperwork I was asked for. It’s classified, so no email. I’ll be quick.”

With plenty of exam time left and Ho-cheol staying put, a quick trip wouldn’t disrupt her monitoring duties.

The Association was so swamped lately that her tasks were half-hearted, unupdated for weeks.

She started to leave, saying she’d be right back.

Or tried to.

“Wait.”

“Huh? Got a favor or…”

“Don’t go.”

Blinking rapidly, she stammered.

“…Why?”

She could only ask, flustered.

Ho-cheol never cared about her work.

Usually, he’d send her on errands like fetching snacks.

What was with this sudden change?

“Why? Because I said don’t go.”

“Come on, that’s not the reason. I’ll be quick. Heh!”

Smirking playfully, So-hee turned, then froze, startled.

Her gaze dropped.

Ho-cheol had grabbed her wrist.

Her neck creaked as she turned back.

“Uh, what?”

Even as she babbled dumbly, his expression was dead serious.

“Don’t go. Stay here.”

Her mind reeled.

‘’What’s he saying?! He just told me to stick right by him!!! ‘’

Her eyes spun, ears ringing.

Words danced around her: distorted love, regret, obsession, despair, ruin!!!

As her imagination piled up, Ho-cheol sensed something off and frowned.

He sometimes teased her for fun, closing the distance, but those were lighthearted daily pranks.

Her reactions were usually sensible.

This time, her response was excessive.

Letting a misunderstanding like this fester was for fools.

He slapped the back of her hand with his free hand.

“It’s dangerous, so don’t go.”

Her spinning eyes stopped.

“Huh?”

Still dazed, but less so than before.

Leaning against the hallway wall, he explained.

He recounted his discussion with the dean about the organization likely collecting rare traits.

It was just a theory, low probability—maybe a few percent.

But not zero.

And he wasn’t brave enough to bet a friend’s safety on those odds.

At least within his sight, he could protect her.

Hearing the full story, So-hee’s face turned even redder.

Bowing her head, she mumbled,

“Oh, okay. If that’s the case…”

“Yeah. Better to be cautious than brush it off.”

He sighed in relief.

If she’d argued he was overreacting, he’d have no comeback.

It wasn’t wrong, but better safe than sorry.

Watching her fiddle with her phone, he felt a pang of guilt.

She probably had work.

“Urgent errand?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Then it’s okay. If you really need to go, take me with you.”

“Is that alright?”

“You’re my monitor. What’s wrong with dragging me along to supervise? Plus, I want to meet those so-called seniors of yours.”

“Why?”

“To give them a piece of my mind for working you so hard.”

“Maybe… I’ll think about it.”

So-hee flinched.

“By the way, my hand.”

“Oh.”

He released her wrist.

Firmly, he added.

“For now, don’t go anywhere. Stick close.”

“Okay…”

He returned to the classroom, and So-hee followed.

Grabbing the doorknob, she widened her eyes.

Her wrist bore a red mark from his grip, faintly painful.

She placed her hand over it.

Her smaller hand couldn’t cover it fully.

Big hands.

It was surprising.

When they playfully bickered, he’d sometimes pat or nudge her, always perfectly controlling his strength—no scratches, no sting.

Yet he’d left a mark this time.

Was he anxious?

Worried?

If that mark was the result of those emotions, it didn’t feel so bad.