Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 61: Jeong Ye-jin

Several days had passed since the exam ended.

Yet Ho-cheol’s test was ongoing—not for the students, but for himself.

The subject: patience.

In his office, the scratch of a pen mingled with the clatter of a keyboard.

Thud—

The scratching stopped.

Ho-cheol, gripping the pen, abruptly slammed his forehead onto the table.

“Argh, you startled me!”

So-hee, at a nearby table, flinched in surprise.

“What’s wrong all of a sudden?”

“I need slaves.”

“What era do you think this is, talking about slaves?”

So-hee chuckled, teasing him.

She knew exactly why he was acting like this.

Despite her jab, Ho-cheol kept his head on the table, muttering about needing slaves.

After the students’ exams, he finally understood why the dean and Se-ah had mocked his test questions.

Making and taking the test was no issue.

The real problem was grading.

Unlike other professors with assistants, he was completely alone.

The only potential “slaves” were So-hee and Ye-jin, but he couldn’t make a student who took the exam grade it.

So, he was stuck grading the midterm alone.

Three days straight since Monday, and he was still short a day.

For Ho-cheol—first-time professor, first-time exam creator, first-time grader—it was a brutal ordeal.

Nearly 200 exam sheets, all descriptive.

He had to grade them solo.

And worst of all—

“These kids’ handwriting. Ugh.”

Lifting his head, he clutched his hair.

Had he ever been this pissed since getting out of prison?

To think students, not villains, would rile him up this much.

What era was this that they couldn’t write legibly?

Some handwriting wasn’t just hard to read—it required decoding, not translation.

He was tempted to call them in and give them a few smacks.

“Who the hell wrote this?”

Irritably, he checked the name at the top.

“Choi Da-yeon?”

A strange sense of betrayal hit him.

If her handwriting matched half her looks, she’d be a calligrapher.

That made it even more infuriating.

Gotta give her a smack when I see her.

Covering his face, his muffled voice rumbled.

“This is gonna bring back my old temper.”

“If you can’t read it, just mark it wrong. It’s their fault for writing like chickens.”

So-hee’s argument was reasonable, but Ho-cheol shook his head.

“They worked hard. I can’t dock their effort just for bad handwriting.”

Grumbling was one thing; actually cutting points was another.

“Then what does that make me suggest?”

“A bad guy.”

So-hee pouted.

She’d tried to help.

After a moment’s thought, she sighed, powered off her work laptop, and dragged her chair next to Ho-cheol.

“You’ve got the answer key, right? I can check the ones that are 100% correct.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes brimming with gratitude.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Lunch is on me. Your favorite—pasta, right? That creamy stuff?”

“What’s with you? And you remembered?”

“How could I not?”

So-hee rubbed her wrist, smiling faintly.

Hours of grading and decoding later, he eyed the remaining sheets.

So-hee’s help had sped things up significantly.

“At this rate, we’ll finish by the weekend.”

He was genuinely relieved.

The final would be practical, so no grading headaches then.

So-hee set down her pen and stretched with all her might.

“Shall we wrap up?”

“Yeah.”

In her words, he tidied the scattered sheets.

They had plans today.

On exam day, he’d stopped her from delivering documents.

Being classified, they required hand delivery, so So-hee had to go.

“It’s been days already. Is it okay to slack like this?”

“It’s important but not urgent. With villains being caught daily…”

She gave a hollow laugh, waving her hand.

The Association, especially the Legal Department handling criminals, was a living hell.

No, hell was the Legal Department.

Seniors, juniors, executives, staff—everyone groaned at the mere mention of contact.

Rumor had it one employee collapsed from overwork and still got saddled with tasks.

Monitoring Ho-cheol was a stroke of luck for her.

Aside from occasional danger, it was a hidden blessing.

Glancing at Ho-cheol in the passenger seat, she muttered inwardly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Humming, she started the car.

On the way out of the academy, still in exam season, the main gate was quiet.

Ho-cheol’s gaze caught a familiar figure.

“Slow down a bit.”

“Huh?”

The car slowed and stopped beside Ye-jin.

Ho-cheol lowered the window, resting his arm on the frame.

“Hey, Professor!”

Spotting him, Ye-jin’s eyes widened, and she bowed.

“Hello.”

“Yo. Where are you headed?”

She scratched her cheek.

“Exams are done, so I’m heading home for a bit.”

“Oh? Why…”

His gaze shifted to the nearby bus stop—the only one around.

“Not taking the bus?”

“Walking’s good for you.”

Both she and Ho-cheol knew it was nonsense.

Her finances were tight, teetering on a razor’s edge.

The 5,000-won academy bus was out of the question.

Knowing her situation, Ho-cheol smirked and gave a thumbs-up.

“Get in.”

So-hee, gripping the wheel, looked at him incredulously.

“What about my opinion?”

“Come on, we’re tight.”

“Tight how?!”

As they bickered, Ye-jin looked up at the sky.

Not a cloud in sight, the sun blazing mercilessly.

Early summer, yet so hot. Her trait made her more sensitive to heat than most, and this weather was torture.

She glanced ahead.

She’d planned to walk to the city terminal to save the bus fare.

Three hours on foot.

The bag straps dug into her shoulders.

Was this bag always this heavy?

Her hesitation was brief.

She sidled up to the car.

“Excuse me…”

It was on their way; hitching a ride wasn’t too much of an imposition.

She climbed into the backseat.

As the car left the academy, So-hee asked?

“Got an address?”

Ye-jin, relaxed by the AC, snapped to attention and waved her hands.

“Oh, no! The city terminal’s fine!”

Hitching this far was already a stroke of luck.

Asking for more would be shameless.

So-hee flashed a warm smile, waving her hand.

“Nah, it’s fine. Just tell me. If it’s on the way, no harm in going together. If it’s the opposite direction, I’ll drop you at the terminal.”

The bus from the terminal to her home cost nearly 20,000 won.

That amount loomed before her—enough for five academy meals with five 500-won coins left.

Reality was too harsh to refuse out of politeness.

Closing her eyes, Ye-jin gave the address.

So-hee entered it and confirmed.

“Uh, Hanmaeum Foster Care Facility. This right?”

She stumbled over her words.

Ye-jin called it home, so the reason for this address…

Blushing with slight embarrassment, Ye-jin nodded.

So-hee, her expression briefly stiffening, forced a cheerful smile and nodded.

“Wow, right on our route. Let’s go together.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine~”

Ho-cheol snorted, incredulous at Ye-jin’s timidity.

“Why so shy? You had no problem snapping at me before.”

“Ack!”

Ye-jin squirmed in panic.

“That! That story!”

“What? Sounds like you two had a fun moment,” So-hee chimed in.

“When I first went to the student cafeteria…”

Ho-cheol grinned, dredging up Ye-jin’s mortifying first encounter.

“Ack!”

Just thinking about it made her flush with shame.

The briefly heavy mood vanished.

Amid their chatter, Ho-cheol tossed out a late question.

“How’d the exams go?”

“I think I did okay on all but one.”

“…Don’t tell me that one’s my class.”

Ye-jin avoided his gaze instead of answering.

“Well, exams are relative.”

“I didn’t make it that hard.”

“No way.”

Even Ye-jin, who usually liked Ho-cheol, couldn’t let this slide.

“I tried to make it easy.”

He hadn’t expected such firm denial.

Ho-cheol scratched his head, a bit sheepish.

About an hour later, Ho-cheol, who’d been leading the conversation, fell silent.

Curious, So-hee glanced over to find him asleep, arms crossed.

She frowned, exasperated.

“Ugh, asleep again. He’s been complaining about insomnia.”

“Does the professor have insomnia?”

So-hee nodded casually.

“Barely gets a couple hours a night. Sometimes passes out for naps during work. It messes up his meal times, and as his roommate, it’s the worst lifestyle—”

She froze mid-sentence.

What did I just say?

She glanced at Ye-jin in the rearview mirror.

Ye-jin’s hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with shock.

The word “roommate” echoed faintly.

Roommate? Roommate?!

Realizing her slip, So-hee bit her lip.

Her cheeks burned—she didn’t need a mirror to know her face was red.

Denying it would make it worse.

Even if it was for monitoring, they spent over ten hours a day together, minus sleep.

After a moment’s hesitation, she mumbled.

“Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“Okay… I’ll keep it a secret.”

The awkward conversation continued until a voice came from the passenger seat.

Ye-jin lit up, thinking Ho-cheol’s waking would ease the tension.

But a faint murmur came again, and she doubted her ears.

The soft muttering persisted.

Uncertain at first, she could now hear it clearly.

Speaking to So-hee, not Ho-cheol, she said.

“…The professor…”

“Yeah.”

So-hee’s expression shifted entirely, no trace of the earlier mood.

She hadn’t been uneasy about giving Ye-jin a ride for no reason.

She’d feared this moment.

Sighing lightly, she murmured.

“Who did he wrong so badly?”

Ho-cheol’s murmurs were unmistakable apologies.

Soft and faint, but heavy with emotion.

“He didn’t used to do this.”

In his sleep, he was apologizing profusely to someone.

So-hee, familiar with this, opened the center console and pulled out a half-used tissue pack.

Discarding a damp tissue, she met Ye-jin’s eyes in the mirror.

Gone was the slightly naive rookie; a serious Association agent stared back.

“This is a real secret.”

“…Okay.”

Ye-jin couldn’t ask anything.

Not just because of So-hee’s sharp gaze.

The apologies carried a sorrow she couldn’t fathom.

The car drove quietly, carrying someone’s guilt down the road.

* * *

“Ugh.”

Waking, Ho-cheol yawned widely.

“Are we almost there?”

“How do you wake up right as we park?”

“I’m quick like that.”

“…Not really.”

Stretching his neck, he looked outside.

A worn, crumbling wall, and beyond it, a building battered by time.

“Is this it?”

“Yes.”

The reply came from Ye-jin in the back.

They got out.

Ye-jin had mentioned the foster care facility where she grew up was in dire financial straits, with most of her part-time earnings going there.

Ho-cheol had initially underestimated it, but now he understood.

The old brick wall was cracked and moss-covered. Childish drawings tried to hide the decay, but they had little effect.

Beyond, the building’s paint peeled in patches. Colorful curtains hung on every window, each unique but faded or tattered. Some windows had cracked glass, shoddily repaired.

A worn sign at the entrance read “Hope Foster Care Facility.”

Ye-jin bowed deeply again.

“Thank you for the ride.”

Thanks to them, she could buy dozens of ramen packs with the saved money.

“Hang on. Where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh, this way.”

Ye-jin pointed at the building.

Entering the main gate, they were greeted by the lively energy and laughter of children.

Ho-cheol suddenly stopped.

He scanned around, took a step, stopped again, and looked around.

“What’s wrong?”

“This place.”

Facilities like this always had names like Hope, Dream, or Love, so he’d thought it was a coincidence.

But seeing it with his own eyes, it wasn’t.

The name felt familiar.

“You know it?”

“Kind of.”

“Wow… you did volunteer work?”

So-hee gasped softly.

The current Ho-cheol was a good person, but ten years ago?

Impressive.

She nudged his side with her elbow.

“No, not that.”

Should I say it?

Sighing lightly, he said.

“I used it for money laundering back in my villain days.”

“What?”

Her admiring gaze turned cold.

She stepped back.

“You’re trash.”