Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 63: Jeong Ye-jin (3)

As Ye-jin stood dazed, waiting for the line of kids to dwindle, her turn finally came.

Ho-cheol, in a flat tone, asked?

“So, what course do you want?”

Swinging kids up and down by their arms, tossing them into a ball pit, or throwing them high and catching them.

With three variations already, Ho-cheol was less a human and more a multipurpose amusement ride.

But Ye-jin wanted none of those.

“I’d like to talk privately.”

“Ugh, it’s hot. This thing’s got no ventilation, and it stinks—makes it worse.”

Ho-cheol took off the T-Rex hoodie, wiping sweat.

“Private talk, huh? I don’t mind, but…”

He glanced at the kids around them, adding.

“Are you ready to handle their resentment?”

The kids’ glares zeroed in on Ye-jin.

Trying to monopolize him?

Ho-cheol, in his dinosaur outfit, had long surpassed Ye-jin in their favor.

The atmosphere felt like a riot might break out.

With a wry smile, she pulled out her wallet.

Only after the kids, clutching bills, ran to the store did she secure Ho-cheol’s time.

Should’ve just bribed them from the start.

* * *

In an open lot behind the facility, Ye-jin stopped a few steps ahead, turned, and met Ho-cheol’s eyes, hands behind her back.

“I didn’t expect a chance like this so soon.”

She covered her cheeks with her hands.

“Alone with you, Professor.”

Beneath her palms, her faintly pink cheeks were now vividly flushed.

“I’m so nervous, excited… even a bit thrilled.”

Unable to stand still, her toes scuffed the ground.

“I’m a little worried if it’s okay to say this, but…”

Seeing her hesitation, Ho-cheol spoke reassuringly.

“Go ahead, no pressure. I’ve got a rough idea.”

How could he not?

Her vibe was blatant.

Making her line up was meant to cool her heightened emotions.

Her flushed expression, twisting legs, and intense gaze.

Ho-cheol chuckled.

“You’re itching for a fight.”

Her entire being radiated a burning desire to spar, her fighting instinct overflowing.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Ye-jin said.

“This year, I sparred with you a couple of times… or rather, got thoroughly beaten.”

“Yup.”

Twice in combat-style practical lessons: once in class, once during MT.

She seemed to have lingering regrets.

“This time, I’m confident I can do better. So, I’m asking for one more chance.”

Ho-cheol pondered briefly.

Private sparring outside class wasn’t allowed.

Normally, he’d say so, but he recalled privately training Da-yeon outside class.

Refusing Ye-jin now would be unfair—discriminatory, even.

It wasn’t about teaching anything grand, just a quick test.

No big deal.

His deliberation was brief.

He nodded.

“Alright.”

At his approval, Ye-jin clapped her wrists together like a seal.

“It’s not like I’m eager to get beaten again.”

Ho-cheol sighed, shaking his head.

Fighting spirit was fine, but it needed to match the level.

This was bound to be a one-sided thrashing.

“I don’t enjoy beating up students.”

“Then I guess I enjoy getting beaten.”

Ho-cheol flinched, blinking.

“Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“…Yeah, I regretted it the moment I said it. Shall we start?”

Without waiting for a reply, she rummaged in her pocket, pulling out metal knuckles that glinted in the light.

“I couldn’t sleep after getting wrecked like that.”

“Mad about losing?”

“Nah, not really. I just think I can do better now.”

Stretching, she gave an awkward smile.

“…Okay, maybe a little mad.”

“Fair enough. Start when you’re ready.”

Ho-cheol pulled his left hand from his pocket. He wouldn’t even use it fully—just a loosely clenched fist with the index finger sticking out.

“Alright, here I come.”

A breeze blew.

Ye-jin lowered her stance and charged, aiming a punch at his midsection.

Ho-cheol, keeping a wider gap than usual, dodged easily and let her exposed opening pass.

“You left that open on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Yup. Too bad. I was gonna grab you if you took it.”

Ye-jin grinned.

Trait: Cold Blood

By lowering her body temperature, she could frostbite anything she touched or, at higher output, emit cold air to gain combat advantage.

Its balance of offense and defense was solid, with high growth potential.

Immune to low temperatures, she held an overwhelming edge against similar traits.

Though sensitive to environmental conditions, that risk could be mitigated by choosing activity times or locations.

She’d likely focused her trait on that opening, waiting to strike.

For Ho-cheol, who kept his trait and power tightly restrained, it wasn’t something to dismiss.

Had he taken the bait, he’d have lost an arm.

Hiding such a cheap trick.

Nice.

Unaware of his approval, Ye-jin swallowed her disappointment and lowered her stance further.

“Here I go again.”

The ground cracked, white frost surging from the splits.

Water vapor froze, tiny ice shards falling.

Yet no breath clouded from her mouth.

This was her training ground for years before the academy.

The lingering traces of her trait amplified her power.

She’d fully dominated this space.

“Nice.”

Ho-cheol tilted his head.

“Show me the confidence and results behind stealing my time.”

* * *

Five minutes later.

Ho-cheol, running a hand through his hair, laughed in disbelief.

I didn't expect this.

“You can’t win.”

A truth ingrained in Ye-jin and all his students.

Having seen and experienced Ho-cheol’s strength, it was only natural for her to think so.

He didn’t see it as a problem.

Knowing your place and the gap with your opponent was key to survival.

That instinct shaped one’s entire approach.

In future spars, students would aim to learn, not win.

That mindset made a clear difference in process and outcome.

Honest attacks, textbook defenses—meshing like gears, showing their full potential.

Ho-cheol encouraged this, believing it was the only way to learn and grow.

But today’s Ye-jin was different.

She wasn’t here to learn—she aimed to win.

Using any means necessary, she casually threw out full-force strikes as feints to create openings.

The result was clear.

Ho-cheol tilted his head, checking his hand.

He’d planned to use just his index finger, but his palm was fully open now.

“Well, damn.”

Though faint now, it was the same kind of talent he had.

Should I be happy or sad?

He looked ahead.

Ye-jin, staggering as if about to collapse, gasped for breath but stood firm.

Twisting his lips into a smile, he asked?

“Not done yet, right?”

It wasn't a mockery.

“Of… course.”

She grinned back.

Her trembling legs and faltering voice screamed collapse, but her expression remained confident.

“Impressive. You’ve improved a lot. No wonder you were so cocky. So…”

He pulled his other hand from his pocket.

This was both praise and a reward for Ye-jin.

A realm she’d never glimpse through normal means.

He was ready to show it.

“Shall we kick it up a notch?”

She swallowed hard.

The ominous aura around him wasn’t from raising his trait’s output—he was still suppressing it.

This was something else entirely.

A chill, like a viper around her neck, spread through her body.

“The form most helpful to you…”

Not the strict professor or the cheerful everyday Ho-cheol.

Sweeping his hair back, he revealed a side reserved for those he truly acknowledged.

“This one.”

The villain.

Jeong Ho-cheol from his villain days stepped toward her.

“Don’t die.”

* * *

Ye-jin lay sprawled, staring at the sky.

The cruelly blue sky contrasted with her pathetic rolling on the ground.

No sound came from her gaping mouth.

“Ugh.”

She’d wanted to land at least one hit.

He’s too strong.

Three seconds.

Despite holding her own, Ho-cheol’s declaration to “kick it up” floored her instantly.

Physically and in trait output, she was stronger, yet couldn’t even scratch him.

It was a shock.

A shadow loomed over her.

Ho-cheol crouched beside her, looking down.

She was stunned by her crushing defeat, but he was shocked for another reason.

Her movements had always seemed off in critical moments during spars or drills.

This fight confirmed it.

He muttered softly.

“This is troubling.”

Not just humans—every living being had instinctual gaps in awareness.

Her ability to spot and strike those vitals with precision was uncanny.

Her talent lay in killing.

Among all the villains and heroes he’d seen, she was a rare genius in that regard.

My student’s a natural-born killer.

A talent, sure, but not happy news.

Swallowing a sigh, he reached out, brushing dirt from her cheek.

“Eek.”

Ye-jin averted her gaze.

Her competitive fire had burned out.

The hand that had just pummeled her felt awkward now, its slight touch unnerving.

Her trait-chilled skin made his hand feel scalding, like a burn.

She wanted to push it away or turn her head, but had no strength left.

Brushing off more dirt, Ho-cheol asked casually,

“Why not quit being a hero?”

“Huh?”

The question, so bold despite his flat tone, stunned her.

“D-did I do something wrong?”

“No, you did too well—that’s why I’m suggesting it.”

That confused her more.

“Your talent leans more toward something else than heroism.”

“Something else?”

Killing talent could be used elsewhere.

“Hunter. You’re built for it.”

It was serious advice after careful thought.

If she were less exceptional, he’d have kept her as a hero or hunter without distinction.

But her talent was real.

Her trait was better suited for hunting monsters than fighting villains as a hero.

Its distinct nature meant she could avoid risky missions, sticking to gates with clear matchups—safer than hero work.

“If money’s your goal, you’d earn more this way.”

She mumbled the word “money.”

“Money… Money's nice. But, Professor, I’m not doing this just for money.”

Not?

Ho-cheol looked at her, surprised.

Her resolute expression and aura weren’t a joke or excuse.

“Professor, do you know the first emotions kids like me learn growing up in a place like this?”

She smiled.

“Resignation. And self-loathing.”

But her smile carried a wistful emotion she’d never shown.

“The kids here are so pure they can’t even blame their parents or society. So they blame themselves for everything.”

Ye-jin knew that feeling well.

She’d been one of those kids.

“Being abandoned, losing parents, being lonely and struggling—it’s all my fault. So…”

Her forced smile trembled.

“It’s only natural I’m unhappy. Like this.”

Ho-cheol listened silently to her heart.

“So I want to show the kids, my siblings, that it’s not their fault. That growing up here, they can still be amazing and shine.”

She looked not at him but at the distant sky.

As a child, she’d needed a hero to guide her, but none came.

So she resolved to be that hero for her siblings.

Ho-cheol nodded.

“That’s your motive and goal as a hero.”

“Pretty silly, right?”

“Very.”

She laughed softly.

He fell silent, thinking.

Better tell her.

Rubbing his chin with a bent index finger, he said.

“I saw you with the kids today.”

She was under a massive misconception.

Self-awareness was best, but watching her struggle was frustrating.

They weren’t strangers; a little meddling was fine.

Her path was precariously balanced—finding it now was fortunate.

“They don’t care if you’re a hero or a café worker.”

“Huh?”

“You’re already a hero to them. Yet you’re still chasing the hero title—talk about silly things.”

She blinked rapidly, stunned.

It took a while to grasp his words.

Understanding and accepting were different.

Propping herself up, she met his eyes.

“So… you’re saying the kids already see me as a hero? But I’m not a hero.”

Her words stumbled, full of doubt.

“Yup.”

He nodded firmly.

“Don’t obsess over society’s hero label. Just…”

Pausing, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Do what you want. It’s okay.”

Her body reacted beyond her control.

“Uh, w-what…”

It wasn’t sadness, inspiration, or great comfort.

Yet the simple words “It’s okay” brought hot tears streaming down her cheeks.