Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 70: Choi Da-yeon (2)

Despite Da-yeon’s accusations, Ho-cheol remained silent.

His silence shattered the fragile composure she had clung to.

Still gripping his shirt, Da-yeon sobbed uncontrollably—not with mere tears, but with a primal wail, like a wounded animal.

The emotions she had slowly built through her time with Ho-cheol, the colors that had begun to repaint her world, were washed away by tears, returning to a dull gray.

Amid her endless grief, Ho-cheol offered no comfort, only practical words.

“If you want, I can’t quit, but you don’t have to attend my classes. I’ll handle your credits discreetly, and I’ll ensure our schedules don’t overlap.”

This was the most consideration he, the perpetrator, could offer her, the victim.

Her sobbing eventually subsided, the echoes fading in the warehouse.

Head bowed, Da-yeon muttered despondently.

“No. That won’t do.”

Clenching her fists, she weakly struck his chest.

Thud—

“No one else can do it. Everyone thinks you’re a good person. Only I know your past, your true self. I’ll watch you closer than anyone. If you show even a hint of that side…”

Thud, thud—

Her punches grew stronger.

Raising her head, her icy blue eyes, void of emotion, recalled their first meeting.

The faint light Ho-cheol had brought back to her world was now washed away, leaving it murky gray again.

“I’ll… take revenge with my own hands.”

Reverting to informal speech, as she had at their first encounter, she left Ho-cheol speechless.

Stumbling, she stood and left the warehouse.

Watching her, he whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

Her steps faltered briefly, but she didn’t look back.

Ho-cheol remained seated long after she left.

Footsteps approached—So-hee, arms crossed, shaking her head.

“Said you needed to talk alone, and now you’re sulking like this?”

“Here to mock me?”

“Mock? Time to go home.”

She extended a hand, but he shook his head.

“Go ahead. I need to think.”

Pouting, she withdrew her hand.

“Explain what happened. Then I’ll decide if you get alone time or I drag you out.”

With a hollow smile, Ho-cheol recounted everything—his past with the Swordmaster, the Rainbow Cosmos theft, and its link to the Swordmaster’s wife’s death.

So-hee listened intently, learning the Swordmaster’s side for the first time.

When he finished, she tapped her lips with her finger.

“That’s… a tough one.”

She wanted to side with Ho-cheol, but the Swordmaster was undeniably the victim.

She understood why Da-yeon left crying.

“But…”

Pointing at him, she asked?

“There’s a reason, isn’t there?”

Unlike Da-yeon’s hopeful plea, So-hee’s question stemmed from deduction.

If Ho-cheol’s motive was just rarity or money, it didn’t fit.

The Ho-cheol she knew was cunning enough to amass wealth differently or manipulate the Swordmaster.

Stealing the Cosmos and making an enemy didn’t align.

Her hunch was right.

Ho-cheol nodded.

“A trivial, personal reason. A friend of mine had a similar illness. Without the Cosmos, they’d have died.”

“Oh.”

“And the Rainbow Cosmos? It’s not even a cure.”

He’d learned later it only delayed the disease’s progression by three months, at the cost of excruciating pain—burning agony dozens of times daily, unbearable even with painkillers.

“That’s not trivial! That’s huge!” So-hee exclaimed.

“Then tell her! You hate bottling things up!”

“I would’ve, normally.”

But this wasn’t normal.

“Because the Swordmaster told you to keep your distance?”

“No, not really.”

Leaning against the wall, he asked?

“What’s the worst-case scenario I’m worried about?”

“Getting stabbed?”

“That’s dark… but that’s just karma, not the worst. I’ve accepted that.”

He knocked his head against the wall.

“What I really fear is forgiveness itself.”

So-hee’s eyes widened.

“Huh?”

“All the help, advice, saving her—it happened before she knew I was her enemy.”

Da-yeon’s admiration and trust, built over time, were amplified by the Swordmaster’s neglectful parenting.

“If I confess everything and beg forgiveness, if a heartfelt apology becomes an excuse…”

Having observed Da-yeon closely, he knew her tough exterior hid a fragile core, softer than any student’s.

“She’d force herself to forgive me. It’s her only path.”

Unlike Ye-jin, approached as a third party, helping Da-yeon only deepened the issue.

“And if she forces forgiveness, then what?”

So-hee couldn’t answer, envisioning the devastating aftermath.

She hadn’t expected Ho-cheol to think this far.

Seeing her hesitate, he gave a hollow laugh.

“Horrible to imagine. I’d rather she hate me and talk of revenge.”

“If that’s your truth… I get it. I won’t meddle. But for Da-yeon’s sake…”

She asked, concerned.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s better now. Getting hated like this? Child’s play compared to my villain days.”

He tried to stand, but So-hee pressed his shoulders down.

Before he could protest, she crouched, meeting his eyes with a piercing stare.

“I know you’re lying.”

“You can tell?”

“Crystal clear. No hiding between us, right?”

“Can’t win with you.”

Scratching his neck, he dropped his faint smile.

“Honestly, I’m not okay. A student who trusted me is now my enemy. How could I be okay?”

Better than his villain days?

That was nonsense.

Living braced for malice then was nothing like now.

So-hee clicked her tongue at his weary complaint.

“Should’ve lived better.”

“Yeah.”

He laughed emptily, a mix of complex emotions.

So-hee lifted her hands.

“I’ve got a counselor’s license, you know. Talk to me if it’s tough.”

“Real reassuring,” he said, smirking, though his expression didn’t match.

Doubting her, she put her hands on her hips.

“Need help?”

“How?”

She gave a sly smile.

“Can’t say, but decide. Want my help?”

He waved dismissively.

“Do what you can.”

She stood, nodding toward the warehouse entrance.

A long shadow stretched to Ho-cheol, who froze upon recognizing it.

“You! Why are you here!”

Da-yeon, who should’ve left, stood there.

“What the hell is this!”

He glared at So-hee, his voice genuinely angry for the first time.

She flinched but smirked.

“What? Thought I’d watch your tragic hero act? We’re not idiots—neither is she.”

“You said you understood!”

“I did. Accepting it is another matter. And this isn’t my fault, is it?”

She hadn’t orchestrated this.

Da-yeon had collapsed outside the warehouse, never leaving.

Ho-cheol, too rattled, hadn’t sensed her.

“You’re obviously not okay, pretending it’s fine. How pathetic is that?”

“But still, you—”

He stopped, seeing her expression.

He had no right to talk of betrayal.

“You go around fixing everyone’s pain, but reject help when it’s your turn? What, ex-villain guilt?”

He fell silent.

Da-yeon slowly entered.

“That’s my cue. You two sort it out. We’ll talk later,” So-hee said, slipping out.

She’d set the stage, but her presence was no longer needed.

From a distance, Da-yeon asked?

“Why hide it?”

Her question implied she’d overheard everything.

“Because I was worried about you.”

“Not for me… just to make it easier for yourself, right?”

Her words cut deep.

Ho-cheol nodded silently.

“You’re right. Maybe that’s the truth. No, it is.”

“You told me to trust and wait. That you’d explain everything.”

Her voice trembled.

“Liar.”

“Sorry.”

“Idiot.”

“Sorry.”

She cursed, he apologized, a simple exchange that stretched on until her words ran dry.

Silence lingered.

“Were all your words sincere?”

“Yes.”

“Your emotions too?”

He nodded wordlessly.

She closed her eyes, fingers twitching.

The memory of their first meeting flashed—harsh, dismissive, but it led her to pick up her bow again.

He saved her from villains at the Academy and MT, never giving up even when she had.

He promised to protect her until she grew strong, giving her courage to connect with others.

Her gray world regained color through him.

Without him, would she be here?

He’d just bared his truth and apologized.

Hiding a fragment of it was disappointing, but it was for her sake.

From their first meeting to now, he’d never been insincere or less than his best.

Opening her eyes, she realized forgiveness, resentment, or revenge didn’t matter.

Ho-cheol was already a pillar in her life.

But to him, her presence was a sharp thorn, wounding him with proximity.

So—

“If I forgive you, you’ll suffer, right?”

She stepped close, standing before him.

Her blue eyes, no longer cold, met his.

“I think this is the only revenge I can take.”

Kneeling, she hugged his head, whispering.

“I forgive you.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, falling onto him.

* * *

At the warehouse entrance, So-hee and Ye-jin watched.

Ye-jin scratched her cheek, conflicted.

“Feels… weird.”

“What?”

“A few days ago, the Professor seemed larger than life. Now, he’s just… human, like me.”

It wasn’t disillusionment—more like an added layer of admiration for his humanity.

“Sometimes he seems dumber than regular people,” she added, a faint sigh escaping.

She was glad their strained relationship seemed resolved, but celebrating felt off.

A heavy pressure in her chest, a tickling sensation—what was it?

“I know this isn’t the mood, but… I’m a bit jealous. I wish I were in her place. Bad thoughts, right?”

Days ago, she’d never admit such feelings.

Ho-cheol had helped her face them, yet now he stood with his back to her, focused elsewhere.

It stung—a lot.

“I came because I was worried about my few friends, and here I am, jealous of a crying girl. I’m crazy.”

“What, heavy chest, tickling heart?”

“Yeah. How’d you know—gasp!”

Ye-jin realized So-hee shared her feelings.

“You too?”

So-hee gave a wry smile.

“I helped by knowing this.”

“Wow, you’re something.”

Ye-jin, genuinely impressed, drifted into thought.

In her mind, she asked Ho-cheol.

You told me to find what I want and do it.

That it’s okay.

Right now, I’ve found a bigger goal.

It’s embarrassing to say aloud, but I can tell you in my head.

Her imagined Ho-cheol nodded approvingly.

Of course, Professor!

She looked at him again, her eyes gleaming with new resolve.