Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 71: Practical Training

In the Dean’s office, Ho-cheol sprawled across a sofa, head and feet propped on the armrests, fidgeting restlessly.

Each squirm left a footprint on the expensive upholstery, prompting a sigh from the Dean, who watched with disapproval.

“Could you sit properly? That’s an expensive sofa.”

Ho-cheol ignored him, flipping onto his side in what seemed like a silent protest.

The Dean, guessing the reason for his mood, raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright, I’m sorry. But we only heard the Swordmaster was coming after he was already at the expo. What could we do?”

Hearing the apology, Ho-cheol finally sat up, irritably tapping the armrest.

“Still, you could’ve detained him or at least texted me! Do you know how shocked I was?”

He’d been blindsided by the Swordmaster’s confrontation.

A heads-up would’ve helped him prepare.

The Dean, smacking his lips, avoided eye contact.

“Well, they said he wasn’t coming, but he changed his mind last minute. Who could’ve predicted that?”

“Tch. Good thing I’ve been living upright here, or who knows what would’ve happened.”

The outcome—Da-yeon’s forgiveness and a burden lifted—was the fruit of Ho-cheol’s efforts and a stroke of luck.

Had the Swordmaster been a better parent, Ho-cheol might’ve ended up with an arrow or two in his back.

“So, your issue with him is fully resolved?”

“Nah, it’s still messy.”

The Swordmaster likely hadn’t expected Da-yeon’s forgiveness and left satisfied, but Ho-cheol worried he’d come raging back if he found out.

Still, having been forgiven, Ho-cheol wasn’t about to take it lying down.

Leaning back, he rested his head on the armrest.

“You didn’t call me just to marvel that I survived the Swordmaster, right?”

“No, I’ve got three matters to discuss.”

“…Three? That’s a lot.”

Ho-cheol muttered, bewildered.

The Dean’s summons usually involved one or two topics at most.

Three, with a hint of more, gave him a headache.

He lifted his head.

“Start with the small stuff.”

“A complaint was filed about you.”

Ho-cheol frowned.

“That’s not small.”

It was a sore topic.

Early in the semester, he’d expected complaints demanding his ousting as a former villain.

But his lectures proved his skill, and joining the union shielded him from faculty pressure, silencing critics.

A complaint now, after midterms, seemed late—and odd, since such issues were usually filtered before reaching the Dean, let alone Ho-cheol.

The Dean’s explanation, however, flipped his expectations.

“It’s about guaranteeing your teaching rights.”

“Teaching rights?”

“The right to audit your class.”

Ho-cheol blinked, uncomprehending.

The Dean fiddled with his laptop and handed it over.

“You quietly allowed auditing, then banned it. Tsk, be consistent.”

Ho-cheol ignored the jab, reading a post on the Academy’s website titled “To the Dean.”

To the Dean,

Greetings. We are students eager to attend Professor Jeong Ho-cheol’s lectures. His course, [Advanced Applications of Enhancement Traits I], is highly popular among students. Professor Jeong’s teaching style and content are exceptional, offering both depth and enjoyment.

However, as a required major course, only students in the department can enroll, leaving others unable to register or even audit. We acknowledge and regret that auditing is improper. Yet, we believe the lack of such opportunities at Clington, a place of learning, is a key reason.

The course runs once a week, allowing room for more access. We request expanding course offerings or permitting auditing to let more students benefit from Professor Jeong’s lectures. We hope you’ll consider additional sections or auditing permissions to foster academic achievement.

We earnestly hope our request is reflected, allowing more students to experience this outstanding course. Thank you for your consideration.

Stunned, Ho-cheol muttered.

“Are they insane?”

Who were these overly polite lunatics?

The Dean, retrieving the laptop, teased.

“I heard your lectures were popular, but a demand for more sections? It’s been years.”

“Years ago, there were idiots like this?”

“Se-ah’s lectures were the same.”

“Yeah, she’s passionate.”

It was a tricky issue.

Teaching extra auditors was one thing, but opening new sections?

“No way you’re approving this, right?”

“Of course, it’d be for next semester. We can’t add classes mid-term. We’ll discuss it later.”

“Fine, it’s not urgent.”

Surprising but flattering, it didn’t affect him now.

He considered preparing a broader Trait course for next semester.

“Second matter.”

The Dean handed over a paper.

“More your concern than mine.”

“What’s this?”

“The DNA comparison results you requested.”

Ho-cheol’s casual demeanor vanished as he snatched the paper.

He’d suspected a student resembled a past acquaintance and submitted Ye-jin’s hair for comparison.

Reading the results, he sighed.

“Inconclusive?”

“The blood sample you provided was too contaminated.

Even with modern tech, a decades-old drop is tough.”

“Got it.”

He folded the paper, disappointed but not surprised.

“Not digging up a grave for this. I’ll let it go… Why that look? I said I’m not!”

The Dean’s disgusted stare prompted Ho-cheol’s indignant shout.

“Whatever.”

Taking the paper, the Dean sat across from him, his tone turning serious.

“You made a deal with the Association for escapee captures. True?”

“With the Legal Department, yeah. Academic duties come first, so don’t worry.”

“You’ll go out every weekend?”

Ho-cheol shrugged.

“Not always. I move when they give solid intel. Probably weekends, though. This weekend, they want two caught.”

“Hmm.”

The Dean, arms crossed, pondered before leaning forward slyly.

“Ever thought of taking a few students along?”

“What?”

Ho-cheol was incredulous.

“You can handle escapees easily. Let students gain real-world experience.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Not really. Not the whole class—just a few. With Han So-hee tagging along, what’s a couple more?”

Managing a whole class was impossible, but a few were feasible.

Faces of promising students flashed through his mind, but he shook his head.

“What’s your real motive?”

“You’ve stressed real-world experience, and proposed bold reforms. But they’re too radical without data.”

“So, prove it myself?”

“Exactly. It benefits your students too.”

Ho-cheol couldn’t argue.

But—

“Who’d be crazy enough to come?”

It wasn’t an official Academy program—no credits, no perks, just grueling weekends and danger.

“You never know,” the Dean said.

Sighing, Ho-cheol pulled out his phone and drafted a text.

Recruiting assistants for villain capture.

Harsh schedule, constant danger, no safety guarantee.

No credits or benefits.

Reply if interested.

After a pause, he added.

Only gain: some real-world experience.

Meals provided.

Anyone responding needed a psych eval.

He sent it to select students.

Unlike the expo, where Da-yeon and Ye-jin relayed class-wide invites, this was personal.

No replies came. Smirking, he waved his phone.

“See? My students aren’t that crazy.”

Ding, ding—

Before he finished, texts flooded in.

The Dean burst out laughing, stroking his mustache.

“Taught some fools to follow your madness?”

Ho-cheol scowled, checking the senders and messages, then covered his eyes.

“These… troublemakers…”

The Dean grinned.

“You’re quite popular.”

* * *

Saturday morning, at the Academy entrance, Ho-cheol lowered the passenger window.

“Hey.”

Da-yeon, perched on the curb, and So-hee, leaning against a lamppost, spotted him.

They hopped into the backseat, visibly excited.

“I’ll say it again: no credits, no pay, no benefits. You’re okay with that?”

“Absolutely!” Ye-jin chirped, while Da-yeon nodded silently.

Leaning forward, grabbing the passenger seat, Ye-jin asked?

“What’s for lunch? You won’t let us starve, right?”

“You came for the food?”

“Haha, no way.”

She dodged his gaze, laughing awkwardly.

Da-yeon met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Beef.”

“Good call! Beef for me too!”

Ho-cheol’s head throbbed.

“Buckle up, we’re going.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they replied to So-hee as the car sped off.