Chapter 12: Cleanup (2)
As the break neared its end, the doors of the education hall burst open with a crash, and a dozen heavily armed security guards stormed in, followed by several professors.
Ho-cheol, watching, clicked his tongue in disbelief.
“Nice timing.”
He’d expected them to be useless, but seeing it confirmed was frustrating.
Of course, the security team and professors had little choice.
The black mist enveloped not just the hall’s interior but its exterior too, leaving them helpless outside.
Touching the mist without knowing its nature or properties was suicidal.
If it only harmed the one who triggered it, fine—but if it hurt the students inside, it’d be a disaster.
Moreover, the academy’s real forces were busy handling incidents around the campus.
The security and professors entered tensely, but after a few steps, they relaxed and froze.
The scene inside was calm.
The intruders, presumably villains, were tied up and shoved in a corner.
The students were gathered in small groups, chatting or resting casually.
It was incomprehensible, but they were professionals.
The security team quickly regained composure and moved to their tasks.
The lead guard signaled, splitting them into three teams: one for the students, one for the villains, and one for Ho-cheol.
The first two teams’ goals were simple—protection and restraint.
Ho-cheol’s team?
Neither.
“Tch.”
Seeing the guards rushing toward him, Ho-cheol clicked his tongue again.
Unlike the other teams, who lowered their weapons, these guards kept fingers near triggers, eyeing him warily.
It was expected, so he wasn’t surprised or upset.
“Should’ve gotten ahead on the lesson plan.”
It looked like class wouldn’t resume.
* * *
The next morning, Ho-cheol returned to his dorm, exhausted, and sat at his desk.
The students were sent home after brief questions and damage assessments, under protective measures.
Not him.
His professor title spared him handcuffs, but the investigation, lasting until dawn, was relentless.
He was a key witness—and a suspect.
Villains had invaded the academy during his once-a-week lecture, in an unusual venue no less.
The timing was so perfect, it’d be strange not to suspect him.
Naturally, the academy investigated possible collusion between Ho-cheol and the villains.
Under such near-certain suspicion, he had few ways to prove his innocence.
Thankfully, the president’s call and vouching soon ended the criminal treatment.
His fake identity played a big role.
The president’s backing and the perception that a C-grade villain couldn’t be that dangerous dulled their scrutiny.
But the Hero Association, knowing his true identity, was in an uproar.
Some claimed he’d mobilized a hidden organization to attack the academy.
Calls to arrest and imprison him were gaining traction.
So-hee burned through her evening trait used to barely prove his innocence—or rather, delay his punishment.
Even then, it took over ten hours of grilling by association investigators.
Nearly twenty hours of interrogation.
But that wasn’t why he was tired.
He pulled a stack of papers from his bag and spread them out.
Fact-checking took priority over food or sleep.
The documents detailed the second-year augmentation department’s profiles.
His hand stopped flipping pages.
At the top left of the page was Choi Da-yeon’s photo.
Unlike other students, who got about a page, her profile spanned three.
That’s how important she was, with that much information.
The second page bore a top-secret stamp, accessible only to her professor—not even department heads could view it easily.
His eyes scanned slowly, stopping at her family ties.
Unlike typical profiles, hers detailed them extensively.
“Huh.”
A dumbfounded sigh escaped.
He’d known since her post-lecture talk that she was an S-grade hero’s child.
But which one?
He hadn’t cared.
Networking?
Bribes?
Knowing the hero’s name might create pointless bias, so ignorance was better.
Until the villains mentioned it yesterday.
When an S-grade hero’s name came from their mouths, Ho-cheol had only managed to stay outwardly calm.
“It’s real.”
He muttered awkwardly.
Her father’s name, Choi Hak-do, was clearly listed, his occupation unmistakably a hero.
No other S-grade hero named Choi Hak-do existed—it had to be the Sword Demon he knew.
“Of all people… teaching the Sword Demon’s kid.”
At his near-sigh, So-hee, lying on the floor fiddling with her phone, looked up.
“Huh? You two knew each other?”
She usually respected his personal space, but the incident’s fallout meant constant monitoring, except during sleep.
“Kinda. When he was A-grade.”
Her brow furrowed at his curt reply.
Wiggling like a worm, she crawled to his chair, propped her chin on the armrest, and looked up.
“Weird. Association records had no connection to the Sword Demon.”
For this mission, she’d accessed top-secret files, restricted to director-level or above, covering Ho-cheol’s villain days, relationships, and traits.
This was news to her.
Ho-cheol shrugged casually.
“No surprise. We didn’t meet as heroes and villains. He probably entered a gate off the record. I did too, keeping it from my crew. Not something either of us bragged about, so no rumors.”
If the president or association had known, they wouldn’t have paired him with that guy’s kid.
Back then, he was clueless, but looking back, he’d made plenty of enemies.
Should’ve toned it down. No regrets, but a bit of wistfulness lingered.
“Come on, don’t stop there. Spill! I’m dying to know.”
So-hee poked his side, urging him.
“Not a big deal.”
Propping his chin, he recalled that time.
Ho-cheol was expanding his organization, building his name.
Choi Hak-do had just made A-grade.
They crossed paths in a gate, chasing the same goal.
“I was after something personal. Gate material—no legal way to get it, and the black market had nothing, so I went myself. Turns out, the Sword Demon was after it too.”
A rare material, found after scouring dozens of gates.
Money couldn’t buy it, and he was in a rush, so he went himself.
It was the right call.
Sending lackeys would’ve meant losing the item—and their bodies.
Choi Hak-do’s low public approval and media ratings kept him A-grade, but his skills were already S-grade caliber.
Now that he thought about it, Da-yeon’s personality was just like her father’s.
Of all things to inherit… At least she got his diligence too.
So-hee’s eyes widened.
“So you fought?”
“Fought a bit much. A light conflict? A minor scuffle? That’s about right.”
One item, two seekers.
Neither could yield, so the answer was simple.
Fight, and the winner takes all.
“Who won?”
So-hee felt it was a dumb question as she asked.
Ho-cheol thought the same but answered readily.
“Me, obviously.”
If he’d lost, he wouldn’t be here.
“What was so important that an S-grade hero and a villain fought to the death for it?”
“Rainbow cosmos.”
So-hee blinked.
She’d expected a top-tier monster byproduct or dungeon core.
It was anticlimactic—beyond comprehension.
She spoke up belatedly.
“You can buy those online for ten thousand won.”
Popular for their rainbow-shimmering petals, they were a common ornamental plant.
“They’re greenhouse-grown now. Back then, they were impossible to find.”
“So you two must hate each other?”
“Dunno.”
Ho-cheol couldn’t say for sure.
He’d won and got what he wanted.
The memory was so faint, it barely felt like a grudge or bond.
He only recalled it when Choi Hak-do’s name came up yesterday.
But how Choi Hak-do viewed him was another matter.
“If he held a grudge, wouldn’t he have come for me with a blade when I was arrested?”
In Ho-cheol’s memory, Choi Hak-do was intensely selfish.
The least hero-like hero.
Why else would he be called Sword Demon instead of a noble title?
Sword Demon—because he swung his sword like a ghost possessed him.
Sword Demon—because he seemed ready to die swinging it.
A man obsessed with honing his skill, indifferent to everything else.
He became a hero for his flexible hours and good pay.
He hadn’t visited or shown interest after Ho-cheol’s arrest, so he’d likely forgotten him entirely.
“Guess we won’t meet.”
He probably didn’t care about his kid’s education either.
Would he even notice his daughter’s professor was the villain he fought a decade ago?
Better to be cautious and avoid him.
So-hee put her hands on her hips, grumbling.
“You should’ve told me this stuff earlier.”
“I forgot. Telling you now’s enough.”
He turned to the bottom of the documents, where Da-yeon’s trait details were listed.
During yesterday’s villain takedown, she’d used only physical strength. Why hadn’t she used her trait?
Reading her trait, he understood why those around her said she had no archery talent and urged her to quit.
Not unique or exceptional—a bizarre trait.
Despite being augmentation, its name was poorly defined, the description sloppy, and the improvement suggestions vague.
But Ho-cheol grasped its essence.
He tapped the paper.
“Tricky trait.”
Versatile enough for any situation, yet useless in all of them.
It explained her unexpectedly low combat grades.
The academy’s education and evaluation system couldn’t measure her level accurately.
“Very tricky.”
As he moved to check other notable students’ traits.
Ding-dong—
The doorbell rang.
The only person who’d visit was So-hee, his monitor, but she was already here, camped out under the guise of surveillance.
Who could it be?
Muttering, he opened the door.
A scrawny young man stood outside.
Clearly a stranger.
Not in a uniform, so likely not a student, but too young to be a professor.
His tired expression and dull eyes made him look like a corpse.
Meeting Ho-cheol’s gaze, he bowed.
“Hello. I’m from the augmentation department’s admin office. Sorry, I know it’s rude to visit your dorm like this. I meant to come after your lecture yesterday, but with everything that happened…”
Yesterday was eventful.
Ho-cheol nodded understandingly, accepting the greeting.
“You’ve got a tough job. So, what’s up?”
The timid-looking staffer handed him a thin booklet.
“A guide for new professors.”
“A guide, huh.”
As Ho-cheol took it, the staffer explained.
“New professors often struggle with the academy’s inner workings, so our department—er, augmentation department—issues these guides to help.”
Ho-cheol flipped through it quickly.
Campus map, internal contact list, academic calendar, professor website instructions—useful info he’d wondered about but didn’t know where to find.
Closing it, he nodded, satisfied.
“Thought something like this would be handy. Your staff’s pretty capable.”
“Haha, you’re too kind. Sorry for the delay.”
The staffer smiled, relieved.
He’d meant to deliver it after the first week’s lecture, but Ho-cheol cut it short, and yesterday’s chaos left no chance.
Waiting until week three would’ve been a problem, so he came prepared to be chewed out.
Young professors were often prickly, snapping at intrusions on personal time, but Ho-cheol didn’t complain.
Such a mild temperament.
The staffer swallowed.
“Um, professor. I heard you went through a lot yesterday.”
“Not a fun topic.”
“Sorry, but this will definitely help you.”
Though no one was around, he glanced about and leaned in.
“Professor, are you…”
Cautious, secretive, he whispered.
“…interested in the labor union?”