Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 11: Cleanup

Ten minutes into the battle.

Crack—!

The last villain crumpled under a student’s punch to the jaw.

Students waiting nearby swarmed in, binding the villain’s hands and feet.

In the battle’s first half, they’d used every means to overwhelm the villains.

After taking down nearly ten, they realized something.

This was a priceless experience, one money couldn’t buy, too valuable to end with one-sided beatdowns.

Naturally, when a one-on-one matchup formed, they held back unless it was critical, waiting until the villain was defeated.

The student stared blankly at the villain they’d downed, then slumped to the ground.

“Haa.”

They clenched their fists tightly.

Villain or not, it was a person.

The sensation of using their fist and trait on a human for the first time sent chills down their spine just recalling it.

Their hands trembled, cold sweat poured endlessly.

Even gripping their wrist with the other hand didn’t stop the shaking.

Now they understood why seniors after their first real fight were half-crazed or even dropped out.

Yet, an indescribable thrill and fulfillment surged from deep within, flooding their entire body.

In their first year, defeating virtual hologram villains or combat dummies never felt like this.

Now they understood why heroes couldn’t quit.

Meanwhile, at a distance, Ho-cheol confirmed the last villain was down and stood from his makeshift chair of stacked triplets.

The fallen were villains; the standing, students.

Though, honestly, the students weren’t exactly unscathed.

But none were seriously injured or paralyzed by fear.

Ho-cheol’s orchestrated, safe yet challenging real-combat lesson was undeniably a success.

As he stood, all eyes turned to him.

A student cautiously raised their hand and asked,

“Is… is it over?”

“All villains are incapacitated.”

At Ho-cheol’s declaration, the students relaxed, sitting or sprawling out.

Their first real fight.

The actual combat was brief, and the danger was minimal compared to real-world battles.

But the weight of their first combat and the fear of death made it feel incomparably intense.

Ho-cheol walked toward them.

“Gather up.”

The scattered students dragged their heavy bodies to cluster around him.

As they lined up, he added briefly.

“Sit or lie down if you want.”

As if waiting for permission, they collapsed back down.

At least he’s not heartless.

Even this small consideration felt like a blessing now.

“First, any injuries? Not just muscle aches or bruises—fractures, cuts, bleeding, or dizziness.”

The students glanced around, exchanging looks, and confirmed none.

“Good. Now…”

He pulled a notebook from his pocket.

“I graded everyone’s combat performance.”

The half-dazed students doubted their ears.

“Not just the fighting—reaction to sudden events, positioning, initial response, clear speed, teamwork, and post-subdual actions. Everything’s factored in.”

The students were even more stunned.

Ho-cheol hadn’t just watched—he’d fought villains too.

Sure, he’d subdued them faster than any student, but did he have time for this?

Could anyone physically observe and grade over forty students’ fights simultaneously?

Before they could voice their doubts, Ho-cheol opened his notebook.

“Not tied to your grades, but it’s an objective measure of your current level. Use it to improve. I’ll call scores starting from number one. Number 1: 3 points. Number 2: 4 points. Number 3: 5 points. Number 4: 7 points. Number 5: 2 points…”

Most scored below 5.

Only one in five hit 6 or above.

Everyone focused on their scores.

Some despaired at near-zero marks; others gave small smiles for surpassing 5.

At least there were no zeros.

Ho-cheol, calling scores in a steady rhythm, paused for the first time.

“Number 37: 8 points.”

The first 8—a standout high score.

Ye-jin, sprawled out, bolted upright.

I’m number one, right?

She glanced sideways at Da-yeon, leaning against the wall, and flashed a subtle smile.

Da-yeon ignored the look and smile.

But her body moved on its own.

Biting her lip, her hand gripping the bow showed bulging veins.

The fight had been chaotic, ill-suited for her archery.

She hadn’t fired a single arrow, relying solely on close combat to subdue villains.

Compared to Ye-jin, who used knuckles as her main weapon, she was at a clear disadvantage.

Even if her score was lower, it was unavoidable.

She hadn’t lost.

But a fleeting, ominous thought crossed her mind.

They’re not deciding the class leader with this, are they?

Her turn came.

“Number 40: 8 points.”

Her grip on the bow relaxed.

A sigh of relief escaped.

Not a perfect score, but she hadn’t lost her top spot.

Tying despite the disadvantage felt like a win.

Ye-jin, smug moments ago, whipped her head around and clicked her tongue.

“Number 43: 4 points.”

After calling all the scores, Ho-cheol closed the notebook.

He watched the students chatter about their scores, then pressed his brow with his fingers.

Suppressing harsh words, he spoke.

“What a disaster. No perfect scores, not even a 10. What did you learn in the first year?”

As if on cue, everyone shut up. A brief silence fell, and Ye-jin slowly raised her hand.

Ho-cheol nodded for her to speak.

“Uh, isn’t the max score 10?”

“It’s out of 100. You thought it was 10?”

Their doubts turned to certainty.

Ho-cheol clicked his tongue—part disbelief, part pity.

His cold gaze made students lower their heads.

They’d thought they did well, but the harsh results sank the mood further.

“In today’s fight, you just didn’t want to get hurt or die. You used violence against charging villains. State-sanctioned thugs, nothing more, nothing less. Far from a hero’s essence.”

Even high scorers only earned points for staying calm and handling post-subdual smoothly—not for heroic actions.

“By midterms, aim for at least double digits. Still, it was your first real fight.”

Honestly, he’d expected at least one to crack completely, but this was a pleasant surprise.

Ho-cheol nodded, dropping his cold demeanor and smiling lightly.

“Good work.”

The short but weighty praise lifted the gloom.

“You too, sir.”

As the mood settled, someone frantically pointed behind Ho-cheol.

“Behind! Behind you!”

Ho-cheol turned slowly in panic.

Unnoticed, Second of the triplets had crawled to the wall’s mist.

He plunged his hand into it.

“Faster recovery than expected. I thought it was a rat crawling around.”

Second glared, biting his lip. Blood seeped from his tattered eyepatch, adding to his desperation.

“Bastard… Next time, I’ll kill you. Your family, friends, lover—I’ll spare no one! I’ll tear them apart, make them crawl, worse than you can imagine!”

“Hm.”

Ho-cheol just stared calmly.

“Scary threat. But useless.”

Crossing his arms, he waved his hand lightly.

“They’re already dead. Everyone who valued me, or I valued.”

At Ho-cheol’s taunt, Second spewed vile curses and disappeared into the mist.

The black mist swallowed him and vanished without a trace.

“Lost one of the main culprits.”

Ho-cheol turned back to the students.

“Careless mistake on my part.”

Mistake?

Not intentional?

His tone and demeanor didn’t seem regretful or mistaken.

But no student was bold enough to call it out.

As if waiting, Ho-cheol continued.

“Today’s real fight—from the villain attack to response, subdual, and escape—you experienced and saw it all. Big or small, you must’ve learned something.”

It felt like an uneasy closing remark.

Their unease became reality with his next words.

“Analyze today’s events from the perspectives of heroes, civilians, and villains, and write a report on improvements for your goals. Submit it to the next class.”

The students nodded glumly.

Homework?

Feedback was essential for growth, but no student liked assignments.

“The hall’s hologram system recorded everything. If needed, request access at the admin office.

Now…”

He checked his watch.

“Ten-minute break, then we resume class.”

A different murmur spread.

They’d just fought for their lives, and now homework?

Shouldn’t class end here?

Sensing their questioning looks, Ho-cheol frowned.

“Class time’s not over. Any questions? Or complaints?”

The murmurs stopped instantly.

Everyone, including Ye-jin and Da-yeon, quietly lowered their eyes.

Students who’d thought he wasn’t heartless reconsidered.

Ho-cheol was a demon worse than the villains.

But, sadly for him, class didn’t resume.

Within five minutes, the academy security team burst through the door.

* * *

A pitch-black room.

Black mist formed in empty air.

The second crawled out, collapsing on the floor.

“Arghhh!”

Covered in wounds, he rolled, then struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall and pounding it.

“Damn it! That bastard!”

Pure luck let him escape.

Ho-cheol’s attack missed a vital spot by a hair, letting him wake quickly.

But he couldn’t save his unconscious brothers.

Grinding his teeth, he swore bloody revenge.

First, he had to flee. This city was too close to the academy.

Even with a good disguise, if the academy searched thoroughly, he’d be caught.

Dragging his battered body to erase evidence.

Creak.

The door opened suddenly.

No one should know or come here.

Puzzled, Second looked up and froze.

Beyond the door stood someone who absolutely shouldn’t be here.

Shocked, he screamed.

“Why—why are you here!”

Intel said he’d left the country; they’d confirmed him boarding a plane.

He should be overseas!

The president entered, smiling lightly, clasping his hands.

“Didn’t you chase me out? At my age, planes are a hassle. Inflight meals don’t suit me.”

He grinned mischievously.

“So I turned back mid-flight. It’s my plane, so I’m pretty free before crossing borders. S-grade hero perks—something you villains will never know.”

The second muttered “why” like a broken record. The president shook his head.

“You think that cunning bastard let you go willingly?”

He tapped his neck with his index finger.

“There’s a tracker on you. That’s why he let you escape—to raid your base.”

The second frantically checked his collar.

A barely visible tracker was there.

He tore it off and smashed it.

“Of course, neither he nor I expected you’d use a teleportation trait.”

The president reached for Second’s eyepatch.

“I turned your eyepatch into a bomb. Don’t touch it—it’ll explode. About a 50cm radius, gone without a trace.”

A 50cm radius?

His head would be obliterated.

Looking around, the president walked to a chair.

“A-grade villains don’t confess extra crimes in legal interrogations. Human rights nonsense makes it hard to use certain traits.”

Groaning, he sat, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped.

“Now, say something. Whether it’s your last words or information is up to you.”