Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 23: Troublemaker

Ho-cheol pulled out a notebook.

The MT was one thing, but the lecture had to go on.

Despite his mantra of practical training, reality wasn’t so kind.

The education hall, closed after the villain attack, was still unusable due to ongoing security system checks and upgrades.

He’d planned this lecture to start with practical exercises, then address key or lacking areas, but no choice now.

“Alright, let’s get to the lecture.”

At his words, the students, buzzing about the MT, fell silent and focused on him.

Opening the notebook’s first page on the lectern, he scanned the room and asked?

“First, a question. What’s adaptability?”

Da-yeon sat up straight and answered.

“The ability to immediately respond and handle unexpected variables or sudden changes.”

“Right. So, is being good at adaptability a compliment?”

She couldn’t reply instantly.

Socially, it was praise. But why ask the obvious?

There was clearly more to it. She couldn’t say no, though—she only had guesses, not certainty.

Knowing it was wrong, she nodded.

“Yes.”

As expected, Ho-cheol shook his head.

“Sadly, in this field, being good at adaptability isn’t just praise.”

It was a decade-old perspective from his active days, but likely still true.

“Adaptability means insufficient preparation and foresight. The cause? Sloppiness or complacency. Even if you handle it, it’s just your skill and experience scraping by. A proper hero must handle all variables correctly.”

This wasn’t just his opinion.

Disaster response manuals were encyclopedia-thick.

Past heroes had to master them fully, but modern demands for quick hero supply cut the requirements, leading to a drop in quality.

He tapped the lectern with his fingertips.

“The academy supports experience through internships and sidekick programs, but that’s not enough. You end up floundering in real situations, earning faint praise for adaptability.”

He shook his head.

Best to throw freshmen into real combat for experience.

Should he suggest it to the old man?

“I’d love to drill you on evacuation, rescue, villain suppression, and first aid manuals, but that’s not this class’s focus. We’ll cover trait responses only. Even that’s tight on time.”

With rising villain incidents, trait response was a must, not a choice, for heroes.

“In trait combat, information advantage trumps compatibility or raw power. Famous heroes with known traits or styles are always at a disadvantage.”

He grabbed chalk and stood at the chalkboard.

“Real experience erases the need for adaptability, and perfect handling of all situations earns you the title of top-tier hero.”

He wrote—numbers, names, and a letter.

“But theory and practice-like training can drastically cut that time. First, theory.”

From one name to ten, ten to twenty, twenty to thirty.

Numbers climbed past three digits.

Most names had an “A” suffix, some “S.”

Sharp-eyed students recognized some names.

Stopping at 176, he turned.

“Handling all traits is simple.”

So easy, so basic, it barely counted as teaching—more like information transfer.

“Memorize every existing villain trait pattern and their countermeasures.”

The response was lukewarm, tinged with doubt.

How could they memorize countless villains’ traits?

He met their skeptical gazes, setting the chalk down.

“Sure, there are many villains. But the patterns you need to learn fit on this board. Why? Simple.”

He smirked.

“Because every villain but me is an idiot.”

An arrogant claim, but he stated it with certainty.

“Villains don’t grasp their traits’ uniqueness. They treat them as mere weapons, mimicking higher-grade villains’ patterns instead of innovating.”

This wasn’t just villains—heroes had the same issue, but he didn’t mention it.

“So, fully understanding and countering high-grade villain traits lets you handle even new ones easily. No adaptability needed.”

Interest sparked in the students’ eyes, mixed with doubt.

The board listed S-grade villains among others, some unfamiliar due to state-level information control.

Could a C-grade like Ho-cheol know so many traits in detail?

Before they could dwell, he dropped a bombshell.

“By the way, some of today’s content falls under Level 2 hero security clearance.”

His calm tone delayed their realization.

What does that mean?

“I’m taking a risk with sanctions, unapproved. But I’m confident it’ll yield results, so I don’t care much.”

Sanctions?

A few harsh words, at most.

He’d provided this info to the association a decade ago—Level 2 then, likely useless now.

Unaware, the students stared, some visibly moved.

“Don’t leak this. Now, case one: augmentation-type, passive physical enhancement. Some develop exceptional muscles, using protruding bones as weapons…”

He started before they could process, and they scrambled for pens and notebooks.

* * *

“Case 53: body hardening. Simple, with balanced offense and defense. Hard as steel, it has a strong attack and absorbs impact. Rather than one heavy hit, relentless attacks to its limit are more effective. Joint insides are softer—target those. Impact absorption and nullification differ. Among them…”

The lecture continued without breaks.

Trait types, forms, variations, weaknesses, and precautions.

Not just explanations—Ho-cheol’s experience, knowledge, and insights from countless battles, a kind of lineage.

It spilled past lecture time into lunch, but no one complained.

They had no energy to track time.

After a while.

“That’s 176 cases.”

He set the chalk down.

The board was packed, barely a blank spot.

Sighs of relief echoed as tension eased.

Turning, he closed his notebook, unfazed.

“This is just a general analysis. Individual responses vary by trait.”

Leaning on the lectern, he spoke leisurely.

“Wisdom squeezed out equals experience.”

The students shivered with vague unease.

The closing remark felt ominous.

Their fears became reality.

“So, an assignment. For these 176 cases, devise combat simulations using your traits.”

Gasp—

Someone choked.

It was beyond gasping—shock stopped their breathing.

176 traits, each with multiple sub-variations, meant an absurd workload.

Ignoring their horror, he continued.

“I don’t demand winning outcomes. Compatibility, power, environment, and trait direction make some victories tough or impossible. But as hero aspirants, think about what’s best, how to respond even if you can’t win. No right answers, but aim for results you’re satisfied with.”

He paused, mentally counting days.

“Deadline… hm.”

He knew the assignment’s volume was massive, despite its difficulty.

Too tight a deadline would lower quality.

Rolling up his sleeves, he buttoned them.

After brief thought, he gave a generous deadline.

“Three weeks.”

Generous to him, not the students.

Die from the workload?

Want to kill him first?

Thinks we only take his class?

“That’s it for today.”

Adjusting his clothes, he grabbed his bag under the students’ gazes and left.

In the heavy atmosphere, a student beside Da-yeon opened their mouth.

“…Wow.”

A sound of awe, lament, or despair.

The MT and sea were long forgotten—no brain space for that.

They glanced at their notes, filled relentlessly for over three hours without breaks, spanning over ten pages.

Yet it was only half the lecture.

The other half they had to complete themselves.

“We’re screwed.”

One student’s murmur spoke for all.

* * *

Back at his dorm, Ho-cheol skipped dinner to plan the MT.

To avoid wasting a single minute, optimal routes and schedules were crucial.

Lying on the floor, legs on the bed, So-hee fiddled with her phone and said.

“Oh, where’s the MT going? You voted today, right?”

She sat up, propping her chin with both hands.

“Hm. No preferences, but I hope there’s good photo spots.”

He turned his chair to face her.

“…Why you?”

What was this out-of-context comment?

Seeing his expression, she asked, as if he should know.

“Obviously, I’m going too?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

True, she’d tag along as his monitor and protector.

A deserted island for three days?

No big deal.

He stared at her, hands cupped under her chin.

“What?”

He sighed heavily, clicking his tongue.

Even in this fragile, disguised peace, only a few true heroes fought.

For a bureaucrat like her, combat was a distant tale.

But…

“Why sigh in my face like that…”

At least a year.

So-hee would follow him as his monitor.

But the incidents swirling around him, and those to come, were too harsh for a mere bureaucrat.

Even with his best protection, limits were clear.

In a group, the weakest got hurt or died.

That was So-hee, no question.

“Got any hidden powers or traits?”

“What’s with the manga nonsense? If I had those, I’d have used them to climb the ranks.”

“Figured.”

Their friendly rapport had earned this much freedom and authority.

If she got hurt or died, replaced by another agent?

No guarantee they’d be as amicable, and rebuilding this rapport would be a hassle.

After a pause, he asked,

“Ever want to get stronger?”

“Huh?”

Her eyes blinked at the unexpected question.

Strength was foreign to her.

A desk job, non-combat trait—she’d joined the association with just basic fitness.

“Why suddenly?”

“No guarantee last time won’t happen again. And…”

That was a flimsy excuse.

His real reason was simpler.

“Who wants to see a friend get hurt? I can’t always protect you like last time.”

“Huh.”

Recalling the attack, her face paled, then flushed red from cheeks to neck with frustration.

She shot up, clutching her neck.

Why so blunt?

Knowing there was no deeper meaning, she still burned with embarrassment.

Unable to meet his eyes, she looked down and asked.

“Can’t you just keep protecting me?”

“I’ll try, but life doesn’t always go as planned.”

“True, but…”

Stronger.

She muttered the word repeatedly.

“My trait’s not combat-oriented.”

“Strength’s relative. Being better than you are now counts.”

Her emission-anomaly trait seemed irrelevant to combat, but that was a stereotype.

Polished, it could be threatening.

Rubbing her flushed cheeks, she asked,

“How’d you help me get stronger?”

“The MT has trait enhancement sessions. I’ll slip you into the program.”

“Oh… well, good’s good. No reason to refuse.”

Would he make her do something weird?

Just in case, she asked cautiously,

“If it’s too hard, I can quit, right?”

“Obviously. You’re just tagging along.”

With his assurance, she nodded without hesitation.

“Alright, I’m in.”

“Cool. I’ll plan the program with you in it.”

“What’s the program?”

“Beach runs, hiking, some martial arts.”

He barely suppressed a laugh, turning away.

Forty-three was an odd number, but now he could add more “training” variety. So-hee’s future screams were clear, but what could he do?

No malice in his deception—the fault was hers.

He’d said she could quit, but in a group with collective responsibility, could she really be that shameless?

Ding-dong—

Mid-planning, the doorbell rang, and he stood.

“What’s that?”

“Delivery. Ordered coffee.”

So-hee grabbed her phone from the charger, stomping.

“You used my card again! Aagh! So expensive! What’s this cake slice!”

“Had to meet the delivery minimum.”

“I don’t eat cheesecake!”

“I know. That’s why I got it.”

“When’d you even order!”

Ignoring her protests, he opened the door.

A delivery rider in a helmet stood there, face hidden by tinted visor, reflecting only Ho-cheol.

The rider flinched but silently handed over a drink bag.

Turning to leave, the rider kept walking as Ho-cheol leaned against the frame and said.

“Stop right there.”

The rider ignored him, continuing. Ho-cheol hesitated, then sighed heavily.

A mere exhale, but denser and more intense than words.

Unable to withstand it, the rider stopped, slowly removing the helmet unprompted.

Bright blonde hair spilled out, swaying softly.

Turning, Ye-jin faced him.

Ho-cheol sighed again.

Her hair, tightly tied to avoid notice, had sweaty strands plastered to her forehead.

Sweat beads glistened on her nose.

In the awkward silence, she forced a smile and greeted me.

“Uh. Haha. Hello.”

No response.

He just stared, in the same posture.

He’d seen her café job, but delivery too?

How much of a slave is she?

“You.”

Job aside, he had to ask.

If he remembered right.

“Got a license?”

Of course not.

Ye-jin swallowed, eyes darting, brain racing for a defense.

“Uh, well… I mean…”

He shook his head.

“Enough. Come in.”

“Huh?”

She made a dumb sound.

“You need to talk.”

He’d been waiting for this.

Perfect.