Chapter 14: Class Leader
A brief silence followed.
Then Ho-cheol belatedly grasped the meaning of her words.
“Class leader. Right, we were supposed to pick one last time but didn’t.”
He covered his mouth with the back of his hand.
What a hassle.
His half-lidded gaze seemed to say as much.
The Sword Demon had no interest in titles or honors, so why was she like this?
Still, brushing her off outright felt a bit harsh.
Just tell her to do it?
As he mulled it over, he glanced back.
He spotted Da-yeon’s friends—and Ye-jin—now leaning halfway out from the staircase, not just their heads.
So they were the ones staring at the union talk.
He raised his hand, beckoning with his fingers.
The friends tilted their heads, instinctively knowing he wasn’t calling them.
Ye-jin, with an odd expression, descended and stood beside Da-yeon.
Gratitude for being recognized, guilt for slacking during work hours, and curiosity about the class leader role—her face flickered with mixed emotions.
Ho-cheol, eyeing her apron, asked, ?
“You work here?”
“…Yes.”
“Alright. If you’re curious about the class leader, you should’ve come too. Don’t just send your friend.”
Ye-jin waved her hands, flustered.
“No! She did that on her own! We’re not even friends!”
“So you’re not interested in being class leader?”
Lowering her hands, she glanced at him and answered softly.
“That’s not it…”
“Right.”
Ho-cheol crossed his arms, looking between them.
“Honestly, neither of you strikes me as class leader material. Like kindling and firewood have different roles, you’re not the type to lead or care for others.”
His blunt assessment made even the confident Da-yeon shrink alongside Ye-jin.
He raised a finger over his crossed arms.
“Both are unqualified. The only difference is whether you have a few buddies or not.”
No knack for winning hearts with words, commanding presence with charisma, or leading with inclusivity.
“It’s such a small difference that whoever buys burgers for the next class could win it.”
A vote might favor Da-yeon, with her small circle, but a class leader should benefit the students, no?
Closing his eyes briefly, he made his decision and opened them again.
“You’ll take turns. Biweekly class leader system.”
“Eh?”
Their dumbfounded sounds overlapped.
What academy had two class leaders alternating?
They didn’t need the title for some resume fluff.
It was a means to an end.
But biweekly? That halved their opportunities—clearly a loss.
Ho-cheol, resolute, asked firmly.
“Do you know all your classmates’ names?”
Both clamped their mouths shut.
They didn’t.
No way they would.
Their silence was not enough, and Ho-cheol laughed, incredulous.
“I skipped roll calls and just counted heads, but surely other classes checked names. Shows how little you care about your class.”
His gaze shifted to the students still on the stairs.
“You lot? Does anyone know all your classmates’ names?”
Only the pigtail girl raised her hand timidly.
“I kinda know them all.”
“She’d make a better class leader.”
“Haha.”
She laughed at the praise but shut up under Da-yeon and Ye-jin’s stares.
Ho-cheol looked back at them.
“Can’t just hand you the role of volunteering. You lack the skills, so prove at least some ability—communication, charisma, inclusivity, anything.”
Finally understanding, they nodded seriously, feeling a twinge of shame.
They’d chased the role for selfish reasons, but Ho-cheol was taking it seriously.
His real thoughts?
Far from it.
What was a class leader?
Unlike other professors with assistants, it was the only legal labor he could exploit.
One versus two was a huge difference.
He had tons of lecture prep to do.
Perfect.
“Take turns, and at midterms in a month, we’ll vote. Who’s better suited to lead this class?”
They nodded vigorously.
“This is your assignment, just you two. Oh, and whoever becomes class leader…”
Since he’d sparked a competition, might as well dangle a carrot.
He grinned.
“That proposal you each made? I can’t promise, but I’ll consider it more favorably.”
“I’ll consider it favorably”—empty words dressed up nicely.
Yet their eyes widened in shock.
They sensed it was a hollow promise but too tempting to dismiss.
Mulling over his words, they hit a question. He said “you each,” not “you.”
So what did the other propose?
No way… same as mine?
Realizing this, they shot sharp glares at each other.
The class leader role was negotiable, but that?
No way.
“Oh.”
Ho-cheol added belatedly.
“Obviously, if both of you are still unqualified by then, no vote, nothing. I’ll pick her.”
“Uh, that’s too much pressure.”
“Extra points.”
“…I’ll serve loyally.”
“Good enough.”
He waved both hands back and forth.
“Don’t block the café entrance. Go.”
* * *
The next evening, Ho-cheol visited the president’s office on sudden summons.
Not that sudden, really—it was surprising it took four days.
He’d expected the president’s trip to last a day, two at most, but it dragged to nearly three.
Entering without knocking, he froze.
Frowning, he covered his nose with his finger.
“Eating seonji soup or something?”
The stench of blood was so strong, even Ho-cheol, used to it, recoiled.
How many did he kill?
If he didn’t kill, that was scarier.
The president, hands behind his back, silently staring out the window, lowered the blinds and turned to Ho-cheol.
He looked ten years older than four days ago.
After a long silence, he gestured to the sofa.
“Sit and talk.”
Ho-cheol sat comfortably, the president opposite.
“A lot’s changed in four days. First…”
He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.
“You joined the union.”
“Yeah. Lying in bed yesterday, I got pissed that the association takes my whole paycheck. You didn’t call me to chew me out, right?”
“No. Good move. You sniffed something out, didn’t you? You think the union’s tied to the attack.”
He’s not clueless.
Ho-cheol had probed lightly, but the president clearly knew the academy’s issues.
“…If you knew and didn’t act, that’s a problem.”
“I suspect. But it’s just a hunch, no proof. Besides…”
Sighing, he rubbed his face.
“As former heroes, I want to believe in them. But with things like this…”
“No. Keep believing.”
Ho-cheol cut in, propping his leg on the cracked table, wiggling his toes.
“I’ll handle the suspicion. Let’s stick to what we’re good at.”
“Making you do the dirty work. The union’s tricky for me to touch. They’re cozy with the media too. A PR war would hurt us.”
“Figures. To challenge an S-grade, they’d need that. So, you didn’t call me just for union talk, right?”
“No way.”
The president pulled a fist-sized device from his pocket and pressed a button, emitting faint noise.
“What’s that?”
“Signal jammer. Your watch has a listening function, right? This is too sensitive for the association.”
At his request, So-hee waited outside.
The association would notice the jamming and call her in about three minutes.
They had to finish before then.
The president got to the point.
“Over the last four days, I interrogated the villain you let slip and tracked their backers. Not ordinary. They covered their tracks so well, it was like watching you in your villain days.”
“I cleaned up well. That’s the important part?”
“No. Where the trail ended, this evidence remained. Left blatantly, proudly, like they wanted us to know.”
Ho-cheol smirked mockingly.
“Self-obsessed psychos are everywhere.”
He’d thought they’d be tricky, but this felt too easy.
Those types were 99% delusional idiots.
No need to join the union—the president could crush them.
“Here’s the evidence.”
The president handed over a folded paper.
“No need to show me, just form a team and lock them—”
Unfolding it, Ho-cheol stopped mid-sentence.
His mocking smile vanished.
He flipped it to check the back, then looked at the president.
His grave expression held no jest.
Leaning back, he spoke.
“Asking if it’s real is dumb. I know. Asking makes me look like an idiot. Still…”
He laughed hollowly.
“Is this real?”
“It is.”
The president nodded, understanding.
He’d double-checked multiple times to accept it himself.
If he felt that way, how much worse for Ho-cheol?
Staring blankly at the paper, Ho-cheol heard him say.
“Karma, perhaps.”
Ho-cheol folded the paper. This was definitely too big for the association to know.
“Spare me the grand words. It’s just…”
Pausing, he laughed emptily.
“Trash I thought I’d cleared out, crawling from under the bed.”
A darkness unseen, unheard, untouchable—feared by heroes, non-heroes, villains, and non-villains alike.
No one knew its true nature.
Those who did were swallowed by it.
It had no proper name.
Only a distorted chrysanthemum, left where they passed, served as the organization’s symbol.
That alone was enough to be a symbol of terror.
Leaning back, Ho-cheol muttered softly.
“This is insane.”
“Not just a copycat?”
“With so many sane villain groups, who’d mimic this?”
Once, he’d been part of that terror, his hair now mussed from raking it.
The paper, caught between his index and middle fingers, shook.
A chrysanthemum peeked from the folded sheet.
“Why’s this showing up?”
The organization he’d built and destroyed.
It stood before him again.