Chapter 15: Organization
Ho-cheol, with a flicker of hope, unfolded the paper again.
But it only confirmed the uncomfortable truth, time and again.
“This is insane.”
He tossed the paper onto the table.
“This image—it’s definitely the original.”
It was too precise to be a mere imitation based on rumors.
The shape of the petals, their angle, the slight distortion—only someone who knew the original could craft this.
Was karma something you couldn’t just cut off?
The cigarette he’d quit long ago felt so tempting, and it wasn’t just the grim situation.
Matching Ho-cheol’s slumped mood, the president sighed and asked?
“Any lieutenants you missed? Someone with the power and influence to rebuild the organization?”
Ho-cheol crossed his arms, pondering.
It was years ago.
Faces of villains from his organization flashed through his mind—Vulture, Greed, Breaker, Assassin.
Other notorious lieutenants.
Most were upper A-grade, some rivaling S-grade.
Their temperaments were strikingly similar—violent, rebellious, uncontrollable.
He’d tamed those beasts, using them as the organization’s limbs, because he overwhelmed
them.
But they weren’t the type to gather and lead others.
Closing his eyes to recall, he opened them again.
“I’m sure I locked up any lieutenant who’d pull this. I worked hard to set up that takedown. No chance of an escapee, right?”
“Not that I know of.”
Ho-cheol picked up the paper again.
“Then it’s not them. They wouldn’t do this anyway.”
Back then, loyalty was a faint concept among his top lieutenants.
Some had ambition, but they’d start their own group, not mimic his.
“Unless someone confesses, how do we know? Could be a lowlife from back then, no rank, or an external collaborator.”
Who rebuilt the organization?
Not a pressing question.
Pondering wouldn’t yield answers.
The bigger issue was elsewhere.
“I can’t even guess their motive.”
Why?
Why use the organization’s symbol?
Ho-cheol crossed his legs, resting a hand on his thigh, tapping slowly.
“Just for fame?”
No way.
Few knew of the organization now, hero or villain.
If fame was the goal, claiming succession to groups Ho-cheol had crushed—like Dawn Society, Supernatural Liberation, or Skyover—would be more profitable.
Those groups dominated eras before fading into history.
Many organizations mimicked their names for clout.
That would’ve been enough—better, even.
Conversely, if they wanted to quietly build power, using this symbol was the worst move.
Rumors of the organization’s return would have catastrophic ripple effects.
The state hadn’t publicized Ho-cheol’s arrest or the organization’s destruction, opting for record erasure, because the association, government, and heroes feared its ideology and goals.
The moment rumors spread, nations would respond with full force.
It wasn’t logical or rational.
Calling them delusional fanatics would be nice, but their past actions showed a disciplined, experienced villain group.
There had to be a motive beyond gain or loss, one Ho-cheol couldn’t fathom.
The president, watching him, offered his take.
“It might just be a hunch, but their traces felt… simpler, more emotional.”
“Emotional? If they’re continuing the organization for emotional reasons…”
His tapping rhythm quickened.
“…Admiration, obsession, arrogance, succession, revenge. Whatever it is, it’s not pleasant.”
Whether one of those was the answer or not, one thing was clear.
Ho-cheol recrossed his legs, his displeasure raw.
“They’re completely unhinged.”
Sadly, this wasn’t something they could solve mulling on a sofa.
“Why suddenly reveal themselves so blatantly? That’s another question.”
“Oh, that’s simple.”
Ho-cheol raised a finger, stopping his tapping.
Not a mistake—deliberate.
The intent was clear.
“A declaration of intent and a challenge.”
The president’s face twisted oddly.
Ho-cheol understood his reaction.
Heroes, focused on reason and logic, could never grasp this.
“Succeed, and they’d loudly claim the organization kidnapped an S-grade hero’s kin from the academy. The social impact would be massive.”
Some villains would be inspired by the madness.
What followed, even Ho-cheol couldn’t predict.
“Even if they fail, they lose nothing. Just some hired goons. But revealing the symbol makes it a proper challenge, dropping hints based on the pursuer’s state.”
A hero with influence, knowledge of the organization, and a penchant for dramatics.
The president was the perfect pursuer.
“So… they anticipated the pursuer and left the symbol?”
“Overestimation, I hope. But that’s what I’d do.”
“That’s insane.”
They focused on untangling their thoughts.
After a brief silence, the president spoke.
“So, what’s your plan?”
“…I’m stuck at the academy. Unlike the union, this is beyond my reach. You and the heroes will have to handle it.”
“Nice words, but your face says otherwise.”
Ho-cheol touched his face.
He hadn’t noticed.
His expression was twisted with irritation and anger like never before.
Sighing faintly, he pressed the creases from his brow.
“Yeah, I’m pissed. First time in a while.”
Even in his villain days, he hadn’t been this stressed.
“Honestly, the worst part…”
Before he could finish.
Knock-knock-knock—Click.
So-hee, waiting outside, knocked and opened the door without waiting.
“The association says the watch’s signal is cut out! Heavy noise. Is something wrong?”
Her entrance cut off the conversation.
Ho-cheol dropped his serious expression, shrugging casually.
“Dunno. Faulty watch? It’s been acting up.”
He curled his finger, tapping the watch.
Meanwhile, the president slipped the signal jammer back into his pocket.
“Really? Still on sensitive stuff? Should I step out?”
“…No, we’re done. Just reminiscing now.”
So-hee nodded and entered, covering the phone’s mouthpiece, continuing her call.
“Yeah, just signal issues. Hmph. They give us cheap junk and complain. Makes me wanna smash it. No, I did say smash, but the watch, not— Don’t twist my words. Sitting in a cushy, air-conditioned office, tossing out gear, and if it’s crap, how do you think field agents feel? Right? Some of us are half-living with a 200-year-sentence villain.”
Ignoring So-hee’s bickering with the association, Ho-cheol tilted his neck, loosening up.
“Tell them to release the education hall footage already. It’s been days since I told the kids to write reports using it.”
“Hm, homework. Got it. I’ll talk to security.”
They shifted topics naturally.
But the surface change didn’t alter the core issue.
“My dorm’s too cramped. Been a few weeks, and it feels like a coffin. No bigger rooms?”
“Bigger means more cleaning.”
“Not a fan of cleaning, but it’s my space, so I’d handle it.”
Ho-cheol felt this was his mess to clean up.
Not some grand mission or fate—just the simple duty of someone who made the mess.
But stuck at the academy, his options were limited.
“Fair. You’re in the union now, so they’ll probably bring up rooms. I’ll pull some strings too.”
“Right.”
It sounded like casual chatter, but not to them.
Reading the hidden meaning wasn’t hard.
After some meaningless small talk, Ho-cheol stood.
“Done here. Let’s go.”
“Yeees.”
His demeanor was as relaxed as ever, but So-hee, leaning against the wall, gasped as he turned, as if she’d seen something alarming.
His expression was chillingly menacing.
* * *
A week later, lecture time came again.
Despite the organization’s return, classes went on.
In times like these, shouldn’t they focus more on training the next generation?
Despite his first-week declaration of practical classes with no indoor gatherings, they were in a cramped classroom.
He had no choice.
After the attack, all education halls were under security system review and upgrades, unusable.
Ho-cheol stood by the lectern, elbow on it, scanning the room.
Just the third week, but the students’ vibe had shifted.
From snot-nosed kids to at least street-savvy brats.
“First, announcements.”
He raised two fingers, waving them.
“We didn’t pick a class leader last time. It’s decided. Class leader, stand.”
Ye-jin rose slowly.
Under everyone’s gaze, she blushed, smiling awkwardly.
The sudden announcement widened eyes, but more was coming.
“She’s this week’s leader. Next week…”
Before he finished, Da-yeon shot up.
“They’ll alternate weekly. It’s a dual-leader system, but they’ll both do the job properly. Notices, assignments, and miscellaneous tasks are on them. We’ll vote later to see who’s better suited. Until then, work hard.”
Class leader?
More like a slave.
“Next announcement. The report due today is pushed to next week. The hall footage was locked as evidence, delaying student access. Those who’ve written, refine it.”
Most students sighed in relief.
The report was tough, nearly triple the usual length.
An extra week was a godsend.
“That wraps announcements.”
He scanned the room silently.
“Last class, you faced villains and saw your baseline. This time, we’ll see your ceiling—and beyond.”
Someone swallowed nervously.
No one could guess what was coming.
But Ho-cheol’s serious tone and suffocating pressure signaled this wouldn’t be easy.
He casually brushed the lectern with his fingertips.
“This might be tougher than last week, depending on your disposition. Overcoming hardship makes a hero, right?”
Tension peaked.
Unlike his usual blunt remarks, his drawn-out pause was new.
They held their breath, eyes on his mouth.
The first lecture’s orientation was suffocating.
The second was a life-or-death villain fight.
A third lecture tougher than that? How brutal would it be?
“Today’s topic…”
Brushing off dust, he said curtly,
“Self-introductions.”
Someone coughed violently, as if choking.