Chapter 19: Bow
A brief silence lingered.
“Maybe…”
Da-yeon spoke slowly, her voice trembling slightly with nerves.
“Do you dislike custom-made specialty items?”
Some heroes despised support items or specialized weapons.
They argued that relying on tools contradicted a hero’s essence—heroes made by equipment, not skill.
There was merit to it.
Support items or dedicated weapons created such a gap compared to raw ability that there’d once been talks of regulating their performance.
This bow didn’t drastically boost her skill, but as a custom piece, it counted as a specialized tool.
If Ho-cheol held such beliefs, using this bow in front of him would be difficult—practically impossible.
“No.”
Unlike Da-yeon’s tension, Ho-cheol shrugged casually.
“Using good tools is part of skill.”
A craftsman doesn’t blame their tools.
But not blaming them didn’t mean avoiding better ones.
It was obvious.
Why would a skilled craftsman, capable with off-the-shelf tools, not use a proper one to create masterpieces?
To Ho-cheol, heroes seeking specialized support items was natural.
Sure, heroes who were useless without their gear were trash.
But at a certain level, what did it matter?
The weapons he’d used as a villain had absurd performance.
The key wasn’t the ceiling but the floor’s stability.
His unexpected response left Da-yeon more confused.
“Then why?”
If he didn’t hate support items, why call it trash?
He pointed at the bow.
“That bow’s performance is trash. Thought you picked it from a dumpster.”
From requesting it through the butler to receiving it, she’d been sleepless with anticipation.
Until this moment of showing off, her heart had raced.
Now it felt like it stopped.
Da-yeon, unusually flustered, looked between Ho-cheol and the bow, clutching it as she shouted.
“It’s not trash!”
Has she ever raised her voice at him like this?
She was that anxious.
Ho-cheol must be mistaken.
He’d only glanced at it, touched it briefly—how could he know?
Before the session, she’d tested it, and it felt far better and more comfortable than her old bow.
Ho-cheol crossed his arms, waving a hand.
“Fine. If you say it’s not from a dumpster, it’s not.”
What could he do if the owner denied it?
But even if it wasn’t from a dumpster, it belonged there.
Seeing his indifference, Da-yeon asked nervously?
“Is it really unusable?”
He stared at her briefly, arms crossed.
It wasn’t unusable.
For a lifelong B-grade or barely A-grade, it might be better.
It compensated for lacking power or support functions.
But she’d said she aimed for S-grade.
If an S-grade hero went all-out, this bow’s lifespan would be… five seconds?
No, four.
It was less durable than mass-produced bows focused on sturdiness.
“Hm. The design’s nice. Don’t throw it out—hang it on a wall. A reasonable purchase for decor.”
A bow is only good for decoration.
His strained attempt to find a positive made the critique more depressing.
“The answer’s already set.”
“That’s my answer. Yours could differ.”
Though hers would be wrong.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, if you insist…”
He held out his palm.
She blinked, then cautiously placed her hand over his.
His larger hand felt warm, surprisingly soft.
He looked startled, a rare reaction.
“Not your hand—the bow.”
“Oh. Uh. Eh.”
She yanked her hand back, cheeks burning, and placed the bow in his palm.
He examined it closely, then nodded firmly.
“No good. Definitely unusable.”
“…Why?”
He tugged the string with his fingers.
“Made for manipulation or emission traits. Augmentation’s different. Its max tension, flexibility, and durability are terrible.”
It might feel fine now with her current skill, thanks to its corrections.
But at upper A-grade, its fatal flaws would show.
Da-yeon hung her head glumly.
“But with more practice!”
Lifting her head, she saw his expression and couldn’t finish.
His bored, old-fashioned look wasn’t one she’d seen before, but it promised no happy ending.
He shrugged.
“Whatever.”
Truthfully, he was half-annoyed by her stubbornness.
He was tutoring her at her request, but only if she followed his guidance without complaint.
If she clung to nonsense… Well, what could he do?
This relationship would end.
Ho-cheol wasn’t patient enough to coddle someone prioritizing their opinion over talent.
He’d help readily if asked but cut ties just as fast if unneeded.
Her hand slumped.
“…Fine. I won’t use it.”
“Good choice. Getting used to a mismatched weapon’s a hassle. Got another bow besides this?”
“Just in case, I brought my old one.”
“Smart.”
As she pulled her old bow from her bag, a question struck her.
“Any brands you recommend?”
“Brands? Not sure. Sturdy’s best.”
His brand knowledge was a decade old, possibly outdated.
Most were black-market, villain-specialized anyway.
“Oh.”
He snapped his fingers, recalling something.
He didn’t know brands or models.
But…
“Know Dread Archer, an S-grade hero from over ten years ago?”
“Of course.”
Who wouldn’t?
One of the few S-grade archers, the only augmentation-type.
Retired, he’d vanished from the media after laundering his identity.
“His bow would suit you.”
Their height, wingspan, and build were similar.
With practice, she’d use it comfortably.
“Where’s that bow now?”
“Lost during a gate blockade mission, I heard.”
“Shame.”
“Yeah.”
Gripping her old bow, she took position.
The familiar grip made her smile wryly.
Back to this.
“Today, we’re doing distance drills.”
“…Distance drills?”
“Yeah, far, near, medium. Last time it was basic form. Now it’s about range.”
The range had multiple targets, making distance adjustments easy.
“Far, near, medium targets—you won’t handle them the same.”
“Right.”
“Plus, when the target doesn’t know you, knows you but not your position, or knows both. That’s nine scenarios.”
She perked up, excited.
This was her biggest struggle.
Targets’ distance and awareness demanded different approaches.
She’d practiced varying distances without much success, nearly giving up. To learn this now?
“Let’s start with the basics.”
“Yes.”
She drew her old bow firmly.
* * *
Ho-cheol checked the time.
“Let’s wrap up.”
Less than two hours later, Da-yeon, utterly drained, collapsed without a reply.
Exhausted to her limit, she lacked the energy to speak.
When had she worn out?
Eyes closed, she panted, sweat drenching her like rain.
It wasn’t just shooting.
Form and stance shifted with each scenario.
It demanded intense focus on the target, sensitivity to subtle changes, and rapid reactions.
Mentally and physically, it was leagues harder than the last session.
Looking at her sprawled out, Ho-cheol stroked his chin.
“I need more stamina training.”
“I’m already working hard…”
Her faint protest went ignored.
“Work harder. Good job.”
“Thanks…”
Her drive and competitiveness were unmatched.
She rarely forgot or fumbled what he taught, making her a rewarding student.
As he stood to clean up, a young voice came from behind.
“Working hard on weekends? A model educator.”
Turning, he saw the union chair at the range’s entrance, arms crossed, leaning against a tree, glaring.
At her feet, her teddy bear mimicked her pose, its side sloppily stitched from Ho-cheol’s damage.
She smirked.
“Private tutoring on weekends? Beyond just answering questions. Can’t let this slide.”
Her fingers peeked from crossed arms, wiggling.
“Raise a proper issue, and it’s at least a suspension, right?”
Her smugness made him frown.
Was there such a rule? He didn’t know the encyclopedia-thick academy regulations.
But as a union chair, she wouldn’t lie about it.
A warning or pay cut?
Fine.
Suspension?
Trouble.
His contract meant anything beyond that sent him back to prison.
It irked him, but he wasn’t worried.
Her tone, expression, and attitude showed she wasn’t serious about pursuing it.
The tutoring was known to the association and president.
Any discipline would fizzle out.
“Sure.”
Tch—
She clicked her tongue.
A slight scare, and his reaction was dull.
Da-yeon stood, staring at the chair.
“…Who’s this kid?”
Pointing, she asked.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
She rose, standing beside the chair.
“She’s super cute, though.”
Da-yeon reached out, grabbing the chair’s cheeks, gently rubbing them.
The chair scowled, but with her cheeks kneaded, she had no dignity.
Ho-cheol was stunned. He was new, barely a month in, but Da-yeon, here over a year, didn’t know?
Feeling his gaze, the chair explained defensively.
“Departments barely interact. Students rarely do, so professor info? Forget it.”
Her union chair role had little public presence.
Most students didn’t even know the union existed.
“Oh, a professor?”
Flustered, Da-yeon stepped back, but Ho-cheol waved it off.
“She is. It’s fine.”
“Then I’m grateful.”
“Why’re you approving it!”
Whatever hierarchy she imagined, Da-yeon resumed kneading the chair’s cheeks at Ho-cheol’s
permission.
“Enough pointless talk. Why’re you here?”
“You said to buy you a meal.”
“Did I?”
It was a throwaway comment, half-forgotten.
“Hassle.”
She stepped from the tree, tilting her head.
“As a group leader, assessing members’ skills and winning loyalty is my duty. It’s work, so come along. But first…”
Crouching, she pointed at Da-yeon, now earnestly rubbing her cheeks.
“Get her off me!”
* * *
At the cafeteria.
Union chair Seong Se-ah found the situation deeply awkward.
Ho-cheol’s skill was confirmed in the last attack-test.
Now, she wanted to gauge his character.
As a teacher, character mattered more than skill or trait power.
The last attack was unprecedented, but dining with new union members was routine.
The menu?
The new member’s choice.
Korean, Japanese, Western, sometimes Chinese—anything went.
And his choice?
Se-ah sighed, propping her chin.
“First time in the student cafeteria.”
Student cafeteria?
Was it frugal?
Hard to nod yes.
Ho-cheol picked the priciest menu, piling on every topping with greed.
Normally, a restaurant or menu choice revealed a person’s core, but Ho-cheol was unreadable.
Could adding 1,000-won toppings be called vile greed?
Returning with a stack of meal vouchers, he sat across from her.
“Looks like you’ve got a lot to say. Keeping it bottled up won’t help digestion.”
Spreading the vouchers on the table, he prodded.
“Let’s clear the air. I’m curious about something too.”
“Curious?”
Her eyes gleamed.
Ho-cheol was an enigma.
This could yield info.
He pulled his chair back, balancing precariously, leaning forward to meet her eyes.
“The bastard selling academy info.”
He leaned closer.
“Who the hell is it?”