Chapter 2 : Academy
“I’m glad to meet you too, but.”
Ho-cheol, having received the business card, checked both sides and furrowed his brow.
[Villain Rehabilitation Counseling Center, Counselor Han So-hee]
“Nothing but the name’s right.”
So-hee, unfazed, shrugged and responded.
“It’s my official title for use within the academy. I actually have a counseling license too. By the way.”
She tilted her head, studying Ho-cheol’s face.
They said he’d been locked up for nearly a decade, practically a shut-in, but he didn’t look at it.
If anything, his haggard appearance stirred a strange feeling.
“I was a bit nervous hearing you’re a 200-year-sentence felon, but you look pretty decent?”
His appearance was quite different from the prisoner file she’d checked a few days ago.
The photo made him look terrifying.
“Maybe you’re the type who doesn’t photograph well?”
Ho-cheol, momentarily at a loss for words, narrowed his brow and clicked his tongue.
“This…”
To Ho-cheol, the image of an association agent was straightforward.
They were always cold, businesslike, and cynical.
Especially field agents like her—they leaned even harder into that mold.
But the woman before him didn’t fit any of those categories.
He’d secretly hoped for a capable agent, given she was assigned to monitor him alone.
S-grades were probably busy hunting monsters or villains, but he’d expected at least a borderline S-grade.
Crossing his arms, he voiced his honest thoughts.
“They stuck me with a total rookie for a watchdog. I’m kinda worried.”
“I hear that a lot. I even got it from the section chief this morning. But it stings, you know?”
“Sorry. It’s been years since I talked to anyone, so I’m out of practice.”
Ho-cheol waved his hand and apologized readily.
That was a bit harsh.
If he didn’t cause trouble, they’d be seeing each other for a while, so there was no need to pick a fight or make things awkward.
Tucking the business card into his pocket, Ho-cheol got into the car.
As if on cue, the car started moving.
He glanced at So-hee’s profile.
“By the way, a job like this can’t be popular. Why’d you take it?”
From their brief exchange, he’d already gauged her personality.
She wasn’t the type driven by a sense of duty or obsessed with career advancement.
“Demoted? Or forced into it?”
“It’s all because of my stellar skills. Well, maybe a bit of seniority too.”
“If they really picked you for your skills…”
Rubbing his chin, Ho-cheol muttered softly.
“Detection type? No, a psychological trait?”
It wasn’t a big secret, so So-hee nodded.
“Yep. No lie detector in the world’s more reliable than me, so don’t even think about lying.”
“Lie detector?”
“Lie detector, yeah.”
Ho-cheol clicked his tongue, amused. Kids these days shortened everything.
“But even with today’s tech, aren’t lie detectors pretty much the same? If I wanted, I could control my heart rate, pulse, or voice—there’s no way you’d catch me.”
Ho-cheol had no intention of trying, but even an A-grade could easily manipulate their voice, pulse, or heart rate at will.
In modern times, lie detectors were child’s play.
So-hee raised her index finger from the steering wheel, wagging it side to side as she explained confidently.
“That’s true for regular lie detectors. I don’t just look at external factors like that. I see the most fundamental part of a person—the color of their conscience.”
Ho-cheol’s eyebrows shot up, then relaxed.
“Color, huh.”
“There’s that saying, right? Someone’s got a black heart, or they’re pure as snow. Or a white lie. For me, that’s not just a figure of speech—I actually see it.”
“That’s something.”
Well, with all sorts of bizarre traits out there, it wasn’t strange that someone could see a person’s conscience as colors.
The traffic light changed, and the car stopped.
“And, here.”
So-hee pulled a stack of documents from her bag and handed them over.
“A copy of the contract you signed. You should keep it.”
“Thanks. Gotta be thorough with this stuff to put us both at ease. So, how’s the monitoring work?”
“It’s all in the documents, but I’ll explain. I’m monitoring you, yeah? But I won’t be glued to you 24/7. I’ll check in once in the morning before work, once after work, and we’ll have calls every six hours on rotation. That’s the deal.”
Ho-cheol, flipping through the documents, frowned.
“For all their talk of strict supervision, that’s pretty lax, isn’t it?”
“My trait works over calls too. If you decided to bolt, I couldn’t physically stop you anyway. It’s easier to respond by checking in remotely.”
That wasn’t the only reason, of course.
While So-hee’s trait was top-tier among psychological abilities, it had a daily limit of five uses.
Any more contact with Ho-cheol beyond that was pointless.
“And there’s that.”
Her gaze shifted to Ho-cheol’s wrist. He nodded, understanding.
“Yeah, fair enough.”
Ho-cheol’s management and control.
So-hee’s role leaned more toward management.
The real control came from the wristwatch he wore.
It only looked like a watch—its purpose and function were closer to handcuffs or shackles.
It tracked his location and recorded audio 24/7, and at regular intervals, a needle inside injected a trait-suppressing drug.
For Ho-cheol, getting near-lethal doses of the drug daily wasn’t exactly pleasant.
He spun his wrist around, grumbling.
“Still, making me wear this even when I sleep or shower? That’s too much.”
What if he got a rash?
“Better than a dozen agents tailing you, right?”
“True, but still. Good thing it’s got a nice design. If it was one of those ugly ankle monitors, I’d never wear it.”
Ho-cheol checked the documents again.
Nothing stood out or differed much from before.
After skimming the last page, he tossed the papers into the backseat.
Propping his elbow on the window, he rested his chin.
“Straight to the academy?”
“Yep.”
A brief silence followed.
“Whoa!”
Ho-cheol, staring blankly out the window, suddenly jolted upright.
Startled, So-hee gripped the wheel tightly and asked urgently.
“What? What’s wrong!”
He slowly turned to her and asked.
“Tofu?”
“Oh.”
So-hee, tension melting away, slumped back in her seat.
She felt foolish for bracing herself over nothing.
The agents listening through the wristwatch were probably feeling the same.
Calming her racing heart, she managed to reply.
“…Isn’t that asking a bit much from a public servant?”
“It’s just tofu, not a big deal. Well, back in the day, they’d give you some. Guess that’s not a thing anymore.”
Ho-cheol, a bit embarrassed, muttered while looking out the window again.
But his tone carried a hint of disappointment.
So-hee pointed to a black bag visible in the rearview mirror.
“Open that.”
Good thing I bought some just in case.
* * *
After devouring the tofu So-hee brought, Ho-cheol started dozing off and soon fell fast asleep.
“What the…”
So-hee, watching him, was dumbfounded. Given her job, she’d seen plenty of villains—not a ton, but enough.
And she could say with certainty that there was no precedent for a villain like Ho-cheol.
Was this really the guy whose real name was classified as top secret?
If this was all an act, he had the talent to make it big as an actor, not a villain.
On the surface, he played it cool and confident, but this was her first high-risk assignment.
She’d even written a will just in case, and now she felt like an idiot.
She glanced at Ho-cheol, sighed, and looked ahead again.
The weather was annoyingly clear.
* * *
How much time had passed?
“We’re here.”
At So-hee’s words, Ho-cheol opened his eyes.
Rubbing his face with both hands, he let out a big yawn.
“That was quick.”
“It’s been three hours.”
“Really? Didn’t wake up once, so you must be a good driver.”
With half-hearted praise, he looked out the window.
The first thing he saw was a massive gate. Beyond it stretched a vast campus, too grand to be described merely as “large.”
Under the dazzling sunlight, the academy’s buildings gleamed.
Each one, towering over ten stories, looked a bit worn but exuded an even greater sense of gravitas.
Clington Hero Academy.
Among the countless hero academies worldwide, it was one of the most prestigious.
The fact that 70% of S-grade heroes were academy graduates spoke to its reputation.
The car drove on for a while even after passing through the main gate.
The campus had mountains, lakes, and even a city built for real-world training, not to mention its own internal laws.
It was practically a small nation.
“So, I came all the way to the academy. They’re not gonna make me start teaching today, are they?”
“No way. The semester hasn’t even started. You’ve got a meeting with the academy president first.”
“The president, huh. Dumb question, but they’re a hero, right?”
So-hee nodded.
“Clington’s presidents have always been S-grade heroes. The current one retired 20 years ago, and their hero name was…”
“If they were active back then, I wouldn’t know them anyway.”
The car stopped in front of a pristine white building at the academy’s center.
The conical tower, windowless and roughly 30 stories tall, reminded him of ivory.
From a distance, it looked simply conical, but up close, it curved gracefully in a spiral.
As they entered the building, a staff member approached as if waiting.
After exchanging a few words with So-hee, the staff member led the way.
They followed to an elevator, which took them straight to the top floor.
When the doors opened, a hallway lined with red carpet stretched before them, ending at an elegant wooden door that commanded attention.
Unlike Ho-cheol and So-hee, who stepped out, the staff member stayed put, pointing down the hall.
“Straight ahead is the president’s office. I’ll take my leave.”
The staff member disappeared with the elevator.
Staring at the president’s office door, Ho-cheol muttered a brief impression.
“Isn’t the taste a bit too old-fashioned?”
Well, a hero who retired 20 years ago was probably around 70 now, given the average S-grade retirement age was around 50.
Old enough to have a coffin ready.
So-hee, looking anxious, asked?
“You’re not gonna say that in front of the president, right?”
“No way.”
They walked down the plush hallway to the door.
As So-hee reached to knock, a voice came from beyond before she could.
“Come in.”
It was a deep, powerful voice.
Ho-cheol’s eyes darted side to side.
It sounded familiar.
So-hee grabbed the doorknob. It turned, and the door slowly opened.
Creak...
As it did, Ho-cheol racked his brain to place the voice.
When the door was halfway open, he grimaced.
He remembered. And immediately regretted it.
The owner of that voice and he weren’t on good terms—not even close.
Of all the S-grades, it had to be that old man as president?
He muttered under his breath.
“This is bad.”
And at that moment—
Boom—!
The door exploded.