Chapter 3: The President
The door exploded, sending shards flying.
Despite the sudden blast, Ho-cheol remained unfazed.
The moment he realized the president’s identity, he’d anticipated something like this.
He lightly tapped his thigh with his index finger.
His senses sharpened.
In compressed time, even the explosion seemed endlessly slow.
The shards were the only issue; the blast itself wasn’t particularly powerful.
He wouldn’t get a scratch even without using his abilities.
Still, letting them hit him bare would bruise his pride.
His clothes would be ruined too.
Ho-cheol loosely clenched his fist.
But before he could swing.
So-hee spread her arms and stepped in front of him.
Ho-cheol was surprised.
No, beyond surprised—he was dumbfounded.
Being protected by someone else was a rare occurrence in his life, something he could count on one hand.
Moreover, there was an overwhelming gap in ability between him and So-hee.
She knew it too.
Her body had moved instinctively, without calculating gain or loss—a quintessentially heroic act.
It felt awkward, but not bad.
He relaxed his clenched fist. Instead, he reached out, grabbed the collar of So-hee’s shirt, and yanked her back.
“Gah—!”
She let out a silly yelp, biting her tongue, but it was better than getting holes in her body.
As he pulled her back, he lightly stomped the ground.
Boom—!
The shockwave from the stomp deflected the flying shards.
Ho-cheol turned around.
So-hee, having fallen on her backside, was wincing while rubbing her tailbone.
He extended a hand.
“I take back calling you a rookie. You’re a real hero.”
So-hee wore a blank expression for a moment, then her eyes widened.
She let out a wry laugh and grabbed his hand.
“You apologized for calling me a rookie, but you never took it back.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“Anyway, thanks.”
From inside, the old man’s voice rang out again.
“Stop flirting and come in already.”
“Blowing up the door and then saying that?”
Ho-cheol retorted brusquely and stepped through the doorway.
The spacious interior, more like a study than an office, had the president standing with his hands behind his back, facing away from the window.
He’d aged a bit, but it was the face Ho-cheol remembered.
“Familiar face, huh.”
He looked like an ordinary old man you’d see anywhere, except for the black eyepatch over his left eye, which stood out starkly.
The president, staring at Ho-cheol, clicked his tongue.
“Well, damn. It really is you, Jeong Ho-cheol.”
“What, you think there’s a fake Jeong Ho-cheol?”
“Looks like prison treated you well. You’re still alive, after all.”
“And you—got your coffin ready? Picked out a gravesite yet?”
Their exchange was sharp for a greeting.
The president, hands still behind his back, adjusted his eyepatch.
“Ten years is a long time. To think I can stay this calm with the guy who took my left eye standing in front of me. Back then, I’d have charged you on sight.”
“Sorry—not really. That incident was your karma. I almost died because of you, you know? One eye was a cheap price.”
The president’s ability was simple.
He could turn any inanimate object he touched into a bomb.
The power scaled with the size of the object.
“So who told you to wreck my business? And you weren’t even a hero back then.”
“You make it sound like it was legit work.”
When he’d turned an entire island into a bomb and detonated it, even Ho-cheol thought he was done for.
Surviving that was pure luck.
“So why’d you blow up the door?”
“A little greeting… and some venting.”
“Figures.”
“If venting was really your only goal,” So-hee interjected, having been quietly
listening.
“I’ll file a formal complaint on behalf of the association.”
“Don’t get too worked up. A lifetime of hero rankings turned into a disability rating because of this guy. Can’t I at least vent this much?”
“No, you can’t.”
“Tch.”
The president scratched at his eyepatch.
“A narrow-minded hero this time. Complaining won’t do much anyway.”
“What?”
He pointed to the door fragments on the floor.
“It’s just styrofoam dressed up to look nice. The explosion was weak—about as strong as birthday cake sparklers. Knowing this guy was coming, I swapped it out to mess with him.”
So-hee stepped on a fragment.
With just a bit of pressure, it crumpled easily.
Ho-cheol, standing nearby, scratched the back of his head.
“Didn’t notice at all.”
How could he tell if the door was wood or styrofoam?
The president, pleased with their reactions, shrugged.
“Told you, it’s for venting. This level’s just right. Still, I got a good show, so I’m satisfied.”
So-hee sighed.
A formal complaint wouldn’t stick with this.
“Still, please refrain in the future.”
“Alright, alright.”
“If you’ve got a disability rating on top of your hero rank, doesn’t that mean more benefits? Buy me a meal or something,” Ho-cheol quipped.
Ignoring his jab, the president gestured to a nearby sofa.
“Standing around’s awkward. Sit.”
Ho-cheol, frowning, tapped the sofa with his toe.
“This isn’t rigged to explode, is it?”
“It’s an expensive sofa, so don’t scuff it.”
“Then it’s safe.”
Ho-cheol plopped down.
So-hee sat opposite, and the president took the head seat.
Crossing his legs and leaning back comfortably, Ho-cheol prompted another tongue-click from the president.
“Even a cup of coffee’s too good for you. Just listen.”
“I wouldn’t drink your coffee anyway. Who knows if you turned the sugar into a bomb?”
Ignoring Ho-cheol’s comment, the president turned to So-hee.
“I get him, but you’re a guest. Want anything to drink?”
So-hee smiled awkwardly and declined.
“I’m fine.”
The mood was already off, and Ho-cheol’s comment made her uneasy.
“Feels like I’m getting a bad rep here. Fine, let’s get to business.”
The president handed over a sheet of paper.
“You’ll be in charge of the entire second-year augmentation class. Forty-three students total. The course is [Advanced Applications of Augmentation Traits I], 210 minutes, 4 credits.”
Still scanning the document, he let out a small sound of admiration.
“An entire grade? That’s bold.”
“Not happy?”
“No way.”
C-grade or B-grade, as long as they graduated with a hero rank, it meant a sentence reduction.
He’d expected to handle maybe a dozen students, so this was a welcome surprise.
Halfway through the document, a question struck him, and he frowned.
“But second-years, not freshmen? I thought once you take a class, you’re with them until graduation. If I’m stepping in for second-years, what about their original professor?”
The president sighed, his face showing a weariness he hadn’t displayed before.
“No matter how much professors are former heroes, humans always mess up at critical moments.”
“Sounds like someone screwed up big time.”
Ho-cheol nodded in understanding.
Unauthorized access to records, leaking exam questions, grade tampering—dozens of infractions came to mind.
Must’ve been one of those.
He set the document on the table.
“Done reading.”
“Oh, and for mandatory courses by department, you get to pick your lecture times first. If there’s a conflict, we’ll adjust, but choose for now.”
“Lecture times, huh. Gotta think about this.”
Ho-cheol propped his elbow on the armrest and rested his chin, rubbing his cheek with his index finger as he pondered.
It wasn’t a decision to make lightly.
Unlike other courses, this would be practical, hands-on.
Trait training depended heavily on physical condition, so it made sense to hold classes when students were at their peak.
When were academy students at their physical and mental best?
“When’s the first class?”
“Regular lecture hours are 9 a.m. to 1 p.m., then 1 p.m. to 5 p.m.”
The president looked at Ho-cheol with anticipation.
It didn’t matter what time he picked.
The president planned to use “scheduling conflicts” as an excuse to stick him with Monday at 9 a.m.
A 210-minute class starting Monday at 9 a.m.—the thought alone was dreadful.
It was the best revenge the president could muster.
Having finished deliberating, Ho-cheol opened his eyes and said.
“Monday’s first slot. So, 9 a.m.”
So-hee and the president stared at him, dumbfounded, but Ho-cheol didn’t get their reactions.
9 a.m. seemed pretty relaxed, didn’t it?
He was a high school dropout.
* * *
After Ho-cheol and So-hee left, the president slowly rose.
Or tried to.
Halfway up, he staggered heavily.
His legs gave out, and he slumped back onto the sofa, leaning against the backrest.
“Hah.”
It was a hollow laugh.
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket.
It was a report from the association, an evaluation of Ho-cheol, sent a few days ago.
[Has established a personal moral code and strives to follow it. Due to long imprisonment and trait-suppressing drugs, unlikely to exhibit former prowess. Deemed controllable by academy personnel.]
Written by none other than the Director of the Legal Department, who’d met Ho-cheol in person.
The president, incredulous, folded the report and tapped his forehead with it.
“Director, that kid’s got no eye for talent either.”
Parts of the evaluation held water.
The old Ho-cheol wouldn’t have cared if the agent beside him got caught in an explosion.
No—he’d have used her as a shield without hesitation.
But he’d clearly helped the agent shielding him.
For the president, who knew the old Ho-cheol, that alone was a shock.
The report was right about his apparent reform, or at least his effort toward it.
But saying his skills had diminished?
That wasn’t just nonsense—it was absurd.
“Well, the Director was only a lower A-grade, so it’s no surprise he couldn’t sense it. At that level, you’d seem calmer, not weaker.”
It wasn’t just a difference in power—an overwhelming gap in class.
One that the weak couldn’t even perceive.
An ant sees an elephant’s leg and thinks it’s just a big pillar, not part of a creature.
You’d need to be at least a dog or cat to recognize an elephant’s existence.
The mightiest hero, [The Sun].
Humanity’s hope, the hero of heroes, [Smiley].
Ho-cheol had already reached their level—a singularity beyond the binary of hero or villain.
“How does someone get stronger after ten years?
No matter how you look at it, a monster like that’s better off locked away.”
He tucked the report back into his pocket.
“Was this the right choice?”
* * *
Three days had passed since Ho-cheol’s release.
And nothing happened.
With ten days until the semester started, it’d be odd if anything did.
His routine was monotonous.
Wake up, wash, eat, wander the academy.
Sunset, return to the dorm, eat, sleep.
He wanted to memorize the academy’s layout before the semester, but it wasn’t easy.
The academy was the size of a small city, so even a casual tour took days.
A car would’ve helped, but the association, fearing he’d flee, strictly controlled vehicles and other transport for personal use, forcing him to walk.
Using So-hee as a driver wasn’t an option either—it was too early, and she wasn’t even at work.
“I’d be faster running. Why’s a car a flight risk?”
Bicycles were allowed, but motorcycles weren’t?
Ridiculous.
He didn’t even have a license for motorized vehicles.
Those desk-jockeys must’ve had their brains fried by air conditioning.
Grumbling, he kept walking.
After about an hour, hunger stirred in his core, and he looked for a place to eat breakfast.
Even at this quiet dawn, eating on the street felt too pathetic.
Then, a dull sound came from afar.
A rhythmic thud, twice in succession.
At first, he wasn’t sure, but he soon realized what it was.
“Archery?”
Heading toward the sound, he found an archery range, as expected.
Hidden by dense foliage, the range had a mystical air.
“An archery range. They’ve got everything here.”
Normally, he’d have thought, Neat, and moved on, but this time was different.
No good place to eat, but this was a nice backdrop. Might as well watch some archery too.
Who shoots arrows at this hour? Someone’s awfully diligent.
Humming, Ho-cheol stepped into the archery range.
* * *
At the range, Ho-cheol frowned, scanning the area.
Five targets at different positions, but only one shooting spot—an odd setup, as if designed for a single person, And at that spot stood a woman.
Her white hair, tied neatly to avoid the quiver, reached her lower back.
Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cool weather.
But what caught Ho-cheol’s eye most was her outfit.
A white-based academy uniform with a faint blue tint.
Honestly, he was surprised.
The semester hadn’t started, yet she was already in uniform?
She must be bursting with academy pride.
Or maybe it was just her style.
As long as she shot well, who cared about her fashion?
He sat on a nearby bench, opened his bag, and pulled out bread and milk for breakfast.
The student, noticing him, didn’t glance his way and drew her bowstring.
She released the taut string.
Twang—!
The arrow hit the target’s dead center.
All four shots at 200 meters, not a single miss.
Ho-cheol’s body twitched. Regaining his composure, he unwrapped his bread.
Twang—!
“Hmm.”
He nodded, chewing his bread.
Twang—!
“Ho.”
Each time she shot, Ho-cheol let out sounds like a hype man.
Twang—!
“Hm.”
Despite his interruptions, she steadily emptied her quiver.
Twang—!
“Whoa.”
She reached for her last arrow. As she nocked it.
“Ah.”
Ho-cheol let out a small sigh.
It was blatant enough to make even her, who’d been ignoring him, pause.
He knew it was rude.
He’d tried to hold back, but he couldn’t.
Sipping through his straw, he muttered,
“That’s not how you shoot a bow.”