Chapter 4: Advice
The female student lowered her bow and turned around.
A few strands of bangs, not fully tucked back, swayed gently in the breeze.
Her pale skin, sharp features, and faintly blue-tinted eyes fixed on Ho-cheol.
“What do you mean by that?”
Her expressionless face and flat tone, devoid of even a hint of emotion, made her seem almost like a doll.
Ho-cheol stuffed the empty bread wrapper into his bag and replied.
“Looks like you googled how to shoot a bow and just mimicked it. From head to toe, it’s all a mess. If someone gets paid to teach you that, you should shoot their head first.”
With such bad form, if she kept practicing, it’d solidify in a few months, impossible to fix.
Even if she tried, it’d take years of struggle.
Crossing his legs, he tapped his toe.
“Right now, the target’s still, and it doesn’t fight back, so it feels like you’re doing fine. But if a villain was standing there? You’d get one shot off, maybe, before you’re dead.”
The student remained expressionless.
But a faint trace of anger flickered in her eyes as she stared at Ho-cheol.
Her hands, hidden behind her back, trembled slightly.
“Oh, wait. Hold on.”
Ho-cheol snapped his fingers.
Another possibility crossed his mind.
Though unlikely, he asked to confirm.
“If you’re shooting for personal growth, a club, or just as a hobby, I’ll apologize. From that perspective, there’s no real issue.”
To Ho-cheol, a bow was a weapon honed for blood and violence.
He knew nothing about archery as a discipline.
Mental focus, virtue, or traditional techniques like Makmanta archery—what were those?
As long as he could take down villains, that was enough.
The student didn’t respond.
But the slight crease in her brow answered for her.
“Guess that’s not it.”
Her lips twitched as she countered.
“If not?”
“Then you’re screwed. With that kind of archery, you’d be C-grade at best as a hero.”
No response this time either.
But the veins on her hand gripping the bow stood out sharply—her most intense reaction yet.
Ho-cheol just shrugged nonchalantly.
“Get mad if you want, but it’s true. Even a B-grade villain could dodge that shot blindfolded. The power’s weak, and the delay between shots is too long.”
Even if she had a bow-related trait, with such poor fundamentals, her limits were clear.
Her lips twitched again as she asked.
“Someone who specializes in archery?”
“Nope, but I know an archer better than anyone. Fought them a few times too.”
Ho-cheol rubbed the back of his neck and stood from the bench.
“Anyone can claim to be S-grade with words. I’ll show you. Get into position.”
The student immediately took her stance.
Not because she trusted him—quite the opposite.
She acted to test him.
If his advice was sloppy or smelled of fraud, she’d make him pay.
If it was legit, it’d help her.
Either way, she had nothing to lose.
“Your current stance is for regular people to stabilize breathing and aim. Awakened with enhanced physical abilities don’t need to focus on that.”
Ho-cheol stood beside her, arms crossed, gesturing up and down with his fingers.
“Your head’s too tilted. Straighten it. Keep both eyes open.”
He critiqued everything—ankles, knees, hips, waist, shoulders, wrists, head, and gaze angle—overhauling her stance.
The student frowned, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar posture, but it wasn’t unbearable.
Ho-cheol nodded at her new stance.
“That’s the foundation. When you release the string, take a half-step right, rotating left with your waist’s elasticity. Try it. No, your right hand’s idle. Again.”
Her form didn’t meet his strict standards, forcing her to repeat the stance.
After about a dozen tries, she got the hang of it.
But being familiar and meeting Ho-cheol’s standards were different things.
“Put your weight on your left foot. The key is keeping your right foot free and your left as the pivot. A solid pivot lets you ignore stance or footing. In urban combat, keep the pivot as tight as possible.”
Even a hero specializing in archery couldn’t always fight at range.
Villains often targeted their weakness in close combat, making melee skills essential.
After another ten minutes of corrections, Ho-cheol stepped back.
“It’s starting to look decent. Now shoot an arrow.”
The student nocked her last arrow.
She took the new stance Ho-cheol taught, drew the string taut, aimed at the target, and released.
Thwack—!
The arrow pierced the target’s center and embedded into the tree behind it.
The student stared, alternating between her bow and the target, stunned.
Just changing her stance boosted the power and speed dramatically—an overwhelming difference.
Unlike her old stance, which left her vulnerable after shooting, this one let her freely choose her next move.
Ho-cheol sat back on the bench and said to the dazed student.
“The essence of archery isn’t long-range combat. It’s about controlling distance and stealing options from your opponent—a selfish exchange. Tempo between actions matters more than power or accuracy.”
Snapping out of it, the student bowed her head.
She bit her lip.
Ho-cheol’s stance was undeniably efficient.
But the thrill of new insight was fleeting.
A deeper, heavier depression washed over her.
Just a few minutes of advice had advanced her skills by leaps.
Did that mean all her past efforts were in vain?
She couldn’t shake the question.
Worse, he wasn’t even an archery specialist.
Was this what talent looked like?
She’d thought she worked harder than anyone.
That made her lack of talent sting all the more.
Before entering the academy, she’d trained for years.
Everyone criticized her lack of talent, but she believed effort wouldn’t betray her—that it trumped talent.
She never gave up.
Today, it became clear.
Effort didn’t betray her because it was never on her side.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
She’d bitten her lip or tongue too hard. But it didn’t hurt.
Her heart was already torn to shreds.
Opening her eyes, she stared at the target, then turned away.
She opened her bag on the ground and packed her bow and quiver.
“What? Why so sudden?”
Ho-cheol’s question was met with a flat reply.
“I’m done for today.”
Whether that meant today’s practice or archery itself, she didn’t know.
A bitter depression crashed over her like a wave, and she was powerless against it.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, Ho-cheol teased.
“You’re getting the hang of it—now’s the time to practice. Embarrassed to look inexperienced or show effort?”
The student silently packed her bow and arrows.
“Well, I’m not gonna force someone who wants to quit. Keep at it. You’ve got talent.”
“Talent?”
Her hands, packing the arrows, froze.
Veins bulged on her hand gripping an arrow.
“Talent?”
she repeated.
Ho-cheol answered casually.
“Yeah. Good balance, solid focus. Keep at it steadily, and you’ll improve fast. Plus, being here this early shows you’ve got ambition… Oh, hold on.”
He stopped, reaching into his pocket.
His phone was ringing loudly.
The number was familiar—only one person would call him.
He held the phone slightly away from his ear and pressed the call button.
“Hey.”
[Hey? What are you doing right now!]
“Taking a walk. Doing some good deeds on the side.”
[A walk at dawn? You’re supposed to tell me if you’re going somewhere! You haven’t even done the morning check! And good deeds… I don’t know what, but good job.]
“You know where I am anyway with this watch.”
[That’s why I’m coming instead of a SWAT team! Please, realize your situation!]
“Alright, enough nagging. I’m heading back to the dorm. No need to come. I’ll be there in ten if I run, so stop yelling before you pass out.”
He hung up and spoke to the student, still crouching.
“Anyway, practice for three hours a day. It’ll make a difference.”
Ho-cheol gathered his bag.
“If you make it big as a hero, remember it’s thanks to me.”
With a cheeky remark, he left.
The archery range, now without Ho-cheol, was eerily quiet.
The breeze tickled her face with her swaying hair.
But she stayed still. It was another ten minutes before she snapped out of it.
“Talent. He said I have talent.”
Head bowed, the student mulled over those words.
Then she pulled her bow back out of the bag.
* * *
The first day of the semester—and Ho-cheol’s first lecture.
At the entrance of the bachelor dorm where Ho-cheol stayed, he and So-hee stood face-to-face.
Holding a tablet in one hand, she asked.
“Uh, third day of the third month, Monday, 08:17:43. First check for contract violations. Have you ever felt an urge to break the contract with the Legal Department or engage in actions resembling a breach?”
“Nope.”
Ho-cheol answered instantly.
So-hee stared at his chest for a moment.
Her trait activated, and Ho-cheol’s voice appeared pure white to her.
She let out a sigh of relief.
“Confirmed. No contract violations.”
Over the past two weeks, she’d checked dozens of times, but this moment always made her nervous.
Things were fine now, but you never knew with people.
If even a hint of another color appeared, it’d be a disaster.
She liked this mundane peace.
The hazard pay was steady, and the work was easy.
Tucking the tablet into her bag, she stepped back.
Official business done, now it was personal.
Looking Ho-cheol up and down, she clicked her tongue.
She reached out, adjusting his coat’s shoulder line, straightening his crooked tie, and smoothing his wrinkled shirt.
“It’s your first day. If you go looking this sloppy, people will complain.”
The front looked good now.
She circled behind him, brushing off dust.
“It’s not that bad.”
Ho-cheol, uncomfortable in the suit after so long, kept fidgeting.
He’d planned to wear casual sportswear, but So-hee’s insistence forced him into a suit.
Even if her main job was managing him, wasn’t this meddling in his personal life?
He thought about arguing but let it go.
She’d been looking out for him, even stocking his dorm fridge with side dishes.
“Prepared for class? Got everything you need?”
“Yeah.”
Her brow furrowed at his curt reply, but she relaxed.
Despite his attitude, she’d seen him prepare diligently over the past two weeks.
It was tied to his sentence reduction—surely he wouldn’t half-ass it.
“Do well. And answer your phone on time.”
She slapped his back with a loud smack.
“It’s not about me doing well—the students need to work hard.”
Ho-cheol waved his hand.
“Anyway, I’m off.”
* * *
The [Advanced Applications of Augmentation Traits I] classroom was noisy despite being the first period on a Monday.
At the back, a blonde female student sat on a desk, legs crossed, speaking.
“The professor for this class isn’t a hero.”
“What? An outside lecturer? Don’t they only handle general education? This isn’t just a major—it’s a mandatory department course.”
“No, that’s not it.”
She lowered her voice, wary of eavesdroppers.
“He’s a former villain. I heard it from the admin assistants. Something about a villain rehabilitation project—he was recruited for it.”
“What?”
Everyone doubted their ears.
It was too absurd to even laugh at.
“And the other professors just accepted that? They should be protesting.”
“No idea. The assistants said the president made the call, so no one could object, let alone complain.”
Another student, chin propped, sighed and grumbled.
“Even so, there’s a thing called standards. Why us? Why not mess with the clueless first-year fledglings?”
Most academy professors were B-grade heroes.
Some were even A-grade, and the rare C-grades were academic overachievers.
A villain? A C-grade, at that, teaching?
It wasn’t just shocking—it was humiliating.
Even as students, they were confident they could take down a C-grade villain.
A professor weaker than them?
Ridiculous.
“Should we boycott the class? What’s a C-grade gonna teach us?”
The blonde student leading the conversation turned to the white-haired student, who was flipping through a book, uninterested in the discussion.
“You hear anything?”
“Nope.”
She didn’t look up, answering curtly.
“But you okay? What’s with the bandage on your hand?”
No response.
The white-haired student glanced up briefly at the blonde on the desk.
“Get off the desk.”
“Oh, uh, sorry.”
The blonde, startled, quickly sat in her chair.
Her attitude was almost subservient, rude for a peer, but no one pointed it out.
She was the kin of an active S-grade hero.
Her influence in the academy surpassed most professors.
Aspiring heroes couldn’t afford to cross her.
Even among students, the gap in status was vast.
Breaking the awkward silence, another student forced a laugh and clapped.
“Let’s think positive. What does a villain know? He’ll probably just read the textbook. At least it’ll be an easy A.”
“True.”
What kind of person was he?
As speculations and chatter continued.
The front door opened.
All eyes turned forward.
Ho-cheol walked in.
* * *
The classroom door opened.
Everyone fell silent.
Ho-cheol’s footsteps carried him to the podium.
Everyone held their breath.
He set his bag down by the lectern.
All eyes stayed glued to him.
Only the clock at the back ticked, proving time hadn’t stopped.
C-grade villains weren’t rare.
Most students, hero aspirants or not, had seen that level of villain in daily life.
But one thing was certain.
This was C-grade?
If this was the average C-grade villain, the country would’ve fallen long ago.
The presence and pressure radiating from Ho-cheol were overwhelming.
He slowly placed both hands on the lectern.
What would he say?
Everyone stared at his mouth.
“I’m Jeong Ho-cheol, in charge of Advanced Applications of Augmentation Traits I and your professor for the next two years.”
A standard greeting flowed out.
His voice, faint and low like it was smoked with tobacco, was somehow clear to everyone in the room.
“Nice to meet you.”