Chapter 5: Lecture
The classroom remained silent.
Ho-cheol, frowning, gripped the lectern with both hands.
His already sharp features grew even more intense with his scowl, creating a menacing atmosphere.
He openly displayed his displeasure.
“They don’t return greetings around here?”
Belatedly, applause broke out among the students.
Using the clapping as background music, Ho-cheol slowly scanned the entire classroom.
The spacious room, with its fan-shaped seating, was about half-filled.
Exactly 43 students, as he’d been told.
The tiered seats rose toward the back, making it easy to see every student’s face.
As he examined each one, his gaze paused on a particular student.
White hair, sharp features, and an emotionless, dry stare.
Her striking appearance jogged his memory—she was the student from the archery range.
For Ho-cheol, it was an unexpected reunion.
He’d known she was a student from her uniform, but to see her in his second-year class, of all places?
Given how well a bow suited manipulation traits, he’d assumed she was in that department.
Surprisingly, she was in augmentation.
Of course, she could have multiple traits, but for mandatory department courses, students could only enroll in their primary trait’s class.
Regardless of how many traits she had, [Augmentation] was her best fit.
The student was also staring at Ho-cheol.
Like before, her mask-like expression feigned indifference, but her eyes betrayed her, trembling slightly.
After a brief stare-down, Ho-cheol lowered his gaze.
Her fidgeting fingers were wrapped in white bandages.
What she’d been doing for the past ten days was obvious.
Still, seeing a familiar face didn’t change what he had to do.
He spoke slowly.
“I’m a former villain.”
At that moment, his presence intensified.
A crushing pressure filled the room, constricting breath and setting nerves on edge.
He ramped up his aura, overwhelming the entire classroom.
It wasn’t just about the weak applause or the lack of greetings when he entered—though, sure, that stung a bit. But that wasn’t the point.
If anything, this was a light test.
“A test case recruited for a project by the Hero Association’s Legal Department.”
Normally, some students would’ve grumbled by now.
But not today.
They were too busy struggling under his pressure.
Ho-cheol tapped the lectern with his fingertips.
Tap— Tap—
Despite the students’ discomfort, the rhythm was leisurely, almost carefree.
“The first year was about legal and ethical training for your provisional trait license. Third year focuses on internships and converting to a full license. Second year is the only time you can purely focus on your traits. Just this one year. Your raw potential as a hero is shaped now. I trust no idiot here wants to waste this critical time questioning my qualifications.”
He stopped tapping and sat on the lectern.
“If anyone’s got a problem, take it up with the Director of the Legal Department, the academy president, or the S-grade hero who wrote my petition. Convince them, and I’m back to prison, replaced by a proper professor.”
Mentioning those three was his way of saying, “Don’t bother me with complaints”.
If he name-dropped such big shots, they’d back off.
In reality, a mere student couldn’t even get a meeting with any of those three.
Ho-cheol surveyed the students again.
Was there anyone worthwhile?
This level of pressure was everyday stuff for real heroes in the field.
Barely three minutes of this, yet thirty-seven were crushed, four were barely holding on, and only two had fully withstood it.
Out of over forty students, only three or four showed promise.
It was disheartening.
For freshmen, this might’ve been acceptable, but these were second-years who’d had a year of hero training.
If the augmentation department was this weak, the others were probably worse.
No wonder field experience mattered.
Ten years ago, academy admission meant getting dragged to the front lines.
Comparing it to the old academy, he felt a pang of regret as he stepped down from the lectern.
The oppressive pressure lifted.
The students, as if on cue, sighed in relief or gasped for air.
Some frail ones were on the verge of passing out.
Ho-cheol clicked his tongue again.
What’s so tough about that?
“No formal lecture today. I’ll just outline the course’s clear goals and some announcements. Think of it as orientation.”
In their current state, barely anyone could listen properly, so there was no point.
He grabbed a piece of chalk.
Turning, he drew a large circle on the board, divided it with a cross into four sections, and wrote [Augmentation], [Emission], [Manipulation], and [Anomaly] in each.
“You all know there are four trait types, each divided into [Activation], [Passive], and [Conceptual] forms. Normally, academy courses have one professor diving deep into a single type or form. Not me.”
He erased the lines dividing the circle.
Now, all four types were in one circle.
“Traits are intuitive by nature. Some call it a sixth sense. No two traits are identical, even if they’re similar. No matter how great a hero, how well can they understand a trait they’ve never used or experienced?”
He erased all four type names.
In the empty circle, he wrote [Trait] in large letters.
“If there are a hundred awakened, there are a hundred traits. They’re unique, singular. So why lump them into categories like types or forms and teach them together?”
Ho-cheol shook his head with a sigh.
“The academy’s professors are fine heroes. But turning intuition and experience into theory on a board is inefficient. Can you even capture that experience and intuition on a board? As educators, they’re subpar.”
Someone gasped loudly.
Murmurs spread across the room.
His statement was tantamount to rejecting the academy’s entire curriculum and faculty.
The atmosphere grew chaotic, but Ho-cheol waited silently.
He’d expected this much turmoil. No, this was mild.
The murmurs soon died down. With all eyes on him, he continued.
“This class won’t treat traits as academic subjects.”
He drew another circle beside the first and wrote [Trait] again.
“We’ll analyze, understand, and reflect on each student’s unique trait. Once you establish your trait, relentless training and mastery will make it yours. Then, you’ll apply it in real combat.”
He clenched his fist and struck the board.
Crack—!
A massive crack split the board.
“You won’t learn anything staring at a board here. From now on, classes will be practical, as close to real combat as possible. We won’t gather in a box filled with desks and chairs like this.”
Practical classes mimicking real combat.
That one sentence threw the already confused students into deeper disarray.
“Forget your first-year honors or failures. Those grades mean nothing in my class. If this were a course where memorizing books earned points, I wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t care to be.”
His sharp gaze swept the room.
Some students, stung by his words, shrank or trembled.
Truthfully, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t—he couldn’t.
What did Ho-cheol know about theory?
If handed a first-year exam, getting half right would be a miracle.
“Evaluations will be 100% practical. I don’t care if you’re clueless about theory. Most great heroes rely on intuition to wield their traits anyway.”
For the first time, some students perked up, delighted.
Those confident in practical skills but weak in theory were thrilled.
The opposite group looked devastated.
“And next week, we’ll have a test. Manage your condition well. I won’t give leeway if you’re off your game and bomb it.”
The mood sank again.
No student liked tests, especially graded ones.
Ho-cheol checked the time.
Setting down the chalk, he leaned against the lectern, arms crossed, and surveyed the room.
“Any questions?”
The classroom stayed quiet.
No one dared raise a hand or meet his eyes.
They had plenty of questions.
If his claims were true, this course would be unlike any other at the academy.
What was the specific curriculum? How would it be conducted?
He said he’d analyze individual traits—how?
In what order?
What about his own traits, the test schedule, the grading breakdown.
They were curious about it all.
But their curiosity was outweighed by fear.
Instinctively, they knew raising a hand would mark them.
His gaze was so fierce it seemed he’d choke anyone who spoke.
“Even small or silly stuff is fine.”
He asked again.
“Really, nothing?”
His words echoed hollowly in the classroom, fading away.
And so, the suffocating orientation ended without exaggeration.
* * *
After class, students fled the classroom in groups of three or five.
Fled was the right word.
Looking at the now-empty room, Ho-cheol sighed.
“Well, damn.”
He hadn’t meant to be a stiff or overbearing professor.
How did it come to this?
He’d applied a bit of pressure to gauge their potential, but it was light, without even a hint of killing intent.
To think they’d be this spooked—talk about holding a grudge.
These kids today!
That no one raised a hand for questions left a small dent in his pride.
Propping his chin, he muttered glumly.
“Was I that scary?”
He’d even added that small or silly questions were fine, hadn’t he?
If anything, he’d put more effort into preparing for Q&A than the lecture itself.
To close the gap with students, he’d prepped stories like his first love or nearly dying to an S-grade hero in his early villain days—fun stuff.
But his bag of stories never got unpacked.
He sighed again.
“I’m not that strict, but it feels like I gave the kids a bad impression. They’ll come around, right?”
“Seems tough.”
A reply came from the front, and Ho-cheol looked up.
This was why he’d stayed after class.
Below the podium stood the familiar female student.
Ho-cheol scratched his cheek, his mouth agape for a moment.
“Yeah, come to think of it, we didn’t introduce ourselves last time. I haven’t taken attendance, so I don’t know your name.”
“Choi Da-yeon.”
“Right, Da-yeon. I figured you didn’t know who I was last time, but you’re still pretty curt.”
The student—no, Da-yeon—flinched.
“…Sir.”
“That’s better. No need for reverence, but respect’s due.”
Ho-cheol straightened from leaning on the lectern and faced Da-yeon.
“You didn’t say anything when I asked you questions, so this isn’t about that. What’s up?”
Da-yeon didn’t answer, just stared at him.
How much time passed? Her red lips slowly parted.
“Quit.”
“Quit what?”
“Being a professor.”
Ho-cheol sighed. How many sighs was that today?
His luck was running dry.
Her audacity had to be top-tier in the academy.
Her memory, though, seemed spotty.
“I told you, if you want me gone, deal with the three I mentioned.”
“No. Not fired. Quit on your own.”
Ho-cheol let out a hollow laugh.
“Isn’t that the same thing? You’re telling me to go back to prison.”
“That’s not it.”
Her next words were so absurd, Ho-cheol was floored.
“Instead, be my personal tutor. I can clear your record and get you a new identity if you want. I’ll match any pay.”
His mind blanked.
Da-yeon’s offer was beyond his comprehension.
Snapping out of it, he pressed his temples with his thumb and ring finger.
His head throbbed. It wasn’t just nonsense—it was lunacy.
“So, you’re saying…”
Before he could respond, Da-yeon cut him off.
“It’s a recruitment offer. I…”
Her eyes shone brighter than ever, but not in a positive way.
“…have to have what I want.”