Chapter 7: Tutoring
The blonde female student was, quite literally, mortified.
Already pressed for time, she’d snapped at the person dawdling in front of the kiosk, acting like some hermit fresh off a decade in the mountains.
Third-years still had a week before the semester started, so the student cafeteria was filled with second-years or first-year fledglings.
Especially on the first day, she’d assumed it was a first-year agonizing over the menu.
To think it was a professor—her own professor from just two hours ago.
If a god existed, she wanted to grab them by the collar.
Grumbling internally, Ho-cheol reached out and patted her shoulder.
“I’ll grab a seat, so order and come over.”
“Y-yes…”
As Ho-cheol went to find a spot, she stood in front of the kiosk, crestfallen.
Why wasn’t her trait something like rewinding time or erasing memories?
Of all things, augmentation!
Now she was stuck eating with the professor she’d just mouthed off to.
Half-dazed, she printed a meal voucher and shuffled to Ho-cheol’s table, sitting across from him.
Ho-cheol, grinning teasingly, asked?
“Your name?”
“Oh.”
Only then did she realize how utterly foolish she’d been.
The brief orientation, barely thirty minutes, could hardly be called a lecture.
He hadn’t even taken attendance.
If she hadn’t made a scene, he might not have recognized her at all.
Sure, he might’ve noticed her in the next class, creating an awkward moment, but that would’ve been better than this.
If only she hadn’t been so blind, she’d have smacked herself.
Idiot!
Should’ve just pretended not to know him!
Ho-cheol, observing her, spoke with mild surprise.
“I thought I was free of bias, but a name like ‘Oh’ is a bit shocking. Single character? What’s your surname?”
Your parents must’ve lacked creativity.
Snapping out of her spiral, she shook her head vigorously.
“No! It’s Jeong Ye-jin.”
“Really? Yeah, just ‘Oh’ would’ve been weird. Well, I’ll assume Ye-jin had a reason for snapping at me.”
Propping his chin, Ho-cheol smirked.
“You must’ve been starving.”
Ye-jin forced an awkward smile, nodding.
“Y-yeah… I skipped breakfast, so…”
Thank god, he’s letting it slide.
Ho-cheol nodded slowly, understanding.
“You gotta eat breakfast. Especially for augmentation types—going hungry is brutal, physically and mentally. I skipped mine too. First lecture, I got a bit nervous.”
“I see. Haha…”
He straightened, crossing his legs.
The faint smile on his face vanished.
His expression turned colder than during the lecture.
“Good thing I’m already full from getting chewed out.”
Ye-jin’s body jolted.
She was so startled, a hiccup escaped her pursed lips.
Goosebumps ran down her spine.
The cold sweat on her back wasn’t imagined.
She waved her hands frantically.
“N-no, I mean— It’s just, this cafeteria’s mostly for students, and professors usually eat at the staff one, plus from behind you looked so young, I mistook you for a classmate or something, haha, your fashion sense is so youthful—”
She rambled without breathing, her head spinning, no longer sure what she was saying.
After babbling on, she slammed her forehead onto the table with a thunk.
“Sorry!”
“Alright, apology accepted.”
Ho-cheol uncrossed his legs, coolly accepting her apology.
He’d only teased her because it was fun, not because he was actually offended.
Besides, any more, and she might pass out.
He couldn’t kill a student on week one.
Ye-jin peeked up, checking his expression.
Her eyes betrayed worry that he might pull another delayed jab like before.
“If you’re that spooked, I feel bad. I won’t hold it against you, so don’t worry.”
His reassurance prompted a relieved sigh.
Ding-dong.
Just then, their meal voucher numbers flashed on the wall’s display.
Seeing Ho-cheol move to stand, Ye-jin shot up.
“I’ll get it if you give me your voucher!”
“What, afraid I’ll block the line and look dumb like with the kiosk?”
“No, that’s not what I meant!”
“It’s fine. I don’t like being waited on—it feels awkward. Thanks for the offer.”
With that, Ye-jin had no choice.
She looked at him with mild surprise.
For a former villain, his demeanor was remarkably polished.
Maybe he was highly educated for a villain?
* * *
Ho-cheol returned with the sweet potato cheese katsu he’d been craving, while Ye-jin had the daily special, which changed every day.
Glancing at her tray, Ho-cheol let out a small sound of admiration.
“That’s the 2,500-won menu, right? Looks amazing.”
Her tray was piled with rice, soup, and three side dishes.
Ye-jin smacked her lips, picking up her chopsticks.
“That’s why it’s so popular.”
Though, her real reason for choosing it was simple—it was the cheapest.
She had to stretch her budget until her part-time job pay came in.
Holding her chopsticks, she waited for Ho-cheol to start.
Only after he took a bite did she begin eating.
“How’re your grades?”
“Oh, um, I did alright in first year.”
“Got a lot of friends?”
“Uh, well, classes are so packed, and there’s not much overlap, so close friends are… haha…”
The topics during the meal were tough to swallow, but she managed to deflect them.
Her throat burned, worried about more awkward questions.
She gulped down the soup repeatedly.
Is this going in my mouth or my nose?
Halfway through, with his tray half-empty, Ho-cheol wagged his spoon.
“So, was the lecture worth listening to?”
“*Cough!*”
Barely avoiding choking, Ye-jin forced a twisted smile.
It was less a curveball and more a fastball aimed at her head.
A piece of pickled radish slipped from her chopsticks.
“You didn’t just brush off what some villain said, right?”
“No, not me!”
She jolted, practically convulsing.
“Not me! I mean—”
“So you’re saying the others did?”
It felt like tumbling naked into a minefield.
Every word was a trap.
Knowing silence was her best defense, she clamped her mouth shut.
Ho-cheol shrugged, unfazed by her reaction.
“No big deal. I expected some pushback.”
That’s why he’d kept the first week short, no real lecture.
“But if you tune out just because you don’t like me, isn’t that a loss for both of us?”
“Y-yeah…”
“If you’re struggling with class or anything else, ask me anytime.”
“Got it.”
Surprising.
His bold lecture declarations and this conversation showed a mindset—call it commitment—that felt essential for an educator.
She recalled his final moments in the lecture.
Back then, overwhelmed by his presence, no one dared speak, but now, he seemed no different from any professor.
After a moment’s thought, she set down her chopsticks and cautiously asked?
“Um, it’s a bit off-topic, but can I ask one thing?”
“Sure.”
“You’re kind of a special case, right? Do you have the same authority as other professors?”
“Authority?”
Ho-cheol rubbed his chin.
“What kind?”
“Well, I mean…”
Ye-jin pressed her thumbs and index fingers together, fidgeting while glancing at him.
“Like, professors can nominate students for priority scholarships.”
“Scholarships, huh. I heard Clington’s tuition is dirt cheap.”
It was a hero academy, after all.
The country didn’t want to lose talent over money, so Clington’s fees were absurdly low compared to other higher education—cheaper than a new phone.
“Well, some scholarships cover tuition, but others deposit money directly into your account. This one’s the latter.”
“Oh, so it’s not about tuition—you want cash in the bank?”
Ho-cheol smirked.
Misinterpreting it as mockery, she quickly protested.
“It’s not just about money!”
“Come on, you’re clearly all about the cash. It’s fine. I like money too. Not every hero’s a self-sacrificing masochist. Some chase cash, no shame in that. Anyway…”
He clacked his chopsticks together.
“I’ll need to check on that. I’ll let you know by next class.”
“Oh, thank you.”
As they resumed eating, Ho-cheol’s gaze drifted to Ye-jin’s tray.
He felt not just admiration but respect.
He prided himself on clean eating habits, but her tray was next-level.
It was so spotless, barely a trace of sauce remained. How’d she do it?
While he marveled, Ye-jin, having emptied her tray, set down her chopsticks.
“Thanks for the meal.”
Noticing Ho-cheol still had food, she flinched.
He waved dismissively.
“Don’t worry, you can leave first.”
Ye-jin glanced at the wall clock.
She knew it wasn’t polite to leave first, but time was tight.
With an apologetic look, she stood.
“I’ve got another commitment, so I’ll head out.”
“Sure. Want that scholarship? Participate in class. And don’t pick fights with strangers. Oh, wait.”
Half-standing, Ye-jin froze. In her awkward pose, Ho-cheol asked,
“Got an older sister? Or any close relatives who are heroes?”
“Uh, no one likes that.”
“Really?”
Relief and disappointment mixed as he sighed.
“Alright, go.”
“Yes, sir.”
She placed her tray at the return station, glanced at Ho-cheol, bowed deeply, and hurried out of
the cafeteria.
Ho-cheol didn’t touch his food until she was gone.
Picking up his chopsticks, his gaze lingered on the exit.
“…Looks like her.”
He was suspicious.
Even before the lecture, she’d seemed familiar, reminiscent of a hero he’d known personally
during his villain days.
Not just any hero—the one who’d sparked his reformation, a profound influence on his life.
But their surnames were different, and he’d never heard of that hero having family.
Ye-jin herself said she had no hero relatives, so it was probably just a resemblance.
“Still suspicious.”
Maybe he should dig a little.
* * *
Saturday afternoon, at Da-yeon’s private archery range, Ho-cheol’s lesson was in full swing.
Standing beside her, arms crossed, he said.
“You’re pulling too hard.
The first arrow’s at 70% strength, like I said.”
In his words, Da-yeon adjusted her shoulder angle.
It was a minute difference, only noticeable after his critique, but Ho-cheol didn’t miss it.
Despite the chilly weather, sweat poured down her face.
A bead trickled into her eye, but her bow didn’t waver.
“Now.”
At Ho-cheol’s cue, Da-yeon released the string.
Whoosh—!
She twisted, drawing her second arrow.
A motion practiced hundreds, no, thousands of times.
From her toes to her body, the movement flowed perfectly.
Without hesitation, she fired the second arrow.
Both arrows hit the centers of different targets.
The time difference was less than a second—practically simultaneous.
“Tch.”
Ho-cheol clicked his tongue and shook his head.
By his standards, it was pitifully slow.
“Too slow. Again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Da-yeon jogged to retrieve the arrows, then raised her bow again.
“Under 0.1 seconds between shots to move to form correction.”
Last time, his unsolicited advice had a lower bar, but this was her requested training.
He demanded stricter, flawless results.
Da-yeon replied calmly.
“I know.”
The ultimate goal was for both arrows to hit their targets “simultaneously.”
She repeated the same stance hundreds, thousands of times, each as deliberate as the first.
No room for boredom or fatigue.
Before entering the academy, countless people had tried teaching her, but she’d learned nothing from them.
Ho-cheol was different.
A hundred repetitions surpassed her starting point.
A thousand outdid her hundredth.
Effort led to progress.
That simple truth made this moment exhilarating.
She continued, refining her stance under Ho-cheol’s critiques.
Eighty-three minutes after he arrived at the range.
“0.089 seconds.”
She finally earned the evaluation she’d craved.
“Finally passed.”
He nodded for the first time.
“Good job.”
A short, curt praise, but to Da-yeon, it brought a sense of achievement and satisfaction she’d never felt.
A surge of euphoria coursed through her, and she trembled, eyes closed.
Her desire to claim him grew stronger.
Opening her eyes, the clarity in her gaze faded.
As tension and focus released, accumulated fatigue hit, and she swayed.
Seeing this, Ho-cheol said briefly,
“That’s enough for today.”
“I can keep going…”
“You’re not a kid—don’t be stubborn.”
He cut her off firmly.
Her focus had peaked, so he hadn’t intervened, but her body had been at its limit for ten minutes.
Any more would be torture, not training.
“Training like this just builds bad habits.”
“Understood. I’ll stop for today.”
Da-yeon nodded obediently.
He was right—pushing further was pointless stubbornness.
Her consciousness was foggy, her eyes heavy.
She didn’t need a bed; she could collapse right here.
Besides, he’d only promised an hour, and that had long passed.
Taking a deep breath, she checked her condition.
Her overworked muscles screamed.
Her sweat-soaked uniform felt heavy.
“Tomorrow, focus on image training and condition management—”
Ho-cheol stopped, tilting his head up.
His gaze fixed on the sky.
“You.”
He couldn’t see it, but he felt it.
“Who’s watching me?”
Something, up in the sky, was observing him.