Chapter 113: Guarantor

“What kind of crazy bastard…”

“Calling me crazy? You’re an educator—watch your language in front of a kid.”

But the dean had no intention of holding back.

A kid?

As if.

All he could see in front of him were two villains.

“Not a kid, a villain. And asking me to be a guarantor sounds worse for education than calling you crazy.”

“Is that so?”

Even family members don’t easily act as guarantors—there’s a saying about this because it can ruin relationships.

But when the relationship is already ruined, what’s the point?

“So, a guarantor. You’re not asking for money, I assume. You mean an identity guarantor?”

“Hmm.”

Ho-cheol nodded.

“She needs someone to act as a social guardian or guarantor. A sucker—er, a person.”

And from the fact that he was bringing it up here, it was clear he meant the dean.

The dean pressed his throbbing temples with his fingertips.

“This is insane.”

Unlike the dean, who felt his lifespan draining with every passing second, Ho-cheol was relaxed.

Honestly, he’d expected the dean to throw something at him and kick him out the moment he mentioned being a guarantor.

He thought he’d need to prod a couple more times, but this reaction?

Maybe he’d succeed faster than anticipated.

Leaning lightly on the armrest of the sofa, Ho-cheol pointed at Ji-an.

“If she were an adult, I wouldn’t bother with this. But she’s a kid. And I bear some responsibility for how she turned out this way.”

“No way!”

Ji-an blurted out urgently.

Despite Ho-cheol’s earlier advice—more like a warning—to keep quiet, she couldn’t stay silent at that.

“You didn’t do anything wrong! It was all me!”

“If I hadn’t been a villain…”

“I’d be dead! Without a chance to go astray or to come back!”

Ji-an grabbed his arm, her hand trembling as it clutched his sleeve.

“So don’t talk like it’s your fault.”

He hadn’t expected such an intense reaction.

Ho-cheol looked slightly startled but soon nodded.

“Alright. It’s not my fault, then.”

Turning back to the dean, he continued,

“See? She’s not in great shape.”

“Clearly. So you’re planning to keep her close?”

“Until she can function as a person.”

It was obvious that putting her in an Association facility or juvenile detention would lead to disaster.

“So that’s why you need my guarantee.”

“Oh, and register as her guardian, too.”

The demands had just doubled.

“So, you’re trying to rope in a sucker.”

Ho-cheol raised his index and thumb to the side of his head, then lowered them.

“Exactly.”

“Hah, unbelievable.”

The dean, exasperated again, crossed his arms.

Letting out a faint sigh, he looked at Ji-an and asked?

“She’s young. A minor, you said. How old?”

“First-year here.”

“And yet… she’s that strong?”

The dean, no stranger to real combat himself, could clearly sense Ji-an’s strength.

Her aura, which surpassed even the S-rank heroes he’d seen—and even himself—explained how she’d operated as a villain at such a young age.

But there was one question.

“Still, she doesn’t seem on the level of [Eclipse].”

Not quite on par with Ho-cheol, [Smiley], or [Eclipse].

Past intel suggested Ji-an’s strength was comparable to [Eclipse], but the aura she exuded now fell slightly short.

Of course, if she was deliberately suppressing her power, that would change things.

But would she maintain such an ambiguous level—far stronger than an S-rank but slightly weaker than Ho-cheol?

“Oh, that’s…”

Ho-cheol started to explain, but cut himself off.

“There’s something to it.”

He brushed it off vaguely.

“There’s something, huh.”

Clearly, there was a trick behind her extraordinary strength.

But there was no need to explain her critical weakness.

It wasn’t about trust—fewer people know a weakness, the better.

“So why me?”

“You’re the only one I can ask for this.”

Though retired, the dean’s influence was unmatched, even by active S-rank heroes.

Starting as an S-rank hero, he was now the top administrator of Clington, the country’s premier hero training facility.

Beyond personal clout, his background tied to one of the nation’s top corporate families.

His connections extended far beyond the hero world.

Social prestige, political networks, international wealth—on a societal level, the dean’s guarantee carried far more weight than Ho-cheol’s.

But the dean’s expression was harder than ever.

“…You’re mistaken if you think I’m some magic wand that grants your every wish. Besides…”

He took off his coat.

Why did he insist on long sleeves even in midsummer?

Rolling it up to his shoulder, he revealed a vivid scar circling his arm.

“Here’s my chance to settle the score for this arm.”

It was only a few months ago.

When villains attacked the academy, the dean, disadvantaged by an unfavorable matchup and situation, lost an arm.

Though it was reattached, the aftereffects lingered deeply.

True, another villain had physically torn it off, but Ji-an was undeniably the mastermind behind it.

“Come to think of it, one took my eye, and another took my arm. And now, not only do you want me to guarantee the identity of the culprit, but to be her guardian?”

The dean’s demeanor turned menacing in an instant, his emotions unmistakably hostile.

Ji-an froze.

She’d completely forgotten.

In the past, driven by her obsession to find Ho-cheol, she’d targeted countless national facilities.

The academy, especially because of Da-yeon, had been hit repeatedly.

Capturing the kin of the top S-rank hero, Swordmaster, was meant to extract information about Ho-cheol as a bargaining chip.

And now, that past karma was coming back.

Her actions could render all of Ho-cheol’s efforts and struggles futile.

Her hands trembled at the thought.

What could she do?

What if Ho-cheol gave up on her, saying, Well, nothing can be done?

The ominous thought flashed through her mind, her heart tightening, her breath catching.

She hurriedly turned to Ho-cheol.

But his expression remained calm.

“I know. You retired as a hero because I took your eye, and your health’s been ruined to the

point you can barely do this dean job because of your arm.”

“You know that and still make this request? You think I’m crazy enough to agree?”

“Of course.”

Ho-cheol answered without a hint of hesitation.

“You’re one of the few heroes I respect. You wouldn’t turn away someone who needs help, even if they’re an enemy.”

“Someone who needs help, huh.”

The dean repeated the words quietly.

“She doesn’t exactly seem like she needs it.”

“Who decides that? The one giving help or the one who needs it?”

Ho-cheol stepped off the armrest.

With a serious expression, he said.

“I’m not asking you to guarantee she’s changed. She wants to change, so give her a chance to prove it.”

The dean, pulling his sleeve back down to cover his arm, fell into deep thought.

He genuinely wanted to refuse.

The throbbing scar wasn’t just his imagination.

And it wasn’t just personal feelings.

This could lead to problems far bigger than accepting Ho-cheol.

Ho-cheol’s case had the Association’s backing, with promises of privileges and support.

Even then, there’d been significant pushback at the academy.

But Ji-an’s case was entirely on the dean.

If things went wrong, he’d bear the full brunt—no question.

He’d taken similar gambles before, but those were for students.

Letting out a faint sigh, the dean asked?

“What’s in it for me?”

Ho-cheol furrowed his brow, thinking.

What was there?

No matter how he looked at it, this deal only brought losses for the dean.

The only thing he could come up with was.

“A small sense of satisfaction?”

“Crazy bastard.”

But that response made the dean chuckle.

Heroes were the kind of people who’d risk their lives for that alone.

If Ho-cheol had tried to sweet-talk or test him with nonsense, he’d have refused outright.

But that transparent reaction made anger seem pointless.

The dean returned to his desk and sat heavily.

“But I have conditions.”

“What, money?”

Ho-cheol asked, knowing full well that wasn’t it.

“Nonsense. This is honestly absurd, so I’m going to pull something absurd, too.”

“Damn, now you’re making me nervous.”

The dean spread out a blank sheet of paper and pulled out a pen.

Normally, Ho-cheol couldn’t be swayed unless it was for the students’ sake.

So the dean had shelved a plan he’d only considered because he lacked leverage to push it.

But with this outrageous request, he could revive that plan.

After writing for a while, he handed the paper to Ho-cheol.

“Take a look.”

Ho-cheol, receiving the paper, frowned.

“…A list of certifications and licenses.”

They were qualifications needed for heroes and academy professors.

“Correct. You’ve been teaching without these due to your special case, but they’re standard.”

Starting with the Trait Operation License, there were certifications and licenses for hero activities and teaching—nearly 20 in total.

“The ones checked are mandatory. Get at least three during this break. Normally, it takes six months to prepare for each, but you should manage in two.”

The dean tapped the desk firmly, signaling no further compromise.

“Do that, and I’ll guarantee her identity and act as her guardian. At least no one will poke holes in it legally.”

Ho-cheol scanned the list and scratched the back of his head.

“Guess I’m stuck studying, of all things.”

His teaching stint at the academy would end in two or three years, but he didn’t point that out.

For his new goal of building a new system, he’d need a lot of time.

These certifications would likely be useful then.

Even without the dean’s demand, he’d have studied for them on his own.

The only concern was why the dean was requiring them.

The only reason that came to mind was.

“This is because of the classes you’re planning to make me teach next semester, isn’t it?”

The dean didn’t answer, but his sly grin sent a chill down Ho-cheol’s spine.

What kind of classes was he planning?

* * *

Before lunch, Ho-cheol stopped by his lodging to change.

“…I never thought I’d be here in broad daylight.”

Ji-an muttered, awestruck, at the door.

Just a few days ago, she’d been lurking outside his door like a stalker in the dead of night.

Back then, just being separated by a wall felt satisfying.

Now, within arm’s reach, with no walls between them, she could stand side by side with him, looking in the same direction.

That alone was overwhelming happiness.

“What’s the big deal? So, I thought about what to eat for lunch?”

“Uh, um. I’m fine with whatever you like.”

“Then think about it while I grab my wallet.”

Ho-cheol chuckled and opened the door.

Ji-an didn’t have the mental space to think about lunch.

Seeing the inside of Ho-cheol’s place for the first time, her eyes gleamed with intensity, as if she were memorizing every detail—the layout, the furniture, everything.

As she scanned every corner, her eyes trembled.

In one corner, a pile of unmistakably women’s clothes stood out starkly.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open.

“Huh? You’re back already?”

“You just woke up?”

“Ugh, I thought I was gonna die from this hangover.”

So-hee shuffled out of the bathroom.

Ji-an’s eyes twitched.

So-hee, with a toothbrush in hand and foam around her mouth, looked like she owned the place.

Ji-an felt a mix of envy and resentment.

For a moment, a vein pulsed on her forehead, but she barely held herself back.

Then—

“Oh, my clothes got wet, so I borrowed some. I’ll wash and return them later.”

So-hee waved her toothbrush, pointing at the oversized shirt she was wearing.

Snap—

That was the sound of the last thread of Ji-an’s rationality breaking.

“KAAAHHH!”

With a beastly roar, she charged at So-hee.

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