Chapter 115: Headquarters

At a small park near the library building, Ho-cheol returned from the vending machine with two drinks, offering one to Ye-jin, who was sitting on a bench.

“Here.”

“Thank you.”

Ye-jin bowed her head slightly, accepting the sports drink.

Ho-cheol turned and plopped down beside her.

An awkward silence hung in the air, and Ye-jin fidgeted, tugging at her collar with her index finger.

“Phew, it’s really hot, isn’t it?”

Despite the shade of the trees, the cool breeze, and the cold drink in her hand, the midsummer sun was relentless.

But the flush on Ye-jin’s face wasn’t just from the heat.

“Yeah, well.”

Ho-cheol paused, choosing his words carefully.

He needed to comfort her in a way that wouldn’t make her feel too embarrassed.

“If you want me to keep it a secret, I will. Even if my student’s into lewd books, it’s a matter of personal taste these days, right? Just don’t let the media catch you.”

“That’s not it!”

Ye-jin jumped up, horrified.

Well, that didn’t work.

“But still, keep it a secret, please.”

“Sure.”

Honestly, there was no reason for Ho-cheol to indulge her suspicious hobby or listen to her explanations.

But there was one thing he needed to confirm.

“Sit for a sec.”

“Huh?”

Despite all his talk of respect and secrecy, Ho-cheol couldn’t hide his amused grin.

His smirking lips suggested he was enjoying this, but his expression now was entirely different from before.

It wasn’t the usual lecturing demeanor or even the serious air he had when facing a villain—it was a rare, intense gravity.

Sensing it, Ye-jin didn’t make a fuss or exaggerate her movements.

Instead, she quietly sat beside him.

What was this about?

Was it about her grades this semester, or maybe next semester?

No, judging by the mood, it might be something more serious—perhaps about her time at the facility or her future after graduation.

But Ho-cheol’s next words were unexpectedly different, almost out of nowhere.

“You worked hard this semester. You even came close to dying a few times.”

“…Yeah.”

Still trying to grasp his intent, Ye-jin answered obediently.

“There were moments I thought I was done for. Like during the MT.”

“Right. All the incidents this semester seem to have had one group behind them.”

“Really?”

Ye-jin frowned.

“Those damn villains. They’re no help to anyone’s life. Oh, except you, Professor!”

“Thanks for that.”

Despite her high praise, Ho-cheol couldn’t just laugh it off.

What kind of expression would she make if she knew the villain who was “no help to anyone’s life” was currently at his lodging, pondering lunch?

He didn’t have the nerve to say it outright.

Ji-an had apologized to him multiple times and shown open goodwill, so he’d let go of his negative feelings.

But the students were different.

They’d suffered directly or indirectly multiple times this semester alone.

Of course, he couldn’t tell them about Ji-an’s situation—it was classified.

But that was only for political reasons between the Association, the academy, and himself.

The students, as victims, had a right to know.

And Ho-cheol had a duty to tell them.

The current situation was like an untreated wound.

Ignoring it because it was painful or unsightly would only let it fester, potentially becoming fatal.

If it came to light after crossing a breaking point, the trust he’d built and many other things would not just waver but rot entirely.

There wasn’t much time left.

This break would likely be the turning point.

He needed a clear answer by then.

And that responsibility and duty fell to no one but Ho-cheol, who’d taken on the role of Ji-an’s guardian and protector of the students.

After a moment of thought, he asked?

“Why aren’t you all hostile toward me, a former villain? Is it just because the crimes I committed didn’t directly harm you?”

The unexpectedly heavy question made Ye-jin’s eyes dart side to side.

Thanks to Ho-cheol’s help, she’d reduced her part-time jobs, giving her more free time, and joined a club.

As deputy class leader, she’d had many chances to talk with other students.

Ho-cheol was always a central topic in those conversations.

Recalling those discussions, she answered slowly.

“…Maybe at first, yeah. But after that, you showed us a lot of positive sides. More than anything, you were genuine with us. That really hit home for everyone. At least, that’s what I think.”

Of course, that was just the surface opinion from other students, not her own.

“And for me…”

Ye-jin fidgeted with the drink can in her hands.

Unlike the other students, she felt her bond with Ho-cheol was deeper.

At least, that’s how she saw it.

She still dreamed about it sometimes—the moment she poured out all her emotions, and Ho-cheol accepted them all.

Just thinking about it made her heart race and her face flush.

She had no memories of her biological parents.

The facility’s director was like a mother to her.

And Ho-cheol—if she’d had a father, wouldn’t he have been like him?

“Since then, I’ve been on your side.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

Ho-cheol sighed inwardly.

“So you’d never forgive that villain, right?”

“Of course.”

Her response was exactly as expected, so he wasn’t too disheartened.

“But,”

Ye-jin added, raising her index finger briefly,

“if they genuinely apologized, I might… Consider it?”

A sincere apology wasn’t about seeking forgiveness.

A nail pulled from a board still leaves a hole.

An apology was just removing the nail.

Filling that hole was a different matter for each person.

“Considering it is something.”

That alone was a significant achievement.

“Would the other kids feel the same?”

“Probably?”

“Got it.”

Placing the unopened can on her lap, Ho-cheol stood up.

“It’s hot, so get home safe.”

He glanced back.

Seeing Ye-jin rise from the bench, he added briefly.

“Apply for a scholarship. I’ll write you a recommendation.”

Her grades weren’t top-tier, but they were solid enough for the upper ranks.

With her income level, a recommendation letter should secure her a scholarship.

Her eyes widened at the unexpected offer.

As Ho-cheol walked away, she bowed repeatedly toward his retreating figure.

“Thank you!”

On the way back to his lodging, Ho-cheol scratched the back of his head and sighed.

He’d always viewed tangled, messy relationships from the perspective of those involved.

For the first time, he stood as a mediator.

The slight arrogance he’d had, thinking it’d be easier as an observer, vanished today.

“What am I gonna do?”

This is tough.

After a moment of thought, he turned back toward the library.

* * *

When Ho-cheol returned to his lodging, Ji-an, who’d been leaning against the bed staring blankly at the door, lit up and jumped to her feet.

“Ajusshi!”

He waved casually in response and turned to So-hee.

“Getting along better?”

“More or less.”

As if they’d been in the middle of counseling, So-hee twirled a pen in her hand.

Before Ho-cheol approached, she hid the documents she’d been jotting notes on.

Counseling results were, of course, confidential.

Putting the papers in her bag, she said.

“Oh, the Association called earlier. I got a new surveillance assignment.”

“New surveillance, huh.”

So-hee glanced at Ji-an, who was practically wagging an invisible tail.

Her surveillance duty for Ho-cheol had ended abruptly yesterday—not because it was truly over, but as a transition to a new assignment.

And the new target was, unsurprisingly, Ji-an.

“What about my surveillance?”

“They said it’s on hold for now.”

“They got scared.”

Ho-cheol chuckled lightly.

After the Zero—Chain incident, his relationship with the Association was already as bad as it could get.

They were still technically cooperating, but future collaboration or positive exchanges on an Association level were nearly impossible.

By pausing his surveillance, they were extending a gesture of reconciliation.

Whether Ho-cheol accepted it was another matter.

Either way, more leverage for him was a welcome development.

Ji-an, who’d scampered to the door, held out both hands.

“Give me the books.”

“Oh, thanks.”

So-hee tilted her head, looking at the stack of books on the table.

“Didn’t you say you were studying for certifications?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s some weird stuff in there.”

A few thin books with odd titles stood out:

Care for Adolescents.

Positive Thinking.

Apologizing First.

Did he really borrow these to read?

“What’s this about?”

Ho-cheol nodded toward Ji-an, who was now glued to his side.

“For her to read.”

“Me? What?”

“You’ve gotta study too.”

He had no idea about her academic achievements.

He’d check on that later.

For now.

“Read them and write book reports.”

Her ethical awareness, at a preschool level, needed work first.

So-hee tilted her head, looking skeptical.

“You think reading these will change anything?”

“Gotta try.”

There’s a difference between trying and failing and not trying because you think you’ll fail.

Ho-cheol turned to Ji-an.

“You’ll do it, right?”

“Yes, yes!”

Ji-an nodded eagerly, not even knowing what it was about.

* * *

The next day, Ho-cheol finished preparing to head out.

After obsessive rounds of investigations and verifications, the Association had finally decided to visit the “organization’s” headquarters directly.

Since the headquarters was inside a Gate, the process had dragged on.

Originally, Ho-cheol and Ji-an weren’t included in the investigation team.

But today, a sudden change in the lineup included his name.

At first, he thought they were factoring in variables or risks and wanted him as a tank.

But the Association seemed flustered too, contacting him directly—not through So-hee—to cautiously ask if he could join.

What were they thinking, and who set this up?

Despite his questions, Ho-cheol agreed readily.

He might dislike the Association, but since this was about the “organization,” he had no reason not to participate actively.

He stood by the academy’s main gate.

The message said an academy expert would join the investigation team, and he was to link up with them.

It was absurd.

“Who the hell is it?”

The academy and the Association were fundamentally different in nature, purpose, and direction.

Before Ho-cheol’s case, their cooperation was limited to occasional guest lectures.

For the academy to send someone for this?

What kind of talent warranted that?

As he waited, a sleek, expensive foreign car glided to a stop in front of him.

The tinted window rolled down, revealing an unexpected figure in the driver’s seat.

“Yo.”

Se-ah, pushing up her sunglasses, nodded casually.

“Get in.”

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