Chapter 84: Short-Lived Peace (2)

Back at the dorm, I unpacked groceries from the store while So-hee cleared the table in the center.

“Every time I’m here, it hits me—why’s this place so barren?” she grumbled, looking around.

I’d lived here for months, but it felt like I’d moved in yesterday—no trace of personality.

A lived-in space should reflect its occupant’s tastes, but this cramped studio was as empty as a transient’s room.

Rummaging through the kitchen cabinet, I replied shortly,

“Not barren—simple.Not tasteless—this is my taste. Minimalism, right? It’s a thing.”

“This goes beyond that. Not even ‘non-attachment.’ My touches are the only reason it feels lived-in.”

True enough, one corner of this desert-like room had a lively vibe, thanks to her.

A diffuser, desk clock, mini lamp, and tiny potted plant crowded my desk—her taste, packed tight.

“That ‘lived-in’ vibe is just a waste. I don’t need it.”

I pointed out, starting to cook.

The kitchen was just a small sink and a two-burner stove, barely enough for one person.

I clumsily gripped a knife, chopping green onions.

So-hee, watching, fretted again.

“You’re really cooking? Let’s just order.”

She was uneasy.

Me, cooking?

Not the ex-villain image—it was that, despite months of near-cohabitation, she’d never seen me show interest in cooking.

Not a drop of water on my hands.

“Wait and see. I studied hard.”

Her unease grew as I turned the stove dial.

Tick—tick-tick—tick—

“Why won’t it be light?”

“…Can’t we order? I’m dying of nerves.”

Grumbling, she opened the gas valve.

“Oh, that’s it. Just wait.”

Recalling an online recipe, I poured oil into the pan, tossing in chopped vegetables with awkward tilts.

On the other burner, a pot of stew simmered.

After a while, I plated the food.

One stew, three sides.

Two—kimchi and fern stir-fry—were from So-hee’s family, but the other two were mine.

She cautiously picked up her chopsticks.

It looked decent, at least.

Taking a bite of meat—nom—her eyes widened.

“It’s… edible.”

She sounded shocked.

Not restaurant-worthy or genius-level, but no beginner’s mistakes.

It suited her taste perfectly.

I grabbed my chopsticks, tasting it, and nodded.

“Not bad.”

My tone was flat, but a faint satisfaction showed.

“Ever cooked for anyone?”

I paused, then muttered, surprised myself.

“First time.”

Her body jolted slightly.

Feeling a subtle victory, she kept eating.

The clink of dishes filled the air.

Emptying her plate, she set down her chopsticks.

“Events like this are nice sometimes. Marriage material. Why the sudden cooking bug?”

“Can’t live on convenience store food forever. Gotta build some self-sufficiency.”

“Right. For your lonely bachelor life after your sentence?”

“Yup.”

Clearing plates, she brought coffee.

“You’re good at Korean food. Studied Chinese, Western, or Japanese?”

“Gotta try three or four dishes per style.”

“…You know more than me? Opening a restaurant?”

“A restaurant? Sounds fun.”

Sipping coffee, we chatted.

“Why does Perilla leaves? Throw off the balance.”

She’d once been tasked with prying info from me through talks like this.

But at some point, that stopped mattering.

Pointless, trivial chatter—but she enjoyed it.

“They add aroma.”

“Ugh, you like cilantro too?”

“That’s different.”

Holding her mug, staring at her reflection in the coffee, she murmured.

“Sigh. It's been so peaceful lately. I wish it’d stay like this.”

“You just jinxed it. Trouble’s coming.”

“Ugh.”

She glanced out the window, lost in thought.

Her mind lingered on “self-sufficiency” and “lonely bachelor.”

Funnily, those fit her before this assignment.

Half-true now, but not lonely—she had a neighbor to barge in on anytime.

“Three years at most.”

Months had already passed.

Three years would fly.

Would she be a lonely public servant again?

Oddly, she couldn’t picture it.

Familiar faces flickered in the coffee, then faded, leaving just her reflection.

She smirked, sipping again.

First meetings are chance; holding on makes it fate.

She was confident.

* * *

Two days.

That’s how long So-hee’s wish for peace lasted before shattering.

“Not me next, right?”

Wrapped in blankets up to her head, she peeked out, trembling with worry.

“How many high-clearance Legal Department agents got kidnapped?”

Agents had vanished.

At first, one—maybe dodging burnout.

But after four days with no contact, the Department sensed trouble and tracked him.

No trace, like he’d evaporated.

Then a second, a third.

The Association realized it was kidnappings and tensed.

Villains and heroes clashed often, but openly targeting the Association like this was unprecedented.

So-hee, a past target, was especially nervous.

Trimming my nails, I said.

“Not next—you were the first target.”

“Eek!”

“Not just a hostage play—no response after. They want something. Maybe tied to Zero—Chain’s hit.”

Whatever their next move, it was guesswork without clarity.

Our best bet?

“Stick close outside the Academy. Easier to save you.”

Prevent trouble from starting.

Feeling the real danger, she nodded vigorously.

“I’ll follow you into the bathroom.”

“Spare me that.”

Peeling off So-hee, who insisted on tagging along despite Academy safety, I left the dorm.

No class, but I headed to the lecture hall, ending up at the clubroom.

Opening the door, I grimaced, exhausted.

“Packed again.”

The room, built for over thirty, was always stuffed with students, even on a non-club day like

today.

Spotting me, they rushed over.

“Professor, I don’t get this part.”

“My Trait usage here…”

“That villain's response guide, manual 31…”

“Line up, please.”

Answering their barrage, I regretted it deeply.

The club’s initial assignments were done, so I’d shared extra info for eager students.

Now I paid the price.

So many questions.

After an hour, drained, I asked?

“No more questions?”

Ye-jin, the most eager, pressed her finger to her cheek, vague.

“Maybe?”

“Meaning more later. I’m here for two more hours—bring them.”

I glanced around.

No seat in the packed room.

Couldn’t kick kids out, so I perched on the windowsill.

Pulling out a pen and near-empty notebook, I opened it.

“Hmm.”

I couldn’t write, just thought.

Spinning the pen, Da-yeon crept up from a corner, glancing at my notebook.

“What’re you doing?”

“Sorting final exam teams. What’s the best way? Tough call.”

“Oh.”

She reacted softly.

Balancing student traits, synergies, and evaluation criteria was tricky.

“Randomly mixing feels unfair.”

She jumped in, eager.

“For me…”

She listed names—her usual crew from the semester’s start.

I gave a hollow laugh.

“You want that team?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, eyes wide, feigning innocence with shameless audacity.

Her loner vibe had softened, mixing better with others, but familiar faces were comfier.

I tapped the notebook with my pen.

“I’m splitting you up. You’ll be with kids you barely talk to.”

“That’s harsh.”

I pressed the pen’s end to her nose.

Boop—

“Harsh is trying to coast through finals.”

Still, she was better than semester’s start—comedy-level progress.

Back then, she barely spoke; now, she probably knew half the class’s names.

When she demanded I quit teaching to be her private tutor, I thought she was nuts.

“Professor.”

She scanned the room, lowering her voice.

“Your sentence reduction. Got plans after? My offer still stands.”

Leaning closer, she pitched it slyly.

I hadn’t planned to discuss my sentence, but weekend escapee hunts and long car rides led to it.

I didn’t share specifics, but she’d gleaned I’d be free in a few years.

I didn’t get her “qualifications” talk, but she was confident she’d find them.

I gaped, incredulous.

“In two years, you graduate. Hero work, right?”

“No end to learning. Beyond archery, there’s tons to study.”

Her eyes dulled, like the first day of class.

I shook my head.

Thought she’d improved—still a ways off.

“Not good?”

She slid her hand over mine, dropping formalities.

She’d go full casual next.

“Honorifics.”

I flicked her forehead with my finger.

Thwack!—

Snapping back, she clutched her forehead.

“Ow.”

“Years away. Haven’t decided anything.”

“But I gotta stake my claim, or someone’ll beat me.”

“Stake with what? Spit?”

I replied flatly, but inside, I was rattled.

What’s with her?

I got what she meant, not why.

Her sudden closeness was overwhelming, despite my efforts to hide it.

The shift started on Invention Day.

Even forgiven for unavoidable reasons, I was her mother’s killer—her acting like this was unnerving.

“Instead of spit, a number ticket?”

Was she closing the gap to stab me later?

That seemed likeliest.

I nearly begged her to stab me upfront, not from behind, when—

My head whipped toward the window.

Leaning out, I looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tch.”

I pulled back, clicking my tongue irritably.

Of all times.

“Maybe this club’s cursed.”

“Huh?”

Last time I came here, trouble hit too.

Needs an exorcism.

I snapped my fingers, thumb against middle.

Crack!—

The sharp sound, like a gunshot, echoed.

All eyes turned to me.

I tilted my head.

“Everyone, to the basement bunker. Da-yeon, lead. Ye-jin, rear.”

Da-yeon blinked, eyes wide, questioning.

I pressed her head, standing.

“Villain.”

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.