Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 126: Seong Se-ah

Hocheol sat obediently on the bench, and Se-ah plopped down beside him.

Due to her height, her feet didn’t touch the ground, dangling and swaying back and forth.

Silently, she looked up at the streetlamp above.

Its yellowish light drew tiny moths, relentlessly flapping toward it until they died.

Staring blankly, she turned to gaze at Hocheol’s profile.

As professor to professor, Hocheol was far from a typical academic.

Professors often prioritized research over teaching, but he was a good teacher, not a scholar.

Their union leader-union member relationship was merely transactional, Hocheol likely unaware of his own membership.

Their social ties were that thin and fleeting.

So, what remained between them was simply…

Their first meeting was, surprisingly, disastrous.

But they quickly acknowledged each other’s goals and abilities.

Now, it was undoubtedly a simple—

“We’re… friends, right?”

Despite Hocheol’s unfamiliarity with the word ‘friend,’ he understood its dictionary definition.

“Yeah.”

He’d called her a friend several times, after all.

“But… you’re hiding something from me, aren’t you?”

Hocheol’s lips parted slightly.

Before he could respond, she snatched the conversation.

“I know.”

As union leader, she wielded intelligence rivaling the dean’s within the academy.

Even without seeking it, information came to her.

She knew everything happening around, including the new occupant of the room next to Hocheol’s from day one.

She knew who that occupant was and what they’d done.

Yet Se-ah had held back.

She hadn’t questioned or hinted at it until now.

Fidgeting with her thumbs and index fingers, she said.

“As friends, I believed you’d tell me eventually.”

But that patience was reaching its limit.

Ji-an.

The issue wasn’t just her villain background.

Se-ah was deeply tied to her too.

Who in the academy wasn’t?

Learning Ji-an was behind several recent incidents and the true mastermind shocked Se-ah profoundly.

“If it wasn’t important enough to tell me, let’s be clear. It’s important to me.”

Hocheol scratched the back of his head, troubled.

He’d tried to keep it hidden, but she’d found out.

He’d been inconsiderate.

“Alright. Honestly, I’m not ready to talk about it.”

He wasn’t oblivious to the hostility or unease Se-ah and the students might feel.

He hadn’t avoided the truth to dodge the situation.

He just needed more time.

“Friends, yeah. But friends aren’t that close, right? It’s a relationship tied by mutual needs.”

Not fully honest, not sharing the deepest secrets.

Helping each other as needed—a common bond.

Even their truest moments wore a mask of minimal pretense.

“You, you.”

Se-ah stammered, shocked.

Her vision blackened, a dull ringing echoing in her ears.

It was a miserable, wretched feeling, one she hadn’t felt in a while.

With a trembling voice, she asked.

“You really see our relationship as just that?”

“Just that? That’s a lot.”

Hocheol had plenty of ‘close acquaintances.’

The dean, Sohee, even students who’d graduate would fit that category.

Sharing deep secrets was easy, but expecting the other to bear it all was, to him, almost irresponsible.

It required the other to have greater capacity.

The reverse was true too.

But friends were different.

“We don’t fully express emotions. We don’t share hearts. Secrets stay secrets. We show only our best selves. Some call it pretense, but I don’t.”

Hocheol calmly shared his concept of ‘friend.’

“It’s about being the version of yourself the other wants or that you want to show. I don’t call that a pretense…”

He pursed his lips.

It wasn’t his deepest self or a sacred secret.

The reason he hesitated was simple.

It’s super embarrassing.

But clearing up a bad misunderstanding was better.

He finished his sentence.

“I call it consideration for a friend.”

“Consideration?”

“More than anything, hiding and striving to hide for each other’s sake. I think that effort is greater than spilling everything without regard for their feelings or situation.”

“So…”

Her voice still trembled, but the reason and emotion were entirely different now.

“You hid it for my sake?”

“Of course.”

For the first time, Hocheol looked at Se-ah, not straight ahead.

“We’re friends.”

At his calm but sincere confession, Se-ah bowed her head.

Sighing softly, she snapped her head up.

“Pretense, secrets—never thought of that as the standard for real friends.”

“Maybe it’s a villain’s mindset.”

“No. I like it better.”

She jerked her head up.

The betrayal she felt moments ago vanished.

Only a lingering sense of disappointment remained.

“Still, you could’ve told me sooner.”

“Sorry.”

Se-ah stared at the streetlamp for a while.

Minutes passed in their silent staring contest.

She covered her mouth, yawning widely. Wiping a stray tear, she lowered her head.

“So what was your plan? Not hiding it forever as part of that consideration, right?”

“No way.”

Hocheol answered instantly.

“I planned to hide it until I realized it was truly wrong and could sincerely apologize.”

Sadly, Ji-an still believed her way was the most efficient and correct.

She might’ve thought it’d take decades otherwise.

Even now, if he forced her to apologize, she might bow to the victims sincerely.

But it’d be meaningless.

He wanted a Ji-an who’d choose a different path in the same situation.

“Will that day come?”

Se-ah closed her eyes.

Her hands on her thighs trembled.

Among the academy’s villain attacks, the worst was undeniably the MT incident.

“I almost died.”

“Yeah.”

“Students nearly got kidnapped.”

Her anger wasn’t just about nearly dying.

She’d faced far worse dangers as a hunter and overcome them.

What she felt was deeper—helplessness.

Conscious but unable to move a finger, the student she was meant to protect went with the kidnapper to save her and others.

Her only option was entrusting everything to Hocheol, whom she’d half-dismissed.

As a professor and protector, she’d failed completely.

That failure was a nail driven deep into her heart.

Opening her eyes, she saw her nails had dug into her palms, leaving small cuts.

“Honestly, I still want to storm over and grab her by the collar.”

“I get it.”

“But I’m holding back because you’re my friend, you care about the students more than I do, and I trust you—as a person and a professor.”

She hadn’t saved the students; Hocheol had.

Maybe her trust stemmed from that debt. But she didn’t dwell on it.

“In return for waiting, you better bring me an answer I can accept.”

Hocheol licked his dry lips.

It was the heaviest demand he’d ever heard.

Honestly, he was 30% sure he’d fail.

“Can’t promise that.”

Se-ah, exasperated, smacked his shoulder.

“Ugh, idiot. You’re supposed to promise, even if it’s empty.”

“Oh. Promise.”

Hocheol stood, turning to crouch in front of Se-ah.

At her eye level, their gazes locked.

He extended a hand, raising his pinky and thumb, wiggling it lightly.

“I won’t run away.”

“You were just thinking of backstabbing a few hours ago.”

“Let’s forget that.”

Se-ah knew what his hand meant.

Treating her like a kid?

Grumbling, she extended her pinky, hooking it with his.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, promise. I’ll keep it this time.”

This time?

Something about his words nagged her, but his slightly sad expression made her hold back.

* * *

Back at the dorm, Hocheol sighed at the lump under the blanket in the dark.

He should’ve told her to sleep in her own room.

Why let her stay?

Thinking back, he wasn’t in great shape then, too out of it to say the obvious.

Even turning on the light, Ji-an didn’t stir.

She shared his tendencies. No, most veteran villains did.

Sleep wasn’t rest—it was their most vulnerable moment.

Like Hocheol, Ji-an’s body was trained to wake and react to any presence within range.

Hocheol’s habits had dulled over months, but not Ji-an’s.

Sohee said she’d wake instantly if anyone came within meters.

Yet, even as Hocheol stood right beside her, she didn’t move.

Close enough to touch her slender neck, she still didn’t wake.

Staring at her, he let out a hollow laugh.

“Seriously.”

How many were suffering to make this one girl human?

His friend, who’d gone through hell to reform him, suddenly seemed incredible.

But the sentiment passed.

His face twisted as if he’d seen something awful. He had.

From Ji-an’s mouth to her cheek and pillow, a trail of clear liquid stretched.

No need to guess what it was. The pillow was half-soaked.

This wasn’t drooling—it was like she’d sucked on it.

Hocheol muttered, dumbfounded.

“What the…”

How long since he washed that pillow?

Sighing, he shook his head.

He needed sleep, though.

Ji-an’s terrible sleep habits had her teetering on the bed’s edge.

There was room for him, but—

No way, not unless he was crazy.

He pulled a few books from the shelf, placed them on the floor, and covered them with a towel for a makeshift pillow.

It was summer—no blanket needed.

Lying on the floor beside the bed, he closed his eyes.

Some time passed.

Ji-an opened her eyes.

Has she ever slept this well in years?

Just Hocheol’s bed and blanket made her comfortable.

Staring at the ceiling, she turned to check the bed beside her.

Empty.

Turning the other way, she saw Hocheol asleep on the floor.

Tch—

She’d made space for him, and he still slept down there?

She considered grabbing a pillow and blanket to join him.

Or sleeping beside him?

No, she’d definitely get scolded in the morning.

This chance might never come again.

She pulled the blanket down, draping half over Hocheol.

Sleeping under the same blanket would have to do for now.

Feeling true rest and sleep—unknown as an experiment or villain—Ji-an drifted back to sleep.