NOVEL NEXT Ch. 33
Chapter 33: Union
As always, when Ho-cheol put on a suit, So-hee was more particular than he was.
Adjusting his crooked shoulder line and plucking every stray thread, she nodded, satisfied.
“Clothes really make the man.”
“Done, right?”
“Wait a sec.”
She forced him back into the chair as he tried to stand.
Studying his reflection, she angled her head.
“This style’s always bugged me.”
Not content with clothes, she moved to full styling, slathering mousse onto his hair.
“Hm. This unbalanced vibe’s perfect.”
The outfit was a standard Monami setup, but his sharp features carried it flawlessly.
Ho-cheol tugged at his collar, muttering.
“It’s hot. Can’t I undo a button?”
“Just one. Two’s too sloppy!”
“Then roll up the sleeves?”
“Sleeves are fine.”
While she manhandled his hair, he asked?
“You really not going?”
“No invite, so why bother? It’s for professors or big shots. A mere counselor like me would just feel out of place. I’ll wait out front. Not interested anyway. You too, right?”
He glanced at her reflection, slightly surprised.
“You see that?”
“Over a month together—wouldn’t it be weirder if I didn’t?”
“Fair.”
“Done! Look. Pretty good, huh?”
She patted his shoulder lightly.
He looked fine normally, but this suited her taste better.
“Yeah, cool and nice.”
“Why not dress like this daily?”
“Spend over ten minutes on my hair every day? No way.”
He finally stood, checking his watch and clicking his tongue.
“Definitely late.”
* * *
Union Night.
The name suggested workers waving red flags with sickles and hammers, but the reality was the opposite.
A three-story building, fully reserved, had a red carpet stretching from the entrance.
Following it led to a grand hall.
A chandelier lit the high ceiling, and tables were laden with gourmet dishes.
The moment Ho-cheol stepped into the second-floor banquet hall, the chatter of a hundred people fell silent.
Only soft classical BGM filled the void.
After a brief pause, murmurs swelled, louder than before.
The vibe was far from welcoming, and Ho-cheol felt it keenly.
But he didn’t care.
He grabbed a cherry tomato skewered with a toothpick and munched.
“He actually came.”
“Tch. The chair’s desperate to expand influence, but stooping to a no-name villain?”
“Seriously. If he were a famous villain, we’d save face.”
“C-grade, huh? Poor students are learning from him.”
“Speaking of, his class has the Swordmaster’s…”
They lowered their voices, but Ho-cheol heard clearly.
An invitation wasn’t a welcome, but this was practically enemy treatment.
Still, he preferred this awkwardness to fake friendliness.
He’d considered causing a scene to meet his goal, but this atmosphere would do the work for him.
Swallowing the tomato, he held the toothpick, scanning for a trash bin.
Where to toss this?
As he pondered.
“Hah, who do we have here?”
Someone approached.
Turning, he saw a handsome young man with slicked-back blonde hair, exuding sleaze in a purple suit.
His flushed face and glass suggested heavy drinking.
“The academy’s one-and-only villain-turned-professor!”
The boisterous blonde closed in, reeking of alcohol.
Completely smashed.
He poked Ho-cheol’s shoulder.
“And scouted by the chair herself. Quite the celebrity, huh?”
Ho-cheol stared silently.
In his old days, he’d have jabbed the toothpick through an eye and lectured on manners.
Now, he was shockingly mature, classy even.
He could brush off a drunk’s antics.
Pushing the hand away lightly, he said.
“You’re drunk. Wash up and sleep it off.”
Just a touch of adult advice.
“And eating garbage for snacks? Your breath stinks. Have some self-respect.”
“…What?”
“My badmouth was harsh. Keep it shut, and no one’s confused.”
The drunk’s red face turned crimson.
“Hey, hold on. You’re too drunk.”
“Let’s keep it friendly.”
Others stepped in, pulling the blonde back.
They seemed to intervene, but their glares blamed Ho-cheol.
Unbelievable.
He shook his head, turning away.
He’d planned a stir, but it needed a worthy opponent.
Engaging a drunk would only cheapen his dignity.
Ho-cheol was particular about matching the scale of the issue to the opponent’s caliber.
In that sense, the drunk was lucky.
“Poor students learning from that villain! What’ll they gain? Stuck at C-grade forever? No, lucky if they don’t turn into villains!”
Until now.
Ho-cheol froze.
Staring at the ceiling, he lowered his head.
Turning back, he saw the blonde grinning, waving his empty glass.
If he’d let it slide as drunken nonsense, it could’ve passed.
“Did I say something I shouldn’t?”
No reason to let it go.
“There’s nothing I can’t say.”
Ho-cheol stepped close, extending his hand.
The gesture was clearly for a handshake, obvious to onlookers and the half-sober blonde.
“It’s fate, right? You probably know, but I’m Jeong Ho-cheol.”
The blonde shook off the restraining hands, smirking.
Taking mockery and still offering a handshake?
Total submission.
What could a C-grade villain do?
Savoring victory, he extended his hand.
“Right, I’m—”
“No need to say.”
Ho-cheol gripped his hand, cutting him off.
“Won’t remember it long.”
The blonde sensed something wrong the moment their hands met.
A simple handshake, yet it felt like a crushing press.
His buzz vanished.
He tried pulling away, but his hand didn’t budge.
Ho-cheol’s face was colder than ever.
“Rude? You need matching ability. No ability? Be polite.”
A handshake—proof of friendship or a barbaric act?
“No ability and rude? That’s a problem.”
“This is your crossroads. Escalate, and I’ll take on anyone.”
A personal spat within the union.
Stopping here kept it minor.
A healing-trait professor was present, so no hospital was needed.
But one more step, and it’d spiral beyond a personal tiff.
Airing union disputes publicly, with an investigation revealing details, would be humiliating.
The president’s faction, hostile to the union, would pounce.
The victim or aggressor didn’t matter—the union would bear the fallout.
To avoid loss, burying it as a mishap was their only move.
Sane union members knew this, staying out.
Confirming no one challenged him, Ho-cheol crouched, meeting the blonde’s eyes.
Just convince this guy, and it’s over.
“Feel wronged? Sue me, discipline me. Who’s got more to lose?”
Slowly, deliberately, he tapped the blonde’s cheek.
Slap—slap—
“Got an S-grade backing you? Hero Association director connections? Power and wealth to sway major media?”
His voice, soft as a whisper, was eerily clear to all.
To the wincing blonde, he said.
“Nothing? Then crawl. Is nobody daring to sit at my table? Even rats know prey from predators. Humans can’t? Or are you just a hairless monkey?”
He stood.
“Oops, kill the vibe.”
Shrugging, the earlier faint hostility now burned stronger.
Some looked curious, but they were few.
“Still, for the host’s sake, I can’t just leave.”
Grabbing a whiskey glass from a table, he said.
“The uninvited guest will step out.”
He strolled up to the third floor.
* * *
Unlike the noisy first and second floors, the third was empty.
Ho-cheol sipped his drink, gazing out the window.
The solitude, so familiar from his villain days, had faded lately.
This feels right, comfortable.
He’d stirred trouble despite being able to let it slide, for a simple reason.
The academy’s info leaker was already unhinged—greedy enough to risk their life.
Having crossed that line, they’d sell bigger, pricier secrets.
And the priciest secret now?
Him.
So he isolated himself.
In a room where no one approached, anyone reaching out was one of two types.
A hero itching to help someone in trouble, or a scumbag squeezing profit from chaos.
The bait was set.
Now he’d wait for a bite.
Some time passed.
Footsteps approached.
He turned slowly.
A portly middle-aged man, familiar—he’d watched the earlier commotion from afar.
Ho-cheol stared silently.
The man chuckled, raising his glass.
“Hah, not quite table-scraps level, don’t worry.”
Without waiting for a reply, he drew closer.
“Our assistant professor was rude. I’ll scold him. Don’t take it to heart.”
“That guy was an assistant professor? Your assistant professor.”
At Ho-cheol’s murmur, the man smiled awkwardly.
“A month into the semester, and only now we meet. I’m Kang Dae-soo, deputy head of the augmentation department.”
“Big shot, huh. Nice to meet you.”
With the president or Se-ah, he’d snap back, but for a polite elder, he could show respect.
Switching his glass to his left hand, he offered his right.
Kang’s face stiffened, recalling the earlier handshake fiasco.
But he quickly regained his hearty smile.
No showing fear—he shook Ho-cheol’s hand.
Just a simple handshake, no issue.
Breathing a silent sigh of relief, he said.
“Wanted to greet you earlier, but the president advised minimal contact.”
“I’m a villain, so I get it. What I don’t get is that assistant professor’s attitude.”
Leaning against the windowsill, Ho-cheol continued.
“Everyone finds me awkward or hates me—I know without feeling it. But that guy was over the top.”
“Hm. Before you came, he was set to lead one of the second-year classes. Naturally, that meant a promotion to full professor.”
Ho-cheol smirked, nodding.
“Plenty of reasons to hate me.”
“The promotion hinged on leading a class, so that’s gone. Stuck as assistant professor until next year’s review. You can see why he’s bitter. Cut him some slack.”
“I get it. Forgiving’s another matter.”
“Hah, that’s a shame. We’re augmentation department colleagues—can’t we work it out?”
“It’s the students he should apologize to, not me. Does my forgiveness fix that?”
“You got that mad over them insulting the students?”
“What else would it be?”
“Huh…”
Kang stared, stunned.
“I misjudged you. You’re a true augmentation professor. I’ll make him apologize. And if you’ve got questions about professing, ask me anything!”
Ho-cheol echoed.
“Anything?”
“Yup! Anything! I’m the academy’s info hub!”
Kang slapped his ample belly, boasting.
“Then let’s ask a few.”
Ho-cheol stepped away from the sill.
As expected.
The bait was barely cast, and the bobber was already dancing.
Was this genial professor just a nosy ex-hero, or a scumbag selling out student safety?
Which was it?
Rubbing his lip with a hooked finger, Ho-cheol thought.
We’ll find out soon.