Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 39: Training

I opened my notebook and explained the training methods tailored to each student’s unique traits in detail.

The focus areas, training methods, intensity, repetitions, and rest intervals between sets.

This wasn’t the time to pursue squeezing out every ounce of ingenuity like usual.

This was purely about repetitive mastery of their traits, so there was no need to overthink.

In fact, searching for the “optimal” training method would be a waste of time.

That’s why I created an environment where the students could focus solely on honing their traits without any distractions.

“Number 3.”

“Yes.”

“Your trait benefits more from synergy when trained with someone else’s help rather than alone.”

Ignoring the confused look on Number 3’s face, I called another student.

“Number 22, step forward.”

Caught off guard by being called out of order, Number 22 stepped up.

At Number 22’s appearance, Number 3, a male student, looked uneasy.

Number 22 mirrored his expression.

Their reactions only confirmed my suspicions.

These kids, despite being second-years, had barely any close relationships.

In their class, maybe three or four were actually friends.

The rest were at the level of exchanging greetings when they passed by.

In their first year, classes were split into multiple groups, and Clington’s educational philosophy leaned heavily toward competition over camaraderie, which played a big role.

The students didn’t realize it, but I paid quite a bit of attention to their interpersonal relationships.

Cooperation and unity were things I often emphasized—how could I be a professor if I didn’t care about that?

So, through this training, I aimed to improve the awkward relationships among some of them.

“Number 3 and Number 22. Body hardening and fist-focused augmentation traits, right? Your traits form a suitable combination for output training.”

No matter what philosophy the academy held, I had no reason to follow it.

With a clear common goal and enemy in this MT, I figured they could overcome their awkwardness and build stronger bonds.

“Number 3, keep activating your hardening trait. Number 22, keep hitting the hardened areas. You’ll train hardening speed, maximum hardening range, and durability in parallel. Number 22, focus on maximizing your trait’s output and increasing the number of strikes.”

Of course, creating an opportunity for them to bond wasn’t a guaranteed way to make them friends.

Number 3, suddenly turned into a punching bag, raised his hand sharply.

“This feels unfair! Getting hit like this might create bad feelings that weren’t there before!”

They were already not particularly close.

Getting beaten up without so much as a greeting would naturally breed resentment rather than friendship.

I crossed my arms and nodded.

“Valid point. I’ll take it into consideration.”

Just as Number 3 thought he’d escaped his punching bag fate, I turned and pointed to a distant cliff.

“Then how about training by repeatedly falling off that cliff? Seems more reasonable, and you won’t develop bad feelings toward nature.”

At my brief question, Number 3 quietly lowered his raised hand.

Falling off a cliff versus getting beaten up by a not-so-close classmate.

It was a choice that didn’t even require thought.

“…Can we just do it here?”

“I’ll assign a specific spot. Until I finish sorting the later numbers, you two talk.”

“Yes…”

After that, I paired or grouped a good number of students.

“And Numbers 8, 11, and 19. You three…”

In some cases, I formed teams of up to four.

Then, my gaze stopped on one student.

“And you two, the half-and-half class leaders.”

I’d finished assigning advice and groups for the others.

These two were the only ones left.

Choi Da-yeon and Jeong Ye-jin.

Maybe because they were competing for the sole class leader position, their relationship was oddly delicate.

They were conscious of each other but avoided direct conflict, seeming to compete while pretending not to care—a vague boundary that was hard to describe.

I hoped this opportunity would improve things a bit.

With that thought, I paired them.

“You’re both augmentation types, but your traits are very similar to emission and manipulation types.”

Ye-jin’s trait, like Da-yeon’s, wasn’t quite typical for augmentation.

Since their traits affected their surroundings, they’d normally need an isolated environment, but this time, there was no need to worry about that.

I pointed at Ye-jin first.

“You focus on raising your maximum output and extending its duration.”

Then I turned my finger to Da-yeon.

“You absorb the energy she leaks. Increase your maximum capacity and improve your energy conversion efficiency.”

They briefly glanced at each other, and sparks seemed to fly in that short moment.

But as I clicked my tongue, they quickly looked down.

Can these two actually get along?

* * *

The students gathered in their assigned pairs or groups and began training their traits.

Some couldn’t be paired due to the dangerous or inefficient nature of their traits, but there was no helping that.

Sandpits exploded, the sounds of people getting hit echoed, and the ground trembled.

If this were a regular beach, there’d have been hundreds of complaints.

This was why MTs had to be held on uninhabited islands.

I sat in a chair where I could see all the students, hands clasped and leaning forward.

My eyes darted left and right.

Silently watching their training was oddly chilling, but I wasn’t just spectating.

Without moving, I spoke.

“Number 3, your trait’s output is dropping. Maintain it.”

Number 3, getting pummeled at a distance, widened his eyes in surprise.

His stamina was fading, and he’d slightly—barely—eased up.

Yet I’d noticed and pointed it out instantly.

It was chilling.

“Number 31, your lower body’s weak. Lower your stance.”

“Number 20, you’re putting too much force on your shoulders.”

“Number 9, it’s taking longer to reach max output.”

Monitoring and managing over 40 traits simultaneously was impossible for an average academy professor—or anyone, for that matter.

This wasn’t about teaching ability or traits.

Back in my villain days, I always fought against overwhelming numerical odds.

Facing dozens or hundreds of traits at once, my perception could process and comprehend information on a level far beyond any typical hero or villain.

It was a skill I’d gained through surviving life-and-death struggles and overcoming every hardship.

Hours passed like that.

As the sun set, darkness fell over the island.

Checking the time, I stood up.

Pressing my fingers to my eyes for a quick massage, I clapped my hands.

“That’s enough for trait training.”

At those words, everyone collapsed on the spot.

The earlier run was tough, but this trait training was on another level.

One student, covering their eyes with the back of their hand, whispered in a crawling voice.

“Someone, anyone, save me…”

Only someone pushed to the brink of death would say “save me” instead of “I’m dying.”

They learned that the hard way.

My claim of squeezing them to their limits was spot-on.

And one thing was certain.

If they so much as twitched a finger now, they’d feel like they’d die.

Pushing their physical and trait limits to the absolute bottom was a first, even after accepting the concept of traits.

Someone checked their watch and gasped.

“It’s only 7 p.m.?”

“It feels like we’ve been at it for over eight hours. How bad must it be for our sense of time to get this warped…”

Everyone nodded weakly in agreement.

One student, sprawled out, lifted only their head to ask me.

“Is there more on the schedule?”

“No. No more training for today.”

Sighs of relief echoed around.

Thank goodness.

That was all they could think.

“Um, what about dinner…?”

“I’m not going to starve you for all three meals. Honestly, skipping lunch was just to avoid you throwing up from training on a full stomach—it happens a lot.”

The students’ expressions showed belated realization.

They’d likely have seen their lunch again if they’d eaten anything substantial.

It was my way of being considerate for their delicate age.

“More importantly, this isn’t torture—it’s training. The difference lies in replenishing what you’ve expended.”

No matter how grueling this hellish training was, it was still training.

Without ensuring recharge through rest, all their efforts would be meaningless.

“Today’s schedule wraps up with dinner, lodging assignments, and rest. Let’s eat first.”

I gestured lightly with my chin, and Se-ah, resting by the medical tent, snapped her fingers.

Several large boxes floated from behind the tent, stacking neatly around me.

The students looked at the boxes with curious eyes.

Boxes labeled “T” and “F.”

I opened the “F” box first.

“Combat rations for awakened beings.”

Not a buffet, but at least it guaranteed minimum nutrition and calories.

Normally, they’d be disappointed, but after 24 hours of hunger, they’d have eaten dirt if I’d told them to.

Their eager stares urged me to hurry, so I gave up explaining and raised my hands.

“Class leaders, distribute them.”

Instantly, the students—no, starving beasts—rushed the boxes.

The rations were dry and overly seasoned, far from tasty.

But to them, it was so delicious it brought tears.

Some actually cried.

After 24 hours, the nutrients soaked into their bodies.

It wasn’t a mistaken sensation.

The food was designed for quick absorption, so they could feel their energy surging back.

Well, their bodies were healthy enough not to worry about blood sugar spikes.

Plus, I gave extras to those who wanted more, so there was no shortage.

It was only natural that all 86 rations were gone.

With dinner done, I stood up.

“Now, lodging assignments.”

The students looked at me with a hint of anticipation.

With full stomachs, their wild imaginations stirred again.

I’d definitely mentioned a lodge with a beach view.

A villa, resort, condo—maybe even a hotel?

But only a few held such hopes.

Most instinctively felt an indescribable unease.

My use of “assign” instead of “move” was particularly ominous.

Even recalling the view of the island from the transport helicopter, there were no lodges or man-made structures in sight.

This was an uninhabited island.

A nice lodging was unlikely.

I tapped the unopened “T” box with my foot.

“Each of you takes a tent from here. Instructions for setting them up are included.”

Reality was, as always, harsher than imagination.

Seeing their stunned faces, I added generously.

“I was going to make do with a few 12-person tents, but that got vetoed. So, I’m letting you each have your own tent.”

A private lodge with a beach view?

What a luxurious MT.

* * *

The students crawled into the tents pitched in a circular arrangement.

A few complained about wanting to wash, but when I silently stared at them, they shut up and went inside.

In hero work, going days without washing or sleeping was common.

They should be grateful for tents.

Even those who whined about washing fell asleep instantly once inside.

Within ten minutes, faint snoring echoed from various tents.

It was closer to passing out than sleeping, but it was the natural result of such an exhausting day.

I sat by a nearby campfire, organizing the day’s training notes.

Se-ah emerged from the medical tent and approached me.

“What’re you doing?”

I flicked my pen up and down.

“Recording the kids’ training progress and performance. How’s her condition?”

There was no need to guess who I meant.

Se-ah answered immediately.

“She’s a bit drained, but she’s mostly recovered. She’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

So-hee had been holed up in the medical tent since coming down the mountain.

Her mind was fine, but her body was completely sapped, leaving her visibly distressed.

“Good to hear. I was worried it was worse.”

Se-ah returned to the tent, and I focused on my notes for a while longer.

After finishing the final period, I closed the notebook.

Checking the time, it was past midnight.

Perfect timing.

I stood slowly.

Looking at the tents, where only intermittent snoring could be heard, I said quietly.

“Everyone, wake up.”

My voice was too soft for the students to hear and rise, but the pressure I directed at the tents forced them to get up.

Emerging groggily from their tents, their puzzled eyes held faint anxiety.

What was going on?

It was barely past midnight—hardly wake-up time.

A few quick-witted students thought of an outrageous possibility.

No way.

It couldn’t be, right?

I stood silently, arms crossed, watching them.

In contrast to my cold expression, my eyes, reflecting the campfire, held a strange heat.

I spoke slowly.

“It’s past midnight, so we’ll start day two’s schedule.”

The worst of the worst.

The most dreadful possibility became reality.

Before the students could write in despair, I continued.

“Here’s the situation. A missing person and a fall accident on the mountain. The target is unconscious, in critical condition, urgently requiring hero intervention. However, since there’s no actual rescue target, we’ll use a substitute.”

I pulled a fist-sized capsule from my pocket.

The translucent yellow capsule was the kind used for toys at local stationery stores.

This test demanded stamina and speed to navigate a dark mountain, as well as keen observation to locate the accident site.

“We’ll use these capsules. I’ve placed them around the mountain in areas where accidents might occur. Finding a capsule counts as a successful rescue.”

While the students were setting up tents and resting, I’d been busy scattering these capsules across the mountain.

“The golden time for a nighttime mountain accident is two hours. Open a capsule, and…”

With a pop, I opened the capsule’s lid, revealing a small, rolled-up paper.

Unfurling it, large letters read.

[Meal Voucher]

“Tomorrow’s breakfast won’t be free. There are only 22 capsules on the mountain. And with your skills, there’s no guarantee you’ll find them all within two hours. You get what that means, right?”

I was inducing competition again.

But finding all 22 capsules in this vast mountain within two hours was no easy task for one person.

No, it was impossible.

In a situation with limited resources and competition, I was adding the condition of cooperation.

It was a challenge for students and even pros.

The groggy, sleep-deprived students snapped awake.

They could see what would happen if they messed this up.

“Got it? Then go.”

Thankfully, they weren’t completely incapable of learning.

They quickly formed synergistic teams, coordinated to avoid overlapping search areas, and dispersed.

Seeing this, I nodded slightly.

If they’d all gone solo again, I was ready to make them do physical training until they dropped.

At least this was a passable start.

As the students vanished into the forest, I opened my bag.

Since this was part of the agreed-upon training, Se-ah just stood with her hands behind her back, glancing around.

She preferred my teaching methods over the academy’s theoretical approach.

Sure, it was a bit harsh, but tightening the reins like this once a year was necessary.

But…

Seeing me rummage through my bag, she asked curiously.

“What’re you doing?”

In this training, I didn’t have a specific role.

Like her, I was just supposed to stay here and handle any unexpected variables.

“Just…”

I pulled out a plain white mask from the bag.

Staring at it, I said.

“It’s a disaster scenario, right? But all they’re doing is a treasure hunt. Honestly, if they start cooperating, finding the capsules will be too easy. And in a disaster…”

I placed the mask on my face.

“…there needs to be a ‘calamity,’ don’t you think?”