Chapter 6: Proposal
Why was she so fixated on this?
Without knowing Da-yeon’s background, current situation, or emotions, Ho-cheol couldn’t fathom her proposal.
Da-yeon answered readily.
“There’s no suitable ntor to teach archery. Even with my family’s connections, most archery-specialized heroes are manipulation types, and the rest are emission types. For soone like , with only an augntation trait, their guidance is useless.”
Ho-cheol almost asked why there weren’t augntation-type archers but held his tongue.
The only augntation-type archer hero he knew was S-grade, soone so busy even in the past that they had no personal life.
Would they have ti now?
Even if they did, would they bother teaching a re student, not an heir?
He nodded slowly.
“That makes sense. But I’m not the archery expert you think I am. I’ve just barely moved past beginner level. If I tried teaching you, my limits would show in two days.”
Da-yeon, unswayed by his exaggeration, countered with disbelief.
“Have those limits ever shown?”
“…No. I’ve never taught anyone, so they wouldn’t.”
“Then it’s fine. It’s a problem that hasn’t happened. If it does, we’ll deal with it then. Besides, I
haven’t even reached that beginner level you’re talking about.”
Her logic wasn’t wrong, leaving Ho-cheol unable to argue.
“Fair point. But is that the only reason?”
Da-yeon’s eyes darted side to side.
There were other reasons, but she didn’t want to share them.
Yet, Ho-cheol’s gaze showed no interest—worse, it held distrust.
If she claid that was all, he’d clearly reject her.
After a mont’s thought, she placed a hand on her chest.
She’d wanted to keep this secret out of embarrassnt.
“Next, you’re the only one who’s ever recognized my talent.”
“Talent?”
“Yes. Everyone who saw my archery said I had no talent. That it was a waste of ti, an inefficient detour. But you didn’t. What talent did you see in ? What kind of insight do you have? I’m dying to know. If I really have talent, wouldn’t the one who saw it be the best to nurture it?”
Ho-cheol was surprised.
Her archery wasn’t that of an unparalleled genius or prodigy, but it had enough potential to make a living.
Propping his chin, he said nonchalantly.
“It’s not that my insight’s great. Sounds like everyone else—your teachers, people around you—they’re the ones with bad eyes.”
His blunt, yet sincere, assessnt hit hard.
Da-yeon’s eyes widened.
The unexpected praise, coming out of nowhere, threw her off.
She quickly turned aside.
Her neatly tied hair puffed up ssily.
Covering her mouth, she coughed repeatedly, glancing at Ho-cheol.
Saying sothing like that out of the blue.
She shook her head vigorously, regaining her composure and donning her expressionless mask.
“And finally.”
Da-yeon spoke quickly to change the subject.
“Everyone in that classroom has bad eyes.”
“What? Now you’re dissing your classmates?”
“No, that’s not it.”
This was the real reason she’d made her recruitnt offer.
“They just look down on you as a C-grade villain. They probably won’t acknowledge you until the very end of this course.”
“Hm. That bad, huh?”
Ho-cheol rubbed his chin, muttering.
He didn’t fully agree.
In the next lecture, he planned to show them “overwhelming power” and “an unbeatable foe” through sheer force.
If they still looked down on him after that?
They might not respect him as a professor, but failing to acknowledge that gap in power would suggest actual insanity.
He couldn’t spoil next week’s lecture, so he nodded vaguely.
“Guess that’s the vibe for now.”
“I can’t stand others not recognizing soone I’ve acknowledged.”
They were the kind who’d call a sparkling gem dirty just because it ca from mud.
Da-yeon wasn’t generous enough to share her treasure with such ignorant fools.
Her clenched fist trembled.
It was a different, more intense emotion than when she’d been praised—a raw, passionate outburst.
As the trembling stopped, she spoke firmly.
“That’s how much I acknowledge you. Even if you’re a C-grade villain.”
“Man, a student judging whether to acknowledge a professor?”
Being recognized should’ve felt good, but the “C-grade” part stung.
Like tasty food stuck in his throat.
“Alright, I get your proposal’s not ant to offend. So I’ll be straight with you.”
Ho-cheol recrossed his legs and answered.
“Bottom line: I can’t do it. You want to quit voluntarily, but that’s impossible. No matter what backing you have.”
Her offer was unacceptable from the start.
He was only a C-grade villain on paper—a heinous criminal with an erased record in reality.
The Legal Departnt Director, the academy president, and other higher-ups would never let him go.
“Even if I could pull strings with an active S-grade hero?”
Despite Da-yeon’s confident attitude, Ho-cheol remained unfazed.
“Yeah. Unless you convince every S-grade, it’s not happening.”
He’d expected as much.
Only soone with S-grade backing would dare negotiate with the Legal Departnt and academy.
“Even if you convinced every S-grade…”
He looked at Da-yeon with his most serious gaze yet.
“I still wouldn’t do it.”
“Why not?”
Da-yeon was baffled by his response.
Her offer was beyond generous—pure profit for Ho-cheol.
She’d been certain he’d accept, standing before him with unwavering confidence.
“Why? Because I don’t want to.”
With that, Ho-cheol stepped down from the podium.
Waving his hand, he started to leave the classroom.
Or tried to.
Da-yeon reached out and grabbed his sleeve.
“You’ll stretch my clothes.”
He turned his head slowly. Da-yeon spoke urgently.
“I told you my honest feelings and reasons.”
“So I have to share mine?”
“If you respect as a student.”
Ho-cheol glared at Da-yeon, still clutching his sleeve.
She t his gaze head-on, unyielding.
“Kids these days, never backing down.”
Grumbling, he broke eye contact first.
Should he say it or not?
After a mont’s thought, he crossed his arms and waved his left hand.
“I’m not qualified.”
“Qualified?”
“Yeah.”
With no intention of explaining further, he gently pushed her hand off his sleeve.
Leaving the frozen Da-yeon behind, he headed for the classroom door.
Placing his hand on the knob, he turned back.
“Just focus on my class. That alone will make you an A-grade hero.”
“I don’t want to be A-grade. I want S-grade.”
Ho-cheol let out a small laugh.
He raised his index finger, wagging it back and forth.
At his gesture to co closer, Da-yeon approached as if entranced, until they were re inches apart.
Close enough to hear each other’s breathing, Ho-cheol’s action was swift.
He curled his wagging finger and flicked her forehead.
Thwack—!
A crisp sound rang out as Da-yeon clutched her forehead.
“Ow!”
“With your current attitude, you’re stuck at C-grade, talking about S-grade?”
S-grade was a realm only the most talented, through relentless effort, could reach.
Not sothing a re student should casually ntion.
“Cut the nonsense. Co to the archery range Saturday after lunch. I’ll check your form. I’ll scrape the bottom of my knowledge to teach you.”
Crouching and rubbing her forehead, Da-yeon replied in a small voice.
“…Yes, sir.”
“And dress warmly—it’s cold. You were wearing sothing too thin last ti.”
With that, Ho-cheol opened the door and left.
With him gone, Da-yeon was alone in the vast classroom.
She took a deep breath.
An unexpected failure.
But she wasn’t discouraged or depressed.
She’d faced worse failures, more humiliating situations.
This didn’t even count as a hardship.
Besides, she’d secured a small victory—private archery lessons every Saturday.
Standing, she touched her forehead.
A small bump had ford where she’d been flicked.
You’re the first to hit .
She wasn’t about to get sentintal over such nonsense.
She pulled out her phone. Before the first ring, a low voice answered.
[Yes, miss.]
“Investigate soone. It’ll be tough—the association and academy are managing him. Yes.”
What qualifications did Ho-cheol want?
She couldn’t grasp it yet, but she’d find out eventually.
“Characteristics? I can send basic info and a photo right away.”
Pausing, she lowered her gaze. Her free hand smoothed her shirt.
Thinner than she’d thought—maybe too light for early spring’s chill.
She smirked and answered briefly.
“Nothing stands out except he’s kinder than expected.”
* * *
After the lecture, while planning the curriculum at his dorm, lunchti arrived.
Normally, he ate side dishes from So-hee or convenience store bentos, but he’d heard the cafeteria opened with the sester.
Since it wasn’t far, Ho-cheol got up to check it out.
Arriving, he froze, mouth agape at the sight before him.
Snapping out of it, he muttered awkwardly.
“What… Why’s it so crowded?”
The cafeteria was packed.
Who knew it’d be this popular?
Regaining his senses, he scanned the area.
Where do you order?
Unfamiliar with the place and overwheld by the crowd, he joined a long line.
As the line ahead cleared, a new one ford behind.
A chain of people, almost like perpetual motion.
Lost in such absurd thoughts, the line ahead vanished.
What greeted him was a cold, unfeeling steel heart.
“I’ve never seen a ticket machine like this.”
Ho-cheol didn’t even know its na.
A kiosk.
To soone released after ten years, a kiosk was an incomprehensible marvel.
He stood frozen, index finger raised in confusion.
“Whatever… Sa thing.”
It looked fancy, but it was just a ticket machine.
The algorithm for dispensing tickets was probably the sa, just digital.
He boldly pressed the “Order” button.
Press this, then that.
Wait, was that wrong?
The screen reset to the start without warning.
Calmly, he selected his nu again, navigating…
“Oh.”
He accidentally chose takeout instead of dine-in.
Grumbling, he canceled and started over.
Takeout at a school cafeteria?
The complaint lingered on his tongue.
He could feel the growing stares boring into him.
Stay calm.
Panicking would only make it worse.
He needed cool judgnt and quick action.
Overcoming several hurdles, he reached the paynt button.
Or tried to.
In a split-second error, he hit the ho button below it.
A devastating ssage followed.
[Returning to the main screen.]
All his efforts vanished.
Ho-cheol stood there, dazed, forgetting he had to restart.
He felt dizzy, nauseous, head spinning.
He’d never missed So-hee more since his release.
If she were here, she’d have handled it.
Then, a grumbling voice erupted from behind.
“Co on, lunch is almost over. Hurry up and choose!”
Snapping back, he felt both sorry and wronged.
It was only three or four minutes—did he deserve this?
No ti to argue.
He’d rather order.
Changing paynt thods, adding toppings, dine-in or takeout, loyalty points, staff discounts—he gave up on the last one, unable to find his ID number.
Enduring every trial, he hit the confirm button.
Finally, the kiosk spat out a ticket and receipt with a mocking pfft.
“Haa…”
Carefully pocketing the ticket, he stepped aside.
As he looked for a seat, he turned to see who’d complained.
Let’s see your face.
The voice’s owner glared back, as if they’d done nothing wrong.
Bright blonde hair down to her shoulder blades, erald-green eyes, and rimless tal glasses gave her a stern air.
She looked vaguely familiar, though it was clearly their first eting.
Where had he seen her?
The answer ca from her, surprisingly.
Turning pale, she bowed at a right angle.
“Hello, Professor!”
“Uh… yeah.”
Her reaction made it clear—no need to guess.
A hazy mory sharpened.
Now he rembered.
She was one of the few students who’d held up well in his lecture.
Grinning at her still-bowed head, he said.
“It’s fate. Let’s eat together.”
Her expression was hidden, but her trembling head gave her away.
He caught faint mutters—Why’s a professor in the student cafeteria?
“Why?”
Rubbing his chin, he looked at her still-bowed head.
“You don’t want to?”
Still bent at a right angle, her head slowly rose.
She forced the most awkward smile in the world.
“N-no way. Of course I’d love to.”
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