Professor Oh explained the theory and basic posture for shooting, and then the training began right away.
The shooting drill proceeded in order of rank.
As the only currently enrolled S-rank Guide, I went first.
Even when doing drills by rank, usually it would be grouped with the A-ranks—but Professor Oh specifically made shoot alone.
He was probably hoping to pick a fight over sothing trivial and earn praise as a professor who gives hard-hitting feedback even to S-ranks. I’d been through this all of last year, so I knew exactly how that man operated.
He nitpicked over the most ridiculous things even in theory class—how much more ammunition he’d have now that it was practical training?
I received the training-grade automatic pistol and stood in front of the target.
It wasn’t a standard firearm—it was a special weapon made using processed minerals extracted from gates.
Technically, the bullets should be made of magic stones too, but for training purposes, cheap tal rounds were used instead.
At the Academy, Guide uniforms were ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) white and Esper uniforms were black. It wasn’t just the color—there were slight differences in material and construction, too.
Espers’ uniforms prioritized mobility, while Guides’ were focused more on appearance. Maybe that’s why the shoulder area felt a little stiff.
I rotated my shoulders and readjusted my stance—only to get yelled at right away.
“Focus! You think you’ve got ti to stretch your shoulders when a monster’s right in front of you?!”
A completely baseless scolding.
The ready signal hadn’t even gone off yet. When else was I supposed to fix my posture if not now?
But this was the sa man who’d once picked a fight over the type of pen I used. Compared to last year, this wasn’t even that bad.
Beep beep.
The ready signal sounded. I pointed the muzzle toward the target.
And as soon as the start signal ca, I fired.
All ten shots hit cleanly.
In my past life, I once got a reward vacation for my marksmanship—or so I claid. The truth was, I’d just practiced steadily since last year.
When I finished shooting, a few scattered claps broke out.
“Wow.”
“Lee Yeonsu’s really good.”
“Guess S-rank is S-rank. It’s different.”
“Seriously impressive.”
They were chatting amongst themselves, but I heard it all. Embarrassed, I scratched my temple—only for Professor Oh to snap sharply.
“Don’t get cocky.”
...When did I ever act cocky?
It was absurd, but Professor Oh kept talking without hesitation.
“You’re an S-rank, so you had more opportunities than the rest. Hitting a stationary target like this should be expected. Inside a gate, you’ll be facing moving monsters. Getting smug over sothing like this is just pathetic.”
It’s true that S-ranks get more opportunities. They can sign with major corporations at a young age and receive tailored training backed by corporate resources.
But I wasn’t contracted with anyone. So Professor Oh’s example didn’t apply to .
The reason I hit all ten shots today was because I’d been practicing since last year.
Facilities like the gym and shooting range were open outside class hours, and I made ti to train whenever possible.
Any enrolled student could use them, regardless of rank. It wasn’t so S-rank privilege.
Still, I didn’t feel like arguing it all out here, so I just gave a small bow and returned to my spot.
Next were the A-ranks.
Kang Inho scored all tens. Jung Sangcheol scored in the 40s.
“You’re too hasty, Kang Inho. Jung Sangcheol, focus more. Your form is good.”
Professor Oh nitpicked the unaffiliated Guide Kang Inho like he did with , and then gave forced praise to the main culprit of today’s nonsense—Jung Sangcheol—whose score was awful.
Good form, my ass. The guy staggered every ti he fired from the recoil. But apparently the Vice President of the Guide Association’s nephew’s mistakes were invisible.
That was exactly how he behaved in the original, too.
In Guide’s Swamp, Professor Oh always praised whatever Lee Yeonsu did—because he was the exclusive Guide of the youngest heir to the Seonghan Group. He was sucking up.
That version of Lee Yeonsu relied on his rank, didn’t put in effort, and had lousy skills. But I was different. I hadn’t taken a single break in the past seven years. My skills were undoubtedly better than the original.
Yet this version of Professor Oh only ever found fault with , no matter what I did.
After that, the B-rank Guides took their turns.
Most hovered around the 50s, and no one got a perfect score.
But Professor Oh’s evaluations were generous.
“For your first ti, that was good. It’s your first try, after all.”
“Don’t be discouraged. Mid-rankers don’t usually get the chance to hone their skills. It’s not your fault.”
“Shooting has nothing to do with rank. It’s all about effort. You’ll improve in no ti.”
Maybe it was just my imagination, but even that sounded like a veiled jab at .
***
The one good thing about Professor Oh was that his classes ended quickly.
Having both Jung Sangcheol and Professor Oh in the sa room made want to drop this class on the spot. Or at least transfer to a different section.
But practical training classes were assigned based on a mix of rank, trait type, compatibility rate, and other conditions. If one person switched out, it ssed with the whole balance—so transferring wasn’t easy. For the sa reason, dropping the class was difficult too.
Considering what was going on with Joo Seunghyuk, I really wanted to take a leave of absence until the original storyline ended. But the Academy was structured a lot like the military. Without special circumstances, a leave wasn’t an option.
“Yeonsu!”
“Oh, noona.”
Jihui noona walked over in her uniform.
“You heading to training?”
“No, I’m done.”
“What kind of class ends this early?”
“Shooting. With Professor Oh.”
“Ahh.”
The mont I said “Professor Oh,” she nodded knowingly.
“That must’ve been so annoying.”
“Yeah. You have no idea.”
“I get it. That guy targets one student per class, every ti.”
Jihui noona had the highest rank among third-years and ca from a small guild, so she’d been a frequent target of Professor Oh too. A lot of our bond ca from that shared misery.
“Yeah. And then he still gives good grades.”
“Right? He gives good grades just so no one can complain.”
That was the thing—Professor Oh gave high grades despite all the abuse. He even sent emails after the sester ended.
Sothing like: I have high expectations for student Lee Yeonsu. That’s why I was stricter. I hope you understand it cos from a ntor’s care.
Jihui noona said she got similar emails too.
He used to build his popularity by beating up on an easy upper-rank target, but then didn’t want to actually make enemies, so he sweet-talked behind the scenes.
“Ugh, hang in there. Since he blew up today, it’ll be quiet for a while.”
“Yeah. He usually stays quiet for about two weeks after one of these.”
That was Professor Oh’s pattern: raise hell for image-building, then stay quiet for two weeks before doing it again.
“I heard he’s transferring to the Center soon. I really hope he stops tornting the kids and just leaves already.”
“He’s going to the Center?”
“Yeah. Apparently so nice spot. He keeps bragging about it. Not confird, but the Center’s the strongest possibility. This administration’s big thes are reform and innovation, right? There’s a rumor he’s going to be appointed as the new director.”
“Reform and innovation? Professor Oh?”
“He’s been flapping his mouth on TV, that’s why. Public loves him now.”
Professor Oh had been on talk shows and variety programs a lot lately, earning popularity for boldly criticizing upper-rank ability users.
It was all fake—just for popularity—but the public ate it up.
“Poor folks at the Center.”
I wanted to offer sincere condolences to the upper-rank agents there.
They must’ve turned down cushy corporate offers out of patriotism and a sense of duty—only to end up as scapegoats for Professor Oh’s self-promotion.
He’ll definitely try to get popular there by going after the high-rankers again.
“If he ends up at the Center, there’s no way I’m going.”
I’d only had about a 10% interest in joining the Center before, but the mont I heard Professor Oh might go there, it dropped to 0%.
“Good. Don’t go. Why be a civil servant? You’ve got offers from every direction. Pick and choose—go where they’ll treat you best.”
“Yeah. I will.”
“Anyway, hey, Yeonsu, Yeonsu~”
Jihui noona’s mouth curled up into a mischievous grin.
“Why are you looking at like that?”
“There’s sothing you were supposed to tell .”
“Oh, I forgot to return the money you gave yesterday. I’ll give it back today.”
“How fun was it yesterday, that my perfect, responsible Yeonsu totally forgot?”
It wasn’t because it was fun. It was because it was terrifying.
But even to Jihui noona, I couldn’t say that.
In the original, Joo Seunghyuk endangered even the people around Kim Jun to possess him.
Now that Joo Seunghyuk’s obsession was aid at , Jihui noona might be in danger too.
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s not?”
“Yeah...”
“So you two aren’t anything?”
I wanted to say yes, we’re nothing. But if I said that carelessly and it reached Joo Seunghyuk’s ears, it would be catastrophic.
“...I’ll tell you later. Once things are clearer.”
Once he’s officially dumped , I’ll say it then. If he ets the real main uke, his obsession will vanish... right?
“Got it. Tell when you’re sure.”
Jihui noona didn’t press further.
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