Job Secured – The Heavy Bag of Ten Million Credits
The weight of the bag—stuffed with a whopping 10 million credits—pressed into Han Seongjin's palm, a solid reminder of his successful job hunt. With that kind of money, he wouldn't have to agonize over finances for the foreseeable future. He headed toward the narrow alley with light steps, as if out for a casual stroll.
And trailing silently behind him was Wibel. The elderly director pondered endlessly: just what is that peculiar young man's true nature?
He's a superhuman, no doubt... but not your run-of-the-mill kind.
The words "ordinary" and "superhuman" coexisting in a single thought felt odd, but for Wibel von Rosenberg—director of Noble Academy and an S-rank hero—it wasn't all that strange. He himself embodied the bizarre from the start.
There, in the distance, walked the young man with black hair and red eyes. Nothing particularly striking about his looks. Tall and robust, sure, but by those metrics alone, the B-rank hero from moments ago would outshine him. Yet the feats he'd displayed, the aura radiating from him—they crushed typical superhumans with ease. Strength that pulverized a B-rank hero effortlessly, reflexes blurring his movements beyond sight, footsteps so hushed they'd slip past unfocused ears. And then, visible only to Wibel's eyes: the overwhelming energy pouring from the youth. Fundamentally alien compared to what other superhumans exuded. That's why Wibel had taken such an interest.
To stumble upon talent like that in this backwater fringe? An unexpected windfall. A faint smile tugged at Wibel's lips.
How long had he been shadowing him? As the alleys narrowed around the walking youth, Wibel followed with extra caution, moving slowly.
-Thud, thud.
The young man advanced at a steady rhythm. He rounded a corner and vanished from view.
To avoid losing him, Wibel sped up—silently—and turned the corner.
And in that instant.
"......"
"Hmm."
Wibel locked eyes with the chilling red gaze staring him down head-on. The young man's face was icy cold as he spoke in a low, menacing tone.
"Why are you following me?"
He noticed. Wibel hadn't expected carelessness from him, but this level of acuity was hard to credit. He mentally bumped up his assessment of Seongjin and replied.
"Hoho, getting old means louder footsteps, I suppose. My apologies."
"Just say why you're tailing me."
A quick scan: narrow alley. The worst spot for an energy-manipulation superhuman like himself. Did he spot the tail early and lure me here on purpose? Wibel found himself liking the young man more by the second.
"Sorry for the shadowing. That's just how I roll."
Wibel pulled a business card from his pocket and flicked it into the air. Defying physics, it glided straight ahead, halting right before Seongjin's nose.
Noble Academy Director - Wibel von Rosenberg
Seongjin snatched the card midair and let out a scoff.
"What's an academy director like you doing in a dump like this?"
"I'll be direct. I want to hire you as a teacher at our academy."
"Pass."
Instant rejection. Clean, zero hesitation.
"Deciding that quick? Without hearing the terms?"
"Not my style to teach anyone. And desk work? Hard pass. Just leave."
Sharp as a blade. Wibel wasn't offended by the refusal—in fact, he was closer to delighted. Instant acceptance would've disappointed him.
"What I'm offering isn't that. No chalkboards or desk-jockey typing for you."
Seongjin paused mid-step, narrowing his eyes and cocking his head in a silent question: Then what does a teacher do?
Wibel chuckled softly and laid out the real pitch, tailored just for him.
"I want to bring you on as a special instructor at our academy."
"Special instructor? Like handling some remedial class?"
"Close enough. We've got a bunch of headache students. Oozing talent but zero manners, theory whizzes who flop in the field."
"......"
Seongjin crossed his arms, eyeing him—go on.
"Your job? Straighten 'em out. Put the wayward ones back on track."
"You want me playing babysitter? No thanks. Kids aren't my thing."
As Seongjin grabbed his bag to brush past, Wibel pressed on.
"Not babysitting. Just demo real combat in class and exams. Any 'minor' injuries? I'll sweep 'em under the rug with my authority. Rest is your call. Lab provided. Want an aide for grunt work? Done. All gratis."
"......"
Seongjin halted, staring Wibel down. The nagging thought since laying eyes on the old man crystallized.
Strong.
Months back, drifting across the continent, he'd glimpsed a blonde woman up close for reasons he couldn't recall. This old man gave off the same vibe. An aura beyond compare, warping the air itself to swirl around him.
Why would a powerhouse like this scout him out of nowhere? That the whole story? And was "academy director" even legit? He dismissed the doubt. Nothing else explained it but one of Novapolis A City's two S-rank heroes—the director himself.
Decision made, Seongjin shouldered his bag firmer.
Entangling with a heavyweight like this screamed danger.
"Not interested. I'm out."
Seongjin brushed past the old man.
"Hmm, no helping it. Fair enough. I'll head back."
Wibel stroked his goatee, sighing skyward like a man gazing into the void. As if interest had truly evaporated.
"Phew. All that walking's got my knees throbbing. Noble Academy's got the world's top welfare setup—perfect for some R&R. Those gourmet-packed restaurants? Divine. And as faculty, it's all free rein, no charge. How sweet is that?"
-Twitch.
Seongjin's body jerked faintly.
...Nah. Freedom trumps it.
Ignoring—or pretending to ignore—Seongjin's reaction, Wibel rambled on casually.
"A-rank caliber profs and guards on constant watch—safe as houses. Sure, the hot-blooded types scrap now and then, but nothing major."
-Twitch.
"And Starlight—that active S-rank hero—drops by her alma mater sometimes. Witnessing her drives home just how monstrous S-ranks are."
-Twitch.
"Killing time in the library during downtime? Prime. Stacks of world intel. Some buried tomes house ancient manuals thought lost forever."
-Twitch.
"And... y'know, if a dungeon pops up, faculty get first dibs on dispatch?"
"I'm in. Special instructor."
"Wise choice."
Seongjin whipped around abruptly. Wibel grinned wide and offered his hand.
Seongjin reached out too.
"One condition."
He froze just shy of the clasp.
"No reports. My methods, my rules. Kids throw tantrums? Not on me."
Wibel's face lit up like sunrise.
"Naturally! Too soft, and I'd take offense."
"And pay..."
"Hoho, fret not. Ten times that bag's haul—monthly. Prof standard."
Wibel boomed a laugh, and Seongjin finally clasped hands.
Wibel pumped the grip, then widened his eyes like something forgotten had clicked.
"Ah, doofus me. Never got your name. What's it?"
"Kyle."
"...Hmm, cautious is smart, but contracts need the real deal. Your actual name?"
Seongjin blinked in surprise. Zero flinch at the alias. Damn, he saw right through. Tough nut to crack, this old timer.
With that, he voiced his true name for the first time in ages.
"...Han Seongjin."
"Han Seongjin. Solid name. Got it memorized."
Wibel nodded approvingly, then swept his hand through the air. The alley's shadows rippled, birthing a glowing semicircle of soft light in the void.
Portal?
To conjure an instant-transfer portal—usually needing custom gear—with such ease. Seongjin felt afresh how this old man operated on a whole other plane.
"Not much baggage, eh? Ready to roll, special instructor Han Seongjin?"
"Yeah. Let's go."
-Rumble.
With that, the pair stepped through the portal's eerie hum. It snapped shut in a blink, leaving the alley in utter silence—as if nothing had ever transpired.