Educational System Reform (3)
The new semester began after a short break. Under normal circumstances it would have started without any particular fuss, but this opening season was unusually chaotic. The cause was obvious: the sweeping reform of the educational system. In the space of a single week everything had been turned upside down. If even the professors were flustered, it was easy to imagine how bewildered the students must have felt. On top of that, the dormitory assignments had been completely rearranged under the pretext of building teamwork after classes, throwing the entire academy into pandemonium.
Because of this, the faculty decided not to begin lectures right away. Instead they granted everyone a week to adapt to the new system. Though calling it “consideration” was generous; it was more accurate to say the academy itself was struggling to contain the situation and had been forced to take emergency measures. During that week, not a single student or staff member had a moment of peace. Everyone was frantic, and the deluge of angry calls from parents made the administrative office—which handled the complaints directly—feel as if its phone lines would never stop ringing.
Administrative Manager Chae Ga-yun looked as though her face had been cast in cement. Rumors said she was working with an IV drip of nutritional supplements just to keep going.
Professors were assigned multiple teams, the number varying according to the importance of their subjects. For that reason, both Professor Yu and Professor Jin had ended up shouldering an enormous number of teams. Throughout the week I could barely even speak to them. They had grown so razor-sharp that I was half-convinced any wrong word would earn me a direct hit from their aura.
In any case, it was a period of pure chaos.
Yet I, along with Yoo Hee-won and Han Min-ha, remained slightly outside that frenzy, passing the time in a rather different atmosphere. Our existing guidance group had simply been promoted as-is, so there was nothing extra for us to do. While everyone else was losing their minds, the three of us could sit leisurely in the campus café, enjoy the air-conditioning, and sip coffee at our own pace.
“What is wrong with everyone?”
Yoo Hee-won sucked on her straw, drawing up icy coffee while gazing out the window at people trudging through the blazing sunlight. She looked exactly like a noble watching serfs toil during the busiest harvest season.
“Heroes die every day. The fuss they’re making is ridiculous.”
She clicked her tongue and jabbed Han Min-ha in the side with her elbow.
“Don’t you think?”
“That’s not true, Hee-won. We heard the explanation at the entrance ceremony. It didn’t sound like an ordinary situation at all.”
Yoo Hee-won’s eyes narrowed into axe-blades as she glared at her.
“If I say it is, then it is.”
“…Is that so? Well, maybe it is.”
Han Min-ha immediately lowered her tail at the scolding. There was a reason she behaved this way. Part of it was Yoo Hee-won’s overwhelming presence, but the bigger factor was the bracelet currently wrapped around Han Min-ha’s wrist. It was from a luxury brand that only appeared in high-end department stores. The day after I urgently returned to the academy, Yoo Hee-won had dragged Han Min-ha out shopping and bought it for her. Wearing something that expensive on her arm, Han Min-ha couldn’t possibly talk back. The old saying that the one who feeds you holds all the power wasn’t wrong at all.
Of course, Yoo Hee-won hadn’t bought the bracelet with that intention. It was simply the arrogant young lady’s way of showing friendship.
While I was looking at Han Min-ha’s bracelet, Yoo Hee-won suddenly asked, “Should I buy one for you too, Professor?” She lifted her own wrist. Same brand, completely different design, nearly identical price range.
“No, that’s all right. If I walked around wearing something like that I’d only become a laughingstock. And this might sound old-fashioned, but heroes generally avoid wearing accessories.”
“Why?” Han Min-ha asked, eyes round.
“Because they can react to aura wavelengths and become extremely dangerous. That’s why heroes wear dedicated combat suits during battle and avoid putting anything on their bodies in daily life. Have you ever seen a hero with piercings?”
“Ah… now that you mention it, I never have.”
“Exactly.”
Han Min-ha nodded, looking as if she had heard something fascinating. Yoo Hee-won, however, muttered something about “old farts” before changing the subject.
“Anyway, the new system is team-based. What are we supposed to do with only two people?”
“What do you mean, what are we supposed to do?”
“Everyone else is grouped in fours or fives, but we only have me and this black-titted girl. The Ministry of Education and the Management Bureau wouldn’t have pulled this insane stunt two days before the semester started unless they’d been hit in the head with a death ray. They’re probably planning to send this exact team straight into the field even after graduation.”
Yoo Hee-won’s observation was razor-sharp. It was a possibility that had already been discussed among the professors. To counter the growing organization of villains, there was a strong chance the current freshman cohort would be formed into permanent teams and deployed as units. When I called Regal Might shortly after the semester began, he confirmed that hero agencies were already receiving overtures from the Management Bureau—offers to collaborate with certain offices or accept temporary dispatches for stable income. The mood in the field and this educational reform were inevitably linked.
“Well… in my opinion, the two of you—Student Hee-won and Student Min-ha—would outperform five average students.”
“Ha? That’s ridiculous. We have less than half the manpower of other teams and you want to shove your guidance students onto the battlefield? No way.”
Yoo Hee-won spoke with finality, as if she had reached a decision.
“You should join the team too, Professor. With three of us, we’d have a real chance.”
“Hehe. Really?”
Han Min-ha giggled beside her.
“I’ll fight, and Professor can support me. Then ordinary villains would be easy to handle.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“You can cheer from the back. You’d look great in a cheerleader outfit.”
Yoo Hee-won poked Han Min-ha’s chest repeatedly with her index finger.
“S-stop it…”
Han Min-ha shrank in on herself, glancing at me.
“What on earth have you been eating to make them this big?”
“I haven’t eaten anything special…”
I knew the reason. The Han Min-ha sitting in front of me looked identical to her mother, Seo Ji-ah. If the two stood side by side, anyone would mistake them for twins or extremely similar sisters. It was all thanks to excellent genes.
“Oh? Song Do-yun is walking by over there.”
Yoo Hee-won, who had been tormenting Han Min-ha, pointed out the window. Beneath the blinding August sunlight, Song Do-yun walked alone, casting a long shadow. The last time I had seen her she was wrapped in a full-body cast before the break; now she appeared completely recovered. People with aura naturally healed quickly, and the academy clinic’s cutting-edge medical technology had done the rest.
“She doesn’t even sweat. Like a ghost,” Yoo Hee-won muttered, sipping her coffee.
Han Min-ha placed a hand over her chest and let out a sigh of relief. “She looks fully healed. That’s good.”
“It’s funny hearing that from the person who beat her half to death.”
“Hehe…”
At that moment Song Do-yun, who had been walking past, stopped and looked in our direction.
“Eek! She saw us…!”
Han Min-ha jumped in fright, bolted behind me, and crouched down. Song Do-yun stared blankly into the café. Yoo Hee-won arrogantly crossed her legs and met the gaze head-on. After standing there like a ghost in broad daylight for a long moment, Song Do-yun finally turned away and continued walking.
“Hmph. That gloomy bitch,” Yoo Hee-won said as if nothing had happened. Only Han Min-ha, timid as ever, cautiously peeked over my shoulder.
“She’s gone… Phew. The way Do-yun acts, she really looks like Sadako with short hair. It’s scary.”
“Sadako? You know about Sadako, Student Min-ha? That movie came out before you were even born.”
Yoo Hee-won tilted her head, equally puzzled.
“What’s Sadako?”
“Um… it’s a ghost from a Japanese horror film. She crawls out of a well and just stands there staring like that.”
“What? I’ve never heard of it. If the professor knows about it, it must be a movie from like forty years ago.”
“Sorry, Student Hee-won, but I’m not that old.”
“That’s right. Professor looks so young that anyone would think you’re an active-duty hero who just graduated from the academy.”
Han Min-ha subtly placed her hands on both my shoulders as she defended me, but she quickly withdrew them under Yoo Hee-won’s icy stare and returned to her seat.
“Still, with that personality I wonder if she can even function in a team.”
Yoo Hee-won watched the retreating figure of Song Do-yun.
“It’d be a nightmare. Well, it’s none of our business anymore.”
“Hehe. Our…” Han Min-ha whispered too softly to be heard, smiling to herself.
“Professor, who is she teamed up with?”
“I don’t know. I’m not particularly interested in the other teams.”
Professor Jin had said it before: I only had eyes for Yoo Hee-won and Han Min-ha. To some extent it was true. Aside from properly teaching the guidance students under my care, I felt little interest in anything else. It was probably thanks to the Mental Barrier that firmly defended—or isolated—my mind.
What was strange, however, was that the same logic should have applied to the two students sitting in front of me, yet it didn’t. I felt a strong sense of responsibility toward them. The responsibility to graduate them with excellent records and forge them into heroes strong enough not to die meaningless deaths in the field.
If one called it affection… well, I wasn’t sure yet. It was clear the two of them felt affection for me. But whether that affection was the proper bond between teacher and student or something of a different nature…
Back when we had watched a movie together in the basement theater of Yoo Hee-won’s house, both girls had sat on either side of me and held my hands. Although the Mental Barrier blocked many things, I was not so blind that I could not judge the situation objectively. I knew the affection they directed at me was different from the simple respect a student should feel for her professor.
Yet I pretended not to notice. It isn’t right. That was my conclusion. They were minors, students I was supposed to teach and raise. Fortunately, the Mental Barrier helped me maintain that boundary.
“Anyway, let’s continue doing well together as the three of us.”
“Yes!”
“Understood, Professor!”
The two guidance students answered according to their respective personalities.
However, I would later learn that our team was not, in fact, composed of only two members.