The Unstoppable Voyeur Bug (4)
At those venomous words, Song Do-yun looked ready to hurl herself at Yoo Hee-won on the spot. But she didn't. She simply turned in silence and walked toward the dormitory.
Yoo Hee-won watched her receding back and clicked her tongue. The truth was, Song Do-yun's decision not to attack wasn't solely because Yoo Hee-won was far beyond what she could handle. There was another, more important reason.
Song Do-yun, having returned to the dormitory at a brisk pace, stopped by the management office to collect a package addressed to her. Fortunately, it had arrived right on schedule. She picked up the slightly heavy box and hurried straight to her room.
Inside the package was a bizarre-looking device. It had a grip shaped like a handgun, but where the barrel should have been, there was a circular, funnel-like attachment instead. It was a sound amplifier, equipment designed to capture even the faintest noises and magnify them dramatically.
Song Do-yun connected the included headset to the amplifier and tested it by pressing the device firmly against her door. Immediately, the footsteps of Han Min-ha and Yoo Hee-won approaching from the far end of the hallway boomed in her ears as if they were right beside her.
She listened in silence, then slid sideways along the wall, tracking Han Min-ha's movement. Once she was flush against the wall shared with Han Min-ha's room, Song Do-yun pressed the record button built into the device. Soon the sounds came through the headset—Han Min-ha peeling off her training suit and changing into her gym clothes.
Song Do-yun remained utterly transfixed, unaware of the long string of drool slipping from the corner of her mouth.
The internship assignment period was fast approaching. It was the so-called "draft," in which hero agencies and the Management Bureau—having observed the first-semester PVP Combat Evaluation—pre-selected students to take on as interns. For nearly all students, the place they interned would become their workplace after graduation, and there were rarely any major deviations from that pattern. Which made this assignment critically important.
Receiving a love call from a thriving hero agency meant a guaranteed smooth transition after graduation. Receiving none at all... well. It wouldn't necessarily lead to dropping out, but the future would look rather bleak.
When I thought back on my own experience, I'd only received nominations from a handful of unremarkable offices. They were tiny outfits run by aging C-class heroes. The offices themselves were shabby, tucked away on the outskirts where requests barely trickled in. I spent my entire internship sweeping floors, watering plants, listening to the hero's endless complaints, and nodding along in agreement.
The office had a single clerk handling all the general affairs in place of any sidekicks, and I still remembered how aggressively she came on to me. I was a minor at the time, and she was well over thirty if my memory serves. The age gap was enormous, yet she constantly pestered me—buying me meals, suggesting we grab drinks, never letting up.
I kept refusing because it felt entirely inappropriate, but the situation finally exploded the day before my internship ended. The hero left early that day, complaining that his body ached more than usual and saying he was headed to the sauna. The moment he was gone, the clerk made her move.
She suddenly stripped off her blouse, shoved me against the desk, and tried to kiss me. Without thinking, I grabbed her arm and slammed her down onto the desk in a perfect throw. The desk collapsed. She was diagnosed with eight weeks of recovery time. I nearly received disciplinary action, but thankfully the hero—sensing something off—had switched on the recorder the instant he stepped out. That recording saved me.
I never learned what became of her afterward. She might have faced legal consequences for what she did to a minor, or perhaps the whole thing was swept under the rug. I'll never know.
Sitting in the faculty office, I reviewed the internship assignment results. Yoo Hee-won had received so many nominations that a single page couldn't contain them all. Han Min-ha had received fewer, but still a respectable number. Now, where was Song Do-yun...
Fortunately, her list wasn't too disheartening. Although she'd suffered a rather hollow defeat at Han Min-ha's hands with that one-hit kill, the Wind Manipulation ability she'd displayed had been impressive enough to leave a strong impression.
What mattered now was which offices had sent those love calls. None of the three were in bad positions. In Yoo Hee-won's case, an office run by an S-class hero had even nominated her—an absolutely remarkable feat. S-class heroes were rare to begin with, and most refused interns entirely in order to maintain their service quality. The sidekicks in that office were nearly all B-class or higher, so nominating Yoo Hee-won meant they already viewed her as operating above that level.
Han Min-ha's options were decent on average, and Song Do-yun's were similar. But one name on Song Do-yun's list stood out as distinctly unusual.
"Professor. Goshawk has selected Do-yun."
Professor Jin, seated beside me, scanned the list and pointed at the entry with his finger.
"So she has. How curious."
Goshawk was a black hero. In simple terms, she was far closer to a villain than to the heroic ideals most people imagined. She was the sort of hero whom Regal Might, the guardian of justice, openly and vehemently despised. It was questionable how someone like her could even be licensed as a hero, but she did indeed fight villains. The problem was that her methods were brutally violent and merciless, with zero regard for civilian casualties—hence her classification as a black hero.
During summer break last year, when Han Min-ha and I visited Yoo Hee-won's house, the sidekick Ivy Runner who responded to that highway villain incident had belonged to one of Goshawk's branch offices.
But if Song Do-yun joined Goshawk's agency, Goshawk would personally mentor her. That was the rule. Which meant Goshawk had nominated her specifically with the intention of teaching the girl herself.
Other offices might have been acceptable, but Goshawk's was problematic. Fortunately, several other heroes and various Management Bureau departments had also nominated Song Do-yun, so she could simply choose from among them.
"Song Do-yun. Let's reconsider this carefully."
In my lab, I was doing everything I could to persuade her. Absurdly enough, out of all the available internship placements, Song Do-yun was stubbornly insisting on Goshawk's office.
"There are plenty of better options. Why Goshawk, of all people?"
"She's the highest-ranked hero on my list."
That much was true. Goshawk was an A-class hero—the highest rank among those who had nominated her. The Management Bureau was an exception, of course, since it was a department head making the selection rather than a hero.
"But you can't choose based solely on rank. You need to consider whether the hero's personality and methods align with your own. Are you perhaps unfamiliar with Goshawk?"
"I know her. Who doesn't know Goshawk?"
That was also true. Thanks to her anti-hero tendencies, Goshawk was quite famous—and even had a dedicated, almost cult-like fanbase.
"If you know her, then I want to dissuade you even more strongly. Goshawk and I pursue completely opposite paths as heroes. You'll almost certainly experience significant confusion after completing an internship there."
"Even so, I want to go. Most hero agencies are essentially the same, but hers won't be. I believe there will be much to learn."
Unfortunately, that was true as well. Goshawk was a hero who focused almost exclusively on combat. There was no better place to learn how to fight. Still, Goshawk herself seemed like an exceptionally bad choice.
Only one student was assigned to each internship location. That meant Song Do-yun couldn't join the same placement as Han Min-ha. Having accepted that, she appeared determined to learn as thoroughly as possible. Setting aside questions of character, Goshawk's skill was undeniable, which made it difficult for me to outright forbid her.
Besides, student preference carried heavy weight in internship assignments. If no one else volunteered for Goshawk and Song Do-yun insisted strongly enough, there would be little I could do. And if my prediction was correct, she was likely the only student Goshawk had nominated.
This particular rolling stone was proving to be quite the headache.
"Then let's make one promise, Song Do-yun. If Goshawk ever tries to send you on a solo mission, you will refuse."
Sidekicks in Goshawk's office had a noticeably lower survival rate than those at other agencies. The reason was simple: they accepted every request that came in, which left them chronically short-handed. Minor jobs were frequently assigned to lone sidekicks. On top of that, Goshawk herself didn't particularly care whether her sidekicks lived or died.
Despite this, the pay was above average, and anyone who survived long enough was eventually converted to full-time status. That was why applicants never stopped coming.
"Do you understand? If you do, answer me."
"I understand, Professor."
"Also, I intend to voice my opposition to your placement at Goshawk's office during the next faculty meeting. Keep that in mind as well."
"Yes, Professor."
Song Do-yun answered with perfect obedience. It would have been wonderful if she'd been this compliant when I first told her not to go to Goshawk's office. Goshawk, of all people. How utterly absurd.