Chapter 11: Ethics Class Showdown

Clack-clack-clack.

Lee Chae did his best to ignore the persistent shadow tailing him and slipped into Humanities Building Room 321.

As always, the classroom was quiet. The only people who took Ethics were awakened who, like him, aimed for civil-service jobs. The lectures were pure exam-prep. In other words: a class he could not miss a single word of.

He took his usual front-row seat.

Haejin, who had been glued to him until now, suddenly slowed.

Lee Chae couldn’t help glancing over.

“……?”

He looked at Haejin with pure mockery: Are you seriously embarrassed to take Ethics?

“Babe, can’t we sit in the back? The very front is a bit…”

So it wasn’t the subject, he just hates the front row? …This guy is beyond imagination.

Lee Chae had zero intention of moving anyway, and now that he knew it annoyed Haejin, he definitely wasn’t budging.

“Nope. Why should I?”

Students began trickling in.

The lunatic opened his mouth again.

“You obviously only want my body. No way you’d be this cold otherwise.”

Lee Chae gracefully ignored him, sat in the front row, and took out last week’s handout.

Haejin, despite whining, plopped down right beside him.

Lee Chae pressed the start button on his stopwatch and tried to review.

Not a single letter registered.

All because of the psycho next to him.

The professor walked in, called roll, then stared at Haejin like he’d seen a ghost.

“…What brings you here?”

“I’m a student in this class too, Professor.”

The professor gave a hollow laugh.

“Isn’t your ethics class the combat one? The one about civilian casualties in real battles?”

He doesn’t even know which ethics class he’s enrolled in… pathetic.

But Haejin’s next words blew that thought to smithereens.

“My exclusive guide takes this class. As you know, Professor, my matching rate is abysmal. Even a few minutes apart gives me severe separation anxiety. My condition has been critical ever since the unidentified monster incident in front of the library the other day. Please cut me some slack just this once. Also, I got a bad grade in this class before and need to make it up.”

Please, please say no, Professor!

Lee Chae stared at him with desperate eyes.

But the professor’s gaze was glued to Haejin, practically sparkling with academic curiosity (separation anxiety in an S-class? The recent monster attack?). He nodded warmly.

“On the condition that you answer my questions briefly as individual assignments.”

There’s no way this delinquent agrees to homework.

One second. No hesitation.

“Of course. I deeply apologize for suddenly changing classes.”

Lee Chae’s blood pressure skyrocketed. His chronic low blood pressure was cured in an instant.

Thus began a class that was life-or-death for Lee Chae and pocket change for Haejin.

Lee Chae couldn’t concentrate at all.

Because the guy beside him was literally resting his chin on his hand and staring.

“This part came up in the exam two years ago—memorize it. Ethical regulations differ by rank. Questions can be multiple-choice testing fine details or essays explaining the differences.”

Lee Chae was underlining the relevant section when the professor suddenly called on the intruder.

“Cha Haejin, esper. You didn’t even bring the textbook. You should at least know this much, right?”

Lee Chae’s lips curled into a smirk. He set down his pen.

Imagining Haejin humiliated already lifted his mood.

He even flipped past the relevant page so Haejin couldn’t cheat off him.

But Haejin answered without a single pause.

“From an esper’s perspective: there’s a clear power gap between S-class and B-class. Even if an S-class focuses perfectly, wide-area attackers inevitably cause civilian damage. That’s unavoidable.

B-classes, however, have fixed range and power. If they harm civilians, intent is recognized, making them liable for lawsuits.

Conversely, an S-class who knows their own power and still fails to prevent a rampage receives far harsher punishment, precisely because the destructive potential is greater.”

Lee Chae’s mouth fell open.

Perfect answer. Even the part about intent wasn’t in the textbook.

No way. I must’ve misheard.

Haejin continued as if mocking Lee Chae’s denial.

“That’s exactly why penalties differ by guide rank too. If an S-class guide sees an S-class esper on the verge of rampage and ignores it, the punishment is different from a D-class doing the same.”

His gaze slowly slid to Lee Chae.

“Of course, our Jung Lee Chae is D-class, but since he’s the only guide for S-class esper Cha Haejin, if he ever ignored me he’d receive the same punishment as an S-class guide. Because, as I said, my matching rate is garbage.”

He enunciated “ignored” extra clearly.

Lee Chae’s face twisted.

The professor, oblivious to the death glare battle, asked in awe:

“Then what percentage do you estimate with Guide Jung Lee Chae?”

“One hundred percent.”

The room erupted in murmurs.

One hundred percent was impossible—even the best guides never hit 100% with anyone.

Everyone else was floored.

Lee Chae, who had half-expected the lunatic to say exactly that, stayed calm.

He knew it was a lie, just another stunt to get attention.

The professor laughed, clearly thinking it was bravado.

“One hundred percent… that’s beyond even an S-class guide’s capability. What do you think the secret is?”

Lee Chae froze.

Judging by every insane thing Haejin had done so far, the next line was obviously going to be obscene.

Haejin’s eyes locked on him, full of mischief.

“The secret seems to be his face. The way he looks at me is so—”

“SHUT UP!”

Lee Chae shot to his feet and clamped a hand over Haejin’s mouth.

Laughter exploded around them.

Lee Chae used his full body weight to keep the mouth sealed, bowing repeatedly.

“Sorry, sorry, so sorry—”

The laughter eventually died down and class resumed.

The two-hour lecture felt like two years.

When it finally ended, Haejin was swarmed by the professor’s enthusiastic questions.

Lee Chae bolted out alone, tasting freedom.

He practically flew to his next class, terrified of being followed.

He scanned the room for a front-row seat.

Someone lightning-bolted past and claimed it.

Haejin, panting.

“Huff… huff… babe, why do you run so fast? I nearly died chasing you. This seat’s yours, right?”

Even getting openly annoyed was starting to feel exhausting.

He had always prided himself on ignoring people, on maintaining a perfect cold shoulder, on subtle psychological warfare.

But those skills were designed for normal humans.

Against a certified lunatic, they were useless.

While Lee Chae rubbed his stiff neck, Haejin pulled out wet wipes and started frantically cleaning the seat next to him.

Where the hell did he even get wet wipes?

The unexpected consideration was baffling… and not entirely unpleasant.

Ugh, annoying…

Ambiguous, undefined things never ended well.

In a world raided by unidentified monsters, the unknown wasn’t excitement; it was fear.

Lee Chae took a deep breath to clear his head.

He wanted to sit somewhere else, but that would just start another fight.

So he sat down beside the lunatic.