Chapter 2

Ivan had been peacefully waiting for the ending, thinking only about escaping this tiresome other world and enjoying a cold can of beer with some dried pollack.

Only now did he finally realize that everything he had experienced had merely been “background lore.”

And that the genre of this game was neither—

A strategy simulation where one had to hold back the Demon King’s army in a brutal war,

Nor a traditional RPG where a party of heroes gathered to overthrow the Demon King’s tyranny.

It was, unbelievably—

An academy story.

That marked Ivan’s thirtieth year since transmigration.

***

Ivan frowned as he rubbed the goosebumps rising along his forearm.

If there was one thing he had learned through his long years of military service, it was that a premonition of something bad should never be ignored.

“Kids, throw some salt around.”

“Okaaay!”

He watched the children run off, giggling, and let out a deep sigh.

It had already been four years since the Demon King died, yet the game still had not ended. Wasn’t there something wrong if the epilogue dragged on this long?

Was there some other requirement?

Surely the ending condition was not something ridiculous like “wait until the Hero dies of old age.”

He wanted to return home sooner than that.

By this point, Ivan was desperately digging through his steadily fading memories and carefully writing a list titled “Things to Eat When I Return to Earth.”

He did so with the grim determination of a sergeant counting down the days until his discharge.

Saint Vasilisha Orphanage was one of the wealthiest orphanages in the kingdom.

Normally, an orphanage needed to meet several conditions in order to become wealthy.

It might be situated in a favorable location within reach of the capital’s administration.

Or it might hold political significance as “the first orphanage for war orphans” at a time when the war-torn kingdom had begun rebuilding.

Perhaps its director had formed connections with influential members of society and high-ranking nobles.

If it met those and several other conditions, then, surprisingly enough, it became possible to create the inherently contradictory institution known as a “wealthy orphanage.”

For reference, Saint Vasilisha Orphanage satisfied every one of those conditions.

Canned beer, dried pollack, Honey Butter Chips, nachos dipped in cheese sauce, tuna mayo, kimchi stew.

Damn it, he needed to underline kimchi stew at least three more times.

It had been thirty years since he had last eaten kimchi.

He could not leave out braised kimchi or stir-fried kimchi, either.

And every kind of alcohol except vodka and wine.

Preferably something from Northeast Asia.

After living among monsters who ate cucumber pickles and marinated mushrooms as drinking snacks, he had even begun to miss puffed rice crackers.

“Whew....”

Ivan trudged along weakly before suddenly stopping.

There was someone inside his office, where no one should have been.

An adult.

More specifically, a well-trained soldier.

The eyes that had been dull and listless only moments earlier sharpened instantly.

He stepped forward carefully, not silencing his footsteps this time, but making them sound as natural as possible.

Step. Step.

As though he had noticed nothing, he deliberately emphasized his apparent lack of caution and walked in a straight line toward the wooden door marked with the director’s office plaque.

‘One person.’

His senses had already entered the realm of wild animals.

Anyone who had spent years in the Extermination Unit could perform tricks like this.

The presence beyond the wooden door suddenly froze.

Ivan estimated the person’s position, slowly slipped a hand toward his waist, and lowered his posture slightly.

That way, even if the intruder fired a crossbow the moment the door opened, the bolt would miss the position where his head should have been.

It was an old habit.

“It’s been a while, Senior!”

The unfamiliar visitor called out brightly the instant Ivan turned the handle.

It was a declaration that he had no intention of attacking.

The moment Ivan heard the voice, he identified the man and relaxed his shoulders.

When he opened the door the rest of the way, he found a neatly dressed soldier in uniform waving at him.

“You’ve been well, right? Ah, I really should have come to visit more often!”

“You should have used the front entrance.”

“Come on. Since when did we ever work that way?”

The soldier laughed briefly and stepped back.

His gaze flickered across Ivan’s waist and sleeves.

“What do you want?”

“So impatient! First, we should have tea, catch up on old times, and spend some time talking before getting to business!”

Despite saying that, he pulled a small envelope from inside his coat.

With white-gloved hands, he slowly and very carefully placed it on the table.

High-quality paper.

Fine sealing wax.

And stamped firmly upon it was a chrysanthemum-shaped crest.

The moment Ivan saw it, he instinctively recoiled from the table.

“Hey, isn’t that lèse-majesté?”

“Why would Colonel Kirillovna be looking for me...?”

“She’s the Minister of the Royal Household now. Besides, she was already a brigadier general by the time you retired, wasn’t she?”

“Then why is she looking for me? If I remember correctly, when I retired, she clearly said....”

“Yes. She told you to stay out of sight and live quietly. It’s honestly impressive that you took her words literally and left. Her Highness the Princess could not eat for three days.”

The soldier chuckled and pushed the letter, which Ivan had shoved all the way to the far end of the table, back toward him.

“At least read it. A personal letter from Her Highness could fetch any price at a collectors’ auction.”

Ivan reached out with the caution of someone dismantling a magical device on the verge of exploding.

Taking care not to crush the wax seal, he gently broke it open.

With a crisp little snap, the envelope opened smoothly.

When he saw the letter paper woven with gold thread, his hand stopped dead.

“What’s wrong? Her Highness might simply be asking how you’ve been.”

“...As if.”

Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilov.

During the height of the war, she had been known by the somewhat more familiar nickname “Iron-Blooded Liza.”

There was no chance a woman like her would send an envoy simply to ask how he was doing.

She was more likely to coat the letter with poison.

Surely there was not actually poison on it....

“Oh, just read it already.”

Even then, Ivan hesitated once more before finally working up the courage to unfold the letter.

The writing was elegant and perfectly aligned, as though it had been produced by a typewriter.

[Vanka, have you been well?]

He already wanted to stop reading.

Ivan swallowed dryly.

[I occasionally heard news of you. It seemed that you were doing well.

For the first few months, I thought that was fortunate.

I have not felt the same way since then.

Regrettably, I am not doing well at present.]

Whoever had made this woman “not do well” was probably already paying dearly for it.

[Do you remember when we struggled to tend the garden?

I had hoped that one day we might all have tea together, but you left without even looking back.]

The days when they burned down the demon residential districts, established a military administration, and exploited the now “peaceful” demons?

Of course he remembered.

[For a while afterward, I thought this:

Fine. Vanka may be gone, but there is no way a garden we worked so hard to cultivate could simply fall apart.

Winter has already passed, so once the snow melts, the season of flowers will come.

And perhaps one day, you might return to see the garden you helped create.]

Ivan muttered unconsciously.

“Me? Go to the royal court? Why...?”

[But the seasons have turned, and winter is coming again, Vanka.

The servants have grown complacent with comfort and no longer tend the garden.

Wild grass and beasts now thrive there, and the wildflowers no longer bloom.

A winter colder and quieter than the last is approaching.

The other day, I saw mistletoe covering a dying shrub.]

Only then did he understand the true purpose of the letter.

Before reading the final paragraph, Ivan let out a long, instinctive sigh.

[Vanka, the lumberjack I trust above all others.

Whatever you ask of me, I shall repay threefold.

If that is still not enough, I shall settle the remainder with our friendship.

And if even that cannot repay the debt, then I shall pay with our shared memories.

The kingdom still needs your devotion.

As it always has.

And as it always will.

With affection,

Kirillovna.]

Only after reading the short letter several more times did he press a hand against his tired eyes and slowly turn his head.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He drummed his fingertips on the table, lost in thought for a moment.

“So? Your answer?”

“Tell me the situation first.”

“It’s bad. The military administration begs to be withdrawn every single day. His Imperial Highness Crown Prince Aleksandr is practically itching to carve the country into five pieces and sell them off. And His Majesty, our ‘Great King,’ is still sitting there in silence, saying absolutely nothing.”

The man continued with a mocking grin.

“But then—surprise! Remember Saint Yansk University? The international university established during the war?”

“What about it?”

“I got hold of this year’s incoming student and faculty lists in advance. Take a look.”

He pulled out a notebook and handed it to Ivan.

“The Saint has joined the faculty as a full professor in the Department of Theology. And if you skip ahead... the students. Go on, you'll recognize those names.”

Isabel, daughter of the Hero Maximilien.

Oskar, son of the knight Gilles Ver.

Elfihera, daughter of the mage Beolgrin.

Eshidis, daughter of the berserker Einar.

Lucia, disciple of the thief Enrique.

And, newly appointed to the faculty this year—

Saint Patricia.

It was practically a picture-perfect lineup of the Hero’s party.

“And just our luck, His Late Majesty abolished the university’s age restrictions. Now anyone can enroll, young or old, as long as they pass the entrance exam. And this is the result.”

Saint Yansk University was one of the most prestigious institutions in the Allied Kingdoms.

And this damned fantasy-world version of an elite university did not care about a student’s age.

Whether someone was very young or very old,

Anyone who could pass its brutally difficult entrance exams, interviews, and recommendation requirements was welcomed through its gates.

That was where the problem began.

After defeating the Demon King, the Hero’s party returned to their respective homelands.

Some became nobles.

Some retired into seclusion.

But they all had one thing in common.

Every single one of them was regarded as a legendary hero in their homeland.

Even a single action taken by one of them could trigger an international incident.

Especially if it involved the children they had sent abroad to study.

“Our prince is busy trying to sell the country, and now this happens right in the middle of the capital. So what do you think will happen?”

If even one of those students were killed or seriously injured,

This country was finished.

“What do you need me to do?”

“We've made a position for you on the staff. Not as a professor or teaching assistant.”

“A gardener.”

“Well, universities have trees and gardens to maintain, don't they?”

The man pointed to the list in his notebook as he continued.

“Protect these kids for exactly three years. Make sure every one of them returns home without so much as a scratch. If someone drops out, it might be even less.”

By that point, Ivan had already put the pieces together.

Colonel Kirillovna...

Or rather, Her Highness the Princess...

Needed someone who was no longer officially on the military rolls.

Using active-duty agents would leave traces, making it possible for the Crown Prince’s faction to uncover the operation.

But choosing any random retired operative was equally dangerous.

There was no telling which of them had already thrown their lot in with the prince.

And yet, by sheer coincidence...

There just happened to be one perfectly qualified candidate living quietly near the capital.

A man whose loyalty was unquestionable.

Whose abilities had already been proven.

Who had retired from the military, withdrawn completely from politics, and lived in such an ordinary, traceable place that contacting him posed no difficulty whatsoever.

That miracle of a man was Ivan.

Ivan, who had done nothing but quietly wait for the ending and prepare to return to Earth, where he could once again savor the glorious food of modern civilization—

Realized something astonishing at that very moment.

The Demon King had been defeated.

But instead of ending with, “And the Hero’s party lived happily ever after,”

The story had continued into a world of chaotic international politics and vicious domestic power struggles.

A prestigious international university had suddenly appeared,

And the world’s greatest heroes were all competing to send their children there.

After thirty long years,

A genre every South Korean would instantly recognize finally came to mind.

“Fuck.”

“...Pardon?”

Kim Sunwoo, who had slept silently within him for decades,

Suddenly awoke.

“Fuck. This was an academy story?”

“Senior...?”

The man stared at Ivan, cold sweat running down his face.

Even during Ivan’s active service, scenes like this had been rare.

Watching him explode with such naked fury—

And naturally,

As someone who had served with him,

The man involuntarily stiffened as the overwhelming killing intent rolling off Ivan filled the room.

“Ivan Petrovich...”

...

‘I just want to go home already.’

Three years.

After waiting thirty years,

What was another three?

If he waited just three more years,

Surely the ending would finally come.

And that was how the academy came to have a gardener.

By the time the messenger had broken into a cold sweat, wondering what on earth Ivan had meant,

Ivan had already shut his eyes tightly, suppressing the boiling rage of Kim Sunwoo buried deep inside him.

Then he spoke.

“I accept Her Highness’s command.”