My strict professor 1

The steering wheel creaked softly under Jeongjin’s grip, his knuckles tightening every time he thought about the scene from earlier. He wanted to yell, to scold, to shake sense into the boy slumped in the passenger seat beside him, but he held his tongue. He had done this long enough to know that shouting never worked on Taehyung. His son had a strange immunity to lectures, like the words bounced off his perfectly combed hair and slipped away before they could land in his brain.

The car smelled faintly of disinfectant from the hospital, and beneath it, the lingering scent of the ramyeon cups Taehyung had sneakily eaten last night in the car, something Jeongjin still hadn’t forgiven him for.

Taehyung, of course, didn’t notice the storm in his father’s chest. His mouth was running as fast as his injured arm would allow.

Tae: “Appa, you should have seen the way he came at me first. He’s a loser, seriously. And then that principal, ugh! Suspending me? Like, excuse me, did he not see my arm? Shouldn’t the other guy be suspended twice? This is favoritism, I tell you. Whole college is against me.”

Jeongjin shot him a sharp glance from the corner of his eye, and Taehyung leaned back, unbothered, the sling around his arm crinkling against his hoodie. His ankle was still swollen, his knees scraped, and his arm wrapped in heavy white bandages. He looked more like a casualty from a battlefield than a college student who got into a dumb fight during class.

So what actually happened was that Tae had gotten into a fight with one of his classmates, and it hadn’t ended well. Somewhere between the shoving and punches, he’d fallen hard. His arm wasn’t broken (But he was convinced it is) but the injury was bad enough to leave him crying on the ground, clutching it while his ankle bled from the scrape.

By the time Jeongjin arrived, Tae was sobbing like a little kid, unable to move his arm. Without wasting a second, his father and a couple of his friends rushed him to the hospital, the fight and the anger momentarily forgotten.

Now, hours later, Tae sat in the car on the way back home, his whole arm wrapped in bandages. His cheeks were streaked with the dried remains of tears, but his voice hadn’t quieted down. He kept cursing the boy he’d fought with, and even the principal who had suspended both of them for a week.

It wasn’t fair, and Tae made sure everyone knew exactly how unfair it felt.

He groaned again dramatically and ignored his father's glares, tilting his head toward the window as his blabbering continued.

Tae: “Appa, my arm hurts so bad. That doctor was so rough, like he had no feelings at all. He twisted it like I was some kind of machine part. I swear he was trying to kill me.”

Jeongjin: “You were crying like a baby, Tae,” Jeongjin muttered, unable to hold back anymore. “The whole ward heard you.”

Tae: “I was in pain!” Tae defended, eyes wide as if that excused everything. “And besides, crying is natural. Even tigers cry when they’re hurt. I’m still a human being, aren’t I? You can’t expect me to be a robot.”

Jeongjin pressed his lips into a thin line, a sigh escaping. He wasn’t angry. He had stopped being angry at Taehyung years ago. The boy’s recklessness was part of who he was. But there were moments, like today, when the fear crept in, what if it had been worse? What if it hadn’t just been an injured arm? What if he... He shivered at the thought and gripped the wheel tighter.

His mind wandered to the hospital bills tucked away in his wallet. They hadn’t even cleared last month’s electricity properly, and now this. The sales at his little store were down, and customers kept delaying payments. He wouldn’t tell Taehyung, though. Never. The boy had grown up thinking the world revolved around him, and Jeongjin had let it happen because he couldn’t bear to say no.

Jeongjin: “Stop talking for a while, will you?” His father finally said, his tone was sharper this time. “Think about how your mother is going to feel when she sees you like this. She’ll cry herself sick.”

That made Tae falter. For a whole five seconds, the car was blissfully quiet. Then a tiny whimper escaped him, followed by a fresh wave of complaints like he hadn't even heard his father.

Tae: “Appa, my arm really hurts. You have no idea. And that doctor—ugh, don’t even start. He jabbed the needle in like I was some pin cushion.”

Jeongjin just shook his head.

In less than five minutes, they pulled into the parking space in front of their building. It wasn’t anything grand, just an old structure with fading paint, but it was home. Jeongjin killed the engine, stepped out, and went around to open the passenger door. Despite his exhaustion, despite the bills piling up in his mind, he reached out and carefully helped his son out of the car like he was some royal prince.

Tae leaned against him slightly, though he’d never admit he needed the help. His sneakers scuffed against the pavement as they walked toward the elevator. Inside, the air smelled faintly of detergent and someone’s fried food. Tae wrinkled his nose, making a face.

Tae: “Appa, cover me up when we get in, okay? Omma will freak out again. She’ll probably faint this time.”

Jeongjin: “You should be worried about her fainting because of you, not asking me to cover for you,” Jeongjin replied, pressing the elevator button.

Tae: “I just don’t like it when she clings,” Tae muttered under his breath, eyes on the glowing numbers as the elevator climbed. “She tears up at everything. I’m not a baby.”

He didn’t fear his mother (just like he didn't fear his father) and he didn’t really care if she worried either. What bothered him was her clinginess, the way she teared up over the smallest things, always hovering too close. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, but he was the kind of kid who found himself easily annoyed by a parent who cared too much, yet crumbled into loneliness if they didn’t care at all.

It was complicated, and maybe even ungrateful, but that was just who Tae was.

The doors slid open, and they stepped into the familiar hallway leading to their apartment. Their home was small but cozy, four rooms squeezed into the space: one for Taehyung, one for his parents, a guest room no one really used, and another room that always stayed closed, always empty. Tae never questioned it much, it was just there, gathering dust.

He made his signature pitiful face, tilting his head toward his father with wide, pleading eyes that silently begged: cover me, Appa.

But before his father could say anything, the balcony door opened, and his mother, Jihu, stepped inside. She froze when her eyes fell on Taehyung’s bandaged arm.

Jihu: “Tae!” she gasped, rushing forward, her little gardening gloves still on her hands. “Baby, what happened? Oh my God, your arm, your ankle—what happened? Did you fall? Did you fight again? Did you break it?”

She fired questions like bullets, fussing over him before he could escape. Her hands touched his bandages, his face, his forehead. She looked ready to cry.

Tae (groaned): “Omma, it’s fine, stop fussing.”

Jihu: “It’s not fine!” she insisted, tugging him toward the couch. “Sit down, right now. Don’t move. You must be in pain. Did you eat anything? Do you want something? Oh, my poor baby.”

Jeongjin: “Jihu,” Jeongjin said gently, slipping off his shoes, “he is ok, he just got into a fight. He fell and hurt his arm. The doctor said it’s not broken. He just needs rest.”

His wife shot him a sharp look as if it were his fault for not protecting their son from the entire world. She continued to hover around Taehyung, pecking his forehead, stroking his hair, and bustling toward the kitchen to warm milk.

Tae slumped on the couch, rolling his eyes. He loved his parents, he really did, but sometimes their endless sugar felt suffocating. He wanted to be yelled at, scolded, maybe grounded like normal kids. But no matter what he did, they never got angry. They just worried, wrapped him in softness, and treated him like he was still a little boy. He would never understand why.

He stretched his legs on the couch, wincing a little at the ache in his ankle. His father passed by with a stern look that clearly said, don’t even think about sneaking out this week. Then Jeongjin disappeared into his room, the faint sound of papers rustling following hiim indicating that he was going back to his store.

His mother reappeared with a steaming glass of honey milk, settling beside him.

Jihu: “Drink it, Tae. It will make you feel better.”

He took it with a dramatic sigh and groaned,

Tae: “Omma, I don’t need honey milk. I need people to stop suspending me for no reason.”

Jihu:“But you got into a fight, didn’t you?” she said softly, brushing his hair back.

Tae took a sip and leaned back, muttering under his breath.

Tae: “Still unfair.”

The apartment felt too quiet after the fuss died down. His mother fluttered around cleaning up, humming under her breath, while Taehyung lay sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling. A whole week stuck here, with no friends, no classes, and worst of all, no clubbing. To him, it felt like prison.

He didn’t know yet that what awaited him back at college would make this feel like heaven.

Meanwhile, across the city, a man was unlocking the door to his new home.

Min Yoongi stepped inside, setting his bags down with a quiet sigh. The house wasn’t huge or luxurious, but it was his. White walls, wooden floors, sunlight spilling through wide windows. It felt peaceful. Behind him, a frail but sturdy lady shuffled in, her hair tied in a loose bun.

Yoongi: “Careful, Granny,” Yoongi said, rushing back to take her arm. “You shouldn’t carry anything heavy.”

Granny smiled at him, her eyes wrinkling.

Granny: “I’m not made of glass, Yoongi. You always worry too much.”

Yoongi: “I have to,” he said, guiding her to the couch. “You’re all I’ve got.”

She settled with a sigh, stroking the fat, grumpy cat that immediately jumped onto her lap. Yoongi went to the kitchen, filling the kettle and rummaging for the familiar tin of tea leaves. The sound of boiling water filled the air, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

This was Seoul. A new start. A new chapter.

He carried the tray back, placing it gently on the table. Granny took her cup with both hands, sipping slowly.

Granny: “You know,” she said after a while, her voice thoughtful, “this city is where I found you. Right here in Seoul. You were so small, crying on the pavement. Calling for your mommy.”

Yoongi listened silently. He had heard this story countless times, but it still stirred something deep in him.

Granny: “I asked you where your home was, but you were too little to answer,” Granny continued. “I went to the police, but they said no missing child was reported. So I took you with me. I thought maybe your parents left you there.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly. He remembered the day she confessed that the last part wasn’t true, that she never reported him to the police because she couldn’t bear to give him up.

Granny was sixty-five now, her memory not as sharp as it once was. Sometimes she even forgot her own stories, the ones she used to tell over and over again. But to Yoongi, she was everything. She was the one who had raised him, the only family he had ever known, and he loved her more than words could say.

He had been only three years old when Granny found him (As she says). She told him that he was sitting on the pavement, his tiny legs sprawled out, crying and calling for his mommy. He was too little to explain where he lived or who his parents were, and Granny, lonely and childless, hadn’t been able to walk away. So she took him home, fed him, and little by little, raised him as her own son.

For years she told Yoongi that his parents had abandoned him, that she had gone to the police but no missing report had ever been filed. He believed her, until his final year of college, when she finally confessed the truth.

He hadn’t been abandoned. He had been lost. His Eomma and Appa were there one moment, and gone the next. Granny admitted she had never gone to the police. A part of her had been too selfish, too scared of losing him once she had found him.

Yoongi had been angry at first. But anger didn’t last long against the love he had for her. She was his mother in every way that mattered, and in the end, he forgave her.

They lived in Jeju all their lives, until Yoongi was offered a teaching position in Seoul. Granny moved with him, of course. But the job wasn’t the only reason Yoongi agreed to go back. Granny had told him once that she found him in Seoul, and that gave him a small, stubborn hope. Maybe, just maybe, he would find his real parents there.

He stirred his tea slowly as he stared at granny.

Yoongi: “Granny, do you think I’ll ever find them?”

She smiled sadly in return.

Granny: “If fate allows, Yoongi. If fate allows.”

The next morning, Yoongi drove to the college where he would start teaching. He parked, signed the documents, shook hands with the department head. Everything seemed normal, calm, quiet. He thought maybe this chapter of his life would be peaceful.

He had no idea that in just a few days, a whirlwind named Kim Taehyung would storm into his carefully built world and turn everything upside down, especially his patience and sanity.

____

The week dragged by like it was made of stone. Taehyung thought suspension would be fun. At first, he had even celebrated the idea, throwing his arms up in mock victory when his father had announced he wasn’t allowed to go to college for real. A week at home sounded like heaven, sleeping late, playing games, eating all day, no homework, no boring lectures. But that was on day one. By day three, he was rolling across the living room floor like a dying starfish, begging for something, anything, to happen.

His mother never left him alone, always fluttering around, checking his arm, checking his ankle, checking his temperature, even when he swore he was fine. His father didn’t yell, didn’t scold, but kept watching him with those eyes that told him to behave. Taehyung was used to being spoiled, but even he had a limit. He started missing his friends, missing the noise of the bus, missing even the boring college canteen food.

So when Monday came, he woke up early, his heart beating with excitement. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was almost… happy to be going back to college. He got dressed carefully, ignoring the way his arm ached whenever he moved it too quickly. Pulling his shirt over his head, he looked at himself in the mirror, puffed his cheeks, and nodded. He was ready.

He opened his bedroom door quietly and started tiptoeing toward the front door like some kind of spy escaping enemy territory. Halfway across the living room, his father’s voice froze him.

Jeongjin:“Eat breakfast before you go.”

Taehyung groaned, spinning on his heel and whined.

Tae: “Appa, I’ll be late!”

Jeongjin: “You won’t be. Sit.”

Grumbling, he slumped into the chair at the dining table. His mother appeared instantly, her face lighting up as if he had just returned from a long war. She set a plate down in front of him with a bright smile.

Jihu: “Eat well, Tae. And listen, don’t get into fights today, okay? Stay focused in class, eat your lunch, don’t go with strangers, and please text me when you reach.”

Tae: “Omma,” Tae groaned around a mouthful of rice. “I’m not your three-year-old baby who’ll get lost or kidnapped. I’m eighteen, almost adult. I know everything.”

He hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but the irritation slipped out. And just like that, the smile dropped from his mother’s face. Her lips trembled, her eyes glistened, and Taehyung froze. He knew that look. He had touched a nerve.

She turned away slightly, blinking fast.

Jihu: “My first child…” she whispered under her breath, voice shaking.

Guilt slammed into Taehyung like a truck. He hadn’t meant that. Not like that. He pushed back his chair quickly, wrapping his good arm around her shoulders.

Tae: “Omma, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said, pressing his cheek against her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll be careful. I’ll text you. Don’t cry, okay?”

She sniffled, forcing a smile as she pecked his forehead.

Jihu: “Promise me, Tae.”

Tae: “I promise.” He smiled sheepishly and sat back down, shoving another bite into his mouth.

When he finished, he stood up, brushed his hands on his jeans, and walked toward the door. He paused, then reached into his father’s coat pocket, and pulled out some cash. His father raised an eyebrow at him from across the room.

Jeongjin: “Going to rob me in broad daylight now?”

Taehyung gave a sheepish grin in return.

Tae: “Just pocket money, Appa. I’ll bring change.”

Jeongjin: “You never do.”

Taehyung winked and sprinted out of the house before his mother could smother him with another round of hugs. The cold morning air hit his face, and he grinned wide. Finally, freedom.

At the bus stop, two familiar figures stood waiting. His besfriends. Wooshik spotted him first.

Wooshik: “Tae!”

Tae: “Wooshik! Dukhyun!” He ran toward them, ignoring the ache in his arm, and wrapped them both in a tight hug. “God, I missed you guys.”

Dukhyun: “You look like you just came out of jail,” Dukhyun laughed.

Tae: “I was in jail,” Taehyung declared dramatically. “A jail called home. You have no idea how miserable my week was. My mother wouldn’t leave me alone, my father kept staring at me like I was about to commit another crime, and I swear the couch has a permanent dent from how much I lay on it.”

The three of them laughed, boarding the bus together. They rushed to the back seat, as always, claiming it as their territory. The ride was filled with noisy chatter.

Tae: “I swear,” He continued, “if I stayed one more day in that house, I’d have jumped off the balcony.”

Wooshik: “Please don’t,” Wooshik said dryly. “Your father will come for us if you do.”

Then Tae asked about Jimin, the boy he had gotten into a fight with. Dukhyun told him that Jimin was also hurt and had been crying when his mother picked him up that day.

The moment Tae heard that, he felt utterly satisfied with himself. Even with his own arm bandaged and aching, he seemed almost pleased with the news. To him, Jimin wasn’t just a random classmate he got into a fight with, he was his greatest enemy. And knowing that his enemy had walked away hurt as well felt like a small victory.

Taehyung smirked and then leaned back.

Tae: “So, now tell me everything else. What did I miss?”

Dukhyun: “Bad news first?” Dukhyun asked.

Tae: “Always,” Taehyung nodded with a grin.

Wooshik (grimaced): “Mrs. Lim got transferred.”

Taehyung froze.

Tae: “Wait- What?”

Wooshik:“Yeah. She’s gone. Some new guy is teaching math now.”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped.

Tae: “No. No way. Mrs. Lim was the best. She always gave me passing marks, even when I failed.”

Dukhyun: “Exactly,” Dukhyun muttered. “That’s why you loved her.”

Tae: “She was sweet,” Taehyung said, ignoring him. “She was patient. She even let me nap in class sometimes. How could she leave me like this?”

Wooshik: “Because she wanted peace,” Wooshik said. “This new guy is terrifying. Strict. He punished me and Dukhyun both. Twice. And we didn’t even do anything.”

Taehyung’s face fell even more.

Tae: “Great. Just great. I already hate him. What’s his name?”

Wooshik: “Don’t know. He’s new. But trust me, he’s scary.”

Taehyung slumped in his seat, sulking for the rest of the ride. He muttered under his breath, sending silent curses at the new teacher he hadn’t even met yet.

He loved Mrs. Lim, she was the sweetest teacher, always kind to him, always slipping him passing marks even when he was bound to fail. She never made him feel dumb for struggling in math. Instead, she patiently helped him through it, and Tae would constantly pester her, declaring she was his favorite teacher.

Now, hearing that she had left, a heavy gloom settled over him. He was already convinced he hated the new teacher, even without meeting him. The entire ride to school, he was sulking and silently praying that the replacement would meet some unlucky fate and leave just as quickly.

When they reached the college gates, he spotted Jimin across the yard. The boy stood with his friends, his arm in a sling, glaring at Taehyung like he wanted to strangle him.

Taehyung glared back, his lips curving into a smug smile. He loved getting under Jimin’s skin. Without breaking eye contact, he strutted into the building.

The first two lectures passed as usual. Boring notes, half-listened lectures, doodles in the margins of his notebook. But everywhere around him, people were whispering about the math teacher. Everyone looked nervous, clutching their notebooks like shields. Taehyung rolled his eyes. How scary could one guy be?

Just as the third lecture was about to begin, a clerk appeared at the door. “Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin. Principal’s office. Now.”

Groans echoed through the classroom. Taehyung dragged himself out of his seat, muttering curses. Jimin got up too, his glare burning a hole into Taehyung’s head.

They dragged their feet behind the clerk, already knowing exactly what the principal was going to say. Another lecture about fighting, the usual warnings, and all the blah blah they’d heard a hundred times before.

The two of them bickered the entire way down the hall.

Jimin: “I’ll kill you,” Jimin snapped.

Tae: “Not if I kill you first,” Taehyung shot back.

Jimin: “You’re pathetic.”

Tae: “You’re shorter.”

Their voices rose, filling the corridor, until Taehyung suddenly collided with something solid. He stumbled, falling on his butt, his injured arm slamming into the wall. Pain shot through him, and he whimpered loudly.

Tae: “Damn it!” he cursed, squeezing his eyes shut.

When he opened them, a tall man stood above him, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unamused. His face was pale, his gaze piercing, and his expression screamed authority.

Taehyung knew immediately he was a teacher because he wasn't wearing a uniform. But he didn’t care. He glared up at the man, muttered another curse, and pushed himself to his feet. Shoving past him, he stormed toward the stairs without another word.

He could feel the man’s eyes on his back as he walked away.

The principal’s lecture was long and boring, all about responsibility, discipline, and setting examples. Taehyung tuned half of it out, counting the tiles on the floor instead. By the time it was over, both he and Jimin were itching to escape.

When they stepped out of the office, both again looked ready to tear each other apart. But for the sake of survival, they held back, deciding to at least make it to class in one piece.

But as they walked back to class, they were already at each other’s throats again.

Jimin: “You started it!” Jimin hissed.

Tae: “You hit me first! You even broke my arm, you midget!” Taehyung shot back.

Jimin: "Your arm is not broken, you bitch!"

They reached their classroom door still arguing, but the moment they saw the scene, they froze.

Their class, which was never quiet, not even with a teacher around, was sitting in complete, pin-drop silence. Students sat rigid in their seats, eyes fixed on the front of the room.

The room was silent. Completely silent. On the whiteboard, a man was writing equations in neat handwriting. Outside the door, almost ten students stood with their hands raised in the air as punishment. Among them were Wooshik and Dukhyun, their faces red with embarrassment.

Tae swallowed hard, a nervous knot forming in his stomach. Just from the sight alone, he could tell how terrifying this new teacher was going to be.

He and Jimin walked to the door together and muttered, “May I come in, sir?” But Tae’s words got stuck in his throat the moment he saw the man’s clothes.

The man turned, and Taehyung’s stomach dropped. Because... It was him. The same man he had bumped into at the stairs, cursed at, glared at, and shoved past without a second thought.

His eyes met Taehyung’s, cold and sharp, and Taehyung knew instantly that he was screwed.

Jimin: “May I come in, sir?” Jimin asked again.

The man’s lips curved, but not in a smile. “Yes. You can.” he said.

Taehyung swallowed hard. The way those eyes followed him as he stepped inside told him everything he needed to know. His miserable week at home was nothing compared to what was coming.

He was completely, utterly, absolutely doomed.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***