My strict Professor 4

The fragile, silent understanding that had stretched between Yoongi and Taehyung shattered like glass as the living room door swung open.

Jihu bustled in, holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea.

Jihu: "Professor Min, please, have some—" she started, but her words died in her throat as she took in the scene. Her son was sitting bolt upright on the couch, pale as a ghost, staring wide-eyed at the professor. Professor Min himself looked like he had seen one, his face drained of all color, his eyes fixed on the photo wall behind the couch.

Jihu: “Professor Min? Are you alright?” she asked, her concern shifting from her son to the professor.

Jeongjin followed close behind, a bottle of fever medicine and a blanket in his hands.

Jeongjin: "Here we go, Tae, this will make you feel…" He too stopped, sensing the electric, strange tension in the room. "Is everything okay?"

The spell was broken. Yoongi blinked, the world snapping back into focus with a dizzying jolt. His heart was hammering against his ribs in a panicked beat. He couldn't be here. He couldn't process this. Not now. Not with them looking at him.

Yoongi: "Fine," Yoongi choked out, his voice strangled. He took a stumbling step backward toward the door. “I… I h-have to go,” he stammered, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. I just… I remembered I have… a thing. An urgent thing. Thank you for the tea."

It was the lamest, most transparent excuse in the history of excuses. He didn't wait for a response. He turned, fumbled with the doorknob, and practically fled the apartment, leaving the Kim family in a confused and worried silence behind him.

The hallway outside felt cold and alien. Yoongi leaned against the wall, his breath coming in short and sharp gasps. His mind was reeling, a whirlwind of baby pictures and faded memories and a truth so enormous it felt like it might crush him. His picture. On their wall. His parents. Right there. All this time.

 He still couldn't process all this.

Back inside the apartment, the silence stretched. Jihu and Jeongjin exchanged a bewildered look.

Jihu: "What was that about?" Jihu asked, setting the tea tray down with a clatter. "He looked very strange.”

Jeongjin just shook his head, though his brow were furrowed. He turned his attention to Taehyung, who had slumped back against the cushions, his eyes closed again. But he wasn't relaxed. He was trembling, and his face had taken on a sickly, feverish flush.

Jeongjin: "Tae? Baby? Are you okay?" Jeongjin asked, placing a hand on his forehead. "You're burning up even more."

Tae didn't open his eyes. A tear escaped and traced a path down his hot cheek. Then he started to cry, soft, helpless sobs that shook his whole body.

Jihu:"Baby, what's wrong?" Jihu cried, rushing to his side. "Did something happen? Did Professor Min say something to you?"

But Tae just shook his head, crying harder. He couldn't form the words. The shock of the discovery, combined with his existing fever and the emotional turmoil of the day, was too much. He just felt dizzy and disoriented, the room felt like spinning around him.

Tae: “I don’t feel good, Appa,” he whimpered, his words slurred. “My head is spinning.”

Jeongjin: "He's getting worse," Jeongjin said, his voice tight with alarm. "We need to take him to the doctor. Now."

Jihu: “I’ll get my purse,” Jihu said, standing up.

Jeongjin: “No, no, the car won’t start, remember? The mechanic said it wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow,” Jeongjin said, frustration clear in his voice. "Mr. Park downstairs has a bike. I'll take Tae on the back. It's faster."

He said as he tried to get Taehyung to his feet, but the boy was like a ragdoll, his legs buckling under him. He was mumbling incoherently, tears still streaming down his face.

Tae: “The picture… the professor… in the picture…”

Jeongjin: “What picture, baby? It’s okay, just focus on walking,” Jeongjin said, his worry deepening as he half-carried, half-dragged his disoriented son toward the front door.

He managed to get them out into the hallway and toward the elevator with Taehyung leaning heavily against him, still muttering about pictures and professors.

As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Jeongjin struggled to support Taehyung's weight. And there, leaning against the wall in the building's lobby, was Professor Min. He hadn't left. He was just standing there, his head in his hands, looking completely lost in a storm of his own thoughts.

But the moment he saw them, saw Taehyung's completely out-of-it state, his own problems vanished. He rushed forward, his professional and now deeply personal concern overriding everything else.

Yoongi: "What's wrong? What happened?" His voice was filled with worry as he asked.

Jeongjin: "He got worse," Jeongjin said, grunting as he tried to adjust his grip on his son. "His fever spiked. I think he's delirious. I'm taking him to the clinic. My friend has a bike—"

Yoongi: "On a bike? In this state? No! that's not happening." Yoongi said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "My car is right outside. Come on. We will take him on it."

He didn't wait for permission. He moved to Taehyung's other side, slipping the boy's arm over his own shoulders and taking most of his weight. Together, they maneuvered the barely-conscious Taehyung out to the parking lot and into the passenger seat of Yoongi's car. Jeongjin climbed into the back seat as well, too worried to even protest.

The drive to the nearby clinic was tense and quiet, broken only by Taehyung's feverish muttering.

Tae: "...the picture… Appa… Professor Min is in the picture… same… the same… Why is he in the picture…?” he mumbled, his words slurred and nonsensical to Jeongjin's ears.

Jeongjin: “What are you talking about, Tae? Just rest, we’re almost there.”

But he did glance at Professor Min, who was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The professor’s jaw was clenched and his face was unreadable. Jeongjin frowned but did not ask anything.

At the clinic, they were seen quickly. The doctor confirmed a high fever, likely made much worse by a severe emotional shock or stress. They put Tae on an IV to rehydrate him and bring the fever down, and he finally fell into a proper, medicated sleep in the examination room.

Jeongjin sank into a chair in the waiting area, looking exhausted and worried. When the nurse handed him the bill, his face fell. He fumbled in his pockets, but he didn't have enough cash, and his card was at home.

Yoongi: "Don't worry about it," Yoongi said quietly, taking the bill from the nurse's hand and pulling out his wallet. He paid without another word.

Jeongjin: "Professor Min, I… I'll pay you back," Jeongjin said, feeling utterly embarrassed. "Thank you. For everything. For bringing him home, for this…"

Yoongi: "It's fine," Yoongi said, sitting down next to him. He stared at his hands for a while. "He… he got sick because of me anyway. It's the least I can do."

Jeongjin frowned and turned to look at him.

Jeongjin: "What do you mean?"

So Yoongi told him. He didn't sugarcoat it. He told him about the flat tires. He told him about the horrible, cruel phone call about his granny. He told him about the punishment in the office, the standing, the yelling. And finally, his voice filled with shame, he told him about the slap.

To his surprise, Jeongjin didn't get angry. He just listened, his shoulders slumping further with each word. And when Yoongi finished, he just sighed, a deep, heavy sound and then shook his head in disappointment.

Jeongjin: “I’m so sorry for what he did to you, Professor. That was… that was unforgivable. We never taught him to be so cruel.” He glanced at his sleeping son with a pained expression. “But we never… we never raised our voices at him as well. We never hit him. We never treated him harshly. I think… I think when you did that, it was a shock his world wasn’t built to handle. He didn’t know how to process it except to break.”

There was a long silence between them, filled only by the quiet beep of the medical monitors.

Yoongi: “Is that…” Yoongi began, his voice hesitant, choosing his words carefully, “is that because of what happened before? With your first son? The one who… drowned?”

Jeongjin looked up with a surprised face.

Jeongjin: “How do you know about that?”

Yoongi: “Taehyung mentioned it back at my place, he was telling granny.” Yoongi said quickly. “He said he had a brother but... he drowned when he was a kid."

Jeongjin’s face clouded with a deep, old sadness. He shook his head slowly and said.

Jeongjin: “He didn’t drown. That’s just… a simpler story we told Taehyung when he was little and kept asking about the pictures. The truth is too painful for his mother and... me” he said, his voice low and filled with an old but familiar pain. "He was taken. We were at the beach. He was only three at that time... I went to get us some drinks. And Jihu was talking to a friend. It was only five minutes. Five minutes, and he was just… gone. We searched for him for hours. We went to the police. They searched for weeks. But... Nothing." He took a shaky breath. "Then, about three weeks later, I was still asking around, showing his picture to anyone who would look. A shopkeeper near the beach said he saw an old woman that day, leading a little boy who looked just like mine away. The kid was crying but he thought it was his grandmother so he didn't interfere. The police… they didn't do much. We weren't rich or important people so they didn't take us seriously. Jihu… she broke, she never forgave herself. She blamed herself every day. It took her years to even think about having another child. And when Tae was born, we were so happy, but so terrified. We locked the memory away. When Tae asked about the baby in the pictures, it made Jihu cry so much… so we just told him his brother had drowned. It was easier than explaining he was stolen and living our pain again and again. He stopped asking after that. But we were so scared of losing him too. So we… we never said no. We never scolded him. We just loved him. Maybe too much..."

Yoongi listened, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every word was a piece of a puzzle slotting into place. The beach. The old woman. The three-year-old boy. Granny’s confession that she never went to the police. She had found him lost and scared, and she had taken him home. She had taken him away from them.

He felt tears prick at his own eyes. He wanted to tell Jeongjin everything right then. The words were on the tip of his tongue. I'm him. I'm your son. But the moment was broken by a nurse telling them they could take Taehyung home.

The drive back was even quieter. Taehyung was awake but groggy, slumped in the passenger seat. Through the rearview mirror, Yoongi could see the boy watching him. It wasn't the same fearful look from before. It was different. Sharper. More calculating. It was a glare, but one filled with a dawning, furious understanding.

Jeongjin, lost in his own thoughts of the past, asked Yoongi to stop at a pharmacy so he could pick up Taehyung’s prescribed medicine.

Jeongjin: “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, getting out of the car.

The moment the door closed, Yoongi turned in his driver’s seat to face Taehyung. His expression was stern, his voice low and intense.

Yoongi: "Listen to me," Yoongi said with a strict voice. "You are not to say a word about this to your parents. Not a word. Do you understand me?"

Taehyung flinched at the tone, the old fear flickering back into his eyes. He pressed his lips together and looked down at his lap, not answering.

Jeongjin returned a moment later with the medicine. He got back into the car, and they drove the short distance to the apartment building.

But just a moment later, Taehyung, fueled by fever and a sudden, reckless courage, spoke. His voice was weak, but clear as he called out for his father.

Tae: "Appa."

Jeongjin turned to look at him immediately.

Jeongjin: "Yes, baby? Are you feeling better?" he asked, brushing Tae's hair from his forehead with a worried face.

Taehyung nodded and pointed a shaky finger at Yoongi.

Tae: "Professor Min is the baby in the pictures." he said flatly, though his voice was more slurred this time.

Yoongi's head snapped around immediatly, his eyes flashing a warning.

Yoongi: "Taehyung—"

But Tae ignored him, his gaze fixed on his father.

Tae: “What was the baby's name?”

Jeongjin looked confused at sudden question and frowned.

Jeongjin: “Why are you asking this now, Tae? You should rest baby, you are still feverish."

Tae: "What was his name, Appa?” Taehyung insisted with a stubborn glint in his eyes.

Jeongjin sighed, humoring his sick son.

Jeongjin: “It was Yoongi. His name was Yoongi. But your mother used to call him Yoon."

Taehyung lifted his trembling finger again and pointed it directly at the man in the driver’s seat.

Tae: “His name is Min Yoongi.”

Jeongjin’s smile faded. He looked at Taehyung’s serious face, then slowly turned to look at Professor Min. The professor was gripping the steering wheel, his face pale, his jaw tight. He wasn’t denying it.

Jeongjin: “Professor…?” Jeongjin asked, his voice hesitant. But Yoongi didn't answer, didn't even meet his eyes. "That's just a coincidenc—"

Tae: “No, not a coincidence Appa!" Taehyung whined. "I saw pictures at his house. His baby pictures. The ones his grandma has. They’re the same. The similar baby pictures we have on our wall and albums. In one of them he is wearing the same clothes. He looks the same boy. The same face, the same eyes. Everything is the same, Appa."

The words tumbled out in a rushed, feverish jumble, but their meaning was crystal clear now.

Jeongjin stared at his son, then slowly, very slowly, turned to look at Professor Min. His brain, tired and worried, tried to catch up. Why had the professor been asking about his first son? Why had he looked so shocked at the photos? The name. Min Yoongi. Their son's name was Yoongi. His mention of only having a grandmother. The shopkeeper’s story about an old woman.

The pieces, impossible and life-changing, clicked into place with a silence that was louder than any explosion.

Jeongjin's eyes widened. His jaw went slack. He just stared at Yoongi, seeing him not as his son's strict professor, but for the first time, truly seeing him. The shape of his eyes. The line of his jaw. The slight pout of the mouth. It was all there, hidden under years of sternness and a professor's demeanor. And he saw the ghost of the little boy he had lost twenty-five years ago, now as a man, sitting in the driver's seat of his car.

Jeongjin:“You…” Jeongjin whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “The shopkeeper… he said an old woman…”

Yoongi finally met his gaze in the rearview mirror. He didn’t need to say a word. The truth was written all over his face. The lost boy had been found, and he was sitting in the driver’s seat.

___

The drive back to the apartment was a blur of silent, overwhelming shock for Jeongjin. He kept stealing glances at the man driving the car—this stern, serious professor—and trying to see the chubby-cheeked, giggling three-year-old he had lost a lifetime ago. The pieces fit together in a way that was both miraculous and heartbreaking.

When they arrived, Yoongi helped a still-woozy Taehyung out of the car and up to the apartment. The moment the door opened, Jihu was there, her face a mask of worry.

Jihu: “Did you get the medicine? How is he?” she asked, reaching for her son.

But Jeongjin gently moved past her, his eyes still fixed on Yoongi.

Jeongjin: “Jihu,” he said, his voice thick with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. “We need to talk.”

He guided a confused Yoongi to the living room couch. Taehyung, forgotten for a moment, slumped into an armchair, and watched them through a feverish haze.

Jihu: “What’s going on?” Jihu asked, her eyes darting between her husband’s intense expression and Professor Min’s pale, nervous face.

Jeongjin didn’t know how to say it. The words were too big. So he just looked at Yoongi, his eyes pleading for confirmation.

Jeongjin: “Is it true?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Are you… are you our Yoongi?”

Jihu’s hand flew to her mouth as he heard that.

Jihu: “What? Jeongjin, what are you saying?”

Yoongi looked from Jeongjin’s tear-filled eyes to Jihu’s bewildered face. He had held this truth inside for less than an hour, and it already felt like it would burst out of him. He gave one slow, shaky nod. Then a single tear escaped and traced a path down his cheek as he muttered a tiny 'yes'.

That was all it took.

Jihu let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob. She stumbled forward, collapsing onto the couch next to Yoongi. Her hands came up to frame his face, trembling as they touched his skin, as if she couldn’t believe he was real.

Jihu: “My baby?” she cried out. “My Yoongi? Is it really you?” She pulled him into a crushing hug, sobbing into his shoulder. “I’m sorry! I'm so sorry! I’m a terrible mother! I shouldn’t have looked away! I’m so sorry, my boy, I’m so sorry!” She covered his face in kisses, her tears wetting his skin.

Jeongjin was crying too, silent tears streaming down his face as he knelt on the floor in front of the couch. He took one of Yoongi’s hands in both of his, holding it to his lips.

Jeongjin: “We looked for you,” he choked out. “We looked everywhere. For years. We never stopped. Where were you? Who took you? Where have you been all this time?”

The dam broke for Yoongi then. The stern Professor Min facade crumbled completely, and he cried like the little boy who had been lost for so long. But through the tears, he was smiling, a watery, disbelieving smile. The love pouring from these two strangers, his real parents, was so fierce, so immediate, it felt like coming home.

Yoongi: “It’s okay,” he managed to say, his voice rough with emotion. “It’s okay, Eomma. It’s okay, Appa.”

Hearing him call them that made them cry even harder.

Between sobs, he told them everything. He told them about the kind, lonely woman he called Granny. How she had found him on a street, not at the beach (they'd never know how he reached from beach to the street), crying and confused. How she had asked him his name, and all his three-year-old self could manage was “Yoongi.” How she had asked for his parents’ names, and he had just said “Mama” and “Appa.”

Yoongi: "She said I was sitting on a sidewalk, crying. I was lost and only three. I couldn’t tell her where I lived or your names. The only thing I could say clearly was my name. ‘Yoongi.’ So she kept it. She asked me ‘what is your appa’s name?’ and I just said ‘Appa.’ She asked ‘what is your eomma’s name?’ and I just said ‘Eomma.’" He let out a teary chuckle. “I wasn’t very helpful.”

He then told them how Granny, feeling a connection to the lost, crying child, had taken him home. How she had raised him in Busan, loving him with her whole heart.

Yoongi: “She was… she was lonely,” Yoongi explained, defending the woman who had raised him. “She said she tried to find you, but she couldn’t. She took me to Busan. She loved me. She raised me. I had a happy childhood, I really did. But I always… I always missed you. I always felt like a piece was missing.”

Jihu and Jeongjin listened, their initial anger at the woman who had taken their son melting away into a complex, grateful sadness. She hadn’t been a monster. She had been a lonely soul who had found a lost boy and loved him as her own. They were angry, yes, but they were also so profoundly grateful that their son had been loved and cared for, that he wasn't hurt or in bad hands.

Jihu: “We have to meet her,” Jihu said, wiping her tears. “We have to thank her.”

Yoongi: “She’ll want to meet you too,” Yoongi said, nodding. “She’ll be so happy.” He didn’t mention Granny’s full confession, the part where she admitted she never really tried to find them. That could wait. This moment was too precious to spoil.

Through all of this, Taehyung sat curled in the armchair, watching them quietly. The medicine was making him drowsy, but the scene in front of him was clear enough. His parents, the ones who had always doted on him, were crying and hugging Professor Min. They were calling him their son. Their first son.

A cold, sick feeling settled in Taehyung’s stomach, one that had nothing to do with his fever. He saw the way his mother looked at Yoongi, with a love so raw and desperate it was like she was seeing a ghost. He saw his father, who never cried, weeping as he held Yoongi’s hand.

And no one was looking at him. No one was asking how he was feeling. He was the one who was sick. He was the one who had just come from the clinic. But all the attention, all the love, was pouring onto the professor. The professor who had yelled at him, slapped him, made him stand for hours. And now that same man was being welcomed like a prince returning from a long journey.

A sour feeling twisted in his stomach. It wasn’t happiness. It was jealousy. A deep, ugly, burning jealousy. He was the one who was sick. He was the one who should be getting all the attention. Not him. Not the professor who had made his life miserable for months.

He felt a fresh wave of dizziness, but this time it was mixed with anger. He glared at Yoongi, who was now being fed a piece of fruit by his sobbing, happy mother, who was smiling through his tears, surrounded by the love Taehyung had always taken for granted. He looked like he was enjoying it. He looked like he belonged.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed himself out of the chair, his head spinning. Without a word, he shuffled across the living room and into the hallway. He slammed his bedroom door shut with all the strength his feverish body could muster, the sound echoing through the apartment, but it was drowned out by the happy cries and conversation in the living room. No one came to check on him.

He collapsed onto his bed, the tears coming again. This time, they weren’t tears of fear or pain from the fever. They were tears of self-pity and a deep, crushing sense of being replaced. The prince had been dethroned. The golden child had returned, and he, Kim Taehyung, was now just the spare. The brat they had settled for.

He cried until his head pounded and his throat was raw, and eventually, exhausted by fever and emotions, he fell into a fitful andunhappy sleep.

Back in the living room, the sound of the door slamming shut actually broke through the emotional bubble in the living room. The three of them looked up, startled.

Jihu: “Taehyung…” Jihu said, her voice laced with a sudden guilt. “Oh, the poor thing, my baby, he’s sick.”

Yoongi, his own heart too full of his own joy and relief, barely registered it.

Yoongi: “I should probably go,” he said, standing up. “Granny is alone, and she’ll be worried. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow. We can all go see her together.”

There were more hugs, more tears, more promises. Jihu and Jeongjin clung to him as if afraid he would disappear again. They showered him with kisses and love until he was out the door, leaving them standing in the doorway, watching him go with wonder in their eyes. They stood at the door, waving until the elevator doors closed, their faces radiant with a joy they hadn’t felt in twenty-five years.

As the elevator descended, Yoongi leaned against the wall, feeling a fullness in his heart he never knew was possible. He had a family. A real, blood family who had loved him and missed him all this time. In his overwhelming happiness, the image of Taehyung’s angry, hurt glare as he left the room was a distant, fading memory.

Back in the apartment, the silence felt different now. It was a happy silence. Jihu and Jeongjin sat on the couch, holding hands, talking in hushed, amazed voices about their miracle.

Jihi: “He’s so handsome,” Jihu whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “And so well-mannered. A professor. Our Yoongi is a professor!"

Jeongjin put an arm around her and patted her back while nodding with a fond smile.

Jeongjin: “He is. He grew up so well."

Then Jihu’s face suddenly fell as she remembered about Tae.

Jihu: “Taehyung. We completely forgot about him. He’s so sick.” She got up and hurried down the hall and gently pushed open his bedroom door. Taehyung was asleep, or pretending to be, curled under his blankets. His face was pale, and even in sleep, he looked upset.

Jihu’s heart ached. She bent down and kissed his sweaty forehead.

Jihu: “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered. “Omma got a little distracted.”

Then she came back out to the living room, looking completly worried.

Jihu: “We ignored him. He must have felt so left out.”

Jeongjin sighed and shook his head slightly.

Jeongjin: “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing,” he said quietly. “Maybe we have been spoiling him too much with our love. Maybe we’ve made him think the world revolves only around him.”

Jihu: "He is just a kid." Jihu muttered.

Jeongjin told her then, about the flat tires, about the cruel phone call Yoongi had described in the car.

Jeongjin: “He did a terrible thing, Jihu. A really terrible thing. And when Professor Mi— when Yoongi punished him for it, he cried himself sick because he’s never had to face a real consequence in his life. We’ve never… we’ve never given him any boundaries. We were so scared of losing him like we lost Yoongi that we never taught him how to handle it when things don’t go his way. Maybe… maybe we’ve been loving him the wrong way.”

Jihu listened, her hand over her heart. She knew her son could be reckless and selfish, but hearing about this… it was a lot to take in. She looked toward Taehyung’s closed door, a new kind of worry settling in her heart.

Jihu:“Maybe,” Jeongjin continued, his voice firm but gentle, “maybe we need to give him a little space. Let him think about what he did. We can’t just hug and kiss this away. He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s a young man who needs to learn. And maybe... Maybe now is the time that he learns this. He has an older brother now, who can help teach him.”

Jihu nodded slowly, her emotions a tangled mess of joy for one son and concern for the other. She went back into Taehyung’s room, tucked the blankets more securely around his shoulders, kissed his head one more time, and then, for the first time, she left him alone with his mistakes, closing the door softly behind her.

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