My strict professor 5

The sunlight streaming through his window felt too bright for Tae's liking. He woke up slowly, his head feeling fuzzy but a little bit clear now that the pounding headache and the feverish heat were gone. He blinked, stretching his body and noticing the unusual quiet of the apartment. It was late, the clock on his bedside table showed that it was almost noon.

He shuffled out to the kitchen, his stomach growling slightly, expecting to find his mother in the kitchen making his favorite weekend breakfast, ready to fuss over him or his father reading the newspaper on the couch, ready to ask how he was feeling. But the living room was empty. The kitchen was clean and still. The only thing waiting for him was a note stuck to the refrigerator with a small magnet.

Our dear Tae, We hope you’re feeling much better. Your fever was gone this morning, and you were sleeping so soundly we didn’t want to wake you. There is medicine on the counter if you need it, and food in the fridge. Just heat it up. We have gone to meet Professor Min’s grandmother. We will be back by evening. Love you sweetheart, Appa and Omma

Tae stared at the note, the words blurring together. They were gone. They had left him. They had never done that before. Ever. If he so much as sneezed, his mother would camp out in his room. Now, they had just… left. For him. For Professor Min. While he was sick.

He felt a hard squeeze around his heart. He didn’t remember his father gently waking him at dawn to give him medicine. He didn’t remember his mother pressing a cool hand to his forehead, whispering that his temperature was normal again before they left. All he remembered was the image from last night: the three of them on the couch, crying and hugging, a perfect little circle from which he was completely excluded.

The clarity that came with his healed health was a curse. Now he remembered everything with a painful detail. The sting of the slap. The humiliating words: 'vicious, thoughtless brat'. The terrifying car ride. The weird old lady and her bitter soup. The pictures on the wall. The way his parents had clung to Yoongi, sobbing, as if he were the most precious thing in the world. They had looked at him with a love so raw and intense, it was like nothing Tae had ever seen directed at himself.

His parents had chosen Yoongi over him. They had left their sick son alone to go fawn over their long-lost golden child. The anger that had been simmering since last night washed over him. It was all Yoongi’s fault. Everything bad that had happened recently was because of him. He had come in and stolen his parents’ attention, their love, and now even their presence.

He crumpled the note in his fist and threw it toward the trash can. He wasn’t hungry anymore. A childish part of him just wanted to punish them. To make them feel a fraction of the hurt he was feeling. A mean and petty plan formed in his mind. If they were so busy with their new son, they wouldn’t need to worry about him, would they?

He went back to his room, got dressed quickly, and deliberately left his phone on his bedside table. Let them worry. Let them panic. Let them call and call and get no answer. Let them feel what it was like to not know where he was for once. It was what they deserved for forgetting about him.

He spent the entire day out. He called Wooshik and met up with him and a few other friends. They went to an arcade. The loud, flashing lights and blaring sounds was like a distraction from the thoughts screaming in his head. They ate greasy street food that settled heavily in his still-sensitive stomach. They wandered around the city with no real purpose.

Wooshik: “You okay, man? You seem kinda out of it.” Wooshik asked at one point, noticing his unusual quietness.

Dukhyun: "Still feeling sick?” Dukhyun added casually.

Tae: “I’m fine. Just bored. Let’s go play another round.” Tae said, forcing a grin and slinging an arm around his friends' shoulders.

Wooshik: “Seriously Tae, are you okay?” Wooshik asked for the third time, eyeing Tae's unusually quiet and grim demeanor as they were playing the sixth rounds. “You’re not even making fun of Jimin’s new haircut.” He pointed to where Jimin was across the food court, his hair a disastrous shade of orange.

Normally, Taehyung would have launched into a loud, mocking critique. Today, he just shrugged.

Tae: “Whatever. It’s his hair.”

Dukhyun: "That's so unlike you—"

Tae: "I said I am fine!" Taehyung snapped, his focus was on the screen, as if blowing up digital aliens could also blow up the real-life problem.

His friends exchanged a look. This wasn’t the Taehyung they knew. The Taehyung they knew was loud and dramatic and turned everything into a story. This Taehyung was closed off and simmering with a quiet anger they didn’t understand.

He didn’t tell them anything. How could he? How could he explain that the professor he hated was actually his long-lost brother? That his perfect, loving family had a hole in it he never knew about, and now that hole was filled by the one person he despised most? It sounded like a bad drama. He just wanted to forget, to numb the angry and jealous ache in his chest.

Meanwhile, across the city, a very different scene was unfolding.

Jihu and Jeongjin stood nervously at the door of Yoongi’s home. When it opened, they were greeted by the same kind-faced elderly woman from the photo Yoongi had shown them yesterday, her eyes widening in recognition and then immediately filling with tears.

Granny: “You must be…” Granny whispered, her hands fluttering to her mouth.

Jeongjin: “We’re Yoongi’s parents,” Jeongjin said quietly.

What followed was a flood of apologies and tears from Granny.

Granny: “I was so lonely,” she cried, holding Jihu’s hands. “And he was so small and so scared. I just… I wanted to care for him. I never meant to cause you such pain. Please forgive this foolish old woman.”

But the anger they might have felt was impossible to hold onto in the face of her genuine remorse and the obvious, deep love she had for Yoongi. They saw it in the way she looked at him, the pride in her eyes. They saw it in the way she fussed over him, in the way her whole face lit up when he spoke, in the hundreds of photos on her walls that charted every moment of his life. She hadn’t stolen their son to be cruel; she had saved a lost little boy and loved him as her own. She had raised their son to be a good, smart, responsible man. How could they hate her for that? She had loved him. She had given him a good home. The past was the past. So instead, they found themselves thanking her.

Jihu: “There’s nothing to forgive. Thank you for loving our boy. Thank you for keeping him safe.” Jihu said as she pulled granny in a hug.

Then the atmosphere quickly turned from somber to joyful. Granny fussed over them, bringing out tea and snacks.

The day turned into a beautiful, unexpected reunion. They shared stories- Jihu and Jeongjin telling Yoongi about his first words, his favorite toy, while Granny and Yoongi shared stories of his childhood in Busan. She showed them album after album of Yoongi growing up, him as a gap-toothed first grader, him looking serious in his middle school uniform, him graduating university.

Granny: “He was always so smart. And so good to me. He’s my whole world.” Granny said proudly, her eyes shining.

Jihu: “And now he has more family to love him." Jihu said, squeezing her hand.

Granny nodded and her face lit up suddenly.

Granny: “And the younger one! Taehyung! Yoongi told me about him. I met him yesterday. Heis such a character! Where is he? I want to meet my other grandson!”

The question sent a small pang of guilt through Jihu.

Jihu: “He wasn’t feeling well this morning. He was still sleeping. We’ll bring him next time, we promise.”

Granny: "Ow, it's totally fine. We have the whole life to bond, let the kid rest. He had a hard day anyway."

They spent hours talking, crying, and laughing. For Yoongi, it was the best day of his life. Seeing his two worlds, the one he was born into and the one that raised him, collide so peacefully was more than he could have ever hoped for. He gave them a tour of his home, and they promised to convert the dusty, old room in their apartment into his room, for whenever he wanted to stay.

Later, Yoongi drove them back to their apartment. He came inside for a little while, and Jihu gave him a tour as well, her heart swelling with pride and a little sadness as she showed him the room that had been kept for him, always waiting for his return. Yoongi walked through it quietly, touching the old furniture with a strange look on his face. It was a baby's room, filled with his baby pics and baby stuff. They kept everything safe for years even after he had gone. He didn’t stay long though, said he had to get back to Granny.

When he finally left, promising to see them again soon, Jihu and Jeongjin floated on a cloud of happiness. They checked Taehyung’s room, expecting to find him playing games or napping. But it was empty.

Jeongjin: “He must be out with his friends. He probably got bored.” Jeongjin said, not too concerned because it was a normal thing for Tae to do.

They talked for hours, replaying every moment of the day. It was the best day they could remember. But as evening began to deepen, Jihu’s motherly instincts finally pinged.

Jihu:“Taehyung’s not home yet,” she mentioned, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

Jeongjin: “He’s probably with Wooshik,” Jeongjin said, still smiling. “You know how he is. He probably felt better and went out to blow off steam.”

But by eight o’clock, the frown on Jihu’s face had turned to worry. By nine, she was pacing.

Jihu: “He’s not answering his phone.bIt just goes straight to voicemail.” she said, holding her own phone to her ear.

Jeongjin: “His battery probably died. You know he never charges it.” Jeongjin said, trying to stay calm.

At ten o’clock, the worry had curdled into real fear. The old, familiar terror of a missing child began to claw at them. Jihu was crying quietly, her hands shaking.

Jihu: “Where is he, Jeongjin? What if something happened? What if he’s hurt? He was sick, what if he fainted somewhere?”

Jeongjin: “Don’t think like that,” Jeongjin said, but his own voice was tight. He didn’t want to call Yoongi. They had already burdened him so much yesterday. He didn’t want their newfound happiness to be immediately overshadowed by some drama.

Instead, he pulled on his jacket.

Jeongjin: “I’ll go check at Wooshik’s apartment. Maybe he’s there.”

He drove to Wooshik’s building on his friend's bike and rang the bell. Wooshik’s mother answered, looking surprised to see him at their door.

Wooshik's mother: “Jeongjin-ssi? Is everything okay?”

Jeongjin: “Is Taehyung here?” Jeongjin asked, trying his best to sound casual.

Just then Wooshik appeared behind his mother. He looked nervous as he saw Jeongjin.

Wooshik: “Taehyung? Uh… no. I haven’t seen him today uncle.” It was a clumsy lie, one he had promised his friend (who was right now hiding in his room) that he would tell if his father showed up,

Jeongjin’s heart sank. Tae only goes to wooshik's place, if he was not here then where has he gone? He thanked them and left, his fear was increasing by each passing minute. He drove around the neighborhood, checking the usual hangouts places, the convenience store, the park, even went to Jimin's house but found nothing. By the time he got home, it was after eleven. Jihu was a wreck, sobbing on the couch, talking about calling the police.

Just as Jeongjin was reaching for the phone, the front door lock clicked open.

Taehyung walked in. He looked tired, but perfectly fine. He kicked off his shoes and didn’t even look at them as he headed for the hallway.

Jihu: “Taehyung!” Jihu cried, launching herself off the couch and wrapping him in a tight hug. “Where have you been? We were so worried! We thought something terrible had happened to you!” Her body shook with relieved sobs as she pecked his face.

Over her shoulder, Tae saw his father’s face. It wasn’t relief he saw there. It was anger. A real anger that Taehyung had never seen directed at him before.

Jeongjin gently pried Jihu away. His voice, when he spoke, was low and trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

Jeongjin: “Where were you? Your mother has been sick with worry. I was minutes away from calling the police! Do you have any idea what you put us through? We thought we had lost you!”

Tae stared at him, his own anger rising to meet his father’s. They were yelling at him? After they abandoned him all day?

He shrugged, and looked at his father with a glare.

Tae: “Why does it matter?” he said, his voice flat. “You were busy with your son. I was just at a friend’s. I didn’t know I needed to check in.”

The words were like a slap. Jihu gasped, fresh tears springing to her eyes. Jeongjin looked like he had been physically struck. The fear and anger on his face melted into something else, something like hurt and profound disappointment.

Tae didn’t wait for a response. He turned his back on them and walked down the hall to his room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, leaving his parents standing in the living room, their perfect day shattered by the bitter reality of the son they had left behind.

The next morning felt heavy and still.The usual sounds of the apartment were muted. There was no cheerful humming from Jihu in the kitchen, no low rumble of Jeongjin’s voice as he read the news. The happiness from the day before had evaporated, leaving behind a layer of tension and hurt.

Tae woke up late again. He had lain awake for a long time, listening to the silence from the living room, his anger from the night before hardening into sonething stubbor in his chest. He didn’t want to go out. He didn’t want to see them. But his stomach was growling, and he couldn’t hide in his room forever.

So he shuffled out into the hallway with slow steps. The smell of food hit him first. His mother had made his favorite food. She was standing by the counter, not cooking, just waiting. His father was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee cooling in front of him. They both looked up the moment he appeared.

The silence stretched for a beat too long. It was clear they had been waiting for him.

Jihu: "Tae,” his mother said softly, her voice sounded a little raw as if she was crying. “Good morning, baby. Are you hungry? I made your favorite.”

She gestured to the table with a soft smile. It was like a peace offering. A return to normal. But nothing felt like normal.

Tae didn’t answer. He just went to the table and sat down, keeping his eyes on his plate. He could feel them watching him, exchanging worried glances over his head but he didn't give them any reaction.

Jeongjin cleared his throat after a moment.

Jeongjin: “Taehyung-ah,” he began, his voice careful. “About last night… your mother and I… we want to apologize.”

Tae didn't look up at them, he just kept chewing his food quietly.

Jihu: “We shouldn’t have left you alone when you were still recovering,” Jihu continued, coming to sit next to him. She reached out to put a hand on his arm, but he subtly shifted away. Her hand dropped back to her lap with a sad look.

Jihu: “We were just… we were so overwhelmed. Finding your brother… after all these years… it was a miracle. We got carried away. We didn’t mean to make you feel like we forgot about you.”

The word ‘brother’ felt like a physical jab. Tae’s grip tightened on his chopsticks.

Jeongjin: “We were so scared when we couldn’t find you. The thought of something happening to you… it brought back all the old fear from when we lost Yoongi. We love you so much, Tae. You have to know that. You are our son.You are our first priority. Nothing will ever change that. We love you more than anything in this world."

Their words were meant to soothe, to bridge the gap he had created. But to Tae, they just sounded like excuses. They were sorry for worrying, but they weren’t sorry for being happy about Yoongi. They weren’t sorry that he was here.

He felt a hot prickle behind his eyes. He hated that he was about to cry. He hated that their gentle, apologetic voices were getting to him. He focused on his food, trying to will the tears away.

Seeing his bottom lip begin to tremble, Jihu’s own eyes filled with tears.

Jihu: “Oh, my baby,” she whispered, and this time when she reached for him, she didn’t let him pull away. She wrapped her arms around his stiff shoulders and pulled him into a hug.

Jihu: “We’re so sorry. Please don’t be angry with us. Omma love you more than anything." She said, pecking his forehead.

For a moment, Tae resisted. But the hug felt familiar. It felt like home. It was the same hug he had gotten after every scraped knee, every bad dream, every little childhood disappointment. A small, wounded sound escaped him, and he finally gave in, letting his head drop onto her shoulder. He didn’t hug her back, but he didn’t push her away either. He just sat there, sniffling quietly, letting her rock him slightly.

Jeongjin reached across the table and placed a large, warm hand on his son’s head, ruffling his hair gently.

Jeongjin: “It’s okay, baby. It’s all going to be okay.”

For a few minutes, they sat like that. The three of them. It almost felt like it used to. Almost.

But the unspoken issue was still there, hanging in the air between them like a ghost. When Tae’s sniffles subsided and he pulled away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, his parents looked at him with hopeful, tentative smiles.

Jihu: “Yoongi… your brother… he wants to see you,” Jihu said carefully. “He feels terrible about how things have been between you two at school. He wants to start over. As a family.”

And the moment shattered with mention of Yoongi. Tae’s face, which had begun to soften, instantly closed off again. The wall slammed back down. He pushed his plate away, his appetite completley gone.

Tae: “He’s not my brother,” he said, his voice low and flat.

Jihu’s smile faded immediately.

Jihu: “Taehyung, of course he is. He’s your hyung. Your blood.”

Tae: “I don’t care,” Tae said, staring at the table with a stubborn glare. “He’s not my family. My family is you and Appa. That’s it.”

Jeongjin: “Tae, that’s not true,” Jeongjin said, his tone was still gentle but a little more firm. “He is a part of this family, whether you like it or not. He’s my son. He’s your mother’s son. That makes him your brother.”

Tae: “No, it doesn’t!” Tae’s voice rose with anger. “You didn’t raise him! You raised me! He’s just some stranger who showed up and ruined everything! He’s the reason you yelled at me for the first time last night! He’s the reason you left me alone! I hate him!”

The words hung in the air. Jihu flinched as if she’d been struck. Jeongjin’s face fell, the hope in his eyes dying out.

Jihu: “Taehyung, you don’t mean that.” Jihu pleaded, her voice trembling. “You can’t hate him. He’s been through so much. He didn’t ask for any of this to happen.”

Tae: “Well, neither did I!” Tae shot back, standing up so suddenly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “I didn’t ask for a brother! I didn’t ask for a professor who hates me to suddenly move into my house and my life! I was fine before! Everything was fine before he came!”

His vision blurred with angry tears. He saw the pictures on the wall, the ones of the baby, and it felt like they were taunting him.

Tae: “He’s not my brother.” he repeated again, stubbornly. “He will never be my brother. I don’t want him here. I don’t want to see him. Ever.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and stormed back to his room, leaving his parents sitting at the table, the uneaten food and their shattered hopes between them. The door to his bedroom slammed shut, a much louder, angrier sound than the night before.

This time, it wasn’t just a door closing. It felt like a declaration of war.

___

The world, for Min Yoongi, had finally clicked into place. The hollow ache that had lived in his chest for as long as he could remember, the quiet question of where do I come from?, had been filled. The past two days felt like a dream, a beautiful, overwhelming dream he never wanted to wake up from.

He sat at his own kitchen table, the morning sun warm on his back. The air smelled of the rice and soup Granny had made for breakfast. He watched her move around the kitchen, her steps a little lighter, her face softer. She was happy, truly happy, for him. She had gotten her son back, and in return, she had gained an entire family.

Granny: “It’s like a drama, isn’t it?” Granny said, setting a bowl down in front of him with a fond smile. “My Yoongi, a lost prince finding his kingdom.”

Yoongi chuckled a little at her words and shook his head slightly.

Yoongi: “I don’t know about a prince, Granny. But it feels good. It feels right.”

He told her more about the day before, about seeing his old room, about the way 'His' mother couldn’t stop touching his face as if to make sure he was real. He talked about his father’s strong, steady hand on his shoulder. He was basking in it, reliving every wonderful moment. He felt… complete.

Granny listened, her eyes twinkling as he spoke. She reached across the table and patted his hand.

Granny: “I am so happy for you, my boy. You deserve all this love. You always have.” Then she took a sip of her tea, her expression turning a little more thoughtful. “And what about the little one? Taehyung? How is he? His fever must be gone by now, I hope?”

The question was like a small, cold drop of water landing on the warm, sunny picture in his mind. Taehyung. In his sheer joy and relief, Yoongi had honestly barely given the boy a second thought since dropping him off that night.

Yoongi: “Oh,” Yoongi said, his smile fading slightly. “I… I assume so. They didn’t say otherwise.”

Granny’s wise old eyes studied him for a while.

Granny: “And how is he dealing with all this? It must be a big shock for him. One day, his math teacher is the stern professor who punishes him, the next day, that same man is his long-lost older brother.” She shook her head slowly. “That is a lot for a young heart to understand. Especially after everything that happened between you two. The punishments… the slap…”

She didn’t say it with judgment, just with a mother’s gentle concern. But her words forced Yoongi to stop and actually think about it. Really think about it from Taehyung’s side.

The image of the boy’s face in his office, right after the slap, flashed in his mind. The shock. The hurt. The fear. The way he had sobbed himself into a feverish state. Then the look on his face last night in the car- a mix of fear, confusion, and a glare that could cut glass.

Yoongi’s comfortable happiness began to turn into something more complicated. Guilt, mostly. He had been so focused on his own miraculous homecoming, on the love and acceptance from his parents, that he hadn’t stopped to consider what this seismic shift felt like for the boy who had always been the center of that universe.

Yoongi: “He… he probably hates me,” Yoongi admitted quietly, pushing his food around his bowl with his chopsticks. “I wouldn’t blame him. I wasn’t exactly kind to him.”

Granny: “Hate is a strong word for a young boy,” Granny said with a tiny shake of her head. “But he is certainly hurt. And scared. His whole world has been turned upside down. You will have to be patient with him, Yoongi. He is your brother now. That bond… it needs to be built. It doesn’t just appear because you share the same blood.”

Your brother. The words felt strange. Foreign. When he thought of ‘brother’, he didn’t think of a bond or love. He thought of a spoiled, reckless, defiant teenager who had caused him nothing but headaches. He thought of the boy who had maliciously flattened his tires and made that horrific phone call. The idea of building a relationship with that felt exhausting and, if he was being honest, deeply unappealing.

Yoongi: “I’m not sure he wants a bond, Granny,” he sighed. “And I’m not sure I’m the right person to build it. We bring out the worst in each other.”

Granny: “Nonsense,” Granny said firmly. “You are his hyung. It is your job to guide him, even when it is difficult. Especially when it is difficult. He needs you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

The conversation stayed with Yoongi throughout the day. As he graded papers, as he prepared lessons, the image of Taehyung’s angry, hurt face kept intruding. Granny was right. He couldn’t just ignore this. He was a part of that family now, and that meant dealing with all of it, not just the pleasant parts.

That evening, after Granny had gone to bed, he picked up his phone. His finger hovered over his mother’s number. It still felt surreal to think that. He took a deep breath and called.

She picked up on the second ring.

Jihu: “Yoongi-ah?” Her voice was warm, but he could hear a thread of tiredness in it.

Yoongi: “Eomma,” he said, and the word still sent a little thrill through him. “I was just checking in. How… how is everything?”

There was a pause on the other end. Then a sigh.

Jihu: “It’s… it’s been a day, Yoongi-ah.” His heart sank a little at her tone.

Yoongi: “What happened?”

Jihu: “We talked to Tae this morning,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, as if she didn’t want to be overheard. “We apologized for leaving him yesterday. He… he seemed okay for a minute. He even let me hug him.”

Yoongi could picture the scene and he felt a small flicker of hope.

Yoongi: “That’s good, right?”

Jihu: “Then we mentioned you,” Jihu continued, her tone turning sad. “We said you wanted to see him. To start over.”

She didn’t need to say more. Yoongi could guess the rest.

Jihu: “He didn’t take it well. He said… he said you’re not his brother. That he hates you. That he never wants to see you.” Her voice broke on the last few words. “He’s so angry, Yoongi. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s more than just a tantrum. It’s… it’s deep.”

Yoongi closed his eyes. He had expected it, but hearing it confirmed still felt like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t that he wanted Taehyung’s affection. But he wanted his parents to be happy, and their happiness was now tangled up in this mess.

Yoongi: “I see,” he said, his voice flat.

Jihu: “Yoongi, please,” Jihu pleaded. “Don’t be angry with him. He’s just a boy. He’s confused and he’s hurting. All of this… your arrival… it threatens everything he’s ever known. You have to understand that.”

Yoongi: “I do understand,” Yoongi said, though he had to force the words out. Understanding didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Jihu: “You have to be patient,” she said, echoing Granny’s words exactly. “You have to try to bond with him. Show him you’re not just his strict professor. Show him you can be his hyung. He needs a brother, Yoongi. Even if he doesn’t know it.”

Bond with him. The idea felt impossible. How do you bond with someone who flattens your tires and wishes your only family dead? How do you become a brother to someone you have only ever seen as a spoiled, entitled brat?

But he heard the desperate hope in his mother’s voice. He thought of the heartbreak in his father’s eyes last night. He owed it to them to try. He owed it to this new family he had just found.

Yoongi: “I’ll… I’ll try, Eomma,” he said, the promise feeling heavy on his tongue.

Jihu: “Thank you, Yoongi-ah,” she said, her relief palpable even over the phone. “Just… be gentle with him. And don't worry yourself too much as well. I am so sorry I have to trouble you with all this, baby."

Yoongi: "Its's okay Eomma, I understand."

They said their goodbyes, and Yoongi put his phone down. He sat in the quiet of his living room, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. The euphoria of the last two days was gone, replaced by the complicated, messy reality of his new life.

He had found his parents. He had a brother. But the family picture wasn’t the happy, seamless reunion he had imagined. There was a crack running right through the middle of it, and its name was Kim Taehyung. And Yoongi had no idea how, or even if, he could fix it. The professor in him wanted to lay down the law and demand respect. The newfound son in him wanted to make his parents proud. But the man in the middle just felt tired.

__

The following weeks settled into a strange and uncomfortable new normal. The initial, earth-shattering shock of Yoongi’s identity had worn off for everyone except Taehyung. For him, it had calcified into a hard, stubborn core of resentment that he carried with him everywhere.

Jihu and Jeongjin tried their best. They were gentle, they were patient. They talked to Taehyung about family and forgiveness. They reminded him how lucky they were to have Yoongi back. They tried to include him in conversations about his brother, always met with a stony silence or a dismissive shrug. They bought his favorite snacks, cooked his favorite meals, and gave him more leeway than ever, hoping to soothe the angry beast he had become. But their efforts felt like throwing pebbles into a dark well. There was no splash, just a hollow silence.

Yoongi, for his part, was trying to honor his mother’s request. He was making a conscious effort. In class, the dynamic had shifted subtly. When Taehyung would act out- talking back, not doing his homework, initiating his daily fights with Jimin- Yoongi’s response was different. There were no more hours spent standing in the corner. No more humiliating lectures in front of the whole class. Instead, Yoongi would fix him with a long, cool stare.

Yoongi: “Kim Taehyung,” he would say, his voice low and controlled, cutting through the classroom chatter. “Enough. Sit down and be quiet.”

Or, when a homework assignment was missing for the fifth time in a row, he would simply say, “See me after class,” and then dismiss him without another word, leaving Taehyung confused and strangely unsatisfied. The punishment was the absence of punishment. It was being treated not as a special case, not even as a hated nuisance, but with a kind of detached, professional disappointment that was somehow worse. He was trying to push Yoongi’s buttons, to get a rise out of him, to prove that the monster professor was still in there. But Yoongi refused to take the bait.

At home, the tension was even thicker. Yoongi started visiting more often, sometimes alone, sometimes with a beaming Granny in tow. Those days were the worst for Tae. He could hear them from his room, the sound of laughter, of easy conversation, of his mother’s delighted giggles at something Yoongi said. It sounded like a party he wasn’t invited to.

His parents would knock on his door. “Taehyung-ah, come out! Your brother is here! Granny brought some sweets!”

He never went. He would either ignore them completely or yell a muffled “I’m busy!” through the door, turning his music up louder.

Sometimes, he was cornered. If he was already in the living room when they arrived, he couldn’t escape. On those occasions, he would put on a masterclass in passive-aggressive brattiness. He wouldn’t be openly rude, he knew better than to curse or yell in front of his parents and the sweet old lady. Instead, he would be deliberately difficult.

If Granny offered him a cookie, he would take it without a word of thanks and then leave it uneaten on the table. If Yoongi tried to ask him a simple, polite question like, “How was school today?” Taehyung would shrug and mumble a non-answer, his eyes fixed on his phone.

And he always, always called him “sir.”

“Would you like some more rice, Tae?” Jihu would ask. “No, thank you,” he wouldd reply, sweet as pie to his mother. Then his eyes would flick to Yoongi, and he would add, “Do you want some, sir?”

The word was a weapon. It was a constant, pointed reminder of what their relationship had been and, in Taehyung’s mind, what it still was. He was drawing a line with that word: 'You are not my family. You are my professor. You are nothing to me.'

Yoongi would just shook and say, “No, I am fine." But inside, his patience was wearing thinner every day.

He saw the way his parents’ faces would fall every time Taehyung pulled one of his stunts. He saw the hopeful light in their eyes dim a little more each time he called him “sir.” This was supposed to be a happy time, a healing time for their broken family, and Taehyung was poisoning it with his never-ending tantrum.

One Sunday afternoon, it came to a head. Yoongi and Granny were over for lunch. The meal had been a quiet, strained affair thanks to Taehyung’s sullen presence. After eating, Jihu brought out a photo album of Yoongi's baby pictures she had dug out of storage.

Jihu: “Look at this one!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with happy tears. “This was your first birthday! You wouldn’t stop crying until we let you smash the cake with your whole hands!”

Yoongi smiled, a genuine, soft smile, leaning over to look. Granny cooed beside him.

Jeongjin: “And look how messy you were! Just like a little piglet!” Jeongjin laughed as he pointed at a picture.

It was a perfect, tender family moment. And Taehyung, who had been slouching on the far end of the couch, watching them with narrowed eyes, decided to ruin it.

He let out an exaggerated, loud sigh.

Tae: “Wow, fascinating,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Can I go now? This is really boring.”

The happy chatter died instantly. Jihu’s smile vanished. Jeongjin’s laugh cut off. Granny looked down at her hands, uncomfortable.

Yoongi slowly looked up from the photo album. The last thread of his patience snapped. He had taken the insults, the coldness, the disrespect aimed at him. But he wouldn’t stand by and watch this kid hurt his parents any longer.

He closed the photo album with a soft, definitive thud.

Yoongi: “No." he said, his voice quiet but with a stern edge that made everyone look at him. “You can’t go. You will sit there and you will act like you have even a shred of decency and respect for the people in this room.”

Tae’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of the old fear returning. But he covered it with a scoff.

Tae: “Why? So I can look at more baby pictures of the perfect son? No thanks you."

Jeongjin: “Taehyung!” Jeongjin warned, his voice sharp.

Yoongi: “It’s alright, Appa,” Yoongi said, never breaking eye contact with Tae as he stood up. “I think it’s time Taehyung and I had a talk. In private.”

He didn’t wait for agreement. He just walked toward the hallway, expecting Tae to follow. For a moment, Tae hesitated, looking to his parents for backup. But for the first time, neither Jihu nor Jeongjin jumped to his defense. They just looked tired, and sad and disappointed. Defeated, and with a heart hammering in his chest, Tae pushed himself off the couch and followed Yoongi down the hall.

Yoongi didn’t lead him to his bedroom. He opened the door to the other room. The one that was always locked. The one that had always been a mystery to Tae.

He pushed the door open and flipped on the light.

Tae stopped in the doorway, his breath catching in his throat.

It wasn’t a dusty, forgotten storage space he has thought it would be. It was a child’s room, frozen in time. A small bed with rocket ship sheets. A shelf filled with picture books and a few worn stuffed animals. A tiny desk. And on the walls, more pictures of the baby Yoongi. This was his room. The room they had kept for him, waiting for a boy they believed was gone forever.

Yoongi stepped inside and turned to face his brother, his arms crossed over his chest.

Yoongi: “You want to know why they never yelled at you?” Yoongi’s voice was low, but it vibrated and filled the small room. “You want to know why they spoiled you rotten? Look around. This is why.”

Tae just stood there, unable to speak, his eyes taking in the room that was a shrine to the brother he never knew he had.

Yoongi: “They lived for twenty-five years with a ghost in this house, they lived with the guilt of losing a child. They lived with the fear that it could happen again. So when they had you, they held on so tight they forgot to teach you how to be a person. They were so afraid of losing you that they never gave you the tools to survive in the real world.”

He took a step closer. While Tae took an involuntary step back.

Yoongi: “Your little act?” Yoongi continued, his voice dripping with contempt. “The sulking? The slamming doors? The ‘I hate you’ routine? You’re not hurting me. You’re hurting them. You are taking the greatest miracle of their lives and you are stomping all over it because you’re jealous that you’re not the only baby in the crib anymore.”

He was saying all the things Tae had been thinking but had been too afraid to admit to himself. The truth of it was like a physical blow and Tae could only glare at him.

Yoongi: “I don’t care if you hate me,” Yoongi said, and he meant it. “I can live with that. You aren't that important to me. But I will not stand by and watch you break their hearts. So you can cut it out. The choice is yours. You can be a part of this family, and you can have two parents who love you and a hyung, whether you like it or not. Or you can keep acting like a selfish brat and lose everyone’s respect. But you don’t get to do both.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He pushed past Tae, leaving him alone in the silent room. The door swung shut behind him, leaving Tae standing in the middle of a childhood that wasn’t his, surrounded by the smiling face of the boy who had come back to steal his life, with his harsh, true words echoing in the empty air. For the first time, his anger felt small and childish, and in its place was a cold, terrifying loneliness.

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