Love You Dad, Gimme Allowance (3)
"Haa... haa... Finally done. This should keep your mom off my back."
"...You burned it white."
The dojo cleanup that started Saturday afternoon didn't wrap up until late Sunday night. Dad and I, who'd spent a full day non-stop in the underground storage room of the dojo, only emerged once our hair had turned gray from the ceiling dust.
"Good work. I figured even busting our asses all weekend wouldn't finish it, but thanks to my daughter, we got it done before Sunday was out. Do-young, you've gotten way better at this stuff than before?"
"Eh, something like that."
"Sorting the trash perfectly by category and tossing it, cleaning every nook between the shelves without me saying a word, scraping off every stain and mold spot on the floor... Anyone'd think you'd done military service or something."
"Ha, hahaha..."
They say a Korean high school girl's combat power equals two well-trained soldiers. So if a military vet's mind got a high school girl's body, simple math says you'd get nearly double the cleaning prowess.
"Anyway, outstanding work, Sister Ban Do-young."
"Praise me with cash, not words."
"Of course. You earned a REWARD for all that."
"Woohoo!"
Jackpot on allowance. Dad happily accepted my request with a grin, pleased I'd asked. I'd figured family labor meant blood-sweat pay, so this was a pleasant surprise. No need to raid my brother Ban Re-young's piggy bank in the military, which had been Plan B.
"I'll tack on an extra +α to next month's allowance, so mark it on the kitchen calendar."
"Huh? Just give it now—that'd be better. I'm totally broke. Can't even sing one song at karaoke."
"How long ago did you get your last allowance? If I give it outside the schedule, you'll blow it all again. I'll make next one generous, so wait."
Dad's philosophy on raising a tough daughter was rock-solid. His refusal came with solid reasoning, so I couldn't throw a bigger fit. Not indulging every kid's whine while mixing rewards and scoldings? Respectable parenting—or adulting. Ignoring that the whole reason for the weekend cleanup was fear of Mom, anyway.
"Toss that gym uniform in the hamper and take a bath. With that hair, they'll think you're your grandma at school tomorrow."
"No grandma looks like me."
After cleaning up, I crashed in bed. Aside from wasting a day on chores, not a bad first weekend as Ban Do-young.
"Phew, feels fresh. Now I can finally get some shut-eye—"
"Ban Do-young, get up! You're late!"
"Ah, don't bullshit me. I just lay down."
I grabbed my phone by the pillow to check the time.
"...Fuck Monday."
Sunday flew by without a breather, straight into Monday.
Ever seen the lead heroine in a pure-love school romance dashing out, yelling "I'm late!" a bunch? Messy hair, one backpack strap dangling off her shoulder, toast slice in her mouth. It's gone from cliché to full-on classic.
"Fuck! Late, late!"
And here I was, recreating it in Half Half Island.
"What's five minutes from home to school mean when you're late from the second you wake up?!"
Heroines running late serve two big purposes. First: setting up the protag-heroine meet-cute.
'Ow!'
'What the—running around a narrow corner like that!'
'Hmph, who told you to stroll around staring at the sky?'
Boy-girl crash at the corner. They blame each other, then bolt as time ticks. Worst first impression from sheer coincidence. But in high school where everyone starts equal, it gives protag and heroine a special kickoff, a reason to notice each other. Even if the start's embarrassing, that uniqueness sparks awareness, turning chance into fate. Simple, but that purity resonates—why it's loved by creators for ages. Even a crude beginning matters if it's different from the norm. No wonder Korean folktales have deer telling woodcutters to steal nymph wings.
'Starting today, I'm the new male lead at this school.'
'Huh? You little shit from before!'
'Ah, the white strawberry panties from this morning?'
And second reason: We get to see what panties the heroine wears daily.
"Just round this corner—!"
In the story, her tardiness isn't just slapstick—it's a key event to spark protag interest. And I'm Half Half Island's main heroine, Ban Do-young. Obviously, I could trigger one too.
I'll burst out this corner and prove it.
Thud!
"Ow ow... What the hell. Watch where you're—"
"Finally here, huh."
"Ah, Teacher Lee Hak-ju. Good morning."
I slammed right into the student supervisor waiting at the usual tardy-kid breakout spot.
"Rule's arrival by 8:20. What time is it now?"
"Uh, 8:55."
No Do Ha-min. No surprise—a long-distance commuter who'd arrive first on the dawn train. By my wake-up time, he'd been there ages.
So no meeting Do Ha-min here, no tripping into him, no flashing him my panty pattern.
"Go join the other late asses and drop for push-ups."
"Fuck."
Just fucked.
Bulsago High School, where Half Half Island's Ban Do-young goes, still has corporal punishment. Writer's education views? Or just old and out of touch with modern rules? Either way, a decade post-graduation, here I was doing push-ups at the school gate again for some reason.
"Hit in arrival order, then to class."
Bulsago High's canon-famous for field hockey. So morning gate-check teachers always pack sticks as standard gear.
Whoosh!
"Tch...!"
Whooosh!
"Hup!"
Whiiish!
"Aaaagh!"
The broad side of the hockey stick whistled like wind through teeth with every swing into a tardy butt.
"Uh, uhh..."
"They really hit that hard?"
"Why's Lee Hak-ju always on duty when I get here late..."
First-year kids thinking it'd end quick started shaking arms on the ground after hearing seniors get it. Especially some girls.
"Do-young, can't you sweet-talk the supervisor into skipping girls?"
"Huh? Me?"
"We'll back you up! Like at entrance ceremony—just help this once, you hate getting hit too...!"
A few girls dodging the stick clustered by me, hoping I'd speak for them like before. I wasn't keen on getting whacked a decade post-grad either, so with backup cheers, I went along.
"Next. Up front."
"Sir! We have a suggestion!"
I raised my hand boldly under girl-cover fire.
"What? Let's hear it."
"I think hitting butts is wrong!"
"R-right! Male teachers smacking girls' asses? Total sexual harassment!"
"Human rights violation! We'll report to the board!"
"Figured you'd say that, so girls get Yeo Mi-so."
"Huh?"
Mi-so Teacher, back from rear gate, took the stick from the supervisor.
"Boys inside. Mi-so, handle the rest."
"Y-yes...! Leave it to me, Teacher Lee!"
"Pick up ten pieces of street trash on your way to class. Go!"
Now the front gate held just late girls... and Mi-so Teacher inheriting the stick.
"Mi-, Mi-so Teacher...? No one's watching anyway, so we grab trash lightly and go?"
"No, Ban Do-young. If I slack here, you'll think rules are jokes and keep being late. Bad for you all."
Her stick-hand trembled. Newish teacher—probably never punished kids before.
"Kids, let's just take it quick. No good dragging it out."
Lucky break? Mi-so was tiny and skinny next to burly supervisor. Barely gripping the stick two-handed, shaking—no way she'd swing like him.
"Sorry, Teacher. I hurt your feelings, so hit away."
I dropped first—as rep who'd spoken up, and my homeroom teacher.
"N-never hit students before, but this time I'm resolved. For your futures."
"Teacher, you just said 'funerals'..."
"I'll swing full-force like Teacher Lee...!"
Shing!
Mi-so's stick rose high—not supervisor's wind-rush, but blade-slicing air.
"Wait, Mi-so Teacher, you're holding it vertical! Vertical!"
"That's not a swing, it's a slash! A slice!"
"Brace yourself, Ban Do-young!"
Slash!
The sword-stick dropped toward Ban Do-young's butt.
"Whoa, they say first-timers hit hardest. Thought I was dead. Felt like my ass split into four."
"Ah..."
"Tried dipping my butt to dodge, but it whipped my calf instead. Good I took first hit—fragile kids first would've split in two."
"Th-that's true, but..."
"Hm? What's that mean, goody-two-shoes?"
Break time after surviving Mi-so's punishment. Do Ha-min eyed me propping my swollen, stick-marked legs on his lap.
"Y-you plop your legs on my lap right after being late, and that's what you wanna say...?"
"Ah... right."
I hiked my skirt hem just enough for him to see the angle.
"See? White with lime pattern."
"N-not that—get your legs off!"
A bit late, but had to show what needed showing.