The Weight of Lies and the 3-Iron
After hearing the raw truth about Moonbyeol's school life from the teacher during the classroom observation, Taeyang couldn't pull himself together. After a long silence, he finally managed to speak.
"...I see. Yes."
He hung his head low, feeling like a condemned criminal. Shame burned so hot he couldn't even lift his face. Depression and self-loathing dragged his mood straight through the floor into the abyss.
What's a parent or guardian when I don't even know what my little sister's been up to at school?
Watching Taeyang like this, the teacher gave a wry smile.
"Don't beat yourself up too much. Most parents don't even show their kids this much interest. You're doing plenty well as it is."
"That's some comfort—useless, but it helps."
"And there's one more thing I should mention." The teacher flipped through Moonbyeol's student record a few pages, then pulled out a bundle of papers tucked inside and handed it to Taeyang. "Moonbyeol doesn't put much effort into academics, but art class is the exception. She works hard at it, and she's got real talent too. Art's not an easy major to recommend given family finances, but... I figured it was worth bringing up."
"Art, huh..." The fact that he didn't even know which subject his sister liked made Taeyang's chest tighten even more.
"Especially portraits—she seems really into them."
Still, if even the art teacher called it talent, how good must they be? Curiosity lighting his eyes, Taeyang glanced down at the papers.
"Uh..."
"Not some celebrity, so I wondered who she was drawing so obsessively..."
The teacher nodded knowingly at Taeyang's dumbfounded expression. All a dozen or so sheets were portraits. Various poses and expressions, but all of one single model.
"That's why I was a bit surprised when you first walked into the counseling room."
They were as lifelike as photos—Taeyang's exact face rendered in drawing. He stared at them in silence for a long while, his emotions a tangled mess.
"Can I... take these?"
"Of course."
Taeyang carefully tucked the papers into his bag so they wouldn't crumple.
"Anyway, thanks for making time for me."
"No, thank you. I learned a lot about her I didn't know." The two stood from their chairs and bowed in parting.
Finally, Taeyang pulled a thick envelope from his pocket—the one he'd brought just in case. If the homeroom teacher had been some half-assed type only in it for duty, he wouldn't have offered, but...
"Please take this."
The teacher waved her hands in panic. "Oh, no, absolutely not! Not in this day and age!"
"A student couldn't have stuffed this much in. Just a little something for gas money."
Forcing it into the teacher's pocket, Taeyang added, "This isn't some bribe or village custom. Grades won't change if she won't study, and I'm not asking you to fudge tests or anything. Just..." He hesitated. "Just... cover for what I can't do at home."
It would have been rude to refuse after such insistence. The teacher cleared her throat softly and accepted the envelope.
"I'll add to this later and buy pizza for the class or something."
"Even better—thanks again."
With another round of bows, they parted ways.
*
Back home first, Taeyang headed straight to Moonbyeol's room without even changing clothes. He flung open the closet, scoured under the bed. Pulled every book from the shelf, flipping through pages and shaking them out.
His thorough ransacking turned up a few raunchy magazines that didn't fit the times, a hefty dildo... and...
"Fucking hell."
Packs of cigarettes, still unopened. Veins bulged on the back of his hand as he crushed one in his grip.
"Even picking the expensive ones."
His head throbbed. Studying? Fine, skip it—just graduate. Fights? Use tools if you have to, just win. Kids grow up scrapping. Forget all that—just stay healthy.
That had been his half-neglectful parenting philosophy. And now years of it crumbled in an instant.
Who knew she didn't even plan to grow up healthy?
"Haaah..."
Honestly? Cigarettes? Booze? Teens might smoke or drink on a dare, peer pressure, whatever. Wrong choices happen—but you fix 'em.
His legs gave out, and Taeyang slumped onto the bed.
"This is too much."
His real gloom wasn't the smokes—it was Moonbyeol lying to him.
He'd smelled it on her laundry sometimes, asked a few times. Are you smoking? But she'd always blamed smoker friends, PC bangs, pool halls—swore up and down she never touched them. Sure, non-smoker Taeyang had his suspicions, but he trusted her word and never pushed.
His sister, whom he'd believed no matter what, had betrayed him. The sense of it was beyond words.
He sat there numb for hours until the familiar jingle sounded and the front door clicked open.
"I'm ho— what the? What're you doing in my room! Bro...?"
Seeing her door ajar, she bolted inside—and fell silent at the cigarettes scattered on the floor.
"Hey."
Taeyang kept his head down, not meeting her eyes, just pointing to the side with his arm.
"Mom's old golf bag's in the boiler room."
His face and voice were colder than ever.
"Bring the 3-iron."
*
Moonbyeol stammered in rare panic. "B-Bro?"
"What."
"I mean, hear me out first!"
But Taeyang had no intention of talking. Strictly speaking, there was a prerequisite before any conversation.
"My words don't even sound like words anymore, huh?"
With a small sigh, he stood from the bed and faced her.
"Of course, if you don't want it, I won't hit you. You're old enough to decide that much yourself."
Her face lit up for a split second—then darkened at his follow-up.
"I'll just be genuinely disappointed in you. And tell Mom and Dad everything."
Pure blackmail. Take a few hits now and bury it between them? Or blow it up big-time?
Moonbyeol squeezed her eyes shut and muttered low. "O-Okay... I'll get the 3-iron..."
She wasn't dumb enough to chase short-term pain and miss the bigger picture. He's not really gonna hit me. At worst, a couple swats to scare me. Clinging to that slim hope, she shuffled off to the storage room.
Of course, Taeyang planned a thorough physical therapy session to cure her of lying for good.
She returned quickly, golf club in hand. "Here..."
"Mm."
The 3-iron, dusty from disuse, felt heavy in his grip. Taeyang swung it through the air. Whoosh—whoosh— The whistle was menacing.
He tapped the floor with it. "Won't hit you much. Just ten. Down for push-up position."
".......I messed up."
Saying it early, huh, Taeyang thought, gripping it two-handed.
"Should've said that when I first came in. Or when you lied to me."
"Ah..."
Honestly, Moonbyeol hadn't felt real danger until now. Taeyang's temper wouldn't flare over mere smokes, she'd thought. But if it was about breaking trust? No way he'd let it slide easy.
Taeyang always nagged her: Family, parents abroad—so we lean on each other, trust each other. Secrets okay, but no lies.
Now those words crushed her. No excuses left. Realizing that, Moonbyeol quietly dropped into push-up position on the floor.
"Sorry for lying... for real."
His resolve wavered for a heartbeat, but Taeyang clenched his teeth and swung.
Thwack! Thud—! Crack—! Smack—!
"Kgh! Hng! Khk!"
Smack—! Thwack—! Crack—!
The seemingly endless beating ended at ten. Moonbyeol let out intermittent groans but held position without collapsing or crying once. Her ass was toast, but her pride held.
Clang! Taeyang tossed the club to the floor.
"Throw out all the smokes."
"...Got it."
He'd figured she'd barely stand, let alone walk—but after a few deep breaths, she gathered the packs and limped out.
She couldn't help the waddle, though.
*
After dumping the cigarettes, their talk was short. No more smoking.—Got it.No more lies.—Got it. Moonbyeol meekly took Taeyang's nagging advice.
Then she holed up in her room till nightfall. This time, Taeyang didn't call her for dinner.
Knock knock knock. Late into the night, Taeyang stood before Moonbyeol's door, first-aid kit in hand.
"Moonbyeol."
Knock knock knock. He called softly again, but no reply from beyond.
The knob turned easily—no lock.
"You asleep? I'm coming in."
Creeeak— Taeyang opened the door and stepped inside.