I Was Michelangelo in My Past Life

Early dawn.

A pitch-dark house. From the master bedroom, light and voices leaked out. It was Baek Myeong-hee and Kang Hyun-do getting ready for work.

"…But honey, did you ever teach Seok-yi how to carve wood?"

"Wood carving?"

Kang Hyun-do, who was putting on his socks, shook his head.

"I never taught him."

"Then how is it that our Seok-yi is so good at it?"

Talent, maybe? But that didn't quite explain it. Baek Myeong-hee, sitting at the vanity and applying sunscreen, tilted her head in confusion.

Their son had been attending a sculpture-focused art academy steadily since middle school. For a kid like that to suddenly awaken a talent for wood carving now—it didn't make much sense.

And the way he handled the tools from the storage room last night had also raised suspicions. He seemed to know exactly what each tool was for, like he had it all mapped out in his head. There was a certain finesse that didn't seem explainable by mere talent.

But if it wasn't talent, then how could one explain the 'New Boramae Family' sculpture he made?

What on earth was going on? As Baek Myeong-hee fell silent, trying to piece it together, Kang Hyun-do broke the silence neatly.

"Wasn't Seok-yi in the Buddha statue crafting club back in his first year? Maybe he learned it there."

"Oh! That's right! The Buddha statue club. Seok-yi was in that club, wasn't he? Oh my, how did I forget?"

Baek Myeong-hee nodded as she squeezed out more sunscreen.

Now, the mystery from last night was beginning to make sense. That must be it—the Buddha statue club. Cheonghwa Arts High was known for its intense and high-level classes. If he trained diligently for a year there, it wasn't surprising he was better than most.

"Still, our Seok-yi is amazing. Not everyone becomes good just by learning something."

"True."

Now Baek Myeong-hee fully turned to look at Kang Hyun-do. In the past, they would rush out the door with barely a word, but lately, these morning conversations seemed to be getting longer.

And Baek Myeong-hee… didn't mind that at all.

"I think once school starts and Seok-yi enters his third year, I should meet with that teacher, Jung Byung-kwon."

"Teacher Jung? Why?"

"Why else? To ask why he couldn't believe in our son a little more. How could he suggest the humanities track to a kid this talented? I need to tell him, face-to-face—'This is the kind of student my child is.'"

She still remembered that day vividly.

Kang Hyun-do, sipping soju he usually avoided. Seok blasting online lectures in his room. Herself, sobbing quietly.

The memory still stung her heart.

She wouldn't feel at peace until she heard an apology from Jung Byung-kwon. Baek Myeong-hee firmly pursed her lips and stared at her husband.

Kang Hyun-do looked away. Seok might be doing well now, but back then, his art performance scores were abysmal.

"Let's leave it. There'll be monthly parent-teacher meetings in third year anyway. We can bring it up then."

"Should I?"

"Yes, really."

Muttering vaguely, Kang Hyun-do stood up to put on his coat. Why didn't we believe in him more back then? As his parents, they didn't even hold him by the shoulders and say, You'll be great someday. Who else could they blame?

Kang Hyun-do shook his head.

Just then, as if she had already forgotten her anger, Baek Myeong-hee walked over, humming, to put on her coat as well.

"Seriously, I wonder who he takes after, being so good. Honey, maybe you should ask Seok for his secret."

Kang Hyun-do chuckled along with her.

"I've already learned his secret technique."

"Really?"

Baek Myeong-hee's eyes went round. So that's where Kang Chae-young's bunny-like eyes came from—her mother.

Looking into Baek Myeong-hee's big, moonlike eyes, Kang Hyun-do whispered the secret.

"Seok said…"

Kang Hyun-do recalled the night they carved together, shoulder to shoulder.

— 'Seok, how do your hands move so confidently like that, huh?'

— 'Uh… I just wait until I can see it. Once I do, I carve everything else away.'

Crrrk!

The sound of sawing echoed throughout the workshop.

The log was large, and Seok's rapid, powerful motions sent piercing noises slicing through the air. He was quickly removing unnecessary corners of the block.

Soon, with a final thunk, the last corner piece fell away.

Anyone trained in woodworking would have asked about his background—the cuts were remarkably precise. But Seok's expression remained indifferent.

He simply let out a rough breath.

All he had done was remove eight unnecessary corners. Between the pencil-drawn outline and the newly cut edges, irregularities and roughness remained.

Seok walked over to the worktable and grabbed an adz—a tool for carving by striking downward.

It resembled an axe, but unlike the axe's parallel blade, the adz had a blade perpendicular to the handle, somewhat like a hoe or hammer.

Seok adjusted his grip. Fixing his gaze on the pencil lines, he brought the adz down.

Thunk! Crack!

A sharp, biting sound burst out as the adz sank into the wood.

His movements were mechanical—decisive, yet careful to avoid swinging toward his own body. A wrong move, and the adz could strike him.

Seok swung the adz with fierce focus.

Crunch!

Though marble, which could shatter in one swing, was harder to handle, wood carving was no less exacting. Sculpture wasn't like oil painting, where you could paint over mistakes, nor like drawing, where an eraser could help.

Sculpture was an art that allowed no room for error.

Thunk! Crack!

Seok struck the wood steadily—not fast, not slow.

He was removing bulk material that would take ages to carve away with finer tools. It saved time and effort.

Under his unflinching hand, the wood began to take shape.

From the front, it resembled an inverted triangle; from the back, a trapezoid. Thanks to perfect balance, the block stood firm without so much as a tremble.

Seok chopped roughly at the bottom of the triangle. Thud! With a dull crack, a chunk splintered away.

Dozens, maybe hundreds of swings later—

More and more pieces had fallen, and a crude, but recognizable form was beginning to emerge.

"Phew."

After bending over for so long, repeating mechanical motions, Seok straightened up, shoving the chips aside with his foot.

His back cracked as he stood. Working with the wood on the floor to maximize energy efficiency had left his body sore.

I should probably sign up for a gym soon… No, that's too expensive. Maybe I'll just start running.

Whether it was lifting or running, he had to start exercising. Working with tough materials like stone and wood demanded strength and stamina.

Even with machines like power drills flooding workshops these days, it was the same.

Machines have limits. You can't get subtle textures with just machines. To create something on the scale of my past life's works, I'll need brute strength and endurance.

The bigger the piece, the greater the artwork.

Imagining himself once more standing atop a giant marble slab, swinging hammer and chisel, Seok placed the adz down.

He wanted to keep working, but now it was time to head to school.

With a reluctant glance at the wood, Seok turned away.

It was time to go. He grabbed his backpack. The rising sun, glistening on his sweat, gave him a renewed sense of life.

Good.

This is what it means to live.

Feeling the sweat-soaked shirt cling to his back, Seok shivered with exhilaration. Back when he carved the Boramae birds, he didn't even break a sweat. But now, he finally felt satisfied.

Anyway—let's get going.

Seok stepped out of the furniture shop.

Today, at last, marked the end of his 12-day journey.

Caw, caw!

A white morning. A crow soared over the garden of Go Doo-han's studio.

Go Doo-han glanced at it, then returned his gaze. The studio chairs were all empty.

Yet the scent of wood and graphite—so uniquely tied to pencils—flooded the first floor, thanks to the team pushing day and night toward the upcoming exhibition.

As Goduhan took in the familiar scent and sprayed water onto the pine bonsai—shhh—the woman in front of him discreetly covered her nose with the edge of her collar.

"It's a smell I haven't encountered in a while. How nostalgic."

At Seol Yeo-jin's words, Goduhan scoffed.

"Haven't encountered in a while, my foot. You came here just three months ago and said the exact same thing."

"It's only been three months?"

"Yeah. So stop dropping by so often. I get nervous you'll poach someone else from under me."

Muttering as he picked up a brush, Goduhan grumbled.

"It's not like I stole that many people. Honestly, you always have a way of making people feel unappreciated, Master."

Seol Yeo-jin shook her head as if there was no reasoning with him.

She should've been the one being pitied, but Goduhan quietly drew the character for "patience" inside himself as he held the brush.

Seol Yeo-jin, director of the Peony Gallery.

She was a young lady born into a wealthy family, who grew up like a greenhouse flower, effortlessly passing through art middle school, art high school, and art university. Originally, she was a founding member of the Goduhan circle.

More precisely, she had been one of Goduhan's very first disciples.

Despite having never washed a dish in her life, she was sharp, quick-witted, socially adept, and well-loved by her peers and juniors.

That was Seol Yeo-jin.

"What do you have to feel unappreciated about?"

Even as he spoke, Goduhan nearly slammed the brush down in frustration.

Back then, when he saw Seol Yeo-jin sharpening her pencil with those delicate, sprout-like eyes, he had truly thought she was a lovely student.

But then, as her peers grew in skill, Seol Yeo-jin experienced despair for the first time. A young lady who had never known failure before, she snapped her own pencil and stormed out from under Goduhan.

"If it's not going to work out anyway, I'll take another path."

The problem wasn't just that she left.

She whispered sweet words to a few of Goduhan's most cherished students and walked out hand-in-hand with them.

"Rotten thing."

"My, why the sudden profanity again?"

She had wiped out the very core of Goduhan's workshop with a few sweet words.

From that day, Goduhan called Seol Yeo-jin a witch. A witch like the one from Hansel and Gretel, who lured students into her sugary house.

"You really don't know why?"

"I don't recall doing anything today to deserve cursing, Master."

Calling him Master so casually. Goduhan looked at Seol Yeo-jin with conflicted eyes. They weren't eyes full of pure hatred.

He understood those without talent.

He knew how thick and unyielding that wall of despair could look—enough to make someone break their own pencil.

Even after suffering such extreme despair, she hadn't been able to leave the art world. Instead, she dug in her roots at the Peony Gallery in Gwanhun-dong.

Seeing his former student floundering with broken wings, Goduhan couldn't help but feel pity.

She never quite stood back up after that fall. He pitied her, resented her for dragging others down with her, and felt a deep sadness that she had so easily given up on drawing and chosen another path.

There was no single word to describe the emotion.

Yet despite it all, he held solo exhibitions at the gallery she ran every year, like a fool of a teacher.

"Even resentment can grow into affection."

Come to think of it, the reason Goduhan came to prefer people like Park Ji-yeop—hidden gems among the mud, unremarkable on the outside but extraordinary within—was largely because of Seol Yeo-jin.

People who didn't need to experience despair.

People who, even if they did, wouldn't give up—because they were extraordinarily gifted.

People who, if nurtured, would eventually bloom.

All of them were the opposite of Seol Yeo-jin.

Like Kang-seok.

Goduhan clamped his mouth shut. He had plenty of hurtful words to hurl, but once again, he chose to swallow them.

Then, in a disgruntled tone, he asked,

"So why are you here?"

"There it is again, going straight to the point."

"If you're not gonna say, then leave."

"Ahh. Master, you and I really don't get along."

Seol Yeo-jin popped a candy into her mouth. The greenhouse flower had long since rotted, soaked in sugar. Who knew how many sweets she ate a day—at this rate, her teeth wouldn't survive.

Goduhan clicked his tongue and resumed wiping the pine tree.

Already irritated that he wouldn't be seeing Kang-seok for a while after coming back from the school today, and now with Seol Yeo-jin showing up to stir things up, he frowned.

If he had a tail, it would've been lashing violently in anger.

Seol Yeo-jin, quick as a nine-tailed fox, noticed his worsening mood and quickly handed him a sheet of paper.

Goduhan took it with narrowed eyes.

"What's this?"

Seol Yeo-jin twirled her hair around her finger and sweetly replied,

"Please give it to Mr. Kang-seok for me. I wanted to myself, but it felt rude to visit his house early in the morning, and going to his school might make him uncomfortable. I figured going through you would be best."

Now she was calling him "Mr. Artist."

Goduhan gave her a wary look and then turned to the paper.

As he read down, his pupils widened.

"Hey, this is...!"

A mural project proposal.

The paper was a formal proposal from the Peony Gallery to commission Kang-seok for a mural.

In short, it was Seol Yeo-jin's love call.

"I lost the exhibition contract to him yesterday, and I looked him up a bit afterward."

The lollipop swayed. Crack. Her molars bit down. Contained within that crunch was a calm fury—at herself, for failing to recognize a gem.

"He's done incredible work."

"Incredible work?"

What work? Goduhan searched his memory. Had Kang-seok done something like that? At that moment, Seol Yeo-jin gave him a knowing look and said:

"The Creation of Adam."

"Ah."

The Creation of Adam. The mural Kang-seok painted himself on the 8th floor of the Renaissance Mall.

Yes, that had been incredible. Goduhan even made time to visit it from time to time.

Word had been spreading in the art world too, increasing its recognition. Apparently, Seol Yeo-jin had just found out about it last night.

"If I had known, I wouldn't have let him go. Like Professor Park Ji-yeop or you, I would've made sure to tie him to me. You're so unfair. How could you not tell your pretty little student something like that?"

Seol Yeo-jin clenched her fist and tapped her thigh repeatedly. A gesture of frustration. Crunch, crunch. The strawberry candy was being chewed mercilessly by her molars.

"Anyway. Please make sure to pass it along."

Her hand trembled with desperation—she wanted to tie down a connection before it was too late. Goduhan lowered his head slightly.

His eyes were doubtful. Though he didn't know the full story, he knew Kang-seok was quite busy these days.

He'd heard that Kang-seok had taken a sculpture commission and was working on a human anatomy project with Park Ji-yeop. Would he even have time for this?

He was about to look up and say, I'll pass it on, but don't get your hopes up, when one line on the proposal caught his attention.

It was the compensation figure listed for the mural.

[₩20,000,000 + α]

Twenty million won, plus alpha.

This wasn't some grand-scale mural project—just one near the gallery entrance.

And for that? They were offering twenty million won plus extra?

"You out of your mind?"