I Was Michelangelo in My Past Life

* * * *

"Oppa? Are you asleep?"

"He just fell asleep."

"Did he eat breakfast before sleeping? Did you and Seok eat breakfast?"

The muffled sound, as if water had gotten into his ears, came from outside.

As he focused on the murmur tickling his ears, the voices began to separate and become clear.

Three people. There were three people in the conversation. Father. Mother. Kang Chaeyoung. Kang Seok slowly opened his eyes.

It was already morning.

It felt like he had just fallen asleep and opened his eyes again, yet the dark dawn had already turned into a white morning. How long had he slept? Kang Seok sat up from the folding bed he had been lying on. His body ached with muscle soreness.

Working until just before dawn had clearly taken a toll on his body. It would be nice to build up strength and muscle soon. Swallowing his regret, Kang Seok stood up.

The first thing to catch his eyes was the statue of a Chinese hawthorn owl, veiled under a translucent white cloth. It seemed his father, Kang Hyundo, had covered it to keep dust from collecting.

"Dad, where are you going?"

"Just checking the mailbox."

"Chaeyoung, can you scoop some rice from the rice cooker in the back room?"

"Okay."

As Kang Seok looked at the cloth draped like a slingshot and started walking slowly, the voices became clearer.

Click.

"Did you sleep well?"

Holding the doorknob and stepping outside, Kang Seok bowed. At the same time, Baek Myeonghee, caught off guard by the unexpected morning greeting, turned her head in surprise.

"You're already up?"

She looked at him with a worried expression. She had just heard he had barely gone to sleep, after all.

Kang Seok looked down. Her hands, holding stacked side dish containers, had frozen midair.

"You could've slept more. It's still too early to start preparing breakfast."

"No, I slept enough."

Stretching, Kang Seok glanced around the desk. In a vase his mother had made, there was a single glass peony he had crafted. Why is that here? He thought he had seen his mother take it home.

"I brought it because it felt like a waste to keep it only at home."

Maybe she noticed where he was looking—Baek Myeonghee spoke in a sing-song tone, as if leaving no room for argument, gently touching the glass peony.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Kang Seok looked slightly blank at her words. It was true he had managed to make a halfway decent peony, but honestly, it still lacked a lot.

He could list at least thirteen flaws with that piece right off the bat.

But Kang Seok kept his mouth shut. His mother was happy, wasn't she? That's all that mattered. He decided he would give her a better one later.

While he was resolving this to himself, Kang Chaeyoung approached quickly from behind with a tray of rice.

He stepped aside to not block her, but she followed closely behind. After this repeated a couple more times, he had to ask.

"What? Why? What's going on?"

What was she doing? Why wasn't she putting down the tray? Kang Seok looked at her. With a flatfish stare and a face like squashed rice cake, Kang Chaeyoung looked up at him.

"Hey, Mr. Kang. Take care of yourself, okay? Mom and Dad worry about you every day. You know, health is wealth. A guy whose last name is Kang and whose name is Seok once told me that… Remember?"

"I signed up for the gym."

"…Gym? The one near our house?"

"Yeah."

Chaeyoung pouted. She clearly wanted to nag more, but him joining the gym had taken the wind out of her sails.

"Anyway, now that the sculpture's done, I won't need to pull all-nighters for a while."

And the new semester was about to start.

Swallowing the end of his sentence, Kang Seok turned toward Baek Myeonghee, intending to ask if there was anything he could help with. Just then, his phone, shoved carelessly into his pocket, vibrated.

[Today. 3 PM. I can visit.]

[Will that be alright?]

It was Professor Lee Minhyuk. So that hadn't been a dream. Kang Seok searched his memory. He had woken up in a daze and sent the message, thinking it was a dream.

He let out a faint smile. He had tried to finish the work as quickly as possible, but it took longer than expected. Hopefully it wasn't too late.

As he lowered the phone and was about to put it away, it vibrated again. Bzzz. He looked at it curiously.

The name on the screen was Park Jiyeop.

[Kang Seok, I was able to find participants, so I think we can schedule a meeting soon.]

[When are you available…?]

Had that much time already passed? He'd been buried in work day and night, losing all sense of time. Just as he was about to reply that anytime worked, the front door creaked open.

"Your health checkup results came."

The one entering was Kang Hyundo. He held four white envelopes—the comprehensive health checkup results.

A series of events was rolling in.

"Nice weather today."

"And we're stuck at school on a day like this."

"Come on. You could at least take a walk on the trail behind school, Mr. Kwon."

A crystal-clear sky. Puffy winter clouds floating above on a bright sunny day. The faculty office at Cheonghwa Art High School was bustling.

Seoul Cheonghwa Art High School.

The school, living up to its name, was notorious for its flashy and revolutionary curriculum. Following the school board's demand for academic calendar coordination, both major and general subject teachers had come in, despite it being a break.

It was hard to believe they had just had graduation. The office was already busy, as if the semester had already started.

That was why even Jung Byungkwon, who normally wouldn't leave the sculpture studio, had been dragged out. Tap, tap. Sorting through exhibition and lesson schedules, he filed the documents.

It was nearly lunchtime.

What should I eat? His eyes dropped to the first sheet—the draft schedule for third-year first semester major lessons.

3rd year, 1st semester.

— "Starting senior year, I think it's best if Seok skips after-school art lessons to prepare for the college entrance exam…"

He remembered the words he had hesitantly said last December. The emotions in Kang Seok's eyes from that day were still vivid. Resignation. On that day, Seok had given up on art.

Because of him.

Byungkwon pressed his lips together. Was it the right decision? He didn't know. He gently touched the paper. The image of Seok—who had always attended class diligently even without visible progress—overlapped onto the page.

Just as his expression began to contort—

The door to the faculty office burst open violently.

Everyone turned their eyes toward the loud entrance. It was Go Doohan.

Go Doohan, the drawing instructor for the art department.

He was known as one of the top artists at Cheonghwa. Practically a fixture at the school, with years of experience. At his entrance, all the teachers got up to greet him.

"Mr. Go, good to see you."

"Long time no see."

"What brings you here today?"

"Here to work on the schedule too?"

Jung Byungkwon also stood up.

"Hello."

"Good morning, everyone. I'm here for this."

Go Doohan lifted what he held in both hands like dumbbells. Books. It wasn't hard to guess—they were exhibition catalogs. Likely his solo exhibition catalog.

That time of year again.

"Take one each."

At his heavy words, the teachers shuffled up to receive their copies.

Go Doohan's solo exhibitions were known for showcasing promising young artists. This made them polarizing, yet extremely popular.

Regardless, Cheonghwa teachers viewed them positively. So did the school board. For the past five years, his exhibitions had effectively become annual school events.

Just then, Joo Sarang approached and grabbed a copy.

Flipping quickly, as if searching for someone, she brightened.

"Seok's work is in here. I should go see it."

"That one's pretty good. Looks even better in person."

"…Really? Strange. It already looks good."

"What do you sense?"

"Hmm. At the very least, I know one thing. It's not just an ordinary drawing. Sunset, huh… Sunset…"

"True. By the way, have you talked to Seok?"

"About what?"

Jung Byungkwon, who was moving to get a catalog, tilted his head. He thought he just heard "Seok." Was there another student named Seok?

He walked slowly, puzzled.

"About switching his major to Western painting."

"Ah."

At that moment, Joo Sarang's pitch-black eyes turned briefly toward Jung Byungkwon. Their eyes met for a split second—before she looked away again.

"That's Seok's decision to make. Whatever he chooses, he'll do well."

"Really?"

"It's because you haven't seen Seok lay the plaster wall for the fresco. I honestly thought we had some kind of site ace among us."

"Is that so? Well, that's up to you to handle. Anyway, if you're going to the exhibition, come on the opening day."

"Why?"

Joo Sarang turned her head toward Go Doohan while keeping the exhibition catalog open. In that moment, Jung Byungkwon reached out to take the catalog.

As he tried to ignore the strange sense that Joo Sarang and Go Doohan were both watching him, Jung Byungkwon picked up a catalog—just then:

"Ryu Sooheon's coming that day."

"Ryu Sooheon? Who's that?"

"The civil officer in charge of the high school mural project. I think he's some kind of deputy director in the Department of Culture and the Arts. Anyway, sounds like he's planning something again, so might be good to come see."

"Seriously?"

If he was a deputy director in the Department of Culture and the Arts under the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism, that meant he was a level-4 civil servant. And if he had overseen the high school mural project, he wouldn't be some local bureaucrat either. Joo Sarang's mind was already racing to rearrange her schedule.

This couldn't be missed. Whether fame or funding, national projects always guaranteed at least one of the two.

While Joo Sarang calculated in her head, Jung Byungkwon quietly stepped back from the conversation that didn't concern him. He figured all he needed to do was show up with a bouquet, clap a few times, and quietly leave.

But just as he turned away, Go Doohan called out to him.

"Mr. Jung, you'll be coming that day too, right?"

"Pardon?"

Why is he asking me that? Jung Byungkwon turned back to look at Go Doohan.

He had been planning to attend, of course—but he didn't have much personal interaction with Go Doohan. Unsure of the intent behind the sudden question, he tilted his head.

Then it came—Go Doohan's signature crooked smile, aimed right at him.

"Your student's work will be on display. Don't you think you should come see it at least once?"

"...My student?"

Why would my student be in Go Doohan's solo exhibition?

Go Doohan didn't conduct private major lessons at the arts high school, but students from Cheonghwa Arts High who ended up in his inner circle during sketch classes were well-known. Their work occasionally appeared in his solo exhibitions.

But none of them had ever been Jung Byungkwon's students.

He taught sculpture, after all.

"There must be... some mistake..."

"Wait, you didn't know? Seok is participating in Mr. Go's solo show."

"Seok?"

There was only one person named Seok he had ever heard called his student—Kang Seok.

Why was Kang Seok's name coming up here? Jung Byungkwon turned to look at Joo Sarang in confusion.

At that very moment, their eyes met—hers dark as ink, without a trace of light. She didn't flinch as if she'd been watching him all along.

"Actually, I've been curious. Did you really tell Seok to quit art? That rumor's been everywhere."

Why? Why would she ask that? Joo Sarang tilted her head in feigned confusion.

At the same time, a few other art and practical skills teachers glanced in their direction. Jung Byungkwon was unaware, but the student-parent consultation he had with Kang Seok back in December had quietly spread as gossip.

Whatever his intentions had been.

"Let it go. It's true Seok was dormant for two years. I'm sure Mr. Jung had his reasons for saying what he did."

Go Doohan scolded Joo Sarang, as if saying she was stirring unnecessary trouble. He looked deeply conflicted.

"Still, aren't you curious? Enough to tell him to quit lessons entirely?"

"I said let it go."

Jung Byungkwon clamped his mouth shut.

There was only one person he had ever told to quit art—Kang Seok. That quiet yet earnest boy with something burning deep inside suddenly came to mind.

...Seok is participating in Go Doohan's solo exhibition?

━ Are you sure you're okay going alone?

"I'm fine. How's Dad?"

━ Same as always. By the way... don't get your hopes up too much, okay?"

"I know."

━ That's not what your voice says.

Lee Minhyuk pulled down the wrinkle beside his mouth with his thumb and index finger. Still, his voice held a trace of laughter.

"I won't."

━ All right. I said it. I'm hanging up. I'm in the middle of stirring porridge...

His wife, Choi Mijeong, believed porridge tasted best when stirred constantly. Minhyuk almost added a few more words but decided to keep his mouth shut.

His palms were sweaty, his heart was pounding—he wouldn't have been able to stay on the phone long anyway.

"Okay."

━ Don't forget to call after you see it, okay?"

"I will."

The moment the call ended, adrenaline surged through him like a jolt to the brain. Just as his wife had said—he was full of anticipation.

In the distance, the sign for Seok's Furniture came into view. Professor Lee Minhyuk's footsteps quickened.

— "Minhyuk, look over there."

— "Where?"

— "No, over here. It'll fly this way anyway."

Back when his father was younger—when Minhyuk was a boy.

They often visited the habitats where Eurasian eagle-owls were known to appear. His father would set up a camera, crouch down, and point the owl out to him.

— "Where? I don't see—AAHH! ...Ha! Haha! Dad, Dad! Did you see that? The eagle-owl just snatched its prey!"

— "Cool, huh?"

— "Yeah!"

The memory was hazy, and his father's face not so clear. But one thing remained vivid, even decades later: his father's smile, bright as the summer sun.

The bell jingled as Lee Minhyuk entered the furniture store. His heart thudded like it was being pounded with fists.

"Professor!"

"You're here?"

"Welcome!"

The Seok family greeted him warmly. Flustered, he returned the greetings and walked inside. No one stopped him—some even stepped aside as if understanding his urgency.

At the end of the room stood Kang Seok.

Minhyuk didn't register the boy's short stature or youthful face. He had waited 22 days for this. Suppressing his excitement, he asked in a trembling voice:

"Where's the sculpture, Seonsaengnim...?"

His voice cracked. Neither he nor Kang Seok paid it any mind. Minhyuk didn't wait for an answer—he instinctively looked around for the sculpture. The scent of wood filled his nose. His eyes were drawn, instinctively, to that spot.

The sculpture stood right beside him.

An owl, eyes piercing like it could see through everything. Minhyuk flinched and stepped back. Only then did the full image of the Eurasian eagle-owl come into view.

The scent of wood rode the air.

Ears curved like goat's horns, wings poised as if to sweep softly through the sky, pupils wide and moon-like, a beak ready to rip through flesh, talons long and arched.

It was as if someone had captured the exact moment the owl flared its wings and launched into the sky—and sealed it into wood. Or no, it looked more like taxidermy than sculpture.

It was nothing short of powerful and majestic.

— "Dad, Dad! Did you see that? It just snatched its prey!"

— "Cool, huh?"

The once-blurry memory snapped into sharp focus. The owl that soared skyward with its prey that day—looked exactly like this.

One step back. Lee Minhyuk took another step, as if the owl might spring to life and fly straight out.

It was terrifying. But also electrifying.

His heart leapt with a wildness that made him want to take flight too. He was overwhelmed. All thoughts vanished—only the image of the eagle-owl flooded his mind.

Awe for life.

A racing heart.

Jealousy for that flight skyward.

A swelling emotion.

This is it. This bird. This was what his father had longed to see again. The moment of absolute certainty.

Just then, light narrowed behind the owl. He didn't know how much time had passed—but the bright day had already turned to a red sunset.

Ah.

A quote from the German philosopher Hegel brushed past his ear:

"Die Eule der Minerva beginnt ihren Flug erst mit der einbrechenden Dämmerung."The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of dusk.