I Was Michelangelo in My Past Life

"Let's ask."Kang Chaeyoung stood up. She quickly went to open Kang Seok's door, but suddenly felt something strange. Her head turned to the left.

It was dark. The master bedroom light was off.

Why isn't he here? Usually, when Mom comes home, Dad comes with her. Chaeyoung glanced at the master bedroom as she walked toward Kang Seok's room.

"Mom? Didn't Dad come home?"

"Ah, yeah. He had somewhere to stop by."

"Somewhere to stop by?"

Did they get a new furniture order? Humming, Chaeyoung reached for the doorknob to open Kang Seok's door. At that moment, she noticed something odd—it was unusually quiet inside.

Knock knock.

"Oppa?"

Don't tell me he's not home either.Click.She opened the door. A chill typical of winter crept up the walls.

As Chaeyoung looked around the dark room, Baek Myeonghee's voice came from the kitchen.

"Seok went with him. They'll be back late."

Clink. Clank.She was setting dishes on the table. Baek Myeonghee's movements were more relaxed than usual. Probably because she only had to prepare dinner for two instead of four.

Chaeyoung walked to the kitchen with a deflated expression and plopped down in the seat Baek Myeonghee usually took.Thud.She accepted the rice bowl.

"Thank you. So where did Oppa and Dad go?"

As she lifted her spoon and scooped some steamed egg, Baek Myeonghee gave her a sly, mischievous smile, lifting her chopsticks like a girl playing a prank.

"They went to see Grandpa."

"Grandpa?"

We don't have a grandpa. Chaeyoung looked confused.

"Both grandpas—maternal and paternal—passed away a long time ago. What do you mean Grandpa?"

She poured barley tea, staring at the glass filling up. Suddenly, her head shot up.

"You mean... Professor Lee Minhyuk's father?"

Baek Myeonghee just smiled silently.

Navy-blue sky.

A yellow crescent moon peeked through the clouds that night.

A crane rolled down the road—headed toward Seongbuk-dong. Behind it, a truck followed in the evening traffic.

On the truck, the words [Seok's Furniture Store] were written.

— "Just like below, draw the lines from top to bottom like they're spreading branches..."

A rapid, almost rapping voice came from the phone speaker. Kang Hyundo glanced to the side. Kang Seok was staring intensely at the screen.

He couldn't understand everything—it was too fast—but from the voice and the occasional glimpse of the screen, it seemed like a makeup tutorial video.

Why is Seok watching that?Hyundo was curious but chose to keep quiet. He didn't want to interrupt.

"Since he came back from orientation, he's been like this. It must be related to the human anatomy project..."

He steered the wheel carefully, constructing various hypotheses in his mind. After all, the truck's bed was carrying the burdock owl sculpture.

They had secured the statue tightly, as well as the stair transporter loaded with it, using bubble wrap and Styrofoam. Still, every turn made Hyundo tense.

He tried to calm his thudding heart and focused on the road ahead.

The crane drove alongside. It was a special vehicle, brought in to hoist the sculpture into the second floor of a private house in Seongbuk-dong, because it couldn't fit through the doorway.

"I really hope Professor Lee Minhyuk's father likes Seok's work..."

Of course, even objectively, the sculpture was amazing. So impressive that it made them consider pushing Seok toward Western-style art as a major.

The night Seok completed the owl sculpture, Hyundo had a drink in secret while admiring it.

A drink for a father's pride, one for the jealousy as a fellow sculptor, and another out of self-disgust.

He ended up drinking heavily, cursing himself for not recognizing his son's talent sooner.

Despite how amazing the sculpture was, he'd heard that Professor Lee's father was severely depressed.

Would someone in such a state even have the emotional space to be impressed by a sculpture? Hyundo was skeptical. Once depression begins consuming your mind, you stop seeing the world around you.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly again as they approached another turn.

Depressed.

Lee Younghyuk felt the weight of depression pressing on his chest but swallowed a sigh instead of voicing his despair. Sitting with his back against the headboard, he turned away from the window.

For some reason, his daughter-in-law and Lee Minhyuk were dragging their feet today. Watching them hesitate to leave, he cautiously spoke up.

"Aren't you going home?"

Choi Mijeong, who was peeling fruit, suddenly looked up, startled. What's wrong with her? As he stared at her, she hesitantly responded while poking a piece of pear with a fork.

"...Father. We're staying a bit longer because the sculpture is arriving today."

"Oh, really?"

Younghyuk looked genuinely puzzled. Mijeong glanced at Minhyuk. Sensing her gaze, Minhyuk couldn't hide his grim expression.

Minhyuk knew better than anyone why his father was like this. Depression, coupled with memory decline.

Lee Younghyuk, once as bright as the summer sun, had become like a dried-up leaf—fragile and lifeless.

He had retired, stopped researching, and spent his days at home. The rapid aging brought on a wave of mental and physical decline. The doctor said it was common in the elderly, but Minhyuk couldn't help but think: Why my father?

He had always leaned on his father so much.

He wanted to suggest that his father return to work, even just a little. But these days, he refused to even get out of bed.

Now, all he did was stare at the sky or at a photo of a burdock owl, sighing endlessly. He feared the outside world, struggled to walk, shivered with chills, and had no appetite.

Lately, even his respiratory health had worsened.

"You really don't remember, Father?"

Minhyuk asked gently. Younghyuk slowly turned his head.

Maybe he did remember. The sculpture... Yes, Minhyuk had said something about it. Why had he ordered one?

A hazy memory of Minhyuk pleading for something flickered in his mind. What was it again? He looked at his son.

Minhyuk, who had been staring out the window, turned to him slowly. As if sensing something, he softly reminded his father:

"Father, the sculptor said he'd set the sculpture's price based on your reaction."

"My... reaction?"

It hurt to talk much—his throat felt scratchy from breathing problems. Still, why was his reaction important for a sculpture Minhyuk ordered?

What an odd sculptor.

Reading his father's confusion, Minhyuk poked the pear again and explained:

"It might be a big ask, but I hope he gets what he deserves for his work. Even if you're depressed, please just be honest. If you're surprised—say so."

"You're assuming I'll be surprised."

"You won't be able to help it."

Minhyuk recalled that moment with emotion in his eyes.

The day he visited the workshop after hearing the sculpture was complete. The burdock owl, wings outstretched as if it were about to soar.

Even someone like him, ignorant about sculpture, was moved. His father would be too. It felt like the sculptor had captured the owl's very soul.

"But, Father."

"Mm."

"Why did you want to see the burdock owl in particular? You didn't only study that bird, right?"

Ornithologists don't focus on one species. His father had studied hundreds over a lifetime. He used to be a walking encyclopedia of birds.

So why obsess over the burdock owl—of all birds? Not an eagle, not a falcon, not even the eagle owl.

As the question hung in the air, Younghyuk stroked the photo of the owl and answered, in a bitter, weak voice:

"Because it reminds me of myself."

At that very moment, Minhyuk's phone rang loudly. His instincts flared, and he snatched it up quickly.

[Kang Seok]

A call from Kang Seok.

As he recalled how Minhyuk had dashed out, Younghyuk traced the open doorway with his eyes. Minhyuk, for someone with a chubby face, had been fast—just like me in my youth.

Younghyuk glanced down at his thin body with a faint, bitter smile.

Then—

"Slowly! To the side! More! I think you need to move it more! Yes! Pull it all the way out to the side!"

A strange male voice echoed from the second-floor hallway. It was coming from the terrace window.

Startled, Younghyuk looked at Mijeong.

"What's that noise?"

"Sounds like they're bringing in the sculpture."

"Oh. The sculpture."

It must be quite large. He glanced out and saw the crane in the yard. How big is it that they're hoisting it through the terrace? His head peeked out curiously.

Just then—THUD—a heavy sound echoed inside the house. Cautious, but unavoidable due to the sculpture's weight.

Younghyuk's head slowly sank back down to the pillow. He'd see it soon enough.

With a strange sense of excitement, he looked toward the door.

Snap. Rip. Snap. Strings breaking echoed through the house.

They're unwrapping the sculpture. Younghyuk nodded to himself.

Footsteps approached from the hallway. Several adult men were clearly carrying something in.

Mijeong was already by the door, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"I guess it's finally coming."

Curiosity. It was a feeling that had taken hold of Lee Young-hyuk without him realizing—something now clearly visible in his eyes.

Not long after, the door began to creak open. Along with it came a sudden waft of wood scent that filled the room. Instinctively, Lee Young-hyuk clutched the blanket tightly.

Why can I feel my heart beating?

Having been steeped in melancholy for so long, Lee Young-hyuk felt this emotion was unfamiliar. And when the slowly opening door was finally pushed all the way, revealing the statue—

He realized what this feeling was. Anticipation—and longing.

A hope for what was to come. And a deep yearning for the scent of wood that could only be found in the wild.

Lee Young-hyuk's gaze followed the statue as it was brought closer.

"I think this spot would be perfect."

"Dad, it's a Jirisan Eagle Owl carving. You said you missed seeing one, remember? This is sculptor Kang Seok, the artist who made it."

"Hello."

"And this is his father, sculptor Kang Hyun-do."

"Hello. Oh no, 'sculptor' is too much. Just call me a furniture store owner."

"Come on now... Oh! I forgot to mention the name of the piece. The title is... Dad? Dad, are you listening?"

The words started to blur.

For a moment, Lee Young-hyuk thought the owl had been taxidermied. The pattern of the feathers was so exact. Though it was brown like any owl, its eyes seemed to glow orange. He shook his head. No way.

Yet, it didn't feel like wood at all—it looked so supple and soft. A trick of texture. The claws, poised as if ready to launch from the branch, even carried a sense of tension.

"Why did you want to see a Jirisan Eagle Owl, of all things?"

Must be a gift from his son. Lee Young-hyuk recalled the things he'd occasionally been given ever since mentioning he missed the owl. This must be one of them.

He swallowed hard. What made this different was—this time, it really felt like he was seeing the owl.

It was the real owl.

This temperamental bird, brimming with the fierce dignity of an eagle despite being "just" a Jirisan Eagle Owl.

It almost seemed to say, What are you doing here, you fool. Statues can't talk—yet, somehow, he couldn't look away.

It was as if he and the owl were the only two beings in the world.

As he stared, memories he thought long buried stirred.

A time in his youth when he used to drive out every day with just a camera and numb hands, waiting for hours. Hoping to spot an eagle owl. He'd head out at dawn—but the owl was nocturnal.

Eventually, he managed to find one asleep in the trees, barely visible, and took a picture. But waiting for it to take flight would've left him frostbitten.

He had to give up and pack up.

Just as he was getting into the car, the owl spread its wings. Against the backdrop of the red sun, the eagle owl soared. He couldn't capture the moment.

But the memory remained vivid.

Just for a second, his eyes had locked with its amber gaze—like sunlight embedded in its pupils. The wings it spread were so grand, they shattered any preconception of what an owl was.

It flew off to hunt as if unafraid of the barren wild. That courage—the owl not afraid of Korea's winter—seemed so noble at the time. That fleeting admiration was what led him down the path of ornithology.

There had been such a time.

Suddenly, the blanket over him felt too heavy.

Just a few years ago, this kind of weather wouldn't have stopped him from standing outside for twelve hours straight. When did he get so weak?

Looking at the owl, still youthful and valiant, Lee Young-hyuk clenched the blanket. Warmth was wrapping around him. His lips slowly straightened into a line.

Why had he wanted to see this owl again?

As the thought dawned on him, he realized everyone was watching him.

How foolish with age I've become. Thinking that everyone had been waiting for him, he leaned back slowly against the bed's headboard. Just then, a young boy's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Fifty years... I heard you were born in the Year of the Tiger. Is that right?"

"Hm?"

Lee Young-hyuk turned his gaze toward the boy—Kang Seok, was it? He vaguely remembered hearing the name. Must've chatted while carving.

He wasn't sure why they were talking about his age, but he nodded.

"Before I knew it, I'm well past seventy. Looking at twilight now..."

Twilight. The word came to him suddenly, and he looked at Lee Min-hyuk. Lee Min-hyuk's expression turned surprised, as if something clicked. So, it hadn't been his intention.

Lee Young-hyuk looked at Kang Seok. Much younger, yet his gaze held something timeless—something like the owl's.

There was a phrase Lee Young-hyuk used to be obsessed with when he was deep into owls. A quote from the philosopher Hegel:

"The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of dusk."

Twilight. The owl, a nocturnal creature, only takes flight at night. If life is likened to a single day, Lee Young-hyuk was now in its twilight.

He swallowed hard.

The boy's unreadable expression was still on him.

"W-what's the name of this sculpture?"

The boy, Kang Seok, twitched the corner of his mouth.

"Does this owl sculpture have a title, by any chance?""The title of this owl piece is..."

The words overlapped with what Lee Min-hyuk had once asked him.

"The name of this Jirisan Eagle Owl sculpture is... Leap."

After a beat, Kang Seok spoke again.

"It's called Leap, sir."

Lee Young-hyuk's hand gripped the blanket tighter. Leap—the act of soaring toward a higher place. The owl of Minerva only flies at twilight, toward somewhere higher.

The wide-open eyes of the owl whispered: Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. What are you waiting for?He squeezed the blanket, just like he once gripped a camera in the freezing cold.

Twilight is short.

If one is to find prey before the long night, one must fly now. Lee Young-hyuk swallowed hard. Now he understood.

"This is the message you wanted to give me, isn't it?"

The eyes of the owl—no, the sculptor Kang Seok—were speaking. Through the sculpture.

There's no time to mourn. You don't have time to be sad. Life moves forward. It was like the gentle scolding of a wise man who'd lived a lifetime.

To this, Kang Seok replied with a smirk:

"I just make what I want to make."

Same difference. But it really did look like freedom. How could someone so young already have such wide-spread wings? Lee Young-hyuk could only admire the hands still free of calluses.

Hoo.

Haa.

"Twilight, huh..."

A sparkle lit up in Lee Young-hyuk's eyes. A fleeting gleam, like the morning star. A fun thought had occurred to him. And he knew he would act on it.

He had always liked adventure, after all.

Once again, he felt everyone was watching him. Joy welled up like a spring from deep underground. It was like a bud sprouting in a wasteland.

With clear eyes, he looked at Kang Seok.

Kang Seok's eyes were like fire.

"Sculptor."

"Yes."

He responded naturally, as though accepting the title he had once rejected—unlike his father, who had waved it off in embarrassment.

"I heard you were going to let me decide the price after seeing my reaction."

"Yes, that's right."

And that's how I intend it to be. Kang Seok nodded. Lee Young-hyuk nodded too and continued:

"So, that means I have the right to set the price, yes?"

"Yes. Since you're the one receiving it, the one who was moved should decide. Pay however much it moved you."

Kang Seok nodded again.

My sculpture's worth can't be measured. But measuring its emotional impact? That might be fun. These days, he was enjoying life more than in a past life. Letting his soul and spirit guide his hands—how free and affluent.

He didn't care how much he got paid.

Besides, it had been fun carving wood again. This wasn't the Renaissance—he had boldly carved his name at the base. He was ready to accept almost any amount.

Then it happened.

The old man straightened his shoulders and declared boldly:

"Let's write up a new contract."

"Huh?"

A new contract? Didn't he just ask for a price? Kang Seok tilted his head, looking at the old man. At some point, those frail shoulders had become firm, like those of a patriarch.

"I'll pay for it."

The blanket was off. His eyes sparkled like a young man's. A morning star. Kang Seok saw it in those old, faded eyes—a twinkle like a mischievous child plotting something.

"But I need you to wait three months."

Excited, Lee Young-hyuk opened the bedside drawer. Inside were thick stacks of contracts—documents he had moved half a year ago for easier property management.

He sifted through and pulled out one: a property deed.

Showing it to Kang Seok, he asked:

"What do you think of this house? Does it look nice?"

The question came out of nowhere. A detached house in Seongbuk-dong, Seoul—is it nice? Of course it was. Kang Seok absentmindedly took the paper and nodded.

"Yes. It's big and beautiful."

"It's yours."

"...What?"