I Was Michelangelo in My Past Life

Stone Carving (석조, 石彫).Carving marble is, figuratively speaking, like peeling a potato.

First, based on a preliminary sketch, you rotate the stone 360 degrees and begin chiseling away from the edges, as if peeling off layers of skin. The only difference is that marble has many layers. Still, you strip it away in the same manner.

Once the inner flesh is revealed, you sketch again along its surface while rotating it 360 degrees.

Then, like digging out the embedded roots of a potato, you begin the detailed depiction. That's when you finally start uncovering the form of the artwork using the grinder, hammer, and chisel.

Of course, that's not the end.

Sketch again, dig deeper, sketch once more, dig again… It must be repeated dozens, even hundreds of times, to finally reveal the sculpture's form.

This 360-degree process remains constant.

The larger the volume, the longer and more repetitive the process becomes.

That's what stone carving is.

Also, because carving stone is a dangerous task, the entire process must be done with utmost caution, requiring both time and effort.

It's not just exhausting—it's grueling.

"...It should be like that."

Yang Seon-gu and Jeong Byeong-gwon stared at Kang-seok's back with strange expressions. It was hard to believe that this was the same person who had just asked how to use the grinder a few hours earlier.

The whirring grinder moved freely, as if it were an extension of Kang-seok's body.

It couldn't have been a hallucination—Kang-seok's back looked like that of a master who had spent decades working only with stone.

"Huh…"

"Hah…"

Yang Seon-gu and Jeong Byeong-gwon both let out identical sighs. To Byeong-gwon, who had once given up on stone and switched to resin and wood, and even to Seon-gu, who still worked with stone, Kang-seok's talent was both disheartening and awe-inspiring.

What if that had been me?

What if I had handled a grinder like that from the start—where would I be now?

As fellow craftsmen, discovering a level of talent they couldn't reach themselves stirred feelings too complex to express.

"Are we sure this is his first time using a grinder?"

"...Doesn't seem like it."

Even his method of sculpting was different. At first, they were puzzled by his lack of sketching, but now it made sense. Kang-seok was carving marble like a pirate unearthing buried treasure.

There was no hesitation in his movements.

He didn't even switch between surfaces. He just kept carving one side as if digging deeper and deeper.

Normally, to avoid imbalance, an artist would move across surfaces, maintaining symmetry. But Kang-seok didn't care about weight distribution.

As if saying, I've got this. I don't need balance.

And now it had already been three hours.

"Shouldn't we stop him soon?"

"...Yeah, maybe."

To prevent the grinder from catching or jamming in the stone, you needed good posture, proper force, precise angles, and directional awareness.

It was a demanding job that wore down both body and mind. Breaks were necessary.

"But… do we really stop him?"

"...You're right."

He definitely should rest. And yet… Kang-seok showed no signs of fatigue.

Sure, his body was sweating, his face flushed—but it wasn't the look of exhaustion.

It was like the passion of an athlete immersed in a sport they love.

Whirrr! Krrkk, krrrrkk, whirrr!

He was lost in the moment, moving the grinder as if no one else existed. As if the only things left in the world were the grinder and the stone.

Is this even human concentration?

Byeong-gwon scoffed in disbelief.

Behind his dust mask, Kang-seok's eyes gleamed through his goggles. From what they'd seen earlier, his eyes carried both madness and euphoria.

It was like he was saying, I'll bring it out. Like a rescuer battling to save something as fast as he could.

Byeong-gwon and Seon-gu, who had considered saying something to Kang-seok, were overwhelmed by that look and quietly stepped back.

Sometimes, over-immersion in art makes artists forget to step away and look at their work from a distance—you need to break their focus for their own good. But in this case, they couldn't.

Not when it was marble, an unforgiving material.

No matter how unconventional his technique was, one misstep could ruin the entire piece.

...Let's just step outside.

Yeah. That's for the best.

In the end, they had to leave Kang-seok alone, retreating behind the glass wall of the workspace without uttering a word. Still, they watched anxiously, afraid something might go wrong.

An unexpected all-nighter had begun.

April 7 – Bloom Museum

Operated by the San-Gang Cultural Foundation, Bloom Museum is nestled in a space where city, architecture, and nature harmonize. The vision was to create a place where art and humanity could intersect—its design made that obvious from afar.

Climbing ivy on the buildings, verdant trees and grass—so it was.

Clear blue sky.

The distinct brightness of morning sunlight and vivid hue of the sky completed the scene. A bird soared past the glass wall.

It shouldn't have been audible from the other side, but the fluttering of wings felt somehow real.

Whiiirrr. Then, into Seon-gu's ears came the familiar hum of the grinder.

His gaze, momentarily stolen by the bird, returned to where it belonged.

This was originally a resting area. The right side offered views of the outside, while the front revealed the exhibition space.

And now, his gaze turned forward—

Kang-seok was there.

Seon-gu clicked his tongue in amazement.

One month.

He had watched Kang-seok for just over a month. Not because he had to—but because he couldn't help it. On his free days, Seon-gu found himself at Bloom, observing Kang-seok.

Kang-seok didn't seem to mind.

If possible, he wanted to come every day. But that wasn't realistic. Kang-seok didn't reside at Bloom permanently.

He was still a high school student, reportedly preparing something else at a glass workshop.

Sometimes, he'd spend hours deep in conversation with a man in a suit with heavy dark circles, coffee in hand.

Watching Kang-seok gave the impression that he alone lived a 48-hour day while the rest lived 24.

And with such a busy life—how was he sculpting at that speed? Did he not sleep? Even if he didn't, the pace was phenomenal—almost unnatural.

It had only been a month, and already the wall had been carved to the point where a human form was emerging.

Sure, sketching with a pencil is one thing, but grinding marble? That's a machine—it shouldn't be possible to move so much faster than others with the same tool.

It wasn't just the lack of hesitation or skipping sketches that saved time. It was too fast.

"Amazing…"

How could a human wield their finite time so endlessly? Seon-gu's eyes held reverence beyond age. It wasn't just Kang-seok's efficiency.

What made him revere someone younger was that talent—like stolen hands of a god.

That was enough.

Seon-gu was certain that anyone who saw the massive marble sculpture Kang-seok was working on would agree.

Though he dared not say it aloud, Kang-seok reminded him of someone.

Seon-gu cautiously rolled the name in his mouth—

Michelangelo…

The supreme sculptor.

Michelangelo Buonarroti.

Kang-seok called him to mind.

Not resembled—called to mind. That distinction mattered.

He didn't think he was wrong, even if it was a careful conclusion.

After over 80 years of life, Seon-gu was certain. Sometimes, glimpses of Michelangelo could be seen in that marble Kang-seok was carving.

The way he dug into one side of the block, like shoveling away unnecessary sand, was one clue. And now, a three-dimensional human form was beginning to emerge from the stone—part of it was so exquisitely done it stirred the soul, as if it had been sculpted by instinct.

But the biggest mystery—

Kang-seok was sculpting in a style essentially identical to Michelangelo's, and yet it didn't seem imitated. It looked like it just fit him naturally.

It wasn't a style one could copy easily, anyway.

Astounding—simply astounding.

...He'll be great one day.

How long had Seon-gu been watching Kang-seok strip stone with the grinder, lost in thought?

A thrill crept into his eyes.

Then came the urge to destroy.

The sculpture emerging from the white dust storm was magnificent—so magnificent it bred despair. An insurmountable wall.

That despair stirred a fury he couldn't contain.

Here it comes again…

Seon-gu shot up from his seat, as if to flee the intoxicating rage. He turned his back on Kang-seok.

Dressed like a mountain sage, Seon-gu walked briskly toward the outside air like diving into a pool.

It had been exactly two hours and three minutes since he'd started watching Kang-seok work.

Art.

Sometimes, miracles happen in art.

Events that defy modern logic.

Two such phenomena are Stendhal Syndrome and the David Syndrome.

Stendhal Syndrome describes the overwhelming emotions and psychological symptoms experienced when a highly sensitive person is confronted with profound works of art.

David Syndrome refers to the research-backed reaction some people have upon seeing Michelangelo's David—initial awe giving way to anxiety, then aggression, a destructive impulse, and eventually panic-induced hostility.

And now, Yang Seon-gu was experiencing both.

It was something that happened to him occasionally. He never talked about it, but great masterpieces sometimes stirred these exact feelings.

But to feel this from the work of a modern artist—unprecedented.

I never thought a contemporary sculpture would make me feel this…

And the piece wasn't even finished.

That was the most terrifying part.

"Phew…"

Yang Seon-gu stroked his beard as he gazed at the lush green scenery.

He felt peaceful as he looked at the calming greenery, repeatedly stroking his beard once, twice, three times.

Then it happened.

"Sir, are you feeling unwell again?"

Someone approached Yang Seon-gu.

The woman, who looked at him with concern due to his pale complexion, was Jin Yu-mi, a curator at the Bloom Art Museum. She was also the chief organizer of Yang Seon-gu's exhibition.

"Hmm. No."

Yang Seon-gu briefly replied, implying that his walking wasn't due to any sickness, while continuing to stroke his beard. Honestly, that was all he could manage to say right now.

He swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. The stomach cramps, shortness of breath, and dizziness—like he was drunk—made it impossible to hold a proper conversation.

"You don't look well lately. Maybe you should rest?"Yu-mi handed him a handkerchief as she asked. She had seen him often stare at Kang-seok's sculpture and then walk outside repeatedly, which likely raised her concerns.

Yang Seon-gu silently looked at the handkerchief, then took it with a brief thanks and shook his head.

"I'm fine. Just… perhaps I'm overly sensitive, that's all…"

"Sorry?"

"Never mind."

It was hard to explain.

Not everyone experienced this. Stendhal syndrome, or the Jerusalem syndrome—only a small group of highly sensitive people felt such things. Perhaps it was even a kind of mental illness. Expecting others to understand was foolish.

"Are you really okay?"

"I said I'm fine."

At the same time, he was barely suppressing the aggressive feelings that came with the euphoria. He felt like shouting or violently lashing out.

It was like the case in 1991 where a man, overwhelmed by emotion, smashed the foot of Michelangelo's David with a hammer.

'I need to get out of here.'

He was a gentleman.

Eighty-eight years old, having lived a decent life, Yang Seon-gu didn't want to turn into a beast now. He had weathered countless overwhelming moments in front of artworks before. This time too, he wanted to cause no trouble.

Just as he decided to leave and bid farewell—

"That's a relief. Actually, I haven't been feeling well either lately, so I was worried it might be something going around at Bloom…"

"…You're unwell too?"

In the midst of his destructive urges, a sprout of sympathy bloomed. Jin Yu-mi often hosted his exhibitions. She was practically a partner and a comrade in the field.

When such a person says they're sick, isn't it natural to feel concerned?

Yang Seon-gu managed to suppress his aggression and looked at Jin Yu-mi. Her face slightly flushed, she sighed. Her mascara-lifted lashes trembled slightly.

She glanced around at a distance, then turned away as if avoiding his gaze.

"Lately my heart's been racing, it's hard to breathe, and my knees shake… I thought it was some kind of contagious disease going around Bloom because you seemed to have similar symptoms. Maybe a pollen allergy?"

"…Contagious disease? Allergy?"

Even as she spoke, her gaze kept drifting to one spot. Then she'd quickly avert her eyes, as if startled.

Yang Seon-gu followed her line of sight with a strange expression. Through the glass wall stood Kang-seok—and the marble.

"Yu-mi, do you feel those symptoms every time you walk here?"

"What?"

Her eyes widened.

"How did you know? …Do you feel the same, sir?"

As she spoke, Yu-mi glanced around quickly. As if she were inspecting for bugs in the greenery. Like Fabre studying insects.

"Maybe there really is some insect or disease or something… Should I report this to the director?"

Yang Seon-gu looked at her with an odd expression.

To him, her symptoms resembled Stendhal syndrome. Perhaps it was just his biased perception, already affected by the syndrome, but if she felt that way every time she passed by, it seemed plausible.

Yang Seon-gu stroked his white beard. Like stroking a lion's mane, his hand moved with a strange air about him.

When Kang-seok's work was complete…

The art world might face a new shift.

Yang Seon-gu placed a hand on his chest.

Thump. Thump.

It was beating.

Another kind of excitement surged through him like lava, piercing through the ecstasy. His mind was racing. A soft mutter escaped him.

"Looks like things are going to get busy."

A murmur only he could hear. He suddenly looked up.

Then, offering a solution to the still-anxious Jin Yu-mi, he said:

"Try walking along a different path for your walks. Maybe it's a weed allergy or something."

"…You think so?"

"Possibly. And I'd like to block off this area and put up a barricade too…"

"Sorry?"

"Never mind. I'll speak to the director about that later. I've got to be somewhere now, so if you'll excuse me. Sorry."

Yang Seon-gu hurried off. His steps light, as if he'd never looked unwell. Yu-mi, startled by his speed—as if he were flying—waved him goodbye.

Her own way of seeing him off.

Phew.

Kang-seok let out a short breath and removed his gas mask. Through the open window, white dust fluttered out like a swarm of butterflies. The ventilation fan roared.

If he took off the mask before fully exiting the space, the dust would coat his nose and clump in his hair like chalk. But he was so unused to working with a mask that he instinctively removed it once he turned off the grinder.

A rookie mistake.

Rubbing his head, which already felt stiff, Kang-seok stepped outside. He glanced around to see if the old man was still waiting—but Yang Seon-gu had already gone.

"He told me to call him grandpa."

"..."

"Ahem?"

"…G-Grandpa."

"That's it. Want some pumpkin candy?"

Mentally speaking, Kang-seok might've been older, depending on his past life, but he still ended up getting doted on. He scratched his nose awkwardly.

In one hand, he rolled the pumpkin candy he'd received that morning inside his pocket. His steps were neither slow nor hurried.

Lee Yeong-hyuk, Grandpa Yang Seon-gu… he must have a face grandpas liked this lifetime. Thinking back, it was probably the same in his past life.

He shuddered as he recalled the popes who wanted to "own" Michelangelo.

At that moment, curator Jin Yu-mi walked by, her face flushed.

She was locking the hallway door. The back of her heel had slipped out of her shoe. Kang-seok unintentionally took note of her heel in black stockings. Then she turned her head and acknowledged him.

"Sir?"

Jin Yu-mi always called him "Sir," regardless of the fact that he was still a high school student.

"Ah, hello."

"Oh, hello. You finished early today?"

She knew Kang-seok never left unless the work was done. He gave a brief nod, scratching his nose.

"Yes. I have an appointment today."

"An appointment?"

Curious, or maybe just habitually, she tilted her head. Kang-seok took it as a question and nodded.

"Yes. I have somewhere to go."

"Where are you going?"

"Ah, um… the hospital."

"What? The hospital? Don't tell me…!"

Yu-mi clapped her hands in surprise. Her flushed expression suggested she hoped he was going through the same thing. Kang-seok shook his head with a puzzled look.

"Huh? No, I don't think so. It's for a project unveiling."

"…Oh. I see. A project unveiling, huh?"

As a professional curator, Jin Yu-mi tilted her head in confusion. An unveiling at a hospital? Was it some kind of charity event?

"Well then, I'll be going. See you next time."

"Ah, yes. Take care, Sir."

Leaving behind Jin Yu-mi, who'd now bid farewell to "the artist" twice in a row, Kang-seok stepped forward.

April 7, World Health Day.

Today, Maktub would finally be revealed to the world.