I Was Michelangelo in My Past Life

* * * *

Oh noble spirit, exalted soul and hand!

– Excerpt from the sonnet Bronzino dedicated to Michelangelo –

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Coming to work in the morning before even getting off work at dawn, receiving reports on patients' conditions, making rounds on newly admitted patients, seeing outpatients both morning and afternoon, squeezing in surgeries in between, jumping into emergency surgeries that happen at night, going around again to explain upcoming surgeries to inpatients, building rapport with patients as a doctor, politely wrestling with patients to refuse gifts they try to push on you, tossing out a few educational questions if you bump into residents or chiefs, attending symposiums, reading papers, holding meetings with other departments for collaboration, reviewing the surgeries you're scheduled to assist on, practicing new surgical techniques, eating to stay alive, occasionally washing your hair, drinking when socially necessary, keeping up with family duties, etc., etc.

Of course, all doctors are like this—but doctors at Sangang Medical Center have absurdly short 24-hour days.

It wasn't just lacking—it was far too lacking.

Despite the decent pay and good benefits, the work was overwhelmingly busy. Everyone working at Sangang Medical Center experienced the same.

Each hospital had over ten thousand staff. A large-scale hospital with plenty of beds. It was as busy as its scale.

And yet, the reason Sangang Medical Center's three affiliated hospitals were always teeming with doctors and nurses was precisely because of the excellent welfare, benefits, and high salaries.

And today was one of those days with an ambiguous event, floating somewhere between benefit and duty.

"I think I finally slept three hours in the past four days thanks to today's event. Whooaaa."

"…Is that even possible? Wait, weren't you off yesterday? What were you doing that you're only sleeping this morning?"

"Those university hospital guys finally had time, so… we ended up drinking, haha."

"Oh, for god's sake. I mean, it's not like doctors take care of their own health, but seriously, I think you need to get a neurology scan one day. You treat your body like crap. Huh? A guy working in neurosurgery shouldn't be like this. If you suddenly drop out one day because of a brain issue, it'll be a problem. If a neurosurgery patient comes out of neurosurgery, that gossip's gonna be dirty."

"Aw, professor… that's harsh. But, you know, about that thing I mentioned last time? Familial Natural Short Sleep?"

"What, FNSS? Why?"

Familial Natural Short Sleep (FNSS) – A genetically inherited variation in sleep patterns that causes certain individuals to need significantly less sleep than the average person. Some experts claim these individuals don't suffer the neurological degeneration or health risks typically associated with chronic sleep deprivation.

"I think I might have that."

"…Go to a hospital. Seriously. Get checked during your next time off and tell me the results. How many times do I have to say self-diagnosis is no good?"

"Ugh… Proooofessoooor."

"Oh, shut up. I'm leaving."

Fellow Gong Taemin chased after the neurosurgery professor, tapping his shoulder with a massage device. Behind the scene he left, countless doctors were gathering at Seoul Sangang Hospital, part of Sangang Medical Center.

They were medical professionals from the other Sangang hospitals. With greasy hair, blood-stained Crocs, exhausted faces, floating makeup caked on weary skin, all of them looked worn down by reality and constantly pressed for time.

Welfare—but not really welfare.

They were all there to participate in the Sangang Medical Center's World Health Day event.

None of them cared about the empty speeches, ceremonies, plaques of appreciation, or the team dinner afterwards. All they wanted from this borderline mandatory event… was sleep. Sweet, honey-like sleep. That was all.

"It's the same pointless event every year anyway."

Today's event was nothing more or less than the kind of moralizing speech you'd hear at a school opening or graduation ceremony.

"It's not an oral research seminar, not a symposium, not even a conference… why are we even doing this meaningless thing? They should just give us the day off… Oh, right. I guess there is one new thing this year."

Professor Sung Juhwa of neurosurgery, checking to see if Gong Taemin was still following, turned her characteristically intellectual gaze toward one side of the room.

Unlike themselves, stiff and sore all over, these people had smooth skin and were dressed in flamboyant colors. They were from the Hanyang Arts College, participating in this year's event with an anatomy art exhibition called "Project InBody."

"How do you feel about presenting Project InBody today?"

"You've run this anatomical art project—do you think it'll really help the medical field?"

"What kind of preparations did you make?"

"Can you give us a hint? Or if Professor Park Jiyeop were to rank the works, who would you give first place to?"

"There's a rumor a high school student is participating—doesn't that make them ineligible?"

Most of the microphones being shoved in their faces were held by familiar reporters.

"Sangang Medical Center and the Sangang Foundation, right?"

It looked like they'd contacted their usual media allies. Probably trying to get as much press as possible to justify their investment.

Professor Park Jiyeop was practically being stabbed with mics, as if the reporters were urging him to say something controversial. Sung Juhwa, disgusted by the familiar faces, was about to turn away when she noticed something unusual.

A young man, clearly still in his teens, had wet-looking hair pushed back casually, a pumpkin candy in his mouth, and was reading a book.

Given where he was standing, he was likely a participant in Project InBody—but what caught her eye was the title of the book.

["You Too Can Become a Grinder Expert! – The Grinder Encyclopedia"]

He was reading it intently, blushing at times like he was reading an adult magazine, sighing in admiration, laughing here and there. It was a scene that drew attention—for better or worse.

"They say there are a lot of oddballs in the art world…"

Sung Juhwa tore her gaze away, pushing her fleeting curiosity aside. At that moment, just as she locked eyes with Gong Taemin, Park Jiyeop's voice echoed through the space:

"Today, the field of anatomical art will meet a brand-new horizon."

His voice was full of confidence.

* * * *

A space crammed with people in white coats. A stage saturated with the sterile hospital smell.

A woman in a black suit—stark contrast to the white-coated audience—was nervously fumbling through her presentation on screen.

━ Uh, so, I… I made this anatomical model like this…

"Ughh… Uuuuugh."

━ Because it's better if the anatomical models are detailed, right? So, I looked at some books, and tried to emphasize this part… used neon colors to make it stand out more… yeah, that seemed effective. Uh, moving to the next slide. So, I…

"Aaagh… She messed up. Messed up. You shouldn't freeze there."

From behind a purple curtain, Kang Seok lowered his book. He set aside ["You Too Can Become a Grinder Expert!"], looking sideways.

Cho Dongbeom, who had been biting his nails as if he were the woman in black, turned his head at the same time.

"M-Master? Are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?"

"…No, not really. Just…"

Kang Seok rolled his eyes, trying to come up with an excuse.

"I was just wondering… when did you get so friendly with that college student?"

"Ahh, that! You see, two days ago, I was moving your sculpture and I think I accidentally appeared on the convenience store's security camera across from our workshop, so I was panicking a bit."

Why would that make him panic? Kang Seok looked puzzled, and Cho Dongbeom gave him a look as if that wasn't obvious.

"Well, carrying a naked Marktoob sculpture… haha. Anyway, I was feeling uneasy in the hallway at school when that student offered to check for me. Said they were friends with the guy at the store. Then the next day, the student came back saying there was no problem, but looked upset instead. So I asked what was wrong, and turns out they have stage fright. So then I…"

Cho Dongbeom launched into a long story about how he'd become friends with the student. Kang Seok focused for a few minutes but eventually, his eyes drifted back to The Grinder Encyclopedia.

"But Master, why are you reading The Grinder Encyclopedia, anyway?"

Having finished his story, Cho Dongbeom finally asked the question that had been nagging at him. Why was his mentor suddenly so keen on becoming a grinder expert?

"Eh?"

Oh.

Did he not know?

Only then did Kang Seok realize—he'd told Cho Dongbeom that he might not be coming to the studio often because of the graduation exhibition, but he hadn't mentioned that he'd be submitting a marble sculpture for it.

"It's because I've been grinding marble with a grinder lately. That's why I wanted to learn more about grinders, so I've been reading up on them."

"Ooh. Marble, huh? That's a new material. Mind if I come check it out during your graduation exhibition?"

"You're more than welcome."

At Kang-seok's permission, Jo Dong-beom nodded excitedly. Come to think of it, there was a story he'd recently heard involving marble.

"Master. This is a secret."

"…Sorry?"

If it's a secret, why bring it up at all? Kang-seok looked at Jo Dong-beom with a puzzled expression. But despite saying it was a secret, Jo Dong-beom's mouth was already moving fast.

"You know the Bloom Art Museum run by the San Gang Cultural Foundation? You've heard of it, right?"

"Yes, I know it."

He'd actually just stopped by there earlier today before going home for a quick shower.

"That museum is famous for being by-reservation-only, right? So word probably hasn't gotten around yet, but apparently, there's some foreign sculptor carving a massive marble piece there right now."

"A really huge piece of marble?"

"I heard he has black hair, so maybe he's Korean-American? Or Chinese-American? Anyway, this foreign sculptor has been grinding away with a grinder day and night—like insanely fast—and now the people who've been to the museum are calling him 'the Marble Cutter Maniac.'"

At that, Kang-seok flinched.

He had a feeling he knew.

He felt like he knew exactly who they were talking about.

But once again, Jo Dong-beom didn't notice. He kept going, now slapping his thigh and gesturing animatedly like a professional storyteller. Even a national storytelling champion couldn't have moved their hands with as much flair.

"A month? I heard he showed up about a month ago. They say his eyes are crazy intense. Just looking at him makes your heart pound and gives you this weird fear. Like, if you make eye contact, he might slice you up. Want to go check it out together sometime? Master? Aren't you curious what kind of stare could cause rumors like that?"

That's me.

Kang-seok stared at Jo Dong-beom with a strange expression.

Everything about the story pointed unmistakably at him.

He scratched his nose, wondering how to explain this. Should he start by saying he sculpted the marble, not cut it? That he had no intention of slicing people up just because they looked at him? Or maybe start with the fact that he wasn't a foreigner, but 100% Korean?

Or should he begin by saying the very gaze Dong-beom was so curious about was currently making direct eye contact with him?

While Kang-seok was lost in thought—

"Kang-seok. Kang-seok."

Park Ji-yeop approached. His expression was unusually cheerful—so different from his normally composed, calm, and kind eyes.

His whole body radiated joy.

"It's almost your turn, Kang-seok. I came to get you."

Behind Park Ji-yeop stood seven sturdy men, each holding a chair.

"As expected, nothing mind-blowing so far, right, Professor?"

Whispered Gong Tae-min next to neurosurgery professor Sung Ju-hwa. Despite having just taken a nap, his skin looked far too perfect—he might actually be an FNSS fellow in disguise.

She was starting to wonder if she should bring her own fellow to genetics conferences on neurodegenerative sleep disorders.

"Professor?"

"…Hmm. Yeah, nothing particularly exciting."

Sung Ju-hwa agreed as she snapped out of her thoughts. Honestly, the quality wasn't bad—surprisingly well-done considering they were undergraduates. But that was it.

Perhaps because the works were student projects, none of them seemed worth allocating research funds or departmental budget. At best, they just increased sleep time—maybe that alone should be considered a win?

Most of the doctors didn't raise their hands to invest. The finance team ended up buying most of the materials. Maybe the orthopedics department showed some interest.

Ju-hwa leaned back in her chair. There was only one presenter left. She had a surgery scheduled that evening—probably five hours on her feet. Maybe she should get some shut-eye now.

Just as she was about to close her eyes—

—And now, the final presentation.

Professor Park Ji-yeop from the Department of Fine Arts at Hanyang School of Arts took the mic. He taught human anatomy and often collaborated with medical staff from San Gang Medical Center.

Even Ju-hwa had asked him for illustration work for her research papers a few times. Out of courtesy, she decided to stay awake until he finished speaking.

Seven men carrying chairs entered the stage behind him. A performance? Ju-hwa, fighting off drowsiness, raised a metaphorical question mark. There were seven chairs.

The chairs were set in order on center stage, and the men disappeared backstage.

Park Ji-yeop gave his signature smile and addressed the doctors.

"Some of you may remember what I said earlier. That today, we might witness a new horizon in anatomical art."

"Hard to believe, right?"

The doctors stifled awkward laughter. They were too accustomed to handling real human bodies. Even if it was someone they were friendly with—like Professor Park—it was hard to take such claims seriously.

After all, this involved money.

"Let's take a look. The final presenter of Project inbody: student Kang-seok."

With a confident smile, Park Ji-yeop handed the mic to a youthful-looking man stepping onto the stage, then slowly walked off.

So this was the high schooler. They'd heard there was one participant still in high school—and there was no doubt it was him. He looked unmistakably young.

The young man, Kang-seok, gave a small bow.

Not a stiff, exaggerated bow, nor a formal 90-degree Korean bow. Just a natural one.

After scratching his nose briefly, Kang-seok grabbed the mic and spoke:

"Let me introduce you to Maktoob."

Then, the seven men returned, each carrying a nude human figure with reddish skin tone on their back.

"What the…?"

"…Huh?"

"Has he gone mad?"

The audience of doctors stared in shock at the sight of the naked human forms on stage. Even if they were male, wasn't this too much?

Most of them instinctively leaned forward in their seats. Their drowsiness had vanished. Ju-hwa and Tae-min looked at each other with their mouths slightly open.

"Professor, what is this…?"

"Isn't this going to be a problem?"

They were worried this might cause public outrage once the media got wind of it. The finance and marketing teams, who'd been smiling just a moment ago, now looked gravely at the San Gang Life Public Interest Foundation, who had sponsored the project.

As if anticipating this reaction, Kang-seok looked back at the people now seated in chairs. He shrugged.

"This is Maktoob."

The doctors were speechless.

He brought actual people onstage and called it Maktoob?

It felt like someone insisting you could make soybean paste with red beans and expecting you to believe it.

"What the hell is this crap?"