I Was Michelangelo in My Past Life

I grew up always watching my father's back.

He was always standing at his workbench. The chair was pushed far away, and he was engrossed in his work—hammering, shaving wood, completely absorbed in the life of a carpenter.

Every so often, when he took a breath, he would glance back at me watching him and give a crooked smile.

"Hey there, son."

Then he would turn back around.

The sound of the hammer striking echoed again.

I watched, as if spellbound.

My father's back, soaked with sweat, looked almost godlike—like something out of a myth.

Bloom Art Museum.

Located in Hannam-dong, Seoul, the Bloom Art Museum operated on a 100% reservation-only basis for the safety of both visitors and the artworks. Run by the Sangang Cultural Foundation, under the Sangang Group, it was one of the most preferred venues for artists.

Even if you had the money, you couldn't just book an exhibition there.

That was Bloom.

And today, the doors of the Bloom Art Museum opened to high school students.

All for one boy, just nineteen years old—Kang Seok.

"I still couldn't believe it even when we were setting up yesterday… Seeing it now, it feels even more unreal."

Lim Woo-hyun, a part-time instructor for Drawing Class D at ChungHwa Arts High School, looked up at the banner. It was impressively displayed across the elegant architecture, reading:

[Congratulations! ChungHwa Arts High School 3rd Year Graduation Exhibition]

Normally, you had to make a reservation at least two weeks in advance, and even then, only the reservation holder could enter. But today, Bloom's grand double doors were wide open, welcoming visitors.

Free entry.

An exceptionally rare occurrence for Bloom.

Some journalists and artists had even come just to take their time filming the museum itself—forget the exhibition.

Watching the stream of people passing through Bloom's entrance, Lim Woo-hyun muttered to himself.

"Man... I never even got to exhibit here."

He remembered how the kids jumped for joy when the venue was confirmed. Rumor had it that sculptor Yang Sun-gu had insisted that Kang Seok's piece could not be moved, and that its first public showing had to be held in Exhibition Room 4 at Bloom.

"Just how incredible is it…?"

Lim's gaze turned to the far end of the museum, toward Exhibition Room 4. Connected to the students' room—Room 3—it stood tall, towering like the outer wall of some massive structure, fit for showcasing large sculptures.

Room 4 was still hidden behind blackout curtains.

The skylight above ensured it wouldn't be completely dark inside, but the extreme secrecy raised some eyebrows.

"Well. I'll find out today."

Even sculptor Yang Sun-gu's insistence aside, for Bloom's curator to agree to this... just how extraordinary must that sculpture be?

Lim Woo-hyun took a step forward to find out.

...

Kang Hyeon-do looked around.

Baek Myung-hee and Kang Chae-young had left the group a while ago to grab a light lunch for Kang Seok, but there was still no sign of them.

Well... It's this crowded. It'll take a while.

The line heading toward Exhibition Room 4 was absolutely packed. It felt like standing in the middle of Gangnam on a Saturday night.

So many people.

Even Kang Hyeon-do, who was familiar with art exhibitions, found the scene strange. It looked more like something you'd see at the Louvre. His heart beat faster as he moved forward.

"This is more packed than when we went to see the glass flower exhibit."

"That's different. At least that line moved quickly when it cleared up."

"What's the hold-up?"

"Wasn't it 1.64 billion won? Didn't they sell one of those 'special dummies' for that price? That caused a huge stir for a while."

"Oh right. Honestly, I'm more curious about that than the actual sculpture…"

The surrounding chatter was all about Kang Seok. Since Room 4 contained only his sculpture, everyone in line—knowingly or not—was there for it.

One staff member, unpacking the fourth guestbook, had even said that most people visiting Bloom that day had come for Kang Seok.

It was surreal.

Just six months ago, no one at ChungHwa even noticed his son. And now, look how many had come just to see him.

Kang Hyeon-do felt proud.

He fiddled with the suit he'd pulled from the back of the wardrobe for the first time in a while. In his rough, calloused hand was a fresh bouquet—something he'd bought from the flower shop next to his furniture store to give to his son.

Then—

"Whoa! They're moving in!"

"Let's go."

"Stick close! Don't fall behind."

"Minji!!"

A crowd started flowing forward.

Kang Hyeon-do moved with them. It seemed the entry to the exhibition was staggered, with large groups let in roughly every 15 minutes.

As he shuffled forward in the wave of people, he noticed the curve in the hallway that led into Room 4.

At this rate… I'll get in on the next turn.

Just as that thought passed through his mind, he saw it:

A digital screen.

It served as a partition between Room 3 and Room 4. Kang Hyeon-do craned his neck, meerkat-like, wondering if there was a door somewhere behind it.

The crowd was dense, but not immobile—there were marked lines like an amusement park queue to help the flow.

Still curious, Kang Hyeon-do pulled out his phone to text Baek Myung-hee and Kang Chae-young.

[Looks like I'll be getting in soon.][At this rate, I'll see it before you guys.]

He glanced back. Behind him was another sea of people. They wouldn't be able to catch up in time.

He finished his message.

[I'll go in first. Either queue again after or grab lunch with Seok and come back once it's less crowded. Wait outside.]

The turnout was extraordinary—likely because it was opening day.

Most were there to genuinely see Kang Seok's work. But some were drawn by the rare open-access to Bloom, or curiosity about rumors surrounding the "marble-cutting demon," and others simply by real-time search trends.

Judging by the crowd, many seemed to work in the art world.

As Kang Hyeon-do's thoughts wandered—

The previously black screen flickered with a flash of red fire.

"Huh?"

"…?"

People gasped. It wasn't actual fire—just an image. But the flickering flame captured everyone's attention. Eyes that had begun to wander locked onto the screen again.

The mischievous little flame began tracing letters in the air.

[Kang Seok]

The name appeared in seconds.

His son's name.

"Kang Seok?"

"That's the artist's name, right?"

People stared in awe at the name filling the large screen.

Then, like a match extinguished in wind, it vanished. The flames began writing again—this time forming a full sentence.

Every gaze was fixed on that fire-drawn text.

Kang Hyeon-do's eyes followed along.

[In a broad back, divinity dwells—but seen from the front, it is merely human.]

When the sentence completed, puzzled expressions filled the room.

"What does that mean?"

"Is that the artist's statement?"

"Is it a double-sided piece?"

"Don't be dumb. Room 4 only has sculptures, not paintings."

As the words faded, turning to blackened ash, the screen went dark again.

Was that it?

Just then—

A diagonal line appeared on the screen.

A clean, sharp line, like a blade of light.

People held their breath.

A faint sound, like a door sliding open.

The screen split in half—a secret door.

It slid open to either side, and people's heads turned upward.

A shaft of light from above cut through the darkness of Exhibition Room 4.

Kang Hyeon-do raised his head too. The beam of light streaked across his face, illuminating his right eye.

A diagonal stripe of light traced across his face.

His eyes widened.

What first came into view was an enormous back.

In that single, breathless moment of realization, ten minutes had passed.

Like the quote—"An hour feels like a minute beside beauty, and a minute an hour by the fire"—those ten minutes felt like seconds.

Not just to Kang Hyeon-do. To everyone there.

They all stood in awe, staring upward.

It was a breathtaking sight.

A sculpture, soaring nearly 5.7 meters high.

Their eyes traced slowly upward from the floor.

Muscles and tendons in the legs.

A hint of thigh just visible beneath sculpted shorts.

A back, soaked with sweat—so wet that the contours of the spine and shoulder blades showed clearly beneath the shirt.

A shoulder rising at a diagonal.

Finally, the gaze followed the arm that raised the hammer and stopped at the hammer itself.

"The detail is incredible."

The audience swallowed hard.

Even from afar, the veins in the hand gripping the hammer were clear and vivid.

Was his leg cramping, or was it intentional? One leg was lifted awkwardly, while the other was planted firmly on the ground like the root of a mighty tree.

A posture that looked as if the hammer could come crashing down at any moment.

In the hand not holding the hammer, a marble chair was tightly clenched.

"A divine spirit dwells in those broad shoulders…"

"…Ah!"

At that moment, a few people gasped in awe.

They instinctively recognized what, exactly, had been sculpted — or more precisely, what the piece was modeled after.

The god of fire and blacksmithing.

Known as Vulcanus in Roman mythology, and Hephaestus in Greek.

He had descended into this place — Gallery 4 of the Bloom Art Museum.

"Huff…!"

Thump thump thump thump thump…

Kang Hyun-do, who had been gazing at the sculpture in a trance, drew in a sharp breath. His heart seemed to be pounding too fast.

It felt like the entire space had become the forge of a god. His breathing quickened. Thump thump thump… Was this what it felt like to meet a deity? A primal fear and reverence seemed to radiate from the marble.

Am I the strange one?

Looking around, he noticed others were also struggling to catch their breath. Some covered their mouths in awe at the sight of the statue. Others pressed their flushed cheeks with the backs and palms of their hands, puzzled by the heat.

Thump thump thump…

At that moment, when it felt like their hearts were burning…

Sunlight poured in from the ceiling.

No one even had the presence of mind to squint. Their heads tilted back toward the sky — to a degree that might even snap a neck — as a break in the clouds allowed a shaft of sunlight to shoot through the ceiling window.

And as if by divine intent, the sunlight landed on the tip of the marble hammer. At that moment, the true nature of the material was revealed.

Marble.

A type of metamorphic rock formed when limestone undergoes heat and pressure. Composed mainly of calcium carbonate, it has long been used for sculpture, architecture, and decoration.

In English, it's called marble, derived from the Greek word marmaros.

And marmaros means: shining stone.

"Wow…"

People covered their mouths.

The shimmering surface of the chiseled and polished marble glistened under the light. It was indescribably beautiful.

A warm, glossy sheen flowed down like a captured pond of running water. It felt like the sweat of a god.

It was beautiful. Sublime.

Could something truly inspire this much awe?

It felt as though the place had transformed into a museum of ancient Greek sculpture. And a high school student made this? Just a high schooler? Jealousy, anxiety, and an unknown violent emotion began to transform into shame and anger.

"We'll now begin slowly moving forward."

"Please move forward!"

A heavy announcement broke the reverent silence.

Just as the emotion swelled up, it burst like a balloon pricked with a needle. The anger dispersed.

The line began to move slowly.

And yet, everyone's eyes remained fixed on the sculpture. Michelangelo once said: The closer painting approaches perfection, the more it resembles sculpture.

In that moment, there was no room to disagree.

Perfection stood here.

A perfect three-dimensional form — evoking emotion from every angle. The profile with just the arm raised was stunning. The twisted torso from the side, flawless.

Just as the emotions began to surge, they had to move again. It made one want to circle back and see it all over again, like a ride in an amusement park. It wasn't a ride, yet it felt like they'd only gotten halfway through the loop.

What could the name of this piece be?

At last, curiosity took hold.

Was it really named Vulcanus, Hephaestus, or The Blacksmith as expected? The closer they got to the front of the sculpture, the more desperate they were to know. Why had the entrance been arranged so only the back was visible at first?

They reached the front.

As always, their gaze traveled from the bottom up. And when it reached the face — that's when the full inscription on the display flashed through their minds:

"Though a god resides in his broad back, from the front he is but a mere man."

It wasn't a god.

The truth was in the latter part.

From the back, they had assumed he was a god. But his face was unmistakably human. Caught in a moment of despair, anguished and furious, he appeared ready to smash his own work with the very hammer he wielded.

Ah.

That sense of hopelessness was so vividly captured that people's expressions softened in empathy. Was he giving up on creating? Breaking his dream with his own hand?

Though it was only stone, the emotions felt real.

"Hey, look over there!"

"…Huh?!"

A viewer pointed at the sculpture.

A small slip of paper stuck out of the giant's pocket. It, too, was carved. The fact that something so thin was still marble made it all the more astonishing.

Hidden from view when seen from behind, the paper contained notes on what still needed improvement. Only then did people see it: amid the anger and despair on the man's face, there was a glimmer of determination.

Will. Perseverance. The courage to rise after falling.

Just as with despair, such emotion was only possible — precisely because he was not a god, but a human.

Now, they understood Kang-seok's intention.

This was a tribute.

He wanted people to admire him, yes — but also to understand his pain. To see how strong he truly was.

The sculptor's affection radiated from the entire piece.

And so, the crowd couldn't help but wonder—

Who is it?

Who was this sculpture modeled after?

Eyes naturally searched for the title of the work. After scanning around, they found it engraved at the statue's feet.

Father.

The piece was titled Father.

"…Ah."

Suddenly, Kang Hyun-do's vision blurred.

He wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Through tear-clouded eyes, he read the word Father etched into the base.

Truthfully, he had known even before seeing the title. His son's talent was so immense that the sculpture bore an uncanny resemblance to him. From the face alone, he knew who it was.

Haha…

Kang Hyun-do pressed between his eyes.

He had always thought his back was the only thing seen — but when had his son ever watched him working, shaping furniture?

A memory returned to him.

"Son… I'm sorry your father has no talent."

A cold winter night.

The day they returned from visiting Chung-Hwa Arts High School.

That night, Kang-seok's online lecture echoed through the living room for hours.

Hyun-do sat drinking soju, staring at a soap carving Kang-seok had made as a child.

"…I should have passed on a better gift. I'm sorry."

Drunken and flushed, he had said those words with a heavy heart. And his kind son simply bowed his head and listened.

I was the one who failed to recognize my son's brilliance.

Suddenly, guilt pierced him like a blade.

He felt unbearably sorry to Seok.

Tears welled up. As he wiped his face with his palm—

Click. The door handle turned behind him.

"Who is that?"

"W-wait, isn't that…?!"

All eyes turned to the side of Gallery 4, where the silence had been broken. A young boy in a school uniform approached the statue.

"Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming here today."

His strong features might have been mistaken for a cold expression. Rolled-up sleeves revealed defined forearm veins.

On his name tag was written: Kang Seok.

As he surveyed the frozen crowd, his eyes met those of his father.

Then, he spoke:

"Since I was very little… I grew up watching my father's back."