I Was Michelangelo in My Past Life

Kang-seok was already sitting in the chair before anyone noticed.

White sunlight poured down onto him, sitting high on a temporary chair in front of the glass wall that blocked the sculpture from the outside.

Behind Kang-seok stood a sculpture over 5.7 meters tall.

Holding a microphone, he quietly recited to the audience, who were looking only at him. His low voice echoed through Exhibition Room 4 through the speakers.

"My father once said something to me. That he was sorry he couldn't pass on any great talent."

Having the sculptor personally explain the piece was a special feature of an exhibition's opening ceremony. But this level of attention from the audience wasn't guaranteed—even on opening day.

It was thrilling.

As if no further explanation was needed. As if everyone already understood what Kang-seok was trying to convey through his work. People looked at him, their eyes slightly reddened.

It sent a shiver down his spine.

For meaning to be understood even without explanation.

For emotion to be felt just by facing the piece.

For something indescribable to be conveyed.

Perhaps that is why art is eternally loved.

Kang-seok, who had transcended time and space to unfold his talent to the world, looked back toward his father.

His father's eyes were redder than anyone else's. Kang-seok's mouth twitched slightly. He felt something tightening in his chest.

Father.

You once told me you were sorry you couldn't give me great talent.

Looking at his father—who looked just like the massive sculpture behind him—Kang-seok finally voiced the words he had long kept inside.

"No, Father."

Kang-seok flatly denied his father's words.

A loving family isn't something to be taken for granted.

There aren't many families who support a pursuit of art—something costly, with no guarantee of return.

Not every parent tells their child to keep going even without talent, or apologizes for not being able to give more.

You were different.

"Look at what you gave me."

You gave me a dream.

You gave me the strength to chase that dream without giving up.

You gave me the belief that I could be happy while living that dream.

"Isn't that truly grand? Isn't it magnificent?"

At those words, Kang Hyun-do finally bowed his head. It was clear his head was not lowered out of shame. Kang-seok's lips curled slightly.

People finally began to realize what was happening and looked back and forth between the sculpture and Kang Hyun-do, then burst into cheers. Some clapped, their eyes red as if they themselves had received a gift.

"Kang-seok! Kang-seok! Kang-seok!"

The cheers of encouragement soon transformed into a roar of celebration for the arrival of a new genius sculptor.

It was the birth of a new star.

How long had that heat and excitement lasted? One person, a camera hanging around their neck, finally raised a hand. A journalist. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, laptop on their knees, hand raised from beside their leg with such urgency that Kang-seok couldn't help but acknowledge it.

As he looked over, the reporter took it as permission to speak and asked quickly:

"So, did you carve Father to express your gratitude toward him?"

A solemn question—but not a particularly special one. Did he carve marble to express gratitude to his father? Kang-seok scratched his nose.

"No."

What came out first was a denial.

"It's just…"

In both his past and present lives, Kang-seok had never sculpted anything with a clear intention. He could swear to the heavens that it was true.

"As I looked at the marble, I saw my father's back inside it."

"…"

"So I sculpted it."

Because I thought it might be suffocating to stay trapped in there. Kang-seok added in a calm voice. It was a remarkably poetic and romantic expression.

The reporter swallowed hard without realizing it.

How could he possibly ask the next prepared question now?

How much would you like this piece to sell for?

This was an extraordinary piece.

And so, even more so, he couldn't bring himself to ask how much the sculpture should sell for. It was strange, considering how often modern art is evaluated by its price.

It's certainly a point of pride for an artist to have their work sell at a high price. And yet… the reporter couldn't help but feel it would be rude to speak of the sculpture's "value" in this context.

How could one dare put a price on a piece containing such deep respect for the sculptor's father?

It was impossible.

But still… he's just nineteen. Why is it so hard to meet his eyes?

The reporter felt a cold sweat trickle down his temple.

"Thank you for your answer."

The reporter wrapped up his short question quietly.

Kang-seok's gaze then turned to the other people with cameras. A silent offer—any other questions? He was used to being questioned and waited patiently, comfortably.

But no other questions came.

It wasn't that there were no reporters in the exhibition room.

They simply didn't want to risk overstepping and triggering a backlash.

Some thought briefly about raising their hand anyway for clicks and controversy—but sensed this young sculptor's peak hadn't even come yet.

Who would want to sour things with someone destined to be even more famous?

So they quietly watched as Kang-seok excused himself and walked toward the exit with his father.

After the two slowly left the exhibition room—

Only then did the reporters quietly sit cross-legged, pull out their laptops, or rush toward the exit to document what they'd seen.

Some hurriedly turned off their camera flashes to avoid reflections as they tried to capture the sculpture through the glass.

Visitors' phones buzzed to life—camera apps, social media, KakaoTalk—all frantically in motion.

Among the crowd, those who had been quietly admiring the sculpture for some time approached the glass wall.

They gently laid down bouquets and chocolates as a gesture of gratitude for being allowed to witness such a work. They even carefully adjusted the placement to ensure the name "Father" was not obscured.

Thus, nineteen-year-old sculptor Kang-seok's first marble sculpture, Father, made its debut to the world.

. . .

A blue sky.

Kang Chae-young glanced back frequently, worried the snacks in her hands might get cold. Her eyes lingered on the exit connected to Exhibition Room 4 of Bloom Art Museum.

"Why are they taking so long?"

It was slower than the previous group's exit. She nervously puffed her bangs out of her face. She looked about ready to storm through the exit and head back in.

And then—

Two figures emerged.

A school uniform and a suit.

It was Kang-seok and Kang Hyun-do.

"Oppa! Dad!"

Kang Chae-young dashed over like a missile, heading straight for Kang-seok. She was happy to see her father too, but seeing her brother after so long was even more emotional.

As she handed the snacks over to Kang-seok—

Baek Myung-hee suddenly appeared beside her, eyeing Kang Hyun-do.

"Why are your eyes so red? Oh my, look at your eyes! Did you cry?"

At first, Baek Myung-hee's tone was casual, but it grew more and more incredulous, her eyes widening like a rabbit's.

"Dad, did you cry? Why?"

Kang Chae-young also stared in surprise. Her expression seemed to ask who made you cry? Kang Hyun-do frantically shook his head, unable to explain it all—it was just too much.

"Oppa. You know, right?"

"Yeah, Seok, you explain. Why did this man suddenly cry?"

Kang-seok couldn't exactly say I made him cry, so he looked a bit sheepish. As he glanced at Baek Myung-hee and Kang Chae-young, whose rabbit-like eyes were fixed on him, he caught a glimpse of the blue sky beyond their shoulders. People nearby were turning to see what the commotion was.

A sunny day.

A loving family.

A peaceful world.

Kang-seok couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing.

He was happy.

After the unveiling of Kang-seok's marble sculpture Father at Bloom Museum's Exhibition Room 4—

The world, as if by destiny, was turned completely upside down.

[Visited "Bloom," the place that opened its doors to a high school senior! "This was inevitable."]

[Art is not dead! South Korea's rising star "Kang Seok" makes his debut!]

[The sculpture continues to dominate the auction scene… "Auction houses banging on Bloom's doors every day, begging to take it on consignment?"]

Articles that normally would have gone unnoticed with few views were now topping the "Most Read News" list. "Bloom Museum," , and "Kang Seok" frequently trended in popular search rankings.

It was as if the Renaissance era had been reborn. Crowds flocked daily to marvel at the marble sculpture. Despite technological advances, the awe it inspired remained unmatched.

To think that you no longer had to travel to the Vatican or Florence to see the Renaissance. There was no reason not to go. Bloom was overwhelmed, experiencing an off-season boom even busier than amusement parks. For Exhibition Room 4, they had reinstated a strict 100% reservation policy.

Yet the public accepted it without complaint. From people cutting in line to see the exhibit again, to those holding spots for others, to inconsiderate visitors…

In the midst of numerous complaints, the return of the reservation system was welcomed with open arms.

Of course, Bloom didn't forget to accept reservation numbers several times larger than their usual visitor capacity.

While Bloom Museum rejoiced at their Louvre-like popularity…

[Fathers of Korea are great. Let's learn about Kang Hyun-do, the model for the sculpture and the patriarch of our time.]

[The famous sculpture duo—father and son—turn down documentary offers…]

["Do you believe an eighteen-year-old made this?" Some cast doubt with skeptical eyes…]

[A Korean Michelangelo is born. Kang Seok, a third-year sculpture major at Cheonghwa Arts High School!]

['Sunset–Glass Peony–Maktub–Father' hitmaker Kang Seok! Online speculation swirls that there are more of his works hidden on social media…!]

Interest in Kang Seok and his sculpture model, Kang Hyun-do, snowballed like an avalanche.

Kang Seok's mother, Baek Myung-hee, felt the impact of this fame firsthand.

"Mm. Mm. Yeah, something like that?"

Now that summer was approaching, it was past 6 p.m. and the sky was still bright blue. People walked by the Seok's Furniture Store, peeking in curiously. They had clearly come after hearing online that Kang Seok's parents ran the shop.

Baek Myung-hee turned her back.

She was now out of sight from the street.

In front of her was a calendar.

July 5th.

It had already been a week since the Cheonghwa Arts High School graduation exhibit opened at Bloom Museum. Yet the attention and excitement showed no sign of fading.

Maybe the popularity had reignited after a brief lull. Thinking that, Baek Myung-hee found the corners of her lips curling into a smile. It was joy. How could she not feel happy when her son was receiving so much love?

Laughter had become a daily presence in their household.

Just then—

—"So Seok's mom, I was right, wasn't I? That Renaissance Mall that's being remodeled—the 8th floor…"

"Huh?"

—"That mural of The Creation of Adam. That was your son too, right? Huh?"

This was the sixth time she'd been asked the same question. Baek Myung-hee nodded. Her son had given strict instructions: when asked about this sort of thing, tell the truth, don't hesitate.

"Yes, that's right. From start to finish. Our son did all of it."

—"Oh my, oh my goodness! I knew it. Your eldest has always been good at drawing. Even back when people said he was failing—Minji's mom said it! But I was the only one who said there must've been some mistake. I stood by you, remember?"

"Mmhmm."

Baek Myung-hee nodded as the chatter resumed. She was half-listening at this point. As the meaningless words washed over her, her gaze drifted toward the tightly shut workshop door.

It had taken some effort to coax her husband out of the workshop—only now, both her husband and son had holed themselves up in there for a full week.

In fact, it had been that way ever since the day after the exhibit's opening ceremony. Though she'd been feeding them meat every day, she couldn't help but worry they might be going hungry.

—"So, Seok's mom…"

Baek Myung-hee stared intently at the door.

...

Unaware of his mother's concern, Kang Seok was focused, turning a screwdriver in his hand. It was the final stage of assembly.

His father, Kang Hyun-do, quietly resisted the urge to drink some water. He didn't want to interrupt his son. In front of them sat a chair.

Kang Hyun-do stared at the mesh-fabric chair in cheerful colors—Baek Myung-hee's favorite—and licked his lips silently.

—"Dad. Can I use the workshop for a bit?"

—"Sure. But what are you planning to do?"

A week ago.

On their way home, his son had asked to use the furniture store's workshop for the first time in ages. Though he agreed readily, curiosity got the better of him.

Kang Seok had plenty of other workspaces. After his marble sculpture for Exhibition Room 4 was completed, the museum director was so moved that they created a new studio space just for him. He also had a dedicated spot in the glass workshop.

Compared to those, the furniture shop's workshop—suited only for working with wood—was clearly inconvenient.

Why this place?

Did he just want to spend time with him?

Kang Hyun-do's ears turned red as he waited for a reply.

—"A chair. I promised I'd make one for you."

—"You're really going to make it?"

—"Yes. I'll start with yours, then mine, then Mom's, and Chaeyoung's too."

As always, Kang Seok never disappointed. With love in his eyes, Kang Hyun-do barely held back a tear and offered one suggestion.

—"My angel of a son. Thank you. But how about making your mother's chair first this time?"

It wasn't likely, but emotions can be unpredictable.

Even the sweet, kind, beautiful Baek Myung-hee might feel slighted if, after sculpting , Kang Seok made a chair for Dad before Mom.

He hadn't raised their son alone. It was Baek Myung-hee who washed, dried, ironed his school uniform and cheered for him every day. Kang Hyun-do urged him to start with her chair.

—"You're right. Thanks for the advice, Dad."

Kang Hyun-do smiled.

After all, he had already received the Metheus Airgod Metallic. A small sacrifice was fair.

"I shouldn't have agreed."

He looked at the small chair, its contact points made of mesh fabric, and felt regret. It wasn't even tailored to his body, but he couldn't forget the feel of the headrest he'd tried during assembly.

"That incredible comfort…"

Like a man in the desert yearning for water, Kang Hyun-do stared at the chair.

Headrest, backrest, seat height, texture, curvature that cradled the pelvis, the precise height where the headrest met the body, the dimensions of the seat—none of it was left to chance.

It was all designed specifically for Baek Myung-hee.

After hugging his mother just once, Kang Seok had immediately begun sketching anatomical diagrams and designing the chair. It was an unforgettable display of talent.

Was there anything he couldn't do?

Lost in memory, Kang Hyun-do's face went blank. Ever since his neck touched the custom headrest Kang Seok made, he could no longer feel comfort in the default one on the Metheus Airgod.

The contrast was real.

He longed for Baek Myung-hee's chair to be done… so his own could follow.

As he watched his son finish assembling the chair with that dazed look—

Creak, creaaaak, click.

"…Ah."

Kang Seok softly opened his mouth.

"It's done."

The sound of completion.

...

Michelangelo once said:

"The structure of architecture relates to the limbs of the human body. So anyone who doesn't know how to sculpt the human form, or who doesn't understand anatomy, can't possibly understand architecture. Especially not without anatomical knowledge."

To Michelangelo, architecture began with the human body. He believed one had to be inspired by the body to create good architecture.

Only those who could shape the human form could become masters of architecture.

Then, following his logic…

What would a chair made by Michelangelo feel like?

Modern architectural master Le Corbusier once said: "A chair is a small building." Chairs are thus considered miniature buildings—summarizing the architect's style, philosophy, and technique.

A chair—called a small building—must support us for hours, remain in contact with our bodies longer than anything else, and serve as our most used piece of furniture.

A chair.

If Michelangelo had made one…?

Without question, it would be the ultimate in comfort.