Chapter 1

1. When I was young, my dream was to be a sculptor.

01

When I was young, my dream was to be a sculptor. There was no grand reason. It was during an elementary school class. An art class where we were to create sculptures using a bar of laundry soap and a carving tool. That was what captivated me.

I remember that day vividly. Within the square confines, I moved my hands as if excavating a gem, guided by the carving tool.

The finished piece was, even to the eyes of a primary school student, undeniably beautiful. It was so beautiful that I thought I wanted to fill the world with such beauty.

From that day on, I wanted to become a sculptor who excavates beauty.

* * * *

"Frankly, I think it would be better if you gave up on applying to an art university..."

The teacher struggled to finish his sentence. It was mid-December, and a harsh cold wind was blowing through the gaps in the empty practical room's windows.

"Teacher, there are 106 regular art universities in the country... Is there really no place for Seok to go?"

Father's question made my ears turn red. It was more from embarrassment than from the cold.

It had been four years since I started studying art, a field known for having lower competition rates compared to other majors. I was frustrated with myself for hearing such words despite my improving skills.

"Sir, I'm sure you, having studied art yourself, understand that an art university is just a starting point. The real world is what matters. However, in our country, about 6,000 art university graduates flood the job market every year. The competition is intense. Many students who spend four years at an art university end up not pursuing art at all."

The teacher paused, then brought up a heavy topic.

"...Sir, Seok will be a senior next semester. Honestly, art universities are quite... expensive. These days, it's said that from the final stages of the entrance exam, you can easily spend 500,000 won a month."

Art is expensive. It's a well-known fact.

The teacher must have brought this up because he knew our financial situation wasn't good.

Father, who understood what I was thinking, glanced at me.

The look in Father's eyes as he looked at the teacher was very sad.

"...Are you saying to give up on his dream because of money?"

"...I know it might sound harsh... but spending that much money to send him to one of the many art universities in the country is, in today's reality, worse than not sending him at all."

"..."

The grip on my knees tightened. Anger welled up inside me. I was frustrated, and I felt ashamed that my talent was making Father sad.

"Sir, I know this is a difficult decision. But perhaps you should reconsider Seok's future."

"...His future?"

"Yes. If we only think about the immediate future, getting into an art university is possible if you're willing to spend the money. Seok is a hardworking student, and he will continue to improve after the college entrance exam. He's also a talented student who got into our prestigious Chonghua Arts High School."

I could sense the teacher's pride in mentioning Chonghua Arts High School, the top art high school in Korea. As someone who barely made it in through a supplementary admission, I felt a bitter taste in my mouth.

"However, based on my observations over the years, while Seok can develop his skills if he continues to work hard, talent is something you can't acquire through effort alone."

The teacher couldn't continue. The unspoken words were obvious.

No matter how hard he works, he can develop his skills, but talent is something you can't gain through effort. Seok doesn't have the talent. Sending him to an art university would be meaningless. It would be better to find another path now.

But the teacher couldn't bring himself to say those words. He looked at me with a sad expression for a while before changing the subject.

"Sir, I know this is a long story, but before this consultation, I saw Seok's grades. He has been doing well in his internal assessments. He reads a lot and is active in school activities, so his student record is solid. ...I don't know how this will sound, but starting from his senior year, it might be better for Seok to prepare for the college entrance exam instead of taking after-school art lessons."

In other words, he should prepare to enter a liberal arts university instead of an art university.

That was the conclusion of today's parent-teacher consultation.

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It was time for everyone to take their art lessons. After finishing the consultation, I got into the truck to go home. The teacher had suggested I discuss the matter with my family again, which is why I was going home early today. The sign "Seok's Furniture Store" was partially hidden as I opened the truck door.

Click.

The truck was still warm, as if the teacher had just arrived from a long distance. It was an unusual warmth for such a cold day.

"Aren't you cold?"

It was much warmer than the practical room, but Father quickly turned on the heater and looked at me. For some reason, my eyes welled up, but I forced a smile.

"I'm fine."

"Should we go straight home?"

"Yes."

"Alright."

Father started the truck without saying much. The truck slowly began to move. In the distance, I could still see the lights on in the practical room. There were many things I wanted to talk about with Father, but the words wouldn't come out.

For a long time, I just looked out the window. As we approached the bustling area, the road was lined with cram schools. But all I could see were art schools.

"Come on, Dad!"

Suddenly, a memory from my first year of middle school flashed through my mind. It was the first day I went to an art school. I was excited to start learning art seriously after only carving soap bars with a carving tool.

As I looked at the quickly passing art schools and art supply stores, I forced myself to open my mouth.

"Father."

"Hmm."

"...Let's stop by a bookstore."

"Bookstore? Why a bookstore?"

"I want to buy some practice books."

I thought of the pocket money I had saved to buy art supplies. Now, I needed it to buy practice books.

"...Seok."

"Let's stop by."

The cut-off scores for the college entrance exam for art universities and liberal arts universities are different. If I wanted to aim for a university in Seoul, I needed to start preparing now. I stared at the art supply store that was getting farther away and resolved to say:

"Please."

"...Alright. Let's do that."

Father turned the steering wheel. As we made a right turn at the intersection, the art schools and art supply stores finally disappeared from my view. I thought I could make it.

* * *

The teacher suggested I discuss the matter with my family again, but when Father got home, he quietly went to his room after saying he was tired.

Mother must have sensed something was wrong, as she followed Father into the room with a serious expression. That was about three hours ago.

The house, which usually had poor soundproofing, was unusually quiet today, with only the sound of the refrigerator running. It was a good environment for studying.

- "Analyzing past exam questions is, in my personal opinion, the most important part of preparing for the college entrance exam. So, analyzing past exam questions..."

It was 11:30 PM. My sister still had some time before she would return from her cram school.

"Just a little longer, and I'll put it away."

If I was caught using my sister's laptop without permission, there would be trouble. Just as I was getting anxious,

"Seok."

Father called me.

"Yes!"

"Come here."

"...Why?"

I opened the door and went to the living room.

Father was sitting at the dining table, drinking. How long had he been there? A bottle of soju was already empty, and it seemed he had been quietly drinking while listening to my college entrance exam lectures.

"Are you feeling better?"

How long had Father been sitting there? I choked up and said,

"I'm fine."

Father looked at me silently and gestured.

"...Seok, sit down."

I noticed a single empty soju glass opposite Father. I turned my head to look for Mother, who was usually with Father. The closed bedroom door was in view. Mother was definitely in there.

"..."

"Sit down."

Reluctantly, I sat opposite Father and looked at the soju glass. It felt awkward. Why was it here? As I wondered, Father picked up the half-empty soju bottle as soon as I sat down.

"Let's have a drink."

"...Why would a high school student drink?"

"It's okay, just one glass."

Father didn't wait for my answer and poured the soju. The smell of alcohol filled my nose as the glass was filled more than halfway.

An unfamiliar smell.

An unfamiliar expression on Father's face.

The situation was uncomfortable.

Father put the bottle down and brought his already filled glass to me.

"Cheers."

Clank, the glasses clinked. My arm, awkwardly raising the glass, hovered in the air while Father drank his glass in one go. I awkwardly followed his lead.

Bitter.

But sweet.

That was my first impression of soju.

I didn't want to get used to this taste. As I frowned with my head down, Father's voice fell on my ears.

"Son... I'm sorry I don't have talent."

Father's heavy apology weighed on my mind. My eyes stung. Was soju spicy? Suddenly, I remembered Father's story from when he was young, starting art under the guidance of his grandfather, a stone carver.

"...I'm sorry I couldn't pass on good talent to you."

"...I'm fine, really."

I heard a breath. It wasn't Father's or mine. It was Mother, quietly crying in the room.

"Son."

A feeling of suffocation that had been building up in my throat since earlier overwhelmed me. My whole family was sad because of my lack of talent. I was angry. I was so sorry.

"...If you still want to continue..."

"I told you, I'm fine!"

I roughly wiped my face. I had made a mistake. But I couldn't control myself. Emotions were boiling over, and I stood up. I couldn't control it.

"I... I believe I can be happy on this path."

It doesn't have to be art. I swallowed the words I couldn't bring myself to say. I turned and walked quickly. I needed fresh air.

Bang! I kicked open the door and left the house. Clunk. I dragged my bicycle, bought to save on transportation costs, down the stairs.

And I started pedaling. I just kept going, pedaling as hard as my frustration.

The memories of my hard work flashed by in the passing scenery.

"Ah!"

It was just bravado.

I didn't want to give up. I loved art and sculpture. I had no confidence in being happy on any other path.

My eyes stung. Sweat or something was blurring my vision. I couldn't see clearly, but I kept pedaling. I didn't want to think about anything.

Just as I was riding mindlessly,

"Meow!"

A calico cat jumped out from the bushes.

"Ah!"

Clang! The sudden turn of the handlebars caused the bicycle to flip. My body, sliding along, fell down the slope next to the bicycle path. I was in pain, tangled with the bicycle.

I found myself lying on my back on the ground.

"Ha... ha!"

I was out of breath from the continuous pedaling. My heart slowly calmed down. As my blurry vision cleared, I saw the moon. The full moon was beautiful.

'Beautiful.'

Was this carved by someone?

"Meow!"

As I thought of something embarrassing, the cat's meow sounded again. It was definitely the calico cat that had jumped out of the bushes earlier.

A sudden sense of déjà vu came over me. I had heard this meow somewhere before...

As the thought came to me, my head started to throb. Had I hit my head when I fell? It felt like hundreds of needles were piercing my head, spreading throughout my body.

"...Ouch!"

My vision was blurry. The headache kept getting worse. It hurt. It was a pain I had never experienced before.

I forced my arm, which wouldn't move, to hold my head. Why am I like this? Just as I thought that, my vision went black.

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"Ha... ha!"

When I came to, I was running through the night. The cold morning air filled my lungs. Panting, I heard a cat's meow.

Ah! It was this cat's meow. The exact same meow as the calico cat I had encountered. But... had I ever run through this place before?

I tried to look around, but my head wouldn't turn. What's going on? My body didn't feel like my own.

...Is this a lucid dream?

Sweat entered my eyes, stinging. My steps were slowing down involuntarily.

In the distance, a church stood out against the full moon, glowing darkly. I had somehow arrived in front of the church.

In the deep darkness, I pushed open the church door. The well-oiled wooden door moved heavily. Following the damp smell of wood, I entered the church, and the familiar interior was revealed in the moonlight.

Instinctively, I knew where I was.

'Saint Peter's Basilica!'

The center of the Catholic world, built over the tomb of Saint Peter. I walked through the church as if it were my own home. It was strange. How did I know the internal structure so well, even though I had never been there?

Still, was it okay to walk around like this? Questions piled up. Then, a complaint suddenly burst out of my mouth.

"What? Rome? Lombardy?"

It was an unfamiliar language. No, it was a familiar language. The Florentine dialect, which later became the basis of the Italian standard language.

Suddenly, I remembered why I was here. The words of the critics who had seen my work earlier that day came to mind.

The critics, after seeing this masterpiece, couldn't recall the name of this great body. No, they didn't even mention the name, and they lavishly praised the work, insisting it must have been created by a genius artist from somewhere other than Rome, Lombardy, or Florence.

"Ha!"

I chuckled and pulled out a hammer and chisel from my pocket. My heart raced with tension.

It was the Renaissance era. No artist could sign their work for the church's clergy. Knowing this, I climbed onto my work.

I had to let them know.

For the blind, I carved the prepared phrase into the sash of Mary, who held Jesus in her arms.

I read it out loud, running my hand over the sash in the darkness.

"Michelangelo Buonarroti of Florence made this."

A name etched in history.

A sculptor revered as a 'god' by artists during the Renaissance.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni.

Instinctively, I realized.

This wasn't a lucid dream.

It was me.

'I...!'

Suddenly, knowledge flooded in like a tidal wave. A vast narrative and memories spanning over 400 years poured into my body.

My head felt like it was going to explode. In the pain, Seok's pupils rapidly moved. It was hot. The memories pouring in amidst the intense pain awakened a new sense in me.

It felt like new cells were forming in my body.

"Ugh!"

The breath I had been holding burst out.

The world, which had been black, turned white.

"...Alive!"

What?

"Student, are you okay?"

An aunt was looking down at me with a worried expression. Behind her, wearing a long padded jacket, I saw the full moon. It was the same full moon I had seen earlier.

Among the memories pouring in like light, only the full moon was clearly visible.

My heart was pounding fiercely. The aunt's voice calling me, the people gathered around me whispering, none of it mattered.

I raised my hand.

From the elbow to the wrist, the muscles from the wrist to the thumb and middle finger felt taut.

It's different.

"Ha... ha... ha...!"

Everything is different.

* * * *

After wandering, I returned home around 4 AM.

"Father."

As I opened the front door, I saw Father, his face flushed, looking at me. He must have been waiting by the door, having heard me come up the stairs.

Father's red eyes and tousled hair were something I had never seen before. He called out to me with a face that looked like he was about to cry.

"...Seok."

Then, my sister and Mother rushed out of the bedroom.

"Seok!"

"Brother!"

Both had swollen, red eyes and noses, indicating that the house had been in an uproar. I looked at my family and forced a smile.

There was something I wanted to say. It was something I had been holding back since the parent-teacher consultation. The words that I had wanted to say so badly but couldn't, came out easily now.

"I just want to keep sculpting."

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My past life was Michelangelo.

2. My past life was Michelangelo.