Gulp—the sound of someone swallowing echoed through the empty lecture hall

Gulp—the sound of someone swallowing echoed through the empty lecture hall.

It had been about 20 minutes since Kang-seok had expressed his desire to loan the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha to Wat Rong Khun, the White Temple in Thailand.

Kang-seok, Yang Seon-gu, Ananda, and Pandin were now seated across from each other in one of the classrooms that Korea University had prepared for the World Buddhist Academic Conference.

The four of them sat awkwardly, sipping the tea that had been prepared for them.

The location had been arranged by Beopgyeong, the head monk of Bongeunsa Temple, to avoid drawing public attention.

"This lecture room isn't scheduled for use today, so feel free to talk comfortably. I'll have some tea brought in."

Kang-seok recalled the weary, somewhat sorrowful look that Beopgyeong couldn't quite hide behind his usual mask-like smile. With a long exhale, he looked ahead.

Ananda and Pandin, staring down at their cups of green tea, wore expressions of pure bewilderment. Their slightly flushed cheeks suggested that they weren't displeased by the prospect of borrowing the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha.

Not that Kang-seok ever thought they'd dislike the idea. He took a sip of his tea.

"Even if I want to loan it, it will take some time before the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha can actually be enshrined at Wat Rong Khun. There are procedures to follow, and we can't risk any damage during transportation."

"(Naturally.)"

"Of course."

"Still, that doesn't mean we can't do anything in the meantime. So, I was thinking—why don't we go ahead and start discussing the contract?"

Ananda's eyes widened as Pandin translated Kang-seok's words. How is this person so fast? For someone like Ananda, who had a calm and easygoing personality, this speed was astonishing. How could he be so decisive and determined?

Ananda stared at Kang-seok as if witnessing a miracle. Honestly, he wondered—What is it that makes this man trust us like this?

At last, Ananda opened his mouth, glancing between Kang-seok and Yang Seon-gu with visible concern.

"(Frankly speaking, I don't understand what makes you willing to entrust it to us. How do you know we're legitimate? You even said you haven't personally visited Wat Rong Khun, so what makes you so sure it's the right place? What faith do you have in us to entrust something as invaluable as the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha? Do you really trust us?)"

Hmm...

Kang-seok scratched the bridge of his nose at Ananda's question.

Beside him, Yang Seon-gu nodded emphatically in agreement. Foreigners—more intimidating than anyone in Seoul. As someone who had lived abroad, he had learned this firsthand. So why was Kang-seok so eager to walk into the lion's den? Seon-gu looked at Kang-seok as if to say, Just sell it instead of loaning it.

At that moment—

Despite the concerned looks from the two, Kang-seok spoke with unwavering eyes.

"If you're not who you say you are, it'll be discovered before the loan even happens. I'm not blindly entrusting the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha out of faith in Thailand or Wat Rong Khun. I just believe that's where it will shine most beautifully—so that's where I want it to be."

Kang-seok intended to continue creating many works.

But he couldn't keep all of them in his studio.

So if he couldn't keep them all close anyway, he wanted them to be where they belonged. That was the intent behind this choice.

"(Then how about selling it to us?)"

"Just sell it to us."

Ananda and Pandin's suggestion mirrored Yang Seon-gu's. Their eyes said they were willing to pay any price. Kang-seok grimaced—That's not an option.

Why didn't he sell his work?

Because as his worldview broadened, he began comparing his works to others'.

And the more comparisons he made, the clearer it became:

"The reason I only loan my works is because there's no place that can adequately compensate the true value of the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha."

His work had to be expensive.

In Kang-seok's mind flashed an article listing the top 10 most famous artworks in the world. Alongside his mural The Creation was Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

Owned jointly by the French government and the Louvre, the Mona Lisa could never be auctioned. But experts estimated its worth at somewhere between 2.3 trillion and 40 trillion won (about $1.6–$28 billion USD).

Some even speculated that its auction starting price would be at least 1.1 trillion won (~$800 million USD), based solely on its historical significance, reputation, uniqueness, and the fact that 10 million people visit the Louvre every year mostly to see it.

All those elements elevated its value.

Kang-seok's lips twitched. Not a smile—an expression of discomfort.

He didn't think his work was worth less than that painting mocked by some as "a turtle covered in breadcrumbs."

If he couldn't sell it for its proper value, there was no reason to sell it at all. So he chose to loan it, or allow exhibition rights, or charge through admissions.

After all, who would sell a valuable asset at its lowest point?

It wasn't as though Kang-seok needed money urgently, or had anything pressing to spend it on.

And he absolutely couldn't sell his work for less than what it was worth. Michelangelo, the cantankerous old man who lived in the pit of his stomach, would roll over in his grave before allowing such a thing.

"So I'm just loaning it. That's all."

A calm, confident smile spread across Kang-seok's face.

Though much had been left unsaid, he had made a well-considered decision. He would loan the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha to Wat Rong Khun, and they should accept it.

Ananda, not knowing the full story, could only view Kang-seok as a towering figure.

In Ananda's country—Thailand—where 95% of the population practiced Buddhism and every man became a monk at least once in his life, the dominant school was Theravāda Buddhism, not Mahāyāna.

Theravāda Buddhism was dedicated to preserving the original teachings of the Buddha. Unlike Mahāyāna, it held that arhats and Buddhas do not reincarnate. Theravāda aimed to follow the words of the Buddha as faithfully as possible.

And the very first principle of Theravāda Buddhism was the elimination of attachment and suffering.

Ananda was deeply moved as he looked at Kang-seok.

Look at that pure, serene smile, untouched by even a speck of greed.

Countless monks couldn't hide their desires when faced with the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha, and yet this man was willing to loan it to a distant, unfamiliar land simply because it seemed like the best fit.

Look at that gaze, full of unquestioning trust—as if to embody the idea that karma begins with faith.

The Buddha is here.

Ananda closed his eyes and folded his hands in prayer.

Though the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha wasn't present, and no divine light shone down, the world felt bright even with his eyes closed.

Ananda.

His name came from Ananda—one of the Buddha's ten great disciples, and also his cousin. (From Sanskrit, Ananda means "bliss.")

Born in Malaysia to a tycoon estimated to be worth $5.6 billion USD and a noblewoman of the Thai royal family, Ananda had renounced his luxurious life to follow the path of Buddhism. And now, in this moment, he made a decision.

The day he would become the head monk and abbot of the White Temple, Wat Rong Khun, he would protect the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha as if it were his destiny.

And so that Kang-seok could always see it, he would use every ounce of power, wealth, and privilege he had once turned his back on.

"And if..."

Ananda's eyes sharpened like a finely honed blade.

If the Gwanghwa Tathāgata Buddha were ever subjected to disgrace, as with past incidents in Thailand, he would draw his sword and defend it.

After thirty years of abandoning wealth and practicing Buddhism, this monk—Ananda—had just planted the seed of a blade within himself.

Sensing the shift, Kang-seok raised an eyebrow.

"Something... feels different."

Yang Seon-gu and Pandin, too, sensed the momentary transformation in Ananda—as if they were looking at someone else entirely. But the moment passed. Ananda smiled again, hands folded in a respectful gesture.

"(Thank you, donor. Then let's proceed with the contract. What should I do first?)"

Great men wield the sword of wisdom.The blade of prajñā, the flame of vajra!

Ananda, now looking like a warrior wielding the sword of Mañjuśrī—the bodhisattva of wisdom—asked his question.

In that moment, Kang-seok gained one of the most reliable allies he could ever hope for.

It had been a hectic two weeks.

Kang-seok blinked as he stared into the sunlight filtering through what must have been an open window behind the blackout curtains.

Beyond the heavy curtains, gently pushed aside by the autumn breeze, he could see the blue sky. A high, vast sky. It was a day when autumn had fully arrived.

Squinting at the fluttering light, he turned on his phone. It was already September 22nd—Friday. While most high school seniors would be knee-deep in preparations for the college entrance exam at this point, Kang-seok had already submitted his attendance waiver form to Cheonghwa Arts High School.

As he rubbed his cheek against the wide new bed that came with his move to Seongbuk-dong, he blinked again.

Peaceful.

It felt like he had been cast into the middle of a silent ocean. He was thirsty. Slowly, Kang-seok sat up. What had happened over the past two weeks? He tried to recall.

First, the contract terms for Gwanghwa Tathāgata were finalized.

With advice from Beopgyeong, a monk from Bongeunsa Temple, and Yang Seon-gu, a first-generation sculptor, he confirmed that there were no doctrinal or stylistic issues within Buddhist tradition. He carefully checked the legal terms to avoid any pitfalls and signed the contract just recently.

Though the loan term was seven years… the actual process of relocating the sculpture had yet to be decided.

So, until the move was executed, discussions had to take place about where the piece would be temporarily exhibited. It couldn't just sit at Korea University in the meantime.

Thus, during the World Buddhist Academic Conference, the usually empty lecture halls turned into battlegrounds as temples across Korea fiercely competed for temporary exhibition rights to Gwanghwa Tathāgata.

And Kang-seok had to watch it all unfold.

"Well, in the end, Bongeunsa won."

Behind that smile resembling a Hahoe mask was a sharp blade slicing and poking through conversations, until finally, Bongeunsa emerged as the victor.

Located in the heart of Gangnam, Bongeunsa was convenient for Kang-seok to visit, and it had offered the most generous terms for the exhibition, making it an easy decision.

That had been a week ago.

Kang-seok's Gwanghwa Tathāgata had already been temporarily enshrined at Bongeunsa.

With a thousand-year history, Bongeunsa proved its modern-day prowess by launching a flashy viral campaign for the exhibit. Within a single day, a nationwide pilgrimage of donors flocked to the temple.

"It was crazy."

When he visited a few days ago, even the head monk and novice monks had rushed out to greet him with palms together. An unforgettable sight.

The energy was overwhelming. As he sat up and smoothed out his messy hair, he looked toward his desk, which was piled high with documents and letters.

Most of them were commission proposals.

Now that Gwanghwa Tathāgata was enshrined at Bongeunsa, the flurry of requests from temples nationwide and the donations being managed through Bongeunsa were finally starting to settle down.

There were even jokes within the temple about building a stupa in Kang-seok's honor or giving him a Buddhist name, due to the overwhelming amount of personal donations being directed toward him.

That's how significant a properly crafted Buddha statue was to a temple. He had no idea it would be this big. The stir caused by just one sculpture was unlike anything before. Of course, the live stream had helped, but religion—he felt—operated on a different scale entirely.

"Uuuuuuugh!"

Stretching with a groan, Kang-seok looked around.

The room was spacious.

Nine months had passed since he regained memories of his past life. Much had changed. But he couldn't allow himself to be satisfied just yet. To shake off the last of his sleep, Kang-seok splashed some water on his face with one hand.

His hands had grown rough over the past year from working with stone. It was like dusting his face with coarse cornmeal.

BZZZZZ.

BZZZZZ.

His phone vibrated.

The first was a text. The second, a call.

He turned on the screen to see a notification:

[Hello, Artist! Long time no see. This is Ryu Soo-heon from the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism's Department of Arts and Culture. The major renovation of the abandoned Yongshin Land building has finally been completed, so I'm reaching out to…]

It was a KakaoTalk message from Administrator Ryu Soo-heon.

He had been wondering when that project would be done—it finally was.

Kang-seok's eyes lit up.

He was fully awake now.

And then, just below the KakaoTalk message, he saw the name flashing on the vibrating call.

[Director Jin Do-uk]

It was Jin Do-uk, the director of Bloom Art Museum.

"Hello?"

— ...Artist Kang!

"Oh, Director. Long time no see."

The voice on the other end was overly cheerful but also noticeably tense. Was something wrong? It wasn't payday yet. Kang-seok furrowed his brow in mild confusion—just as he accidentally turned on the TV with his elbow.

Beep.

The screen lit up.

— …I heard that sculptor Kang-seok is only nineteen years old by Korean age. Isn't this unprecedented in the history of Korean art?

— Yes, that's right. Some say it's only a matter of time before he moves from the Korean stage to the global stage.

— What do you mean 'a matter of time'? Honestly, I think he could go international right now.

Embarrassingly enough, the news was covering a story about him. Kang-seok scratched his nose awkwardly.

They're not going to think I'm sitting here watching this on purpose… right? That uneasy thought crept into his mind. As he shifted to grab the remote from under his hip, Director Jin's voice came through the phone again, louder than the TV.

— Ah, well… the board of Sangang Group happened to see Father recently… and they said there's a sculpture they absolutely want you to create. I thought maybe we could arrange a meeting?

Apparently, the TV sound was bleeding through to the other end. How awkward. That thought vanished quickly as Kang-seok's brain parsed what he had just heard.

Sangang Group?

That Sangang Group?

The one that founded Cheonghwa Arts High School, built Bloom Art Museum, and established Sangang Medical Center?

Sangang Group.

A conglomerate with 16 subsidiaries and a market cap of approximately 664.8 trillion won was reaching out to him.

Kang-seok blinked.

— Uh, artist?

"…Ah."

The TV continued broadcasting coverage of him.

— Haha, the domestic and international art markets really view things differently. Kang-seok's career so far has only played out in Korea. He's never been in an art fair or an auction abroad. Experts say that's because, unlike most artists, he prefers leasing and exhibition rights over selling his work outright.

— I see. Hopefully, word gets out globally soon.

— Right? Actually, there's good news. Remember The Creation of Adam that Kang-seok painted in his second year of high school on the 8th floor of Renaissance Mall?

— Of course! That was the beginning of the legend!

— Exactly. That 8th floor just completed a long remodel and is reopening as a café called Sistina. A ton of international celebrities are already posting about visiting to see Kang-seok's fresco on social media.

— Wait, then…?

— Yes, that's right. It's the beginning of Kang-seok's world deb—

Ah…

Kang-seok's lips twitched into a smile.

He could feel it.

The tailwinds that would carry him into the world were blowing in from every direction—like a typhoon.