A week had passed since the day of the second livestream

* * * *

A week had passed since the day of the second livestream.

[(SeokMeong ASMR) 16x Speed Edit of Sculptor Kang Seok's Livestream – 1 Hour!][19-Year-Old Sculptor Who Will Shock the World][(Study Motivation) A Great Video to Watch When You're Feeling Sluggish]

It had been enough time for various edited versions of Kang Seok's sculpture livestreams to be produced and released.

At the young age of 19.

Born into a family closer to "dirt spoon" than "gold spoon."

A decent school record and a clean student file, but with a quiet history of being excluded.

And a backstory of having once been so unskilled that he was advised not to pursue art school—yet now, he had grown to be compared to the Michelangelo of Korea.

It was perfect.

People were obsessed with Kang Seok's story.

They nodded in respect at how he focused so intently during his month-long livestream, barely taking time to eat properly.

[Watching this makes me reflect on how lazy I got after the college entrance exam. I'm going to repent and give it my all in the regular admissions round.][I kept failing interviews and was losing motivation, then stumbled upon this. It's amazing.][Watching this made me think—what was I doing when I was 19...? Took time to reflect. I feel like living diligently again.]

Determination.

Viewers could sense a kind of fierce resolve in Kang Seok through the videos.

Unlike the earlier scenes where he wielded an axe, he now gently tapped a chisel on the marble with a hammer—barely brushing the surface, as if dusting powder off. It looked as delicate as handling tofu. But his eyes were filled with a deadly intensity.

If things didn't go as he intended, it looked like he might destroy everything.

When he entered that kind of zone, people instinctively held their breath as they watched the livestream.

Even though their breathing obviously couldn't be heard on the other side.

They just felt they had to.

Comments poured in on the re-edited videos:

[You really can't take your eyes off those eyes.][I couldn't just sit there—I opened my workbook.][I'm doing my assignments while watching. His focus is insane. I'm making more progress than usual today.][This place is seriously perfect for studying. It feels like someone's watching me. I feel a sense of duty or something. His concentration is contagious—it makes me solve problems with this weird tension lol.][Lately I only play this while studying.][I started preparing for a career change after watching this. Since turning 30, I'd become afraid to try new things... but watching this gave me a weird surge of courage. I want to quit this shitty job and pursue what I really want. Let's all go for it!][Cheering for you.][Rooting for you!]

It was now mid-November.

Even as autumn gave way to winter, and it became chilly, watching Kang Seok sweat through his work stirred complex emotions in his viewers.

Despair.Awe.Envy.A competitive spirit.

Kang Seok was an artist who could change people just by being observed. And people felt that.

They realized he wasn't just someone you could describe with "amazing." He was beyond words—transcendent. And he convinced people of that with just two livestreams.

More and more people wanted to follow the path he walked. It wasn't normal growth.

But no one questioned it.

Watching him quietly carve away at the marble, white dust coating his hands, arms, and neck—making him look like he'd been breaded like a cutlet—it became obvious why more and more people were drawn in.

There was a drama unfolding there—without a script, without lines.

People were in awe as marble—once heavy and rigid—took shape under his gentle hammering.

Another week passed.

Late November, somewhere in between.

At the onset of winter, as the clear skies started to fade into white.

The statue on the right had fully taken form.

The skin under the veil, the texture of the veil itself, the water trickling over it, the collarbone and wrist—every detail expressed through marble according to its texture—was a marvel to behold.

With an unreadable expression—perhaps joy, perhaps sorrow—the woman looked skyward like a ballerina mid-jump. Her left leg was bent inside her skirt, while her right leg jutted diagonally from beneath the fabric.

It was as if she had just leapt off the ground and into the sky.

Two children were in her arms.

They gazed at her with pure, innocent faces. From their small hands reaching toward her torso or arms, it seemed clear they were her children.

But the woman didn't look at the children. Nor did she look at the ground. Only at the sky.

Even when it had reached that stage, most people still didn't know what the sculpture was.

[What is he sculpting, exactly?][I'm curious.][I have no idea either.]

Two weeks in, just like the first livestream, Kang Seok remained silent and simply continued sculpting.

Though winter approached, his sweat-drenched back seemed to protest: "I speak only through sculpture."

He worked with such intensity, alone, fighting the cold as if trying to ignite heat by force.

His tools constantly changed.

One day, a grinder.

Half a day, a hammer and chisel.

Occasionally, something resembling arrowheads attached to wires.

Using all sorts of tools, Kang Seok sculpted the woman's upper body. Another week passed.

[It's mystical.]

In a quiet chatroom, one comment captured the feelings of many watching.

It wasn't like the sacred peace of works like Enlightened Buddha.

It wasn't like the thrill and charm of Psyche, where you fall in love at first sight.

It was just... mystical.

Like trying to grasp a fog that kept slipping away—making you stare, spellbound.

[The clothing is beautiful.][Feels like it captures traditional Korean beauty.][It's not like a Buddhist statue... but it's really nice.]

The highlight was the clothing.

The veil-like fabric, reminiscent of Giuseppe Sanmartino's Veiled Christ or Bernini's Veiled Virgin. A beautiful woman wearing a veil, soaring into the sky with two children in her arms.

The transparent, layered fabric seemed so delicate and fluid it was as if sheer silk had been placed over marble.

Like a breeze-blown cloth caught in motion, it looked like a lace veil would flutter if touched.

The softness was visually felt—unbelievable for such a hard and heavy material.

[(What is that?)][??? It looks like some kind of unusual clothing. I think we'd see this in a Buddhist temple.][It's the clothes of a celestial maiden!][It's called a celestial robe—appears in Japanese myths... but I heard Korea has a similar legend! Something about a fairy and...? Oh, I forgot!]

Especially in non-Asian countries, people went wild.

Not just because of the silky or transparent texture—it existed in their cultures too.

Foreign viewers came to the livestream chat because of the veil, which flowed from the woman and children like rainbow-shaped clouds in the wind.

[(It's like the softest breeze blown by Zephyrus, the god of the west wind.)][(A spring breeze.)][(Yes!)]

The flowing, sensual celestial robe fluttering in the spring wind left everyone entranced. They couldn't see each other's faces, but they all wore the same expression.

The word "fairy" flooded the chat window.

A fairy flying skyward with two children—there was only one such figure in Korean history.

The Fairy and the Woodcutter.

So then… that unfinished statue must be…?

[It has to be that!][Yeah! F-M! (Fairy-Woodcutter!)][No spoilers!][Anyone calling this a spoiler... come on. Isn't it obvious?]

Speculation exploded across communities and social media.

[By the way, he kept poking at the clothes with wire-like tools—what was that about?][Maybe it's a fountain? I heard from someone who knows Kang Seok through a teacher's student's cousin's friend at an academy... it's supposed to be installed at a hotel spa?][Oh, a fountain. Makes sense. There are lots of marble fountains.][Those must be the water spouts.][But can we even trust that info? That's like seven degrees of separation lol.][Exactly hahahaha what kind of connection even is that.]

People in the chat waited eagerly for Kang Seok to start his next sculpture. Those watching the re-edited videos rushed to the livestream room as interest peaked.

And then—Kang Seok turned off the livestream.

Huh?

Eh?

Wait, what?

From across the screen.

People sitting at their computers, phones, or laptops blinked, unable to accept what had just happened.

Not long after, a post appeared on the community board.

[I have something important to take care of, so I'll be taking a break from streaming. The day I resume live streaming will be…]

Kang Sajang! This isn't right!

People who felt like they had been cut off while watching something important rushed to the community in a panic.

The hottest place was Kangseok's fan café.

Overseas communities, fan cafés, and various social networking sites were buzzing with the news of Kangseok's break from streaming since the broadcast day.

Most of the posts were desperate cries: What could possibly be more important to a high school senior who continued live streaming even during college entrance exams?

"Do you know, teacher?"

"Know what?"

"I mean, the reason Seok turned off his live stream. I mean, he used to leave it running even when eating or sleeping. Sometimes he'd leave it on for half a day or more. So there has to be a reason he suddenly shut it off completely, right?"

"..."

Goduhan silently looked at Park Jihoon, who was rambling.

Jihoon, the overly sociable nephew of the human anatomy geek Park Jiyeop, was one of the so-called "Three Musketeers" in the workshop. He chatted away as if he were Seok's lifelong friend.

"Since when were you so close to Seok?"

"Who isn't close to me?"

Park Jihoon asked back as if genuinely surprised.

Goduhan ran a hand through his hair and kept brushing paint on the pine tree, wearing an expression that said he couldn't care less.

"So do you know, teacher? Why Seok went on break?"

"Shut it."

Goduhan snapped.

He was in an extremely sensitive mood because someone had told him that he should at least take off his hat indoors if he didn't want to go bald—and now his head felt exposed.

Goduhan shot a sharp, narrow-eyed glare at Park Jihoon, who instinctively shrank his shoulders. He was in "tail-tucking" mode. This meant that Goduhan was either in a very bad mood or something seriously displeased him.

Getting on his nerves now would only end badly.

Jihoon muttered an apology and backed away.

Just as he was about to crouch down in his place again, a sweet scent drifted by. Huh? Jihoon's head lifted on instinct. At the same time, he saw soft, rosy lips the color of dried rose petals.

Ah.

It was Seol Yeo-jin.

"You! What are you doing here?!"

Goduhan threw down his brush and stood up as soon as he spotted her. Who the hell let that witch in? He scanned the room with laser-like eyes.

"My, master. You make it sound like I'm not allowed here. Your solo exhibition is coming up again, isn't it? That's why I came~ And look! I even brought a gift!"

Seol Yeo-jin from the Peony Gallery lifted a shopping bag.

It was his beloved honey taffy—Goduhan's one weakness. Seeing his sharp eyes go wide like buttonholes, Seol Yeo-jin gave a sweet smile.

As she passed by Park Jihoon, she whispered smoothly:

"Seok has an important meeting today with Bloom Museum."

"...!"

A meeting—with that Bloom?

Was he planning something big again after Father?

Jihoon widened his eyes at her, as if begging for more information.

But Seol Yeo-jin had already turned her head away.

Her fingers waved lightly, the stick of a lollipop swaying twice, and soon she and Goduhan were exchanging shouts—not-quite-shouts.

Jihoon realized it was now a conversation he couldn't insert himself into, and slowly relaxed his legs. Plop. Sitting back down, he turned his head.

'What the hell is going on?'

He was dying of curiosity.

While Park Jihoon and everyone else were losing their minds with curiosity—

Kangseok was calmly and leisurely waiting in the director's office at Bloom Museum for Director Jin Do-uk.

"Ma—ma—master. No, wait, I mean, teacher. Are we really allowed to be here?"

Next to him, Cho Dong-beom was looking around nervously.

As the owner of a glass workshop, Cho Dong-beom had ties with several galleries, but Bloom Museum—funded by the prestigious Sankang Group—was considered the dream destination of Korea's art scene.

To Cho Dong-beom, the director's office at Bloom felt like the VIP room of the most expensive department store. As someone who rarely even went to regular malls, he was painfully awkward and uncomfortable.

Kangseok gave him a look that said, Why are you freaking out so much?

"This is about Sunset and the continuation of the Sunset series. Of course, our boss should be here."

"O-our boss?! Did you just say our boss?"

"...I meant Director Cho."

"No! You definitely said our!"

Dong-beom suddenly looked emotional, as if deeply moved, like all his nerves had vanished. Despite his prematurely aged face, when he made that innocent expression, Kangseok always found it a little overwhelming.

As Kangseok subtly took a step back, the director burst in, wiping sweat.

He had just returned from a meeting at the Sankang Cultural Foundation about Bloom's annual event, and when he heard Kangseok had arrived, he had rushed over like a bullet.

"Ah—so sorry to keep you waiting, as always."

"Not at all. We dropped by unannounced today. If anything, I should thank you for accommodating us."

"Well, if you say it like that... I'm glad. Just—could you maybe put in a good word with Master Yang Seon-gu...?"

"Huh?"

Director Jin Do-uk looked tense. It seemed Master Yang had firmly instructed him to take good care of Kangseok.

Kangseok nodded lightly.

It meant: Don't worry.

Of course, Dong-beom was glaring at Jin Do-uk with his eyes wide open, making the director sweat even more.

Even though it was winter, Jin was sweating as he sat on the sofa, his palms soaked with anxiety as he clasped them together and looked straight ahead.

"So... what's the status of the Sunset series?"

The Sunset series.

As Jin opened the topic, Kangseok nodded.

"Yes. It's nearly complete."

"That's right."

"Ohh!"

Jin Do-uk nodded in amazement.

He had been watching Kangseok's live streams and had only ever seen him sculpting. When had he found the time to work on the Sunset series?

Wow.

Truly an amazing artist, no matter how many times he saw him.

'Either way, at this rate, we should have no problem making the deadline.'

Jin looked at the calendar and nodded. He wiped his sweat and flipped a page. December. Several dates had been circled in red, some with multiple outlines.

"Then it's really happening."

"Yes. I plan to present Sunset and its series under Bloom Museum's name at Art Basel Miami Beach."

Kangseok said firmly.

Art Basel Miami Beach.

Among the countless global art fairs, it's one of the "Big Three"—alongside France's FIAC and the Chicago Art Fair. Art Basel's American branch, Art Basel in Miami Beach, would be Kangseok's first major international debut.

Art Basel Miami Beach takes place every December.

His global debut was now less than a month away.

Jin, still worried, asked:

"Is there a reason you're doing this so tightly? You could've prepared a bit more."

Did he really have to rush to meet the December deadline?

To this, Kangseok replied with a smile.

"It's not a big deal…"

"Not a big deal?"

"I just want to see if my work is more beautiful than the Miami Beach sunset."

Director Jin slowly opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.

To so casually declare that he would try to surpass nature's beauty—Kangseok's eyes sparkled like starlight.

The boy, now nearly an adult, had once murmured in awe, "I wonder if someone sculpted the moon…"

And now, the same boy who had once despaired at the beauty of the moon was determined to create something that could challenge the beauty of nature itself.

"I just want to keep sculpting."

December.

Mid-December, marking exactly one year since he regained memories of his past life… was now just around the corner—and every cell of his body could feel it.