Saint Michael the Archangel

Saint Michael the Archangel.Defend us in battle.Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil.

– Excerpt from Oratio ad Sanctum Michaël, a prayer written by Pope Leo XIII in 1886 –

"(Come on, take my hand.)"

People murmured as they watched Kang-seok and Cassani, but Cassani took no notice.

Trying to steady his breathing, Cassani slowly reached out and took Kang-seok's hand. Kang-seok gently pulled him up, their grip firm like a handshake.

He seemed careful not to jolt Cassani's shoulder. Not that Cassani was even aware of it.

As he rose, as if led, Cassani straightened his bent knees and thought vaguely, When did I end up on my knees?

He couldn't make sense of the situation. His mind was too dazed to process anything—dizzy, hot, pounding.

As he stood, a wave of vertigo crashed over him. I want to lie down. The moment his body started to lean, he felt someone supporting his back.

What the...? When Cassani turned his head slightly, he saw Kang-seok behind him, nonchalant as ever. The hand bracing his back was Kang-seok's.

As Cassani stared blankly, one of Kang-seok's eyebrows twitched, as if asking, What are you doing? Move already.

"(Let's go.)"

"(...Am I dying?)"

"(Don't be ridiculous. It's just a bit of dizziness. If you've got time to say that, move your feet. My hand isn't cheap, you know.)"

Even in his hazy state, Kang-seok's oddly old-fashioned way of speaking made Cassani chuckle quietly.

Where on earth did he learn that dialect? The words he used were so outdated, it felt like speaking to someone from the past.

"(Seok. Seriously, who taught you Italian? You're killing me here.)"

"(Hm? Is there something wrong with my Italian?)"

"(No, it's not wrong exactly... Ugh. Haah. Your speech sounds like an old man fifty years older than me. It doesn't match your face at all... snicker)"

With his vision swimming from fever, Cassani's lips moved like a goldfish at the water's surface. At the same time, Kang-seok, who was looking for a place to seat him, twitched a smile.

— 'You sound like a grandpa fifty years older than me.'

Fifty years? That was generous. The stubborn serpent coiled inside Kang-seok was more like 450 years older.

So being mistaken for someone just fifty years older could be seen as refreshingly youthful.

Anyway, he needed to seat him somewhere... Kang-seok turned his head.

At that moment—

"...Artist!"

Jin Yumi, her face flustered, came walking over. In her hands was a folding chair. She opened the metal chair and, half-forcing Cassani down, seated him as he chuckled breathlessly.

"Good grief..."

Jin Yumi shook her head.

Her expression didn't show concern about the symptoms. Instead, she turned to Kang-seok with disbelief.

"I didn't expect the Stendhal syndrome to hit again... We'll need to reinforce things further."

Stendhal syndrome.

A condition where, upon viewing great art, people may experience dizziness, shortness of breath, even paralysis or extreme emotional arousal.

This usually didn't happen with domestic works, and it was rare enough even with renowned historical pieces. But neither Jin Yumi nor the other Bloom Museum staff seemed surprised.

They had precedent.

That precedent was Father, a piece on long-term display in Exhibition Room 4 at Bloom.

Father was known to trigger not only Stendhal syndrome but also the more aggressive David syndrome in particularly sensitive viewers.

Thanks to their experience with Father, Jin Yumi and the staff calmly discussed countermeasures.

"The glass barrier already prevents access, but what if we raise it to 100cm? That way, no one can accidentally fall over it."

"That's not a bad idea, but we have to consider the lighting. Are all the glass figures over 100cm tall? Some were made with children's proportions."

"I'll double-check that."

"Then how about limiting the number of people entering at once? We can respond quickly to Stendhal syndrome, but David syndrome could affect other visitors. And this space isn't as large as Exhibition Room 4."

Their suggestions flowed efficiently.

Most of the staff had years of experience at Bloom, which made it possible.

As they exchanged ideas, Kang-seok quietly stepped aside. A staff member had wrapped a wet towel around Cassani's neck like a handkerchief and handed him a cold drink.

Cassani's breathing slowly calmed. He didn't seem particularly sensitive, but symptoms like this often had a root cause.

Italy.

Florence.

A childhood immigration.

A building left behind by his parents.

It wasn't hard for Kang-seok to connect the dots. He approached the now more stable Cassani.

"(Feeling better now?)"

"(...Hoo. Yeah. I think so. Damn. What was that? You looked like Michael the Archangel for a second.)"

"(Michael?)"

Michael... A nostalgic nickname he hadn't heard in a while. Kang-seok smirked subtly, holding back a chuckle.

But explanations came first.

"(So you're saying I had Stendhal syndrome or whatever for a moment?)"

"(Exactly.)"

"(...Wow. That's insane. You're seriously an amazing artist, huh?)"

Of course, someone who could drop that kind of money at such a young age was never going to be ordinary. Cassani, who'd been planning to take up surfing with that money, looked at Kang-seok in awe.

Kang-seok brushed it off as nothing but rubbed his nose awkwardly, embarrassed. Just as Cassani was about to comment on that habit, he noticed the crowd buzzing around the nearby merch stand.

It was right next to the exit from Kang-seok's viewing booth.

[(Limited Edition 100 units! Kang-seok's handmade shimmer pearl ink and glass figure dip pen now on sale! Use the reservation kiosk today!)]

Cassani read the English sign, looked at the empty display, the murmuring crowd, and the glances being thrown their way. He understood.

Kang-seok was supposed to be there. He had left because of Cassani.

"(Aren't you going to head back?)"

"(Mm. I left a 'Temporarily Away' sign, but I should go soon.)"

It was a space created for his fans. He hadn't meant to stay away long. Still, he couldn't ignore what had just happened, especially since the one who had nearly collapsed was a new friend he'd only just made.

Cassani waved a hand, signaling that he was fine.

"(I'm okay now. Go on. They're waiting for you.)"

"(Alright then.)"

Kang-seok nodded and gave Jin Yumi a look, asking her to keep an eye on Cassani and let him know if anything worsened.

Simone Cassani had been personally invited by Kang-seok. At least until he left the booth, Kang-seok felt responsible for him.

Understanding this, Jin Yumi gave a reassuring nod. Just as Kang-seok was about to leave without regret—

Cassani called out in a weak voice.

"(Go, but... can I use that reservation kiosk thing too?)"

Kang-seok turned.

Cassani was clearly talking about the merch. Sitting against the booth wall, he looked up at Kang-seok with a pleading expression.

"(...I want one too.)"

"(...I'll get it for you. Just rest.)"

"(Thanks.)"

Kang-seok nodded lightly, then walked over to the kiosk. The queue was already at 44 people.

Click.

The kiosk allowed you to choose between English and Korean. After a few taps, the display changed:

[Current waitlist: 45 people]

Watching the number tick up, Kang-seok passed through the crowd and returned to his seat.

It was time to resume selling merch.

Art Fair.

Where 70% of art dealers' annual revenue is made—the art fair.

As expected from a site of massive transactions, the number of visitors at Art Basel Miami Beach grew steadily over time.

Since most art fairs only last five days, the crowds tend to peak early.

Galleries, Cabinets, Meridians, Positions, Nova, Survey, Edition.

The seven sectors of Art Basel Miami Beach were filled with the wealthy viewing private collections, casual visitors browsing, and dealers eager to buy quickly.

People's footsteps didn't lie.

Like bees to flowers, they gathered around good art. Around bad art, not even a single fly.

And among them, the one place that stood out with a conspicuously large crowd… was an unexpected dark horse — the Bloom Museum booth within Gallery Session, where Kang Seok's works were displayed.

"Doesn't it feel like the line got even longer than before…?"

Ji Yoo-young, a curator from Bloom Museum who had volunteered for this year's Art Basel Miami Beach, glanced around.

Since Kang Seok wasn't well-known among collectors, international contacts, or art dealers, she had expected his works would mostly attract fans and online buzz. But his artwork was far more popular than she had anticipated.

"It looks like a fan signing event."

"...Seriously."

"(Excuse me.)"

"Yes! I mean, (Yes, madam. What can I help you with?)"

As she watched her colleague walk away, Ji Yoo-young let out a soft whistle. The elegant, wealthy-looking lady must have found a piece she liked after patiently viewing the works in line.

'Are we really going to sell out all the exhibited pieces within two days?'

Some of Kang Seok's works hadn't even made it onto the walls yet.

They couldn't take down the main pieces, of course, but with several having already been sold that afternoon, they might need to replace them with new works. Ji Yoo-young looked around as she considered that.

There was no boom like this boom.

People from other booths were beginning to cast irritated glances, much like the tension during a luxury brand's new product launch.

Ji Yoo-young knew exactly what those sour looks meant — it was curiosity disguised as irritation, as they tried to figure out what was attracting such a crowd.

'How can they still not get it after watching this long?'

She hid a smirk. Her eyes drifted to the far side of the booth, where the exit was — out of sight from the entrance.

It was all thanks to Kang Seok.

"(Next guest.)"

English tinged with an Italian accent flowed from Kang Seok's lips. A foreign guest, having confirmed the next number on the queue kiosk, happily stepped forward.

In front of Kang Seok was a chair, positioned like a seat at a bank teller's window, inviting the guest to sit down.

This was his 27th customer.

Since the opening, Kang Seok had calmly served one person at a time. This was made possible thanks to the waiting kiosk that Director Jin Do-wook had provided.

Guests could reserve a spot on the kiosk, and once their time came, they'd be called. Goods were sold one-on-one using this system.

Those whose turn was near stayed put, hoping to catch a glimpse of the artist behind Dusk and Sunset. Others, whose turn was still far off, chose to revisit Kang Seok's artwork rather than wander elsewhere.

As a result, the original line of fans kept circulating, creating an endless loop — new viewers kept joining, drawn by the growing crowd.

This, more than anything else, explained why the Bloom Museum booth alone was experiencing such explosive success.

Regardless, Kang Seok only sold goods one-on-one.

Which meant — it wasn't just a transaction.

Kang Seok took out a postcard, specially made for this event, and placed it in front of the foreign guest.

Then, he removed the cap from a specially produced ink pen and handed the guest a glass dip pen with a tiny glass figure attached.

The foreigner looked at him with excited anticipation.

"(I've been watching since around the 15th or 16th guest. Oh, I originally planned to check out the Position and Nova sectors too, but I just couldn't leave. This is so exciting!)"

"(Good. That's nice.)"

Kang Seok briefly replied in English and handed him the ink. Half of it was already used — starting from Director Jin Do-wook's own trial earlier.

Not that it mattered. There were plenty of those non-sale items in stock.

He passed the ink to the middle-aged foreign man and repeated the same English line he'd now said dozens of times.

"(Would you like to make a dot right here?)"

"(Oh, of course! I've already decided what I want to draw.)"

The robust middle-aged man eagerly dipped the pen and brought it to the paper. Kang Seok quietly observed.

Free drawing.

As the name implies — drawing freely, without any reference images or models, relying only on imagination.

That was what Kang Seok offered before any sale: a chance to draw. He had declared that the ink and dip pen would only be sold as a set — and only after a drawing session.

No exceptions.

But for most people visiting the art fair, time wasn't an issue. The kiosk reservation system meant no rush.

So they took their time. They drew slowly, carefully. And the fact that this was already the 27th guest spoke volumes about the event's popularity.

The man's hand moved smoothly, like sketching a spiral spring. Ink flowed out of the pen as it followed his fingers.

"(Wowwwww!)"

He grinned like a child, delighted. It was as if he had become a magician casting color across the page.

He was drawing a train, puffing out fluffy smoke like cotton candy. Kang Seok recalled the various tickets stuck in the man's wallet earlier.

'He must have a hobby or job related to trains.'

Kang Seok happily watched him draw.

For a while, the foreigner looked absolutely immersed — his mouth shut tight, pen darting across the paper, eyes focused only on the postcard.

The train was beautiful.

Truly high-quality ink had the power to elevate even the clumsiest, faintest of lines — just like how a good dance can make the music feel even better.

That's why shimmer and pearl techniques had been added to the single-color ink — to allow for more variety. And within the drawing, you could see a hint of Florence at Sunset, reminiscent of Sunset.

As the man became absorbed in his drawing, Kang Seok curled his lips into a subtle smile. There was only one reason he went to this much trouble:

He wanted people to get addicted to his art.

With just one free drawing session, people would grow attached to what they had created. And they'd want to try again.

They would carefully choose the dip pen they wanted to dance with their hands.

Once home?

They'd want to use Florence at Sunset ink over any other.

This experience would be unforgettable. They'd continue to use that ink — as if enchanted — sketching again and again.

It was fun.

But ink was a consumable.

It would eventually run out.

And they would want to experience it again.

They'd seek out his works once more.

Special experiences and unique items tend to leave the deepest impressions — just like how a video stays longer in memory than a photo, and a photo longer than a moment.

Kang Seok smiled.

At the next art fair, even more people would gather.

And that was how he would become famous. All of this was just the beginning.

"(I'm done! Look at this! My favorite—)"

"(The ink hasn't dried yet. Please don't move it.)"

"(Oh! Right. Of course, I won't.)"

"(While we wait, why don't you pick your dip pen?)"

"(Oooooh! Mr. Kang, you're really… Great. My favorite color is green, so I was thinking of choosing the green glass figure. Let's see.)"

The robust man stood and moved to pick out his dip pen. People in line watched eagerly, waiting for their turn.

"(I want to do it already…!)"

"(I can't hold back. I'm going to go see Seok's artworks again!)"

"(I'll wait right here.)"

"(Ahhhh! Time is moving too slowly…!)"

Despite their complaints, their eyes sparkled like children's. Kang Seok saw it all.

It was a beautiful sight.

He rested his chin on his hand, satisfied.

Without anyone realizing…

They were all under his spell.

Having cast a trick somewhere between cunning and magic, Kang Seok smiled, content.

The hot sun and high noon drew ever closer.