I’m working here as usual

"I'm working here as usual. By next weekend, the painting — or more precisely, the first part of the ceiling work — will be finished. Once it's revealed, I should have money in hand. Then I plan to return home and rest for a month."

— The Letters of Michelangelo, vol. 1, p. 54 —

"A gallery?"

"Are you planning to open your own gallery, Mr. Kang?"

So suddenly? Jin Do-uk, director of Bloom Museum, looked at Kangseok in shock, holding back his words.

To be honest, Kangseok had always been transparent, almost glass-like, in his actions — enough that Jin Do-uk had already half-guessed it.

If he was that obsessed with owning his own works, to the point he would only lend them out, then it made sense he'd eventually want to prepare a space to store them himself. Jin had thought that far. But he hadn't expected it to happen this soon.

"I thought he'd only go down that route if he had trouble finding exhibition spaces..."

It was all happening far too quickly. At this rate, even the Miami Beach fresco exhibit's merchandise shop might be in jeopardy. Entranced, his steps began to unconsciously follow Kangseok's.

As Jin Do-uk, pale-faced, walked toward Kangseok...

Ryu Junghyung was also piecing things together as he approached Kangseok and Park Sunwoo.

Back when Ryu had conducted a preliminary survey, the 6th and 7th floors of the Renaissance Mall were being used as small movie theaters.

"But when I went after the building was purchased, the entire 7th floor had been cleared out."

He remembered hearing that the cinema had been operating at a loss, and the whole floor had been put up for rent.

He had reported that at the time, but it was such a last-minute update that by then, the lease on the 7th floor had already been signed.

"I figured the new owner would handle terminating the lease if necessary... Wait, was the tenant on the 7th floor actually Kangseok?"

Ryu looked at Kangseok with astonishment.

Kangseok was, honestly, not even twenty — a third-year high school student who hadn't even received his diploma yet.

Of course, the surprise wasn't because of his skills. Kangseok's talent was already widely recognized.

Ryu, himself once a nationally acknowledged prodigy who had taken the elite path through Korea's art world, now sat on the board of the Sankang Cultural Foundation and worked closely with CEO Park Sunwoo. And even he found Kangseok's moves surprising.

"Sure, he's confident in his work, but to rent the 7th floor just because his own work is stored in the same building..."

It might be overanalyzing things, but if his instincts were right, Kangseok had leased the 7th floor to build up funds — and ultimately aimed to own The Creation of Adam, which was located on the 8th floor.

Kangseok's obsession with his own work.

And Park Sunwoo, the man who recognized that and went as far as buying an entire building to gift him the only piece he didn't own.

Both of them were... impressive, to say the least.

Ryu clicked his tongue in disbelief and came to stand next to Park Sunwoo.

Park was smiling with amusement at Kangseok's plan to open a gallery. Just then, Director Jin Do-uk, pale now to the point of looking bluish, asked nervously:

"You said... a gallery? So, does that mean all of your future works will be housed on the 7th floor of the Renaissance Mall?"

Kangseok shook his head as if to say of course not.

"No way. It's way too small for that."

"...S-Small?"

Jin tilted his head, confused. Kangseok gave him a look that said, Isn't it obvious?

Strange. Jin tried to recall. He had visited the 8th floor of Renaissance Mall several times and had dropped by the 7th floor, too.

He remembered the screens being quite large for a "small" cinema, with each theater capable of seating over 200 people. That wasn't small by any standard.

Even after removing all the seats and equipment, it still wouldn't be considered cramped. So what kind of artwork was he planning to put in there for it to feel "too small"?

While trying to guess what kind of project Kangseok might be preparing — and feeling relieved that not all of Kangseok's works would go into that one gallery — Jin sighed quietly.

"Right. Kangseok's production speed is lightning fast anyway… But wait, what if more people start giving him buildings the way CEO Park did? Would he open a new gallery with every building he gets?"

Just as Jin felt anxiety creeping up again...

Park Sunwoo, satisfied that everything was going well, began walking again.

"Well, since you're officially the building owner now, I can finally return your deposit."

He laughed, saying it had been bothering him when he couldn't return it earlier.

"Oh, right."

Kangseok nodded.

Since Park had taken over the lease from the previous owner, it wasn't like he could return the deposit or rent before the building was officially handed over. It must've been a headache.

"I know you don't like complicated stuff, so don't worry. There are more than a few leases from the basement up — I'll send someone from our team soon or ask Director Ryu here to handle it. Okay?"

"Sure, I'd appreciate that."

"Also, starting a gallery means a ton of things to take care of. Should I send someone from the Sankang Cultural Foundation to help?"

"Sorry?"

"I mean, you're opening a gallery, and I'm hardly a stranger — I can at least help out that much, right?"

"Oh! Bloom can also send a few people — like Curator Jin Yoomi and others. Starting something like this can be chaotic. A little help goes a long way in the early stages."

Standing near the courtyard, Park and Jin turned to Kangseok.

"Uhh..." Kangseok looked a little troubled, glancing between them.

So the art world still runs on connections and money, from past to present... Amazed by this unchanging truth, Kangseok nodded at their continued offers.

"...Let's arrange a meeting sometime soon. If you reach out, I'll set something up."

Park smiled warmly at his words.

"Great. Let's do that."

"Just let me know when works for you, and I'll contact you then."

"Will do. Thanks for everything."

As Kangseok opened the door to the courtyard, Park and Jin both raised their hands to wave it off as no big deal — but then...

Their gazes were completely captivated by what they saw through the open door.

Ryu Junghyung was already stepping in close, as if trying to press his nose through the gap.

...

...

...

A white sky.

A white sun.

Green pines maintaining their winter color beyond gray stone walls, and a pristine white scene visible between them.

The sharp, metallic echo of a winter waterfall — crashing down in sync with falling chunks of ice.

And set against the backdrop of the stone wall stood one—no, two—massive sculptures.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Yang Seon-gu let out a light chuckle as he sat on the wooden floor, stroking his beard. His gaze, previously fixed on the sculptures, slid sideways.

Reflected in the softened pupils of Yang Seon-gu's eyes were three pairs of eyes, mesmerized, peeking through the wooden door frame.

In order: Ryu Jung-hyung, Park Sun-woo, and Jin Do-wook.

Their eyes were tinged red, as if caught peeping at celestial maidens bathing in a secret hot spring. Yang Seon-gu gave them a fleeting glance before turning his attention back to the sculpture that Kang-seok had carved.

The piece had long been completed, ever since the operators of the mobile tower crane finished their work the day before.

It was stunning.

Yang's eyes moved to the woodcutter's outstretched hand, which perfectly cupped the foot of the celestial maiden. It looked as though the heavy foot were truly being held aloft by the woodcutter.

It was as if the two pieces were carved from a single block of stone, not two separate ones.

"You just have to lift the maiden with the crane and gently place her foot in the woodcutter's hand."

When Kang-seok first explained this, Yang Seon-gu had rushed over in disbelief, insisting it was too risky.

"Let's install safety measures and think this through. If it slips, the entire piece could topple—both the maiden and the woodcutter could be ruined."

"It's okay now, really."

Despite Yang's protests, Kang-seok had insisted. And yet, the statue stood without the slightest tremble—flawlessly aligned and perfectly balanced.

It even looked like a ballerino lifting a ballerina mid-air with a single hand. That's how stable the pose was.

A celestial maiden, wearing her heavenly robe, clutching two children and soaring upward toward the sky. A woodcutter, having chased her down, holding onto one of her feet, his hanbok untied in the rush.

"Flight (飛騰)"

To soar high into the sky.

The pose fit the name perfectly.

What was even more astonishing was the level of detail. The faint veins and tendons traced on the sculpted skin made it almost unbelievable.

Most sculptors naturally gravitate toward either the female or male form as they develop. Especially young sculptors—it's nearly impossible to master both. Life is too short to perfect even one.

There's no such thing as perfect balance.

People aren't built to live like scales constantly in equilibrium.

Once an artist forms their worldview, shaped by their experiences, the words they've heard, and the philosophy they've adopted, they inevitably lean in one direction.

But this wasn't unique to artists. Any profession that deals in thought and expression tends to lean diagonally in its own way. Yang Seon-gu reflected on this as he stroked his beard.

He looked again at the sculpture—at the celestial maiden captured mid-flight in a timeless moment in the sky, and at the woodcutter, his moment rooted firmly on the earth, but equally vivid and eternal.

The maiden radiated pure femininity; the woodcutter, raw masculinity.

"Amazing, isn't it? That this is the work of a man who turned twenty just three days ago."

Yang Seon-gu murmured into the air.

Though not quite "into the air"—by now, three figures had been drawn in as if hypnotized and were standing before him. Again, in order: Ryu Jung-hyung, Park Sun-woo, and Jin Do-wook.

Especially Ryu and Jin, who had deeper knowledge of art than Park, stared at the sculpture as if they were in love.

They were completely absorbed.

There would be no reply, Yang thought, chuckling again as he rose slowly to his feet.

He remembered how, at first, he too had been frozen in front of the sculpture, staring in awe at how the two separate stones had been joined together seamlessly, as if a wood joinery technique had been used to interlock them perfectly.

He had known from the beginning—but he wondered, would they ever guess the sculpture was made from two different stones? It might be fun to ask later, he thought, and slowly walked forward.

At the end of his steps stood Kang-seok, who was watching the three men with a satisfied expression. His eyes were curved in a rare, vivid smile.

Yes, Kang-seok was smiling.

Yang Seon-gu gave another soft laugh.

"Wicked, aren't you? Crafting a sculpture that bewitches people like this."

"That's the point of art, isn't it?"

The hem of Yang's hanbok fluttered in the winter wind. Watching the cloth sway this way and that, Kang-seok nodded with a mysterious expression.

"The wind is blowing. I think it's time to turn it on."

So you're planning to activate that bizarre thing, are you? Yang nodded. Despite calling it wicked, even he looked intrigued.

Kang-seok twitched the corner of his mouth and slowly approached the sculpture.

The three men were still staring, completely spellbound. Watching them for a moment, Kang-seok reached out with his foot and pressed a small button on the ground.

A faint mechanical sound followed, and something began to activate slowly.

This was why Kang-seok had painstakingly carved a narrow channel throughout the inside of the celestial maiden's body during the sculpting process.

The first to notice the anomaly was Jin Do-wook.

He had been gazing at the celestial maiden as she soared skyward, imbued with a sorrowful hope.

The delicately rendered lines—so soft and ethereal, as if actual fabric had been draped and clung to her body—were stunning. It was beauty so profound it silenced even admiration.

He thought Kang-seok only knew how to express strength, but now realized he could also sculpt with such tenderness. What kind of life had he lived to be able to create something like this?

And then—he saw it.

It started with the celestial robe—white mist began to drift out.

At first, Jin Do-wook thought his vision was clouding. But no—there really was smoke swirling around.

"What the…?"

A fire? Alarmed, he stumbled backward. He retreated nearly halfway across the courtyard before he could fully take in the scene.

Then he saw it.

Thick, white mist billowing clearly around the celestial maiden's robe.

Not just mist—clouds.

"W-What is this…?"

It truly looked as though clouds had gathered to embrace her.