Father.
My previous life's father, Lodovico di Leonardo di Buonarroti, was a money changer's son who lived off inherited wealth.
He never cared about his family's hardships.
He was a man who never once bore the weight of being the head of the family. That was my father, Lodovico.
Because of that, I had to bear the weight of being the head instead of him. I took care of my father and looked after my siblings in his stead.
"Father."
That's why I could understand how heavy and painful the burden of being the head on my father Kang Hyun-do's shoulders truly was.
'But please don't do that. You don't have to give up your dreams because of us. Let's keep going together, just a little more.'
Just as I was about to say this, tightening my throat, my father smiled awkwardly and spoke.
"Suk-ah."
"...Yes, Father."
"I think I know what misunderstanding you might have had, but I never meant it like that… um, well…"
My father scratched the back of his head and walked toward a corner of the store. It was where secondhand furniture, taken from a scrap furniture company, was piled up.
They called it used furniture or scrap furniture, but it was all just a pile of stained, worn-out junk. My father placed his hand on that pile and chuckled bitterly.
"I was just saying we should quickly sell these and clean up the store… but I must have been too clumsy with my words, so you misunderstood."
"…Is that what it was about?"
"…"
That was a lie.
Whenever my father lied, he always scratched the back of his head, so I couldn't not notice.
Still, I had no choice but to accept it.
"Oh…! So that's what you meant."
I understood that my father didn't want to show the desperate state of money to us.
He probably didn't want to show his son that he was giving up on his dreams because of money. I saw the reflection of the day before when I threatened to quit art school overlapping with my father's figure.
"You really should have said it like that from the start. I completely thought you meant what you said earlier…!"
"Sorry, sorry."
Watching my mother fuss and my father soothe her, I kept thinking about the number five million.
Five million won.
If we had that, we could fix the current situation. But would it be easy to come up with five million won?
No way. I looked around the store with cold, empty eyes.
…It was true that goods were coming in but not going out.
The store was packed with furniture with barely any room to step. It was overwhelming—so much so that the thought of working hard to earn five million won vanished immediately.
We needed another way. Some good solution…
"...If your sketchbook gets selected and sells well, you'll earn some royalties. If they do an additional print run, you'll start making a decent profit."
"As for the solo exhibition, it's nothing difficult. Just put one or two of your works in my solo show. If they're good, they'll sell, and you keep the earnings."
Ah.
There was one. Teacher Go Doo-han's offer.
The sketchbook process was slow, so it was clear no profit would come before the rent payment deadline.
But Teacher Go Doo-han's solo exhibition was different.
According to the note, his solo exhibition would open in about a month and a half.
The rent payment was due next March, so if my paintings sold, the money would hit my bank account before then.
Of course, I didn't know how much the paintings would sell for.
I thought of the Venus plaster sketch sleeping inside my portfolio file.
If even one expert with functioning eyesight came to see it, it would more than cover five million won.
.
.
.
"Shall I head in first?"
Late at night, well past closing time, my mother finally peeked her face beyond the studio door.
She must have been waiting for my father, thinking he left earlier when the store lights were off. My father, working on furniture by the studio's overhead light, turned around surprised.
"You're not gone yet?"
"I waited to go together."
"Not going first?"
"I'm about to go now. Chae-young's academy should be ending soon."
My mother seemed worried about Chae-young being home alone. My father nodded at that.
"Alright, go on inside."
"Yes, yes. Seok, you'll come back later, right?"
My mother's gaze shifted from me to the frame below me. I quickly covered it, afraid she'd catch me procrastinating on the frame.
Seeing this, my mother smiled, thinking I was just embarrassed, and nodded.
"Okay, okay. I won't look. Don't be embarrassed. Come in with your father later. I'll take the bike."
"It's not that… No, see you later."
"Alright. You too."
"Okay."
My father turned back to his work. Soon after, the sound of the back door closing came from afar. It was my mother leaving.
Now, it was truly just me and my father left.
I fiddled with the frame here and there. I had a lot to say to my father, but my throat tightened. It felt like a thorn stuck inside. Wondering how to start, I looked around the studio.
One wall was filled with photos—from my father's youth, then my mother, my newborn self, and gradually, Chae-young was added.
Time.
It was captured on that wall. The time my father dreamed in this studio. What would it feel like to never see the light after all this time?
I couldn't grasp it. I would never experience such time, in my past life or this one...
A sense of distance came over me. At the same time, I knew what I wanted to say.
"...Father."
"Hmm?"
My father, carefully carving wood with a chisel shaped like a blade, turned around. His tired eyes shadowed beneath them. He asked why I looked like that.
"I got into Sketching Class A this time."
"Oh… what?"
He was surprised and repeated the question, stopping mid-sentence.
Class A.
An elite class at Cheonghwa Arts High School where only the top 20 can enter.
I had been in Class D for two years, and it wasn't a class for someone who was just told a few days ago they had no talent for art.
"You got into Class A?"
"Yes. There was a placement test today."
I didn't tell him I came in first.
Still, my father was happy.
"Alright... ha, ha! I should've bought you and your mother some pork belly to celebrate. But when did you get so good at sketching? Hmm?"
"It's time to improve."
"Ha ha? Time to improve! Right, since you worked hard till now, it's time to improve. Now you just have to draw better and better!"
My father smiled brightly. Seeing him happier than me warmed my heart.
I nervously pressed the frame again and cautiously brought up the main topic.
"...Um, Father. They say improvement isn't a smooth upward curve but a stepwise graph, you know?"
"Hmm. So you're saying artists go through cycles of stagnation and growth. If you put in time and effort, the horizontal line extends, and when you grow, the vertical line extends... is that right?"
"Yes. That's it."
"Why is that?"
"Well... according to that graph, the horizontal and vertical lines are proportional. But since people's standards tend to rise in a curve, they feel a gap between their standards and the horizontal line, which causes them to suffer from a sense of stagnation."
"Hmm."
The longer the horizontal line grows, the more the standard rises in a curve, making people feel more stressed, sometimes falling into a slump.
"That's right."
My father nodded seriously at my words. Had he too suffered from stagnation and fallen into a slump?
I didn't know. I continued speaking. I was a bit roundabout today, but what I wanted to say was this:
"But, Father."
I looked him straight in the eyes. He was flicking a curled wood chip off his chisel with his nail. He lifted his head and met my gaze—his eyes glowing reddish brown in the orange light.
"The important thing is that the horizontal and vertical lines are ultimately proportional. If you quietly put in effort during the stagnant periods, even if it takes time, you'll eventually grow in proportion to your effort and time."
Just like me.
I stopped myself before saying more. What I wanted was comfort, not bragging.
I felt a little sorry for my father, but this was what I wanted to say: It will be hard, really hard, but if you want to grow, you have to keep going. That will become the stepping stone to growth.
"The horizontal and vertical lines are ultimately proportional..."
Kang Hyun-do mulled over the meaning. His son's consolation was like a heavy stone. Though things are tough now, if he endures quietly and keeps going, growth will come.
It was a clumsy kind of encouragement. Kang Hyun-do swallowed a bitter smile but couldn't hide his surprise.
Just a few days ago, was this the same son who stormed out yelling about quitting art and only came back by dawn? The comfort he was receiving was as profound as a philosopher's lesson from a textbook.
Had that dawn walk worked some great change on Kang Seok?
Kang Hyun-do looked at the reddish brown burning eyes that resembled his own and thought:
You've grown, son.
While Kang Hyun-do was choosing his words to speak to the suddenly mature Kang Seok, Kang Seok sat on the folding chair beside him and shivered.
"Ugh, even I'm getting goosebumps saying this. Maybe it's the night making me so emotional."
Embarrassed, Kang Seok covered his face with his palm and bowed his head. Kang Hyun-do felt unusually touched today. Suddenly he resolved to work harder.
His son had just comforted him; he couldn't keep showing a pathetic face. After all, he was the father.
Sometimes one action speaks louder than a hundred words.
"Five million won. I will earn it."
Just then, Kang Seok lifted a piece of wood from the pile behind the workbench.
"By the way, Dad doesn't seem to be finishing anytime soon... It's boring to just wait, so can I try one too?"
What Kang Seok lifted was part of a wooden cradle. Kang Hyun-do's brow furrowed with concern. Could he entrust it to him?
He had taught Kang Seok how to refurbish old furniture since he was little, so there was no doubt Kang Seok could do it.
But trusting him to handle something to sell? That was another matter. Kang Hyun-do thought Kang Seok's skill wasn't quite good enough yet. He was leaning toward politely refusing.
But as he opened his mouth, the earlier conversation suddenly came back to him.
"The important thing is that the horizontal and vertical lines are ultimately proportional. If you quietly put in effort during stagnation, even if it takes time, people will grow in proportion to their effort and time."
Growth.
His opened mouth just puffed air.
...Right. These were things they had gotten cheaply anyway, and there was plenty of discarded furniture. Why refuse and waste space?
Kang Hyun-do ruffled Kang Seok's hair.
"You haven't forgotten how to do it, right?"
"Of course not."
That was permission.
Kang Seok picked up a chisel excitedly and began fitting pieces of wood to be the support for the broken cradle.
"You must've felt frustrated. I'll fix it soon."
Muttering something, he boldly drew straight chalk lines on a large rectangular piece of wood.
Since he seemed to have no hesitation, he must have already decided what to carve.
Kang Hyun-do watched with satisfaction, then slowly turned his head. It was time for him to focus again.
He slowly raised his chisel—his lifelong companion.
Outside the window, the deep night was filled with darkness.
The workshop smelled strongly of wood. Inside, only the sounds of chiseling wood and breathing floated around.
Relying on a daylight lamp resembling a candle, father and son sat side by side, concentrating on their work.
They worked through the night.
.
.
.
The sky was pale blue.
Sparrows flitted between flower beds. Over the chirping came the sound of a heel tapping the asphalt.
The birds flew up quickly.
Morning had come.
Baek Myung-hee, facing sunlight streaming through winter gray clouds, opened the back door of Seok's furniture store.
The lock clicked open. Baek Myung-hee swung the door open like a general entering the battlefield and strode confidently inside.
"...Honey! Seok! It's time to get up, it's morning!"
"You must have fallen asleep working. Let's wake him gently."
Following quickly behind, Kang Chae-young muttered:
"You have to eat breakfast."
In her arms, Baek Myung-hee held a bag of gimbap she made herself.
"It's Saturday, after all."
"What does Saturday matter? People live on their strength. Strength from food. And Chae-young, I told you not to study your English word book while walking. You'll fall. Honey...!"
While Kang Chae-young flipped her English word book, Baek Myung-hee flung open the tightly shut workshop door.
The scent of pine resin in the wood flooded her nose as if she had stepped into a dense forest.
She smelled the familiar scent and turned on the lights. Instead of the work daylight lamp, the room was lit by fluorescent lights.
The bright white light illuminated the entire workshop, which had been shrouded in darkness.
Flap,
"...Oh my!"
A bird flew in, startled Baek Myung-hee who instinctively raised her hands in an X shape. Through the gap, an unusual sight appeared.
A bird.
With a brown back and brown spots, small but sharp beak—a kestrel was rubbing its wing against the cradle.
"What on earth..."
Baek Myung-hee approached the cradle, but the kestrel spread its wings defensively and pulled its wing away from the cradle.
The front of the cradle was revealed.
"...A bird?"
There was a work of art.
A high relief carving of a pair of giant wings sheltering baby birds.