Nine unretouched bellies, filmed at sunrise on India’s Andaman Islands, pulse through Kapalbhati inside the 3 × 3 grid every feed has taught us to trust. Autoplay and endless repeat stay on, but glamour is traded for oxygen. A layered whoosh of real breath drifts in tempo, coaxing viewers to map each sound to a navel—and, involuntarily, to their own diaphragm. Can an online artwork—delivered by the same browser that sells us everything—restore bodily presence? Scroll Breath turns the screen into a communal lung and asks whether a feed can hold attention when its sole content is respiration. The piece borrows the internet’s grammar, then refuses its economy: in a bandwidth world, breath is the last unpaywalled commons.