A studio in Gangnam, Seoul,
After brewing coffee as usual, Uhyeon turned on the television.
“Here is the next piece of news drawing tremendous attention from the international mathematical community.
The genius produced by Korea, fifteen-year-old Yu Seoha, has recently emerged as a leading candidate for the Fields Medal after publishing three major studies in succession.
If this becomes a reality, he will become the first teenage recipient of the Fields Medal in history. The Fields Medal is an honor known as the Nobel Prize of mathematics, awarded once every four years only to researchers under the age of forty.”
Uhyeon set down the remote and focused on the screen.
Experts appeared on the program to evaluate all that Seoha had accomplished so far. Even Uhyeon had never expected Seoha’s astonishing feat of solving the Smale problem.
“…The fact that all these results were produced by a researcher of just fifteen within the span of two years is truly shocking. The international mathematical community is watching closely to see what other achievements he will produce in the future.
Within the International Mathematical Union, Yu Seoha is considered the frontrunner when judged by the impact and originality of his research. Personally, I believe Yu Seoha has more than enough chance of receiving the award…”
The television showed Seoha giving a lecture at a colloquium.
“More than enough. He has it in abundance.”
The only thing that bothered him was how conservative the mathematical community was—far more so than anyone might imagine.
There was a possibility they would refuse to give him the award simply because he was a teenager. Since Seoha had plenty of opportunities ahead of him, he would probably think it was fine to skip him once.
There were surely plenty of researchers who would never have another chance if they missed this one.
On the screen, Seoha explained his theory before the world’s leading scholars.
He was exactly the image Uhyeon had once dreamed of.
The corners of his lips lifted. Perhaps he, too, might be mentioned in a line or two in the hidden anecdotes of mathematical history.
“You’ve grown up well. Keep growing like this and solve one of the Millennium Problems while you’re at it.”
Beep—
It was time to get to work.
Click.
He had cleared out his inbox just a few days ago, but it was already full again.
[Mr. Sin Uhyeon, my child scored 150 on an IQ test…]
[My child is six years old, and I’d like to have him prepare for the IMO like Yu Seoha.]
[Excuse me, but would you be willing to tutor my child privately? The cost is no issue.]
[Would it be possible to get the list of books you recommended to Yu Seoha?]
[My child is in elementary school but understands university calculus. Would you be willing to take a look at him?]
[I believe my son is no less talented than Yu Seoha. I heard you cherish gifted children, sir…]
.
.
A sigh escaped him.
Ever since Seoha mentioned him in an interview, these inquiries had been arriving without end. It would have been fortunate if people merely sent emails, but quite a few called him or even came to find him in person, somehow having obtained his contact information.
“I understand where they’re coming from, but they’re being a nuisance.”
Seoha was currently treated by Korean parents as “the ultimate model of private education,” or “the definitive example of success.” Parents from the uppermost class—those who were not satisfied with sending their children to medical school or law school—regarded Seoha as their ideal model.
On the other hand, very little information about him was publicly available.
He had placed first in various mathematics competitions during elementary school, become the youngest first-place winner in the IMO, and entered a school for gifted students. What had happened in between remained shrouded in mystery.
“I can’t just leave things like this forever…”
What he had left alone, thinking, “It’ll die down after a few months,” had continued for a year. At this rate, even his image as a CSAT instructor was in danger of fading away.
“Seoha, I’m grateful, but this is going too far.”
Even in the interview Seoha gave after solving the Smale problem, he had mentioned Uhyeon. He had said that he signed his paper with the fountain pen Uhyeon had given him.
Ring-a-ling—
His assistant was calling.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Sir, someone came to the academy just now, and they insist on meeting you.”
“Is this the first or second time? Just explain things properly and send them back.”
“The thing is… They seem to have connections with someone important. The director is asking you to meet them.”
Uhyeon covered his face with both hands.
In cases like this, a normal consultation was generally impossible. Parents only accepted what they wanted to hear.
“This won’t do.”
As it happened, he had a method in mind.
He decided to take active measures to resolve the situation.
* * *
A small community college on the outskirts of Cambridge,
Miyeong entered the classroom at a brisk pace. When she opened the door, several students were already seated.
“Hi!”
Miyeong raised a hand, and they greeted her with bright smiles.
“Good morning, Miyeong.”
“Good morning!”
The students differed in nationality, race, and even age. They were immigrants who had come to America, each carrying their own circumstances.
ELS Advanced Level. The amount of time it took to advance this far from the beginner level varied greatly from person to person, but Miyeong had entered the class after only six months.
‘What Seoha taught me helped so much.’
The grammar her son had organized for her and the sentences he had told her to memorize had become the foundation of her English skills.
She could now manage everyday conversation without much difficulty.
‘I never thought I’d be attending school at this age…’
Miyeong had enrolled in community college solely because of work.
Her husband, Cheolho, had a background in civil service, and MIT had arranged a job for him, so he had been able to obtain a work visa without difficulty. But she was merely a dependent spouse.
The only way for her to work was to obtain a student visa.
‘Although I’m only allowed to work twenty hours a week.’
Life at the community college, which had begun that way, was busier than she had imagined and far more enjoyable than expected.
When the instructor entered, the classroom grew lively.
Before she knew it, Miyeong was participating enthusiastically in the lesson.
A mother of three from Brazil, a chef from China, an African exchange student, a truck driver from Russia.
She enjoyed interacting with people she could never have met in Korea.
She laughed, made mistakes, and learned alongside them.
It felt as though she had returned to her youth.
In the past, she had been unable to find work because she lacked confidence in her English. But that was no longer the case.
The job she found was as a waitress at the campus café.
Wearing an apron, Miyeong hurried about carrying plates. As she encountered all kinds of situations, she could feel her English improving in real time.
The only drawback was the hourly wage.
“It’s so little…”
America did not properly pay service workers.
They had to make up the rest through tips, which was difficult for Miyeong.
‘Isn’t there some way I could earn a little more?’
A large sum of money entered Seoha’s account every month.
It was enough for a family of four to live comfortably here. But unless there was an urgent need, the couple had decided not to use that money.
“I’m still young. I’m not old enough to depend on my child. And…”
“And?”
“I should be the one supporting my family. That’s what the head of the household is supposed to do.”
Cheolho was a kind and responsible husband. If he had not been that sort of person, she would never even have considered coming to America.
Miyeong gently embraced Cheolho.
“I’ll look for something I can do, too. I get bored after sending the children to school.”
She had begun the job full of confidence, but reality was harsh.
‘Should I look for something else?’
Her concerns deepened.
Ring-a-ling—
“Hm?”
A familiar number appeared on her phone.
It was a call from Korea.
“Yes, teacher!”
What could it be about?
Miyeong answered the phone nervously.
“Seoha’s mother! Would you like to make a great deal of money?”
It sounded like the sort of line that would come from a swindler.
If the caller had been anyone other than Uhyeon, she would have hung up immediately.
“Pardon?”
She blinked, unable to understand what he meant.
“You’re going to write a book. About what kind of child Seoha was when he was young, how he grew up, and so on. You could call it an essay, I suppose.”
“Isn’t this rather sudden? Is there a reason?”
Uhyeon explained the situation he was in to Miyeong.
Across the sea, Miyeong bowed her head deeply toward him.
“I’m sorry, teacher. It’s because of our child…”
“Not at all. I share some of the blame for bringing this on myself. I thought about how to solve the problem, and Seoha is practically a figure of fantasy to Korean parents right now. He definitely exists, but there’s so little information about him. They only know fragmentary details about his life.
“Whether he likes it or not, Seoha is receiving a great deal of attention. As a result, all sorts of rumors are circulating, and this would help put them to rest.”
“But I’ve never written a book before.”
“You don’t need to worry about that part. You can write the first draft yourself and then have an author refine it afterward. Of course, you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”
“Would anyone even read a book I wrote?”
“It’ll sell far more than you can imagine. Publishers will come running to sign a contract with you.”
It was tempting.
The hourly wage was a problem, but ever since she had started working, it was becoming increasingly difficult to return home in time for Seoeun’s dismissal.
However, one thing bothered her.
“Wouldn’t it harm Seoha? I feel as though I’m making too much of a fuss…”
“Hahaha! Madam, what are you talking about?
“These days, people publish a book after merely getting a perfect score on the CSAT. Seoha has actually been far too modest considering everything he’s accomplished.
“Public recognition will help Seoha in his future academic career as well. And since he isn’t in Korea, there’ll be less concern about his privacy.”
After thinking it over carefully, Miyeong nodded.
“I’ll discuss it with my family.”
“Of course.”
After hanging up, Miyeong remained motionless for a while.
Various emotions churned within her.
She felt uneasy, as though she were exploiting her son to make money. But Uhyeon, the benefactor of her family, was suffering.
When she confided these thoughts in Cheolho, he was unexpectedly delighted.
“I’ve always thought you’d be good at writing. I’m sure Seoha will approve, too.”
When she asked Seoha the next day, he instead posed a question of his own.
“What do you think, Mom? Do you want to do it?”
“…Yes. I think it would be good. And I do want to try.”
That was how she truly felt.
Seoha smiled brightly.
“Then I’m in favor, too. If you write a book, I’d definitely like to read it. You write a journal about raising Seoeun every day, after all.”
“You knew about that?”
“Of course! I’ve even peeked at it a few times.”
She had never realized she possessed a desire to write a book.
After speaking with Uhyeon, Miyeong decided to try completing the manuscript on her own.
After dinner, when the family each went off to spend time by themselves, Miyeong sat alone at the dining table and began scribbling.
‘What should I write about?’
She had thought about it extensively, but since it was an essay, she decided to fill it with her honest feelings.
Scratch, scratch.
As she began writing, various memories came flooding back.
Seoha had been an undemanding child from the moment he was born. She had not known any better at the time because he was her first child, but after giving birth to Seoeun, the difference became obvious.
Still, there had been some unusual things about him.
Her son was sensitive to the sound of the second hand on a clock.
Even before he could crawl, if she laid him down in a room, his eyes would follow the second hand of the clock.
“Umma!”
She had been so startled when he first began to speak…
A smile spread across Miyeong’s lips as she continued writing.
When she gave him puréed broccoli as baby food, he would accept it while shedding tiny tears.
“Mom, all the clocks in the house show different times.”
“Hm?”
Around the age of three, Seoha asked her to set every clock in the house to exactly the same time.
It was an unchildlike thought. He probably simply disliked the fact that all the times were different.
At four, she bought him an encyclopedia, and he developed an interest in nature.
Then, gradually, his attention shifted to numbers.
“Dad, why does this work like this?”
Seoha asked about an equation he had found in the encyclopedia.
Cheolho sweated nervously, unable to answer.
After that day, instead of asking questions, Seoha began asking them to buy him books.
When he was seven and played with colored paper, Miyeong never dreamed it had anything to do with mathematics.
Scratch, scratch.
The more she wrote, the longer the manuscript grew.
Before she knew it, the story had reached the moment she first met Uhyeon.
Looking back, it must have been a very important day for her son. Seoha had met someone who could answer his questions for the first time.
After Seoeun was born, all of Seoha’s attention centered on his little sister.
There was no denying that this made raising the children much easier.
“Here, repeat after me! Ga-gya-geo-gye…”
“Gigglegiggle. Ebe-bebe-bebe!”
She taught Hangul to a baby who had only just turned one.
The sight was so adorable that Miyeong laughed for a long time. Perhaps because her efforts had not been in vain, Seoeun also learned Hangul and numbers at a remarkably early age.
As Miyeong retraced her memories, her emotions welled up.
Every moment she had spent with her children had been truly happy.
The manuscript she completed over the course of a month.
A day had passed since she sent the file to Uhyeon.
‘Was it a mistake to insist on doing it myself?’
She felt embarrassed, as though she had exposed everything inside her.
She was so nervous that she could not concentrate on anything.
Bzzz—
A text message from Uhyeon arrived.
With trembling hands, Miyeong picked up her phone.
“You’ve worked hard. I showed it to the publisher’s president, and he read the entire thing sitting in one place. He said he liked the simple prose all the more because it didn’t sound like it had been written by a professional author.
“Most of all, he was impressed by how genuine it felt.
“This was a piece only you could have written, Madam. If possible, he’d like to meet you in person. He says he has prepared very generous contract terms as well, so you can look forward to it.
“However, the man insisted that the book absolutely had to have this title, which is a little awkward.”
Not long afterward, Miyeong’s essay was published in Korea.
Its title was:
「I Never Intended to Raise a Genius」