How has mathematics been handed down?
In the past, access to knowledge itself was power. Books had to be hand-copied onto expensive parchment and were regarded as a city's precious assets.
It was a time when the price of a single book matched that of a house.
Thus, inevitably, knowledge could only be passed down through people. Disciples held their breath and transcribed their master's every word.
In doing so, they came to resemble not only their master's knowledge but also his attitude and way of thinking. This too was handed down as part of the academic tradition.
'A shabby excuse.'
Marcello, an emeritus professor at Cambridge University, leaned back loosely in his chair and listened to the ICM committee members.
He had served on the problem committee for the IMO in which Seoha had participated, and was also a senior figure in the mathematical community who had watched Seoha's growth with pleasure.
'They are afraid.'
He saw fear in the eyes of the committee members as they argued passionately.
The printing press had been invented, and academic journals and the internet were born. But the mathematical world still regards lineages as sacred.
From Leibniz to Bernoulli. Through Euler and Lagrange to Gauss.
Riemann, Gauss's student, nurtured Felix Klein, and finally the lineage of modern analysis extends to David Hilbert.
In 1997, Minnesota State University traced the doctoral advisor–student relationships of mathematicians.
The survey, named the so-called 'Mathematics Genealogy Project,' included a whopping 300,000 people.
All mathematicians were someone's student and also a teacher.
Therefore, they fear Seoha.
Seoha, who doesn't even have a bachelor's degree let alone a doctorate, and is no one's disciple.
He came from outside the lineage. Nowhere in that massive genealogy where 300,000 mathematicians are densely connected does Seoha's name exist.
'How foolish.'
Marcello looked up at the ceiling and let out a small snort.
They must be thinking like this.
'If he leaves immortal achievements in the history of mathematics, what is the meaning of lineages? Does this mean the intangible wisdom and tradition, believed to be passed from master to disciple, were actually unnecessary?'
The bewilderment at the order they had upheld being negated by a single boy.
He looked around the conference room. Heated expressions and trembling voices.
'That child's path forward won't be smooth.'
There was nothing more to hear.
Marcello slowly rose from his seat.
***
Slap, slap!
Sujeong looked in the mirror and slapped her own cheeks.
Pale, almost sickeningly white skin, a willful gaze, a high nose—she thought her face was reasonably pretty.
"Did you pack your things?"
"Yeah, I don't have much to take."
Myeonghui, Sujeong's mother, cracked open the door and checked her daughter's face.
When Sujeong declared that she would go to MIT, the couple had racked their brains and worried. They couldn't send their young daughter to America alone.
"As expected, I should go, right? I have research achievements too, so MIT might make a place for me. If that doesn't work out, there's also Boston University."
Her husband, Minjun, said with a determined face.
A professor at Seoul National University, he was one of the country's foremost authorities in materials engineering. Myeonghui narrowed her eyes and looked at him.
"Boston is America's largest medical city, isn't it? Wouldn't it be right for me, a doctor, to go?"
The fact that Harvard and MIT are within the city implies many things.
A mid-sized city of barely 650,000 people, not even reaching 5 million even when expanded to a 100km metropolitan area, has the world's finest medical cluster concentrated within it.
"I'm better at English, aren't I? You only know medical terms."
"What's with you? I'm a woman who has written several papers in English! I also have experience working in America as a dispatched doctor."
In the end, they decided whoever got an offer first would go. And the winner was Myeonghui.
Until the day the mother and daughter left the country, Minjun muttered to himself with a vacant expression.
"To think I'd become a goose father..."
Sujeong took his hand with sympathetic eyes.
A respected professor, an authority in materials engineering who didn't even know exactly how many thousands of citations his papers had. Such a father was holding her hand tightly in the airport lobby, his eyes turning red.
Now he only nagged every time they called, but.
"Dad is coming too?"
At Sujeong's words, Myeonghui nodded.
She looked at her daughter with a pleased expression. When Sujeong said she would go to the math department, she had thought, I see. She thought it was a highly applicable field that would help with whatever she did in the future.
But her daughter's dream was to be a professional mathematician. Before submitting her application to MIT, her husband had tried to persuade their daughter with a deliberately serious face.
"Two years for a master's, at least five for a doctorate. Several more years drifting from postdoc to postdoc. Then how old will Sujeong be? Are you saying you don't mind such a future?"
Sujeong scrunched up her face and answered.
"That's not it? I'm going to win the Fields Medal?"
"The mathematical world is a place where even Fields Medal winners have to compete for tenure. There are only a few spots."
Mathematics is the field where cartels are most entrenched. A vacancy only opens when someone retires or dies. Even then, it's hard to aspire to that position without academic lineage and connections.
Nevertheless, Sujeong's resolve was firm.
"I'm going to solve Millennium Problems with Seoha, so it doesn't matter. Surely there'll be a spot for me then."
Minjun sighed.
His daughter had talent. But the mathematical world was a place filled with monsters even greater than her. A place where even they disappeared without achieving anything in their lifetime. Let alone Millennium Problems.
'Yu Seoha.'
He was the problem.
He was grateful that his daughter's narcissism from always being number one had been cured, but was this the price?
They had racked their brains and worried, but the couple could not find an answer.
Their daughter, who had been like that, had grown to this point.
'It seems we were the ones who believed in you the least.'
A formal member of the most watched research lab in the world. Currently, her husband's messenger profile picture was of their daughter standing proudly holding a microphone at the New York City Hall press conference.
[Sujeong Lim, Team Apex, MIT]
"Get in."
Slam.
Vroom—
The car sped smoothly down the road.
Myeonghui had decided to move to Germany with Seoha's family. Her daughter got out of the car, spotted Seoeun, and ran over. The sight of them holding hands and jumping up and down looked incredibly close.
Sujeong whispered something into the child's ear and then grinned like a villain. Seoeun giggled as she looked at Sujeong like that.
"Um... hello."
"Hi?"
A boy who had been watching from the side approached hesitantly and greeted them.
It was her first time meeting Seoha in person.
'He's pretty tall, isn't he? And he wears his mask well.'
With a small face and long, slender limbs, he gave an impression like a model's.
"Let's go!"
Two mothers in the front seats, the children in the back.
The car was soon filled with the children's chatter. Who would think these were mathematicians invited to the ICM? They had bright expressions like students leaving for a school trip.
But that peace was shattered the moment they got out of the car and entered the terminal.
"Oh my goodness, what is all that?"
Reporters were waiting in the airport lobby.
Broadcast cameras were lined up, and beside them, they could see compatriots holding various pickets.
[Korea's Pride, Yu Seoha!]
[Seoha, we're cheering for you! -Boston Korean Association]
"Surprised, Mom?"
Sujeong approached with a playful expression.
"Of course. You'd think some celebrity had arrived. Are mathematicians usually this popular?"
"No, this happens very rarely."
Wiles, who solved Fermat's Last Theorem, and Perelman, who proved the Poincaré conjecture—both were mathematicians who had received glorious spotlight.
Conversely speaking, this wouldn't happen unless one solved a Millennium-class problem.
But Seoha was the exception.
A teenage boy was smashing through the mathematical world's difficult problems one by one. Moreover, having created the Oracle, he was already well-known through TV and newspapers. As the youngest Fields Medal candidate attending the ICM, Seoha was a target that the media could sufficiently drool over.
Click.
Click.
"Seoha! There are rumors that the proof of the Riemann Hypothesis is in its final stages. Is this true?"
"We heard you're giving a keynote speech at the ICM. Is there anything new you will be presenting?"
"Please say a word about your chances of winning the Fields Medal!"
"What do you think about the criticism that Team Apex lacks racial diversity?"
"There are rumors circulating that you will naturalize as a US citizen. Is there any basis to this?"
Camera flashes were bursting incessantly.
Sujeong quietly approached and took Seoeun's hand. Seoeun held Sujeong's hand in return. It was a small, warm hand.
"Is my brother famous?"
"Yeah."
"What about you?"
"A little famous."
"What about Cecilia and Theo?"
"That's right. We're the best lab. You're that team's one and only special assistant."
"Wow!"
Seeing the admiring look in Seoeun's eyes, Sujeong put on a satisfied expression.
The team members arrived at the airport one by one. Sujeong joined them, gave a brief interview, and went through boarding procedures.
"Oh! It's my first time in business class."
Sree leaned back against the chair and stretched out her legs, marveling.
MIT gave the team exceptional support. Seat upgrades and a 4-star hotel in downtown Hanover with breakfast included. These were perks that would be impossible for an ordinary conference trip.
Whirrr—
The plane crossed the Atlantic overnight.
Seoeun was sleeping soundly in the seat next to him. From behind, the snoring of Sree and Theo could be heard. But Seoha could not fall asleep.
"Don't you think it's time? Take me out now."
"Not yet."
"You already know the path to the operator. If I'm with you, you can find it faster."
"It's not perfect yet. I need more time."
Seoha took out his notebook and wrote down formulas. But soon he sighed and closed it. Lately, he couldn't concentrate well.
It might be because he had overworked his brain for too long while conducting research.
Seoha thought that during the ICM period while he was with his family, he must absolutely not show any opening to the Key.
Tap, plop.
Watching the rain falling outside the window, Seoha thought of Riemann.
He had been sickly.
Poverty and illness had followed him like a curse throughout his life.
"If you had lived a little longer, would the world be different?"
Summer of 1866, the lakeside near a small village in northern Italy.
Riemann, who was recuperating there, passed away at the mere age of 39. Leaving behind his beloved wife Elise and his three-year-old daughter.
Even while dying of tuberculosis, he did not stop his research. The vast quantity of documents he left behind. Unfortunately, it is said that after his death, the landlord burned them all while cleaning.
'What were you doing? Were you still holding onto the hypothesis you couldn't prove?'
Ever since he was young, Seoha had never failed to shed tears when reading his story.
His eyes grew misty. And tears trickled down his cheeks.