[“Brain of the Century” Yu Seoha Finally Enlists; Military Branch and Service Location Top Secret]
Having shocked the world by proving the Riemann Hypothesis, Yu Seoha (19, MIT) will perform his national defense duty as research personnel under a special act instead of enlisting for active duty.
On the 13th, the Military Manpower Administration and the Ministry of National Defense announced that in relation to the military service physical examination applied for by Yu, they had designated him as the first subject of the “National Security Core Research Personnel Alternative Service Program.” This measure is interpreted as reflecting the results of a recently revised Military Service Act and high-level military talks between Korea and the United States.
It was reported that Yu had initially expressed his desire to enlist as an active-duty soldier and complete his military service. However, with strong opposition from the domestic and international scientific communities and the U.S. National Security Agency (NSA), combined with the administrative burden on the Ministry of National Defense, alternative service was decided at an unprecedented speed.
└Why don’t I get it? High-level military talks? NSA? Why is any of that necessary? And why is the service location top secret again?
└lolololol
└If you think about what that soldier could do, lol
└“Private Yu Seoha! By when can you decrypt the White House cipher?” Maybe they were worried about a situation like this?
└As if that’s all. I’m kind of curious what would come out if they really decided to grind him through it.
└Active-duty enlistment, lol. As if that would work, lol. The Ministry of National Defense would get roasted to death.
└I’ve watched him since elementary school, and now he’s already going to the army. Seoha’s all grown up, huh?
└Active duty is a bit yikes. If I were his senior, I’d be really stressed.
└Number one subject, lol. Will there even be a number two?
Jiyun set down her tablet with a satisfied expression. Though she had gone to great lengths in many ways, even she had not expected things to work out this well.
“Park, you genius from Nowon-gu! Why don’t you try getting yourself listed as number two here.”
The teaching assistant, who had been organizing documents, glanced at the screen and grumbled as if to say, “Here we go again.”
“Please stop. I’m about to get my doctorate soon! And it’s been ages since I was discharged from the military!”
“Yes, yes. You’ll be my equal in no time. Once you get your degree, will you start calling me Professor Kim to my face?”
“There you go again! If it weren’t for me, there’d be no one left to put up with your temper, Professor.”
“Argh! If only I had reeled in Sujeong properly… I let my guard down thinking I already had her on the hook.”
“She’s flying high at MIT right now. There are plenty of kids looking into transferring to MIT for undergrad; do you think that’s easy? I heard these days, the dream of incoming students is getting into Apex Lab?”
Jiyun gazed at Seoha’s photo with a wistful expression.
Just five years ago, there hadn’t really been anything you could call a dream for Korean mathematicians. Their most common career paths were getting a job in finance, becoming an instructor at a famous cram school, or endlessly living the postdoc life with no guarantee.
But after the appearance of a superstar named Seoha, the landscape of the mathematical world had completely changed.
Math department admission cutoffs had risen significantly. Team Apex had become the dream workplace that all mathematicians yearned for.
“That is, if they can pass the test.”
The level of the problems leaked from the mouths of those who failed was beyond imagination. Topics of a difficulty that could truly be published in a major journal right away.
“I heard it’s absurdly difficult. I heard Theodore is especially strict? But Seoha’s workplace will be at the PQC lab, right?”
“Probably.”
“Then we might really be able to set the next standard?”
There had never been a case where Seoha touched something and failed to produce results. But Jiyun’s expression didn’t look entirely at ease.
“Hard to say.”
“Right? Even for Seoha, cryptography isn’t an easy field!”
“No, Seoha will do well. The problem is that there’s a monster on our side, too…”
Teaching Assistant Park Hyeongju made a startled expression.
Just as in any field, there was one legendary genius in the world of cryptography as well. Affiliation: UW (University of Waterloo). Age: five years older than Seoha. If limited to cryptography, the University of Waterloo was second to none, not even MIT or Stanford.
The world’s first specialized quantum computing research institute, IQC, was located there, and the university’s researchers had also contributed the most to the development of quantum-resistant cryptography.
He nodded and spoke.
“The SIKE (Supersingular Isogeny Key Encapsulation) incident was truly shocking.”
Three years ago, there had been a total of seven finalists recognized as candidates for next-generation quantum-resistant cryptography.
Crystals-Kyber, Falcon, SPHINCS+, NTRU, BIKE, Classic McEliece, and SIKE.
Among these, NTRU withdrew voluntarily due to patent issues, and Classic McEliece and BIKE were eliminated midway because their practicality was deemed too low.
Among the remaining four candidates, SIKE was undeniably the most notable algorithm.
Its key size was incomparably small compared to its competitors, and its implementation efficiency was outstanding as well. The industry had even been saying it was practically a done deal. It was a situation where they only had to wait for NIST’s final announcement.
At that time, a single paper was published.
The author was Damian Lowe. At the time, he was an undergraduate at the University of Waterloo.
It was not a short paper, but its conclusion was simple.
‘SIKE is broken. Within an hour using an ordinary laptop.’
No one believed it.
Because it was a cryptographic system that dozens of experts had clung to and verified over the years.
Of course, that was before Damian Lowe walked in carrying a single worn laptop and smashed it to pieces. He entered the presentation hall and broke the cipher in 47 minutes and 12 seconds.
‘RIP SIKE’
It was the single line he left on the slide as he exited the presentation hall.
It was only natural that companies rushed to recruit Damian. After completing his master’s program in a short period, he joined the Crystals-Kyber team, which had not been a very high priority at the time.
And Kyber had since become the next-generation standard candidate most trusted by the NSA and NIST.
“Damian is a ridiculous monster.
If Seoha has talent spanning every field of mathematics, Damian is exceptionally outstanding in cryptography alone. He’s an incomprehensible existence even to me, who has spent twenty years in cryptography alone.”
Talent is so unreasonable.
After meeting Seoha, Jiyun had accepted the reality that there were realms unreachable by effort alone. What angered her was that those with talent did not neglect effort, either.
Walking the same path, some walk on two feet while others spread great wings and fly. And she must keep walking, knowing full well that she has no wings.
‘I know I’m narrow-minded.’
Still, she wanted to see it.
The sight of a genius’s wings breaking.
She wanted to confirm with her own eyes that they, too, were humans who felt frustration just like her. But Jiyun could not imagine such a sight from either of them at all.
* * *
“Now, if you could sign here, that will be all.”
Scratch.
Seoha picked up the pen with a blank expression and wrote his name. The laboratory’s name was familiar.
[Apex Lab KOREA]
“Thank you. Please do not worry about the administrative procedures. We will handle everything.”
A deputy minister from the Ministry of Science and ICT had come out to receive the signature in person.
The site, equipment, and capital were provided by Korea; the core personnel came from MIT; and the United States demanded that the resulting PQC be adopted by NIST as a public standard. In exchange, Korea secured partial rights to the design and production of the chips on which that cipher would be mounted.
Cryptography doesn’t end when it is created. It must be managed and updated endlessly, and responsibility must be borne should problems arise.
The Korean government acknowledged that NIST had successfully carried out that task for decades.
Having heard of the increasingly complicated circumstances, MIT belatedly stepped in and volunteered to act as Seoha’s representative.
They permitted the Korean government’s request to use Team Apex’s name for the research institute and negotiated for Seoha and the team to share the royalties from resulting patents.
The Korean government was happy.
Not only had they attracted a Korean branch of the world’s finest research institute, but by merely providing the site and capital, they could get one foot into the astronomically sized future semiconductor market.
The United States was satisfied as well.
Obtaining the authority to manage the standard was tremendous power. Moreover, there was nothing bad about securing a promising candidate without spending a single penny on development costs. Furthermore, they were relieved that they had prevented Seoha’s enlistment and could keep him continuously within their sight.
It was a good deal for MIT as well.
They participated in the negotiations on the condition of being listed as a co-managing institution of Apex Lab Korea. In addition, they would receive a portion of the royalties.
It was the completion of a world where everyone was happy. Everyone except Seoha, that is.
“I wanted to go as an active-duty soldier…”
Seoha muttered with a spaced-out expression.
Smack!
“Ow!”
A fierce palm came flying down onto his back.
“This kid never fails to say something he shouldn’t. Do you know how relieved your mother is that it turned out this way!”
Miyeong placed her hand over her chest in relief. Ever since her son had said he would enlist for active duty, she hadn’t had a single day of peace of mind.
“I’m sorry.”
Stinging from a pain he hadn’t felt in a while, Seoha let a few tears slip.
Seeing the relieved faces of his family, he reflected on whether he had been stubborn for no reason.
There was another reason he had accepted the proposal. It was because the research institute would be located in Daejeon.
For the duration of his service, the entire family could live together in their hometown. Another reason was that his team members had passionately wanted to go to Korea.
“Of course I have to go, too. Our team only puts out a proper performance when you’re there, Seoha.”
Theo, hearing the proposal, accepted it without a moment’s hesitation. From his standpoint, it wasn’t even a matter of choice.
“Finally! I really wanted to go to Korea. Thank you, Seoha!”
Cecilia, who was very interested in subculture, jumped up and down in joy.
“Me too. Hoho. Honestly, I’m looking forward to the other aspects more than the cryptography research.”
“Really? What a relief. I almost got homesick!”
“The food Seoha’s mother brought us was really delicious. And we can watch K-pop performances, too.”
Seoha and Sujeong had finally graduated from their undergraduate program. Theo had safely received his doctorate based on the research he had been conducting all along.
Before they knew it, winter had come and the year was drawing to a close. And full-scale relocation preparations began.
* * *
“Are you crying?”
Seoha had taken a long bus ride to Curtis to meet Gyeoul. His short-cropped hair, which he had cut beforehand, felt awkward, so his hand kept drifting upward.
She merely alternated between looking at his short hair and his innocent face with reddened eyes.
Swish.
Gyeoul, now a woman so beautiful she was dazzling, slowly reached out and stroked Seoha’s head. Gyeoul’s hand was colder than the chilly weather. Seoha couldn’t help but be bothered by it.
“Do I look very strange?”
She shook her head.
“No, you look cool. You really look like an adult now.”
She tried hard to smile, but tears that had welled up finally spilled down her cheeks.
Passing students looked at Seoha with displeased expressions. Gyeoul was a popular figure at Curtis whom no one didn’t know.
“Let’s walk for a bit.”
She started walking ahead.
Her light brown hair fluttered in the wind. Suddenly, her hand caught his eye. A pale, frozen white hand, ungloved.
Seoha took her slender hand.
“Hmm?”
Gyeoul stopped walking, seemingly surprised.
Warmth spread through her body, which had been like a block of ice, through Seoha’s hand. Without a word, Seoha pushed Gyeoul’s hand straight into his coat pocket.
“Hands are important to a pianist.”
Gyeoul’s face flushed bright red.
The two walked the beautiful Curtis campus for a long time with no destination. Before long, she was firmly holding Seoha’s hand inside the pocket.
A pleasant pulse could be felt from their clasped hands.
Thump.
Thump.
Gyeoul could not tell whose heartbeat it was.