"Has it really been fifteen years..."
Seated at the judges' table, Edward Han thought about why he had come here today.
It wasn't out of academic curiosity. The request of an old colleague, and perhaps a bit of guilt.
But deep down, he had already reached his conclusion long ago.
'Korean mathematics is finished. At least within this country.'
Five years ago, ten years ago, and every time he heard rumors circulating in American academia recently, he had thought the same. Korea ranked near the top in International Olympiad medal counts, yet the mathematical achievements left by those talents could be counted on one hand. Even those were thanks to black-haired foreigners who had settled abroad to conduct research. Of course, he was among them.
Creeeak—
The door opened, and the judges entered the review room one by one.
"Oh! Professor Han is here as well. Pleasure to see you. I read the paper you presented last time. Truly impressive..."
'He's still active, I see. Has he really read my paper when he's been teaching the same material for decades? He would have been fired long ago in America...'
Contrary to his thoughts, his body reacted first. He bowed his head politely.
"It's been a while, Professor Jeong."
Those who followed in were more of the same.
Tenured professors who couldn't be fired from their posts even without research output. Of course, they too must have had their shining moments once.
'Is this all because of money...'
In fields like mathematics and the humanities, where research funding was rarely provided, they clung tenaciously to their positions through old reputations and connections.
With little funding invested, there was little pressure for results. They probably had no interest in the latest research, devoting themselves only to textbook sales and managing their networks.
"Now then! Let's pick out some promising sprouts. I hope many talented students come to our school this year as well."
"Hahaha! Didn't K University sweep up all the competition winners last time? We need to earn a living too."
They scouted outstanding talents with flattery and deception. And this was extremely important in solidifying their cartel. The reason professors bothered to show their faces at every competition was likely this.
'They're not scholars. They're like network administrators.'
Even at universities, they attracted students through connections and influence, so without doing any research, they were treated as essential personnel.
'Damned South Korea. The professors who actually produce results wouldn't have time to come to places like this.'
"We've brought the answer sheets!"
The teaching assistants opened the sealed answer sheets one by one and laid them on the table. Neatly arranged papers with number tags were placed before the judges.
This was different from grading.
While correctness mattered, the evaluation also assessed the logic of the solution process, novel approaches, and even time management skills.
"This child is mediocre."
"Somehow the level seems to drop every year."
"The good kids all go to medical school, after all..."
Edward Han sneered at the professors' complaints.
'I believe you all contributed to making this mess.'
"Ohh! This child is really amazing."
The moment a judge opened an answer sheet, the air above the table shifted slightly.
Applicant No. 17. Personal information was hidden to ensure fairness.
"He's already learned Cauchy-Schwarz. And he's using it with complete understanding."
"Linear algebra is essential if you're going to compete in Olympiads these days."
"Ah! Is this that kid? I heard he's young..."
"Tut-tut! You know very well this is blind evaluation!"
'At this level, he's definitely good.'
Edward Han stroked his chin.
He had sense.
The ability to strip away unnecessary calculations and perceive the core structure at a glance was truly exceptional.
He nodded.
'A talent worth nurturing. Of course, such talent won't remain in this country for long.'
There were a few other decent applicants besides him.
Good students who faithfully followed the path laid out by the professor in the problem...
A bitter smile crept to his lips. These children had probably solved this type of problem countless times. They had likely memorized every possible variation.
After poring over answer sheets for several hours, their eyes stung. The professors stretched their backs and removed their glasses one by one.
"Let's eat!"
The teaching assistants entered with lunchboxes as if they had been waiting.
Premium lunchboxes topped with thick, glossy eel.
'They should use the budget for these lunchboxes to take care of them instead.'
The teaching assistants sat huddled together at a corner desk.
That space, piled high with stacks of documents and grading papers, was like a dead corner where sunlight couldn't reach. Someone was dozing off, nodding drowsily while sharpening a pencil; someone else sighed while drinking coffee from a paper cup.
Their gaunt eyes and sallow, puffy faces showed not a trace of youthful vitality.
It felt as if he was looking at his younger self, and the premium lunchbox didn't go down smoothly. The professors treated them like invisible people while exchanging jokes.
"Evaluation is a battle of stamina, isn't it? You have to eat to endure. Hey! Mr. Kim! There are leftover lunchboxes, right? Bring some over."
"Yes, Professor."
"I've had no energy these days, so even teaching is difficult."
"Tsk! What's the world coming to? The country neglects the natural sciences and only pushes STEM, so we're in trouble."
Munch, munch.
"It's not something that started yesterday or today. We have to get used to it. At least they aren't cutting the existing budget."
His throat felt scratchy.
He glanced unconsciously back at the teaching assistants in the corner. He felt like he could practically read their thoughts.
'Just a little longer. If I hold on just a little longer, things will get better.'
But they never would. Politics and connections would bury academia, and ability would go unrecognized. Only then would they, one by one, find different paths or leave for overseas.
He felt like he would choke.
But even here, right now, there was nothing he could do for them.
He was simply sorry.
Clap, clap.
"Has everyone eaten well? Let's begin again!"
Someone clapped, and the professors slowly returned to their seats.
While the professors loosened up with post-lunch drowsiness, Edward was going through the last few answer sheets one by one.
"Hmm?"
The moment he opened an answer sheet without thinking, his pupils dilated instantly.
The first problem was already unusual. The inequality proof had been solved with an approach completely different from the model answer.
'Extending Jensen's inequality like this?'
Certainly, this approach was more concise and intuitive.
If one excluded the sheer volume of thought required to reach this point.
But what was truly amazing came next.
[Problem 4: Prove that the sum of the distances from any interior point of an equilateral triangle to its three sides equals the height of the triangle.]
—This is a special case of Viviani's theorem.
However, for this theorem to hold, the premise that the plane follows Euclidean geometry is necessary. In spaces with curvature, such as spherical or hyperbolic geometry, a correction term is necessary.
If we modify the formula as follows: h₁ + h₂ + h₃ = h − (Area × |K|)/(2π)...
They had asked for a problem to be solved, and the student had written a paper.
The perspective not of a student, but of a researcher. This answer reminded Edward of the emotions he had felt debating with geniuses at Stanford.
Edward took a deep breath.
"Professors, take a look at this for a moment."
"Huh? What is it? Why is this answer so long?"
Professor Jeong, who approached first, looked through the answer sheet, and his expression gradually hardened.
"This student is saying something strange about Problem 4... That Viviani's theorem doesn't hold in spherical geometry?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
The middle-aged professor in charge of the problems approached with an unpleasant expression.
"I mean, is there any need to overcomplicate a high school problem like that? Unless stated otherwise, it's obviously a plane."
'How tragic.'
Nothing is as dangerous in mathematics as the word 'obviously.'
Until the nineteenth century, all geometers believed that the parallel postulate 'obviously' held. Modern mathematics began when that 'obvious' assumption collapsed...
"These so-called prodigies these days are all like this. They pick up a few difficult terms from the internet and try to act like professors."
Professor Jeong waved his hand as if fed up.
Scratch, scratch.
Edward verified the correction formula in the answer.
If this held, Viviani's theorem would be revised as of today. It was a common occurrence in the mathematical community.
Of course, the student was probably wrong, but this could be the impetus for further research, so this too would be a good thing for mathematics.
He continued verifying.
The formula seemed to start from the Gauss-Bonnet theorem. In a space with curvature, the sum of a triangle's angles...
'Wait.'
Edward's hand stopped. He quickly took out another sheet and began calculating.
Angular excess of a triangle on a sphere, angular defect of a triangle on a hyperbolic plane.
Approaching Viviani's theorem through integral geometry, the concept of distance from point P to the geodesic lines changed depending on curvature and...
"Wh... how..."
He muttered to himself unconsciously.
"What is it, Professor Han?"
The formula fit perfectly. On a sphere, the sum of the distances was greater than the height; on a hyperbolic plane, it was smaller. And the difference was directly proportional to the curvature and area.
"Professor, is there a problem?"
The young teaching assistant noticed Edward's change and asked cautiously.
"This formula is correct."
"Pardon?"
"It's one hundred percent accurate. I verified it just now, and in spherical and hyperbolic geometry, it actually works according to this formula."
The professors' faces gradually hardened.
"Then how should we handle the answer sheet?"
"Should we just mark everything correct? If we accept multiple answers, there won't be any appeals."
"But if this generalization formula is really correct..."
"It would be paper material."
Unconcealable greed settled on the old professors' faces.
"Curvature correction of Viviani's theorem. Kya! The title would come out splendidly too. This would have quite an impact, wouldn't it?"
"Indeed. A generalization after three hundred sixty years."
The professors' gazes shifted subtly. In the silence, their eyes darted about.
"Professor Han. Could you explain this formula in more detail?"
"The proof seems to be omitted; the derivation process probably needs some editing as well."
"If we call the student and conduct joint research, it would be mutually beneficial. If we list them as first author on the paper, won't it be advantageous for college admissions?"
A stolen paper.
Something he had experienced during his master's program.
A memory from the past flashed through Edward Han's mind like lightning.
"Your idea is truly excellent. How about developing this and writing a paper?"
It was a proposal from his advisor at the time, Professor Kim Jeongsik. He had been naively happy. Because he thought his idea had been recognized.
"Professor, is this really possible?"
"Of course. But it might be difficult alone, so I'll help. You'll be the first author, of course."
That was how their joint research began.
But six months later, when the paper was published, his name had been dropped to second author. Of course, Professor Kim Jeongsik was the sole first author. The core of the idea had been disguised as if the professor himself had conceived it.
"Professor, what on earth happened here?"
"Look here, let's be honest. Did you truly contribute enough to be first author? You only provided the initial idea; didn't I do all the proofs?"
That night,
Edward—no, Han Jaehong—spent a long time on a Han River bridge, gazing at the black, undulating water. Resolving never to let such a thing happen to him again.
But now, the exact same thing was about to happen.
"Ah, fuck. This is why I didn't want to come."
It wasn't loud, but it was enough for everyone to hear.
"Wh... what?"
The professors jumped in surprise at the profanity unsuited for the occasion.
Thud.
Edward rose from his seat with a loud noise and barked at the professors.
"Hey, you bastards! Don't you have any conscience as scholars? If anyone tries to steal this, I, a Stanford professor, will take responsibility and bury you!"
Tap— clatter.
A teaching assistant's ballpoint pen fell to the floor with an unusually loud sound.
Everyone stared blankly at Edward, their mouths hanging agape.
"Holy shit."
Someone muttered softly.