“Theo.”
“Yeah?”
Seoeun tilted her head, looking curious.
“You said you do research with my brother. Then why can’t you even beat me?”
Crack.
A vein bulged at Theo’s temple.
“I can win if we do it again.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Shuffle them one more time.”
Seoeun shuffled the cards.
She must have done it countless times, because she handled them skillfully with her tiny hands.
Before long, thirty cards were spread out on the floor.
“What’s this?”
“Eggplant.”
“And this?”
“Carrot.”
“What do you think this is?”
“Raccoon.”
This was the problem.
If they had been ordinary playing cards, he might have gotten them all right.
But the cards Seoeun had were a hybrid mess, mixing all sorts of fruits and animals, numbers and hieroglyphs, and even abstract patterns she had drawn herself.
There were no rules or connections to be found between the cards. Theo had always prided himself on his memory, believing he was second to none, but this was an unexpected challenge.
‘What kind of demon made these cards?’
Patterns, logic, repetition—none of them worked.
Theo felt like he knew who had committed such an atrocity.
“And this?”
“Chrysanthemum.”
“Theo is a dummy. This is a dandelion. But since it’s in the same Asteraceae family, I’ll let it slide. But only this time, okay? If we go by that logic, sunflowers are the same kind too.”
Unbelievable.
A graduate student learning common knowledge from a child.
He had realized while playing with Seoeun that her knowledge wasn’t limited to mathematics. Seoeun knew all sorts of things about plants and animals. Not only that, she was well-versed in constellations and insects too.
“Did your brother teach you that too?”
“Yeah! Because if I ask him, my brother answers anything.”
Seoeun’s “why stage” had lasted a long time.
Just when it seemed like it might disappear, she came to America, and her curiosity exploded all over again. Even now, whenever she was curious about something, she bombarded Seoha with questions.
In the end, unable to identify even half the cards, Theo raised both hands in surrender.
“Now it’s Theo’s turn to ask!”
Seoeun’s triumphant expression was annoyingly smug.
But Theo, like an adult, managed his expression and shuffled the cards.
“Platypus!”
“Baobab tree!”
“Number 9.”
“Two triangles.”
“Korean letter giyeok.”
“Five clouds!”
“Penguin footprints!”
Before he knew it, all thirty cards had been flipped over.
Seoha had been increasing the number of cards to match Seoeun’s growth. The deck that had started with fifteen cards had doubled before anyone realized it.
And now, he was preparing ten more.
“I got them all right!”
Seoeun threw both hands up in celebration, then hugged her beaver doll and whispered.
“It was a little hard, but Theo wasn’t much either.”
Theo’s face turned red with humiliation.
He felt like he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he knocked this little girl down a peg.
“Now, we should play something else, right? Prime factorization, prime numbers. Anything’s fine!”
Even the prime-number game had rules unique to this household.
One person chose any four-digit number. Then they decided up or down, and the battle began.
“6213.”
“Down.”
“Good, let’s start.”
“6211.”
“6209.”
“6203.”
Seoeun pondered for a moment.
“Um… 6199.”
The game showed no sign of ending.
Only after a hundred turns did a mistake finally appear.
“Hing—I lost.”
Seoeun stuck out her lower lip.
“Just in case you didn’t know, I’m a mathematician.”
Whenever Theo came over, Seoeun had pestered him to play games.
When Theo was busy writing his paper, she hovered around him like a cat, staying within his field of vision. As if she were determined not to miss the moment he said, “Fine, let’s play!”
“Is playing with me fun?”
Theo asked.
“Yeah!”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t beat my brother. And my friends run away when I ask them to play.”
Theo lowered his head deeply.
“So in the end, you thought I was easy.”
Since she was Seoha’s younger sister, he had thought she would be smart, but he hadn’t expected it to be to this extent.
It wasn’t simply that she was clever; her sense for numbers was extraordinary. When playing the prime-number game, this child might skip one, but she never said a composite number. She must have been instinctively sensing the closed structure of numbers.
She was a child whose future was terrifyingly promising.
“Theo, is it true you’re going home soon?”
As if holding back tears, Seoeun stuck out her lower lip.
“Yeah. I’ve finished my paper now, so I have to go.”
“Then we can’t play together anymore?”
Theo looked at Seoeun and smiled gently.
Perhaps, to Seoeun, he had been the first equal playmate she had ever met. It was infuriating, but at the same time, it made him happy.
“No, we’ll be able to meet again soon.”
“Really?”
As if her sadness had never existed, Seoeun’s face brightened.
Theo suddenly realized just how special the time he had spent with this family had been.
“Seoeun! Let’s go for a walk!”
Seoha’s voice came from far away.
“Okay, I’m coming!”
Seoeun hurriedly got up and dashed off.
He had thought they had become quite close, but it seemed he was still no match for her brother.
Theo burst out laughing.
* * *
“Dad, what is all this?”
Cheolho, who returned late in the evening, was holding a paper bag.
Inside were a dozen or so copies of Popular Science.
At the center of the cover was a photo of Seoha giving a lecture at the colloquium.
[The Young Mind Shaping the Future]
“I saw my son’s face at the newsstand, so how could I just walk past! Did you know about this too?”
Seoha nodded awkwardly.
“Yes, I’d heard about it.”
He had heard that an article would come out, but he hadn’t expected to be on the front cover.
Popular Science wasn’t a specialized mathematics journal, either.
It was America’s oldest and most popular science magazine, one that explained science in a way general readers could easily understand.
From astrophysicists to engineers to life science researchers, it was a magazine whose cover Nobel Prize winners had likely graced at least once.
But there were almost no cases of a mathematician becoming its cover model.
“You too, honestly—ah! Don’t worry. I only bought one copy from each newsstand. It wouldn’t do if I swept them all up and other people couldn’t buy any!”
Cheolho made a fuss as he handed Seoha a copy.
In small letters at the corner of the cover was a subtitle.
‘A teenage mathematician solves a mathematical mystery that had remained unsolved for half a century!’
As expected of a popular magazine, the phrasing was provocative.
When he turned past the cover, he found an article that took up the entire spread.
—The young Korean genius who redefined the impossible solves Smale’s problem.
The article itself was straightforward.
It explained in easy language what kind of progress might occur in our lives now that Smale’s problem had been solved, and why this proof was receiving praise from the mathematical world.
Then came interviews with famous figures.
[He is only just beginning. People will have to get used to hearing his name. What we’re seeing now is merely the prologue.]
—Harold Whitman, Dean of Mathematics, MIT
[His proof shows just how great human intuition can be. No matter how much AI advances in the future, the beginning and end of everything will ultimately be human.]
—Professor Raymond Holt, Stanford
“Hm? Why is AI being mentioned?”
Intrigued, Seoha read the full interview.
—The mathematical ability assessment AI Logia developed in our lab apparently gave Seoha an unsolved problem. When we checked the logs, everyone was shocked.
An error? No! We believe it wasn’t a bug.
We don’t know the exact reason, but perhaps Logia judged that he could solve the problem.
As a result, thanks to Logia’s recommendation, one unsolved problem was solved, so wouldn’t you say we contributed a little to the advancement of mathematics too? Haha!
Reddit was in an uproar.
[So Logia was the one that gave SH the unsolved problem]
—No wonder he suddenly stopped logging in. He was solving Logia’s problem.
└Lmaoooooooooooo
└Isn’t this basically the level of a creation evaluating its creator?
└Regarding the incident where he solved an unsolved problem while playing a game.
└Why would it set a problem at the level of a humanity challenge? Or did it judge that SH’s level was that high?
└The way I see it, Logia panicked and threw out some random hard problem.
└Professor’s got a strong mentality. He’s basically saying all’s well that ends well.
└That’s a mindset all developers are required to have.
└If it works, it’s not wrong lololololololol
└It’s not a bug, it’s a feature. Shameless lol
└Seeing as he didn’t say “it was intentional design,” he’s got top-tier conscience.
└My chest is swelling with pride. Didn’t this feel like watching “Human vs AI”? Don’t look down on humanity, you tin can!
└Did the score update? How many points is he going to get?
└Doesn’t seem like he’s entered the answer yet.
└Yu Seoha! You’re watching this, aren’t you? Hurry up!
Flinch.
Seoha’s body twitched as he read the post.
Tap, tap, tap.
For the first time in a while, he logged into Logia.
Due to his long absence, his score had steadily dropped. His ranking was 3rd.
“When did Theo run this?”
[1st: Theodore Ranford / S+ / Stanford / US / 999.3]
Whenever his paper wasn’t going well, Theo had logged in for fun and maintained his ranking.
[SSS-rank session in progress. Would you like to continue entering your answer?]
‘Yes / No’
Click.
Seoha began writing his answer.
Since he couldn’t transfer the entire paper as is, he wrote only the core points simply.
Tada-dada-tadak.
The sound of the keyboard rang through the room.
Click.
The moment he pressed the mouse, the monitor flickered once.
A brief silence.
A little later, Logia’s distinctive mechanical sound rang out.
Beep-beep—
[Analyzing answer. Please wait a moment.]
The logo spun endlessly.
‘Hm?’
The progress bar on the monitor rose slowly: 1%, 5%, 12%…
The verification, which usually ended within seconds, continued even after several minutes had passed.
[Reconstructing inference path]
[Verifying logical consistency]
Beep-beep—
[Warning: This answer has already been published as a paper.]
[Confirming whether author and user identities match]
[User email token authentication requested, ******@mit.edu]
Bzzzt—
Seoha picked up his phone and entered the six-digit code.
[Final judgment valid. Original author confirmed]
[Calculating score.]
[Evaluation limit exceeded]
[Logia is expanding the evaluation function.]
Beep-beep—
[Reference update complete]
The monitor flickered once more.
And soon, a message was sent to every user currently connected.
[User Yu Seoha has become the first to surpass 1,000 points.]
[User Yu Seoha has become the first to surpass 2,000 points.]
[User Yu Seoha has become the first to surpass 3,000 points.]
[1st: Yu Seoha / SSS / MIT / KR / 3263.9]
[2nd: Theodore Ranford / S+ / Stanford / US / 999.3]
.
.
[29th: Im Sujeong / S / KAIST / KR / 954.3]
Logia raised Seoha’s score to the highest value it could extend itself to.