The Temple of Mathematics
Renoir Dubois.
Chair Professor of Mathematics at the École Normale Supérieure (ENS) in Paris.
An authority on algebraic geometry, category theory, and motif theory.
A true heir to the Bourbaki school, which believed that mathematics must be expressed in its most abstract and structural language.
He was an experienced priest guarding the highest altar of the grand temple of modern mathematics, and an obstinate high priest preaching the religion of mathematical elegance.
In his youth, he had clashed multiple times with the peerless genius Edward Kang for the Fields Medal, competing at the very pinnacle of academia. Though he ultimately had to watch in silence as Edward claimed the glory first by a hair's breadth, Dubois remained a master hailed as the pride of the next generation of European mathematics.
From his immaculate suit and crisply pressed shirt to his gold-rimmed glasses—the very symbol of intellectual weight—he always ascended the podium in flawless form. People never doubted that every word he uttered was law in the mathematical world.
Yet now, in the heavy silence of his office, he was crushed by a bitter disillusionment and helplessness he had never experienced in his life.
He stared once more at Edward Kang's blog on the tablet screen resting on his desk.
It was an invitation that pretended to be polite but was dripping with mockery and sarcasm between the lines.
And pinned beneath it was a 250-page paper by a scholar named Lee Cheol-jun.
Edward...
Renoir let out a sigh that sounded like a groan.
His lifelong rival for the Fields Medal and his closest friend had tightened the noose around his neck in the most lethal way possible.
In truth, it wasn't Edward Kang who angered him. It was the shallow, cowardly minds of the academic elders who had pushed him forward as their representative while hiding in cowardly silence.
From Harvard to the École Normale Supérieure, his world-renowned colleagues must have realized the moment they saw this paper: this was not something that could be shattered by logic.
The formulas were crude and unsightly, but the logical deduction flowing through them was as overwhelming and solid as a massive glacier grinding forward.
Sensing that they might be crushed to death under that glacier if they made a wrong move, those cowardly masters had pushed Renoir forward as if by prearranged agreement.
"You must step forward. The man who understands the essence of mathematics better than anyone else needs to expose the mathematical deficiencies of those formulas."
"We are counting on you. Who else but you can speak with Edward Kang on equal terms?"
"When it comes to mathematical elegance, you are the best. That messy paper must be dismantled by your hands."
To Renoir's ears, those messages of encouragement sounded like a death sentence: Go die in our place.
It was obvious.
If Renoir won, they would ride on his coattails. If he fell, they would simply nod in quiet acknowledgment and move on.
Renoir toyed with his polished fountain pen, glaring at the 250-page paper once more.
No matter how many times he reviewed it, the outcome was clear.
Utter defeat.
His mathematical intuition screamed at him.
If he fought on the battlefield of calculations, he would lose without question.
There was not a single gap, not even enough to slip a needle through, among those insane calculations controlled perfectly down to the eleventh decimal place.
The moment he tried to attack the paper logically, his career as a scholar might end right then and there on a screen watched by mathematicians worldwide.
In the end, only one path remained.
To shift the debate from logic to ideology.
His only strategy was to latch onto how vulgar and anti-mathematical the method of finding the answer was.
Just like when Kenneth Appel and Wolfgang Haken had proved the Four Color Theorem using a computer, triggering a fierce backlash from mathematicians of that era.
Edward Kang would undoubtedly act as the young mathematician's spokesperson.
Even Edward wouldn't be able to ignore the fundamental ideology of mathematics.
Renoir was no longer a knight defending the truth. He had to prepare himself for the role of an old priest sending the objective truth to the stake to protect a beautiful lie.
"Mathematics must be an art. Intellect is not the servant of a machine."
He repeated this sentence aloud several times.
He felt that only by hardening his conviction could he summon the courage to face the young scholar head-on.
In this manner, he was refining the foundation of his logic around the primal principles of mathematics.
However, he was completely unaware of the most crucial fact: the shocking identity of the scholar he was about to face, Lee Cheol-jun.
"Hey. Do you know Princeton?"
At Choi Yeon-mi's sudden question, the PGM PR team leader tilted her head and replied, "It's a prestigious American university."
"Oh... you know it?"
"It's basic common knowledge."
One of Choi Yeon-mi's eyebrows twitched.
"Then do you know what the Fields Medal is?"
"Who doesn't know that? It's the award given every four years in mathematics. Wait. Someone from our country won it too... Ah! Right! Edward Kang! Come to think of it, he was at Princeton, wasn't he?"
"..."
"But why are you calling me out of nowhere to ask these random questions? And what's with that look on your face?"
Yeon-mi blinked her wide eyes at the fluent response from Myung Hye-won, the PR team leader who was like a friend she had known for nearly twenty years.
I was sure she wouldn't know either...
Yeon-mi twitched her nose and spoke.
"Now, listen carefully."
"Yes, I'm listening."
"There's this incredibly smart kid. Yes, a genius. A genius. Even that Edward Kang person acknowledges him."
"Okay."
"If a kid like that gets known to the world, a lot of annoying things could happen, right?"
"Hmm, probably?"
"But I want the world to know. I want to brag about how amazing he is."
"Hmm. So you want him to be famous, but you don't want him to be bothered?"
"Yes! Exactly. It's like... a rare luxury item that you can't just buy even if you have money?"
Myung Hye-won raised an eyebrow.
"Then you just have to make him overwhelmingly famous."
"Huh?"
"Half-baked fame just makes the neighborhood dogs bark. But if he becomes an outright myth, no one will dare approach him. Even with luxury goods, mediocre brands get flooded with knockoffs and easily handled by anyone, but no one can touch a masterpiece hanging in the Louvre."
"Oh... So, let the whole world know him, but make him like a star in the sky that no one can easily meet or touch?"
"Exactly. If people look at him and feel awe—thinking, 'I can't believe we are living in the same era as this genius,' rather than just 'Wow, he's amazing'—then far fewer annoying things will happen."
Yeon-mi let out an appreciative "Oh!" and pursed her lips.
Hye-won was indeed a professional who had successfully marketed the leading figures of K-pop.
"Hey, Hye-won. Let's do a project together."
"I don't know what it is, but I'm not really feeling it."
"It's not for free."
"Hmm. But do you even know this genius kid?"
Yeon-mi smiled softly.
"Yeah. He's my son."
Myung Hye-won stared blankly at Choi Yeon-mi with a face that asked if she had taken the wrong medicine.
"Huh? ... No, he went out to meet his friends but came back right away. Yeah. He went straight to his room and is just reading books again. Haha... Right. He seems to be preparing for that online symposium or whatever. Well... I don't know. I don't know who's going to ask questions at that symposium. They say it's live. Live. Yeah, like an internet broadcast. I guess more people will find out about him if that happens... Hmm, Cheol-jun doesn't seem nervous at all. Yeah. That's right. He hasn't had a single seizure since he fell in love with astronomy... It's a relief. That's why I couldn't stop him. I was worried his condition might worsen if he felt pressured, but it's the exact opposite. The hospital is looking at it positively too... Oh, really? Hmm, that sounds like a good idea. Yeah, they said it'll be held at Seohan University. Got it. I'll connect you. ... Come on. The opponents are all old folks with reputations to protect. Would they really go that harsh on a kid in a public setting? Even if they fought with everything they had and won, it would look pathetic. Of course. Dr. Kang Man-sik designed this very well. He's a schemer, a real schemer. Haha. Of course, it's only possible because our Cheol-jun is so smart... Exactly. They still don't know who Cheol-jun is... Right. I think things are going to get turned upside down. Haha. Alright. Yeah, I'll get in touch. Talk to you later."
Hyeong-man chuckled and tossed his phone onto the sofa.
Then, he glanced toward Cheol-jun's room.
Is it really that fun?
Hyeong-man scrunched his nose.
Lately, Cheol-jun had been keeping his door tightly shut. Before, he used to leave it slightly ajar so Hyeong-man could peek in now and then, which made him feel a bit left out.
Haha... I guess he's growing up...
Hyeong-man picked up a bag of puffed rice and stood up from the sofa.
He walked over and knocked on Cheol-jun's door.
"Want some puffed rice?"
"Yes! Thank you!"
"Haha..."
Hyeong-man chuckled and opened the door.
Oh my...
He couldn't believe how many books were piled on the desk. It looked like the tower of books might collapse and bury the little guy if he wasn't careful.
From inside the fortress of books, the kid turned his head and beamed.
He had the face of someone who had just discovered something incredibly pleasant.
Hyeong-man handed over the puffed rice.
"Here."
"Thank you!"
"Haha. Take it easy. Want Bburinkle chicken for dinner later?"
"Yes!"
Cheol-jun laughed brightly.
*
Crunch!
Cheol-jun took a bite of the puffed rice and chewed, furrowing his brow.
He was currently reflecting quite seriously.
He had realized that the things happening now were not matters to be resolved by winning or losing.
In Cheol-jun's world, the path he had created this time was truly beautiful and wonderful.
So he had never doubted that everyone would love it.
Even Dr. Kang Man-sik had called it messy at first, but was eventually persuaded by his logic, sitting on the floor and laughing heartily.
Back then, Cheol-jun thought he had won.
It wasn't a conviction that his path was right, but rather the experience of his path having "won."
Cheol-jun looked at the books Dr. Kang Man-sik had given him.
Abstract algebra, tensor analysis, linear operators and functional analysis, and category theory.
He had read them all, and he knew what could be done with their contents.
However, this time, his understanding had been slightly different from before.
Rather than being purely joyful at encountering something new, he had viewed them merely as tools that made his simple, beautiful path unnecessarily difficult.
He had regarded them as weapons to counter others when they brought up such concepts, just to say he knew them too—much like thinking of weapons in Rival.
Thus, he had simply studied them without ever trying to envision the landscape those books revealed.
It seemed that once he tasted the smug satisfaction of "winning," a strange stubbornness had taken root.
Being stubborn makes the world so narrow.
Cheol-jun tapped his head with his small fist.
At this rate, he was no different from the people who refused to acknowledge his path, calling it messy.
He had boldly thought he just needed to drag them onto his path, but now he felt embarrassed.
Because of how the atmosphere had developed, he had viewed this entire process as a mere confrontation.
A childish thought that it was a battle of words and that winning would make him feel good.
Does winning make my path any more beautiful?
When he thought about it, it didn't at all.
Cheol-jun's gaze drifted back to the books.
Whenever he understood something, joy always accompanied it, but this time, he had only understood it mechanically.
I need to properly look at the landscape the other professors are seeing.
Cheol-jun's eyes began to sparkle with a new curiosity.
Winning or losing didn't matter in the slightest anymore.
Cheol-jun brushed off the puffed rice crumbs and began taking down the college textbooks stacked high on his desk one by one.
Then, he carefully opened the oldest and thickest volume among them.
It was a translated edition of the Elements of Mathematics by Bourbaki, the legendary group of mathematicians who had rigorously rebuilt the entire framework of modern mathematics.
When he had first read it, he had dismissed the theories as inefficient, abstract nonsense and merely memorized them.
But now, having broken down the walls in his mind and looking back into it...
Whoa...
A grand temple, the likes of which he had never imagined, stood before him.
Why am I only seeing this now?
Cheol-jun felt acutely how blinding stubbornness could be.
Cheol-jun's mouth parted slightly.
The formulas no longer looked like mere sequences of symbols.
Every single one was someone's decision.
Why this symbol, why this order, why this level of abstraction.
It was the culmination of hundreds of years of mathematicians questioning and answering, packing the absolute most into the absolute least.
Cheol-jun slowly traced the page with his fingertips.
The path he had created was like chasing the stars directly and leaving footprints.
But now that he fully understood this book, he could see the world the other professors were looking at.
It captured why those footprints were left in that direction, expressed in the quietest language.
He could feel a nobility layered with hundreds of years of time.
So this is what they call art.
It wasn't that his path wasn't beautiful.
They were simply different kinds of beauty.
His path was running through the forest and feeling the wind, while this temple was looking down from above to see where that wind came from.
In the end, they were looking at the exact same forest.
Cheol-jun swallowed hard.
The words he had spoken to Dr. Kang Man-sik at the police substation came back to him vividly:
"Earlier, I saw that you make paths very difficult, Professor."
Within that difficult path lay this noble architecture.
He had failed to see the architecture.
He had only thought of it as difficult, never looking inside to see what was there.
Right now, Cheol-jun felt neither regret nor shame.
He only wanted to see what the other professors saw, to share their vision.
Cheol-jun's round eyes sparkled.
Winning isn't the goal.
The goal had to be seeing the same thing.
To do that, he had to learn to see what the other professors saw.
Only then could they hold hands and walk together.
Cheol-jun looked back at the book.
This time, with immense excitement.
Edward Kang sank deep into the sofa in the office of the Dean of Natural Sciences at Seohan University, staring blankly out the window at the campus.
Dean Gu Byung-ook sat on the opposite sofa, stealing a glance at Edward's expression.
"Are you worried?"
Edward chuckled and shook his head.
"I'm not worried. If it comes down to a battle of logic, we win without question. That much is certain. Even if Cheol-jun gets a bit flustered, I'll be translating, so I can easily handle it."
"True. There are no errors in the formulas themselves."
"And our opponents are quick calculators too."
Edward narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Actually, the moment Cheol-jun's face is revealed, no one will attack him in earnest. If they win, they beat an eleven-year-old; if they lose, they lost to an eleven-year-old. Either way, it's pathetic. They aren't the type of people who can't make that simple calculation."
Dean Gu Byung-ook tilted his head.
For someone so confident of victory, Edward's face looked rather dark.
"Then what is it that you find regrettable? You look quite troubled."
Edward fell silent for a moment, lost in thought.
"It's certain that he is an extraordinary child even now, but he keeps making me expect even more."
"What do you mean...?"
"I wonder what would happen if that child's insane intuition perfectly absorbed the fundamental principles of mathematics that masters have spent their entire lives building."
"Ah..."
"It would be too much to ask right now. He is completely captivated by the beautiful path he created. No, that's not a bad thing. It's because he has the conviction that his path is beautiful that he was able to run so breathlessly. But if Cheol-jun could discover beauty in the theories of those masters as well, and connect his path to that noble temple..."
Dean Gu Byung-ook burst into laughter.
"Haha. Even if Cheol-jun is incredibly smart and can dare to be called a genius, he is still only eleven years old. What he has done so far is already an immense achievement."
Edward also chuckled, shaking his head.
"You're right. Indeed. I was being greedy."
"I suppose your thoughts are running deep as the forum draws near."
"Whew. It seems so."
"Ah! The Department of Media and Video has agreed to help with the live broadcast this time. Also, Cheol-jun's guardian connected us with someone... a Ms. Choi Yeon-mi... She used to be a singer..."
Edward's eyes instantly lit up.
"Ah! I know her! I was a fan once!"
"Haha, I liked her a lot back in the day too. Anyway, she is currently a director at an entertainment agency called PGM. She offered to help with the marketing..."
"Oh! That will be a huge help in introducing Cheol-jun to the general public."
Indeed, it would have been a waste to introduce him only to the world of mathematicians.
He had been thinking of inviting a few reporters he knew, but a professional would surely devise a far better strategy than he could.
Edward Kang smiled broadly, brushing away the greedy regrets that had filled his mind just moments ago.
Just one day before the online live forum that mathematicians worldwide were watching with bated breath.
Out of nowhere, the First Research Laboratory of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan (NAOJ) in Tokyo was thrown into utter chaos.
"What on earth is this?!" screamed Professor Kenichi Sato, the chief research director, as if he had lost his mind.