Standing on the Giant's Shoulders

Cheon Se-min's point was simple. If people in the real world recognized my value before I even released the exposé video, they would support whatever I said, no questions asked. It was just a bonus that once something unbelievable happens once, everyone rushes to deny it—but if it happens two or three times in a row, they all adapt before they know ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it.

What caught Se-min's eye were my proof equations. He stressed the need to break it into stages. First, I would showcase an achievement far beyond my age to the public. Second, it would tip off even those who didn't follow internet streams.

"And at the end, ta-da! Turns out I'm only seven. How's that for a scenario?"

It was childish as hell. Why did everyone love peekaboo so much?

"No way."

"Why not?"

"Because this isn't something I proved myself... It's just a translation."

Beyond the means, this was a matter of my morals and conscience. Most of the math I knew—especially number theory—was just concepts I'd learned from my master. I'd merely adapted them to this world's notations and conventions, since they differed completely from hers. The Brocard problem was one thing, but the rest weren't even puzzles to solve. It was like taking a finished jigsaw and sliding it sideways.

I couldn't use knowledge infused with her passion and soul just to take an easier path. In game terms, this was cheating—map hacks. A temptation offered to someone who'd merely stumbled between two worlds.

"Then just list her as a co-author."

"Co-author?"

Put the name 'Maria Euphrasia Terarubi'—who didn't even exist here—as first author? Well, Se-min didn't know I was reincarnated, so of course he'd say that.

"She's not in this world anymore."

"Oh... She passed away? Then isn't that even better?"

"Wow... Wow... Your ethics are something else."

"Not like that! It's a great chance to spread her name far and wide. Right?"

"You think publishing papers is that casual? They review authors first, of course..."

"Whatever. It's going on VTube anyway— we'll figure it out later."

Se-min replied with innocent shamelessness. Wasn't this guy supposed to become a doctor someday? He sure pulled off shady stuff without batting an eye.

"It's still theft."

But it wasn't about whether it would work. I lacked the qualifications to prove it myself. Curiosity when receiving the puzzle, anticipation when dumping it out, passion during assembly, accomplishment upon completion. Master Maria had all those elements. I was just mimicking her.

I envied her passion for knowledge so much, wanted to emulate her focus on diving deep into one thing. I devoured every book she wrote—even her notebooks. Yet I could never become like her. I could never match her genius.

"Why? Did you copy her knowledge word-for-word without missing a single bit? You have to understand it to translate it, right?"

"Not exactly the same."

"I'm no math expert, so skip over if I'm off-base. But Nami, I think like this: Ever heard 'stand on the shoulders of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠giants'?"

"I know what it means."

Climb atop those who've achieved enough in the field to reach farther.

"Human progress doesn't start from zero. Someone invents the wheel, another adds an axle, then handlebars, then an engine. My high school teacher told me this: Over 90% of Einstein's relativity came from prior theories. The greatest genius of the 20th century just took one more step."

"Is that so..."

"Yeah! That one step! Nami, was translating it easy for you?"

Hardly. Once I realized the Ostain factor corresponded to Kähler differentials here, I spent days agonizing over étale morphisms and étale cohomology.

"Standing on giants' shoulders isn't stealing their knowledge. Building better results on it—that's true respect for their experience and achievements. Get me?"

Why was math like this? Even in my past life, mathematicians were all madmen. While others chased wealth and fame with magic, they taped cracked glasses and burned through ink. They were obsessed with exploring and expanding the unknown.

Their homes grew cramped, their wives nagged more, but the math tower's scholars burned with passion undeterred. I'd once felt that for magic too—the thrill when the irrational became commonplace. But at some point, that fire diluted in me until no trace remained. Magic had long become a means, not an end.

Could I reclaim that passion?

"Oppa Se-min, then I'll do it like this."

To stand on a giant's shoulders, I had to show achievements worthy of it. This was my chance to surpass my past self. I'd failed to prove it before, but with modern math's power now... maybe.

"Know the Strong Goldbach Conjecture?"

"No? Never heard. Goldbach rings a bell. Wait, did you just call me oppa—"

"Three days. If I prove Goldbach on my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own in three days, I'll release the other six proofs too."

This was proof to myself. If I couldn't do even this alone, the other six were just rip-offs of Master's ideas.

Did I have confidence? Absolutely. I covered my mouth to hide the smile forming.

"You'll know soon enough whether you want to or not. Wait it out. Your eyes'll hurt from seven proofs—rest up now."

Yeah. Typing slave duty for Cheon Se-min. Seomaru would be busy editing anyway. Staring at screens too long wasn't kid-friendly.

"Seven? What? Seven proofs?"

The first wave of a tsunami is always calm.

The black screen boldly sandwiched between Self-Produced scream videos on NoName's VTube channel was enough to draw eyes. Usually Vtubers slapped "Sorry!" trends, but NoName's was different. The black wasn't a plain background—it was a chalkboard. As the camera zoomed out, NoName appeared from the edge, holding white chalk.

"Is it okay to just upload like this?"

"Yeah, no editing needed—full uncut videos. I'll handle the last one myself. Feels right."

Seomaru questioned midway, but Nami replied with firm certainty. As promised, she'd prepared all seven proofs. Even the most advanced ABC took ages to film. Worried for her stamina, Professor Cheon advised sticking to essentials. Nami compromised at a reasonable point, regretfully wrapping the final proof.

"This concludes the proof. Thanks to Maria Euphrasia Terarubi and Korea University Professor Cheon Kyujin for their help."

The camera shutter clicked shut on Nami. Professor Cheon pulled tissues to wipe her nose. Red blood soaked the thin paper.

"It'd stop without magic anyway. You're overdoing it."

Nami rolled tissue and stuffed her nose. Professor Cheon gazed at her, face clouded with concern.

"Asking you not to upload now... that'd be rude, right?"

"I know what worries you, Professor."

Nami had skipped academy for a week, buried in proofs. Endless unexcused absences prompted constant calls— was she sick? Bullied, despite being low-year? Teachers fretted, but Nami always ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reassured them she was fine.

"Things'll change more than you think. Some'll covet your shining talent, others envy it. I just wanted our Nami to live a normal life."

"Normal..."

"Eat breakfast, head to school or work, chat about the day when back, discuss transmutation theory when bored. I'm scared if those precious routines can continue. Like 'a dagger in the pocket'?"

"A stinger in the pouch?"

"Genius is a fate they can't escape. Talent like yours gets found out eventually. Not always good—keep that in mind, Nami. Longer and it'd sound like nagging, huh?"

"Perfect cut-off timing, Professor."

Nami thumbs-upped. Professor Cheon burst laughing, ruffling her hair.

"Hahaha. Right, tournament tomorrow? After all this prep, you gotta win or it's a waste! Loser fish otherwise!"

"Obviously! Haven't shown full power yet. Know what? New capsule I ordered arrives today. Old one's too slow on response... Should be here soon."

Ding-dong—

"Installers here."

"Work hard. Cheering for you."

"Kinda embarrassing with someone watching. If I flop, blame you, Professor."

"Then cheer harder! Haha."

Alone in the room center, Nami sat scanning the whiteboard crammed with her proofs. Filming had flaws—couldn't show everything, so focused on theorem/proposition cores. Board was smudged black from erasures and rewrites.

Nami lay on the carpeted floor, eyes closing briefly.

Eyes shut, scenes of writing it replayed vividly. Nami's lips curved up, just a bit.

Now she knew.

"2+2=4. 3+3=6. 3+5=8. 3+7=10..."

Why her master hummed numbers climbing the magic tower stairs.

"7+23=30... Am I going mad now, or already like Master?"

One-eyed village tale, incompleteness theorem. Shaking stray thoughts, Nami's eyes slowly closed.

The hibernating computer blinked alive—upload complete signal.

Nami had solved problems unsolved for over 300 years. Verification was now the public's job.