A+ Angels and Exploding Wands
Three times a week, angels descended upon Room 301 of Building 28 at Korea University. Those seated in the very front row, the first row, were the Twelve Apostles. Seven of them were professors from the Department of Mathematical Sciences alone. In addition, the world's foremost authorities on analytic number theory were in attendance. These were the figures captured by the main camera. The footage would soon be transmitted to PhD candidates around the globe, who were still diligently analyzing Nami's proof.
By contrast, the people scattered sporadically from the second to fifth rows varied each day. Sometimes as few as ten, sometimes filling up to thirty seats.
"Whoa, she's so cute...!"
These were professors or instructors from other departments, drawn purely by the desire to see the adorable Nami. They had no clue what the angel and her Apostles were discussing, but just hearing her chirp in that nightingale-like voice was enough to make them happy.
"So, if you look at the Mellin transform of function f on page 154—"
"Hold on, 154... 154..."
"What was it, Professor Choi? The Asephite transformation? That ties into saddle points, so it'll take a while to explain. Hang on. For now, this derives neatly from the quadratic equation in Formula 8.20, so go ahead and crunch the numbers. I'll take the next question. Who's this? Minor arc... Ha... Please, Professor! I already covered that ages ago—we moved on to the major arc forever ago. Focus!"
She wasn't handling just one person at a time but a whole crowd. It felt like watching a pro chess grandmaster simming a 1v10 match. Admiration for her astonishing intellect lasted only a moment before a professor attending for the first time called out to Nami.
"Student NoName, how do you know all this? Each topic requires three to five years of dedicated study, even if you drill down on just one."
The other professors shot him sharp glares for disrupting the flow, but he'd been dying to ask, so he endured their stares stoically. The Collatz conjecture and Goldbach's conjecture weren't problems you could solve just by being a genius. If you took AlphaGo, which beat humans at Go a hundred million times, and suddenly told it to cook—would it do well? Math had systematic steps, and it didn't add up for an eight-year-old girl to match professors at their level.
"I was trapped in virtual reality for seven years... There were no blue skies, no delicious cakes, no people's laughter..."
Nami pulled her saddest possible face. Her eyes drooped at the corners. Her lips pouted. The professor finally realized his colossal blunder and began waving his hands in apology.
"Locked in a three-pyeong room, the only thing I could do was—"
"I'm sorry! No, I mean, sorry! Student, forget all the bad stuff and just make good memories from now on..."
"Bad stuff? Are you telling me to forget my late mother?"
"Gaaahhh!"
Nami had deployed the cheat code. Have you ever been trapped in VR for seven years? If not, don't talk like you know. She systematically counterattacked the professors' doubts with meta-replies. In the end, the flushed-faced professor scurried out the back door.
"That kid's voice is so clear and bright. Right? Geniuses are just on another level."
"I wanna invite her to my class sometime."
"Oh? Great idea. My buddy works in admin—how about this?"
Forget her genius; her very existence was hazardous to the heart. Right now, the barrage of jargon kept everyone from chiming in. That was the only mercy.
Auditing time ended, and under Emily Mayakovsky's guidance, the professors filed out, each lost in thought. How could they lure that kid to their class? Those with the same idea converged on the Korea University administrative office.
"Yaaawn, promo video? Korea University doesn't need that stuff."
"That's not something your promo team should say, is it?"
These salary-leeching Lupins eating away at Korea U... But it wasn't wrong, so no retort came. As the nation's top university, Korea U needed no promotion. Their annual promo videos were just 20-year-old footage with updated fonts, dumped on VTube as ritual.
"Fine, use the budget then. We all know you return it unused every year."
They laid out their grand plan.
"You want me as a promo ambassador? I'm not even a Korea U student."
"Other schools use random celebrities with no connection. Why not us? Right?"
"True."
Korea University promo ambassador. The name alone screamed pointless. But the offered sum was too tempting to refuse, sparking real interest in university classes.
"Pick a class from this list that catches your eye, go experience it, and film a video. Nami, you know the way?"
"Map's got the routes. I'll give it a shot."
"Go for it!"
I'd been cast as the star of Korea University's 2051 trend-aligned promo video renewal project. First, to gather intel, I sat on the admin building stairs, bingeing videos of celebs doing job experiences or department tours at various unis. Unlike pro broadcasts with synced PDs, cameramen, and staff, I had just a holographic multi-angle cam. Harsh gig, but kids didn't need top-shelf quality, so I'd take it easy.
Where first?
Unfolding the map, red X-marks dotted spots kindly pinned by the admin staff. Felt like treasure hunting. First stop: "Wand Structure and Function" class at Kim Woong Advanced Gymnasium.
Ring ring ring—a phone in the gym corner blared. Students seated in a circle gulped nervously. The professor stepped away to answer.
They all strained, channeling aura to their ears to eavesdrop.
"Yes, hello? Oh, really? Got it! Come carefully!"
Click. Turning back, the professor's face bloomed like a sunflower.
"She's coming right now. Our class first, probably?"
"Woooaaah!"
"A+! A+! A+! A+!"
The usually slouchy Theoretical Magic undergrads cheered the prof ecstatically. Theoretical Magic's curriculum stood apart. While most departments ran three months per semester, theirs was two and a half. Someone questioning if that wasn't better? Grab 'em by the collar. Four semesters a year. Regular curriculum: ten months. Exams: at least a week each, totaling eleven months. Vacation? Under a month combined. Easy classes were survival.
Bae Seo-jin's "Wand Structure and Function"—rumored easy A+'s. Seniors called the relatively young prof an A+ Bomber unanimously. But freshmen misunderstood: easy grades didn't mean easy class.
"Toughest semester ever..."
"And it's just freshman year semester two? But good grades make it all rosy."
"Fair. Whoa, she's coming! You feel it?"
Korea University Theoretical Magic: 86 elite spots, the ultimate entrance exam victors. Nearly 70 from academies, top ranks all, aura mastery unmatched.
Sure enough, the auditorium door creaked open, revealing a tiny child.
"Our junior wrecked the grade curve."
"Nah, this ain't right. Nami's elementary—suddenly pulling academy ties?"
One subtly flexed shared Seferon Academy roots. Unspoken factions from the nation's eight academies simmered. Especially 12-year bonds from elementary to high school—unignorable.
"Nice to meet you. Bae Seo-jin, Korea U professor! Let's have fun today!"
"NoName, second-year Seferon Academy. Please take care of me."
Nami unpacked the admin-provided cam, launched the drone. Sound-checked, class exploration began.
"Happened into a day experience—could the professor briefly explain 'Wand Structure and Function'?"
"Of course! As freshman major, no advanced stuff. We learn wand basics everyone's used, practice college-level functions. Usually—"
"Hold up. Let me ask the students."
She recalled VTube vids focusing on undergrads. Student testimonials from two months of class beat prof bias.
"Hi."
"Whoa, live now? Hi!"
"What's 'Wand Structure and Understanding' like?"
The undergrad pondered: truth or prof-pleasing polish? Justice won.
"Not far from what prof said. Like, learn types of wands."
Nod nod.
"To make wands work well, mind these points."
Nod nod.
"Final project: groups make our own wands."
"Suddenly...?"
"Haha... Prof says since we learned, Korea U kids can handle... Sniff..."
Intangible pressure silenced him. The boy's eyes welled like a pig pre-slaughter.
Academies injected knowledge; unis forced self-study. Not a place to learn, but compete. 21st century: free knowledge online everywhere. Unis just graded it.
"Why pick this class?"
Even Cheon Professor didn't run hell like this. Yet Bae's filled fastest.
"She drops A+ bombs!"
"Yeah! Prof said if Nami uses our wand and it works right, straight A+."
"Me?"
Nami eyed the prof. She flashed a generous smile. Famous for tormenting then grade-healing. She'd schemed Nami in for grade bait.
Students cheered. Undergrad wands? Crude. But elementary magic: 1st or 2nd Circle max. Hope for class-wide A+ dawned.
"If it fails?"
"C or D maybe. Who knows."
"Got it."
"Here, student-made portable transmutation circle writers."
Nami took Bae's hand, moved. Four-per-group? Eight wands lined neatly.
"Whining but they pulled it off?"
"Do it and it gets done—kids exaggerate! This year, some pre-learned from high school."
"High school teaches wand-making?"
No academy curriculum had it. Nami tsked, scanning wands.
Impressive they finished, but crude as expected.
Trickle-testing aura pinpointed flaws. Tumbler-wand: uneven walls, symmetry issues for magic. Umbrella-wand: thin circuits, risked 3rd Circle blowout.
"Why all different shapes?"
"Creativity points."
"Ah. Students had headaches aplenty."
Empathy moved them. A ray in class-hell.
"Cast any spell? Mana's free here—no pressure!"
"Okay."
Nami gripped umbrella-wand, cast. Mana surged fiercely. Tiny frame, small Aura Heart—yet handling high volume? Marvelous.
Sharp students panicked.
3rd Circle incoming?
That power... our wand...!
Updraft
Massive fluid shift in closed space guzzled mana. Among 3rd Circles, infamous for energy hunger—crude umbrella's fate? Obvious.
Screech—Boom!
It exploded.
"Aw, thought it'd hold 3rd. Off day for my math."
Mistake? Mistake?!
Groupmates convulsed at their exploding final.
"Kyahaha, knew it—umbrella shape? Duh! Called it!"
Some mocked instead of consoling. Nami tilted head, reached next wand.
Dielectric Polarization
Rattle—Bang!
"Close... but insulator?"
Adiabatic Expansion
Hiss—Boom boom!
"Too little circuit slack...?"
Wood stick, tumbler, glove, necklace. Students watched helplessly as eight wands blew in Nami's hands.
"Repair and resubmit for regrade?"
Grades fade; experience endures. Could've fudged for A+, but magic students demand perfection. Some rebelled.
"P-Prof! This ain't fair! Heard last year no 2nd Circle+ for grading."
"Indeed... what now...?"
"Nami, why those spells?!"
The boy clutched his wire-frayed wand, wailing pitifully.
"Doesn't seem A+ worthy..."
"What's not A+?! Ours was best!"
"Then duel me. You use that, I use mine. Normal wand? You'd crush an elementary kid easy."
Wand's just a tool. Craftsmen don't blame gear—if minimally sound, duel fine.
"Knew it was your goal, brat."
He whipped out blueprint, rebound wand. Red mana flowed; reborn normal.
I drew my IWC souvenir from pocket. Mana-proofed Kim Woong Advanced Gym—whole building. This life, one must-do: real magic duel. Not game loss—reality.
"Prof approves, right?"
She smiled indulgently again. Truth: pre-planned with prof before entering.