227 - The Final Proof

The eyes of the Korea University Department of Applied Mathematics professors widened in shock. So all that passionate display up until now had been what, exactly?

"Viewers from around the world have sent in so many questions with their loving support, but unfortunately, we can't cover them all in this time slot. I'll put a link to my broadcast channel up on the screen here. So, I'll pick out the most substantial ones based on that and focus on those."

A massive QR code appeared on the screen. It was a direct link to NoName's Twishi channel.

As the audience murmured in confusion, the faint sound of a donation notification chimed from her phone, picked up by the mic.

"Yes, we'll start with number 69. But from now on, please use the paid voting channel."

NoName flashed a sly grin and glanced at Dr. Robert Fuller. He flinched, looking flustered.

There were all sorts of ways to make money.

"Another question from Oxford University about elliptic curves. Looks like everyone's really into Goldbach's conjecture, huh."

NoName picked up the chalk again, dragged a small stool across the floor with a screech, hopped up on it, and began explaining the proof.

It was the same pattern again. Once she finished a proof, she'd check the stream and answer the top-funded question.

Just two hours in, and it now took $850 to reach the top spot. Industry folks were floored.

Even submitting a truly groundbreaking paper to academia netted less than 500,000 won in royalties—and that was before publishers took 80%, plus review fees, publication costs, and membership dues left you in the red.

But selling a single proof like this, complete with sub-proofs? For that much? It was the fans' devotion that made it possible.

Questions that started at 1,000 won were now hitting 10,000, 100,000, nearly a million.

And then the trolls showed up.

"Defining the natural numbers themselves might help with understanding. I'll prove 1+1=2 using the Peano axioms."

"Nami! This has nothing to do with the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠current proof!"

"Shh. Of course it does."

She furrowed her brow. Her glare said one more peep and she'd tell on him to Emily. The mathematician, who'd shot to his feet, glanced around awkwardly and slunk back to his seat.

The audience, meanwhile, found the whole scene hilarious.

Serious questions for elegant proofs now had to battle Pythagoras' theorem or quadratic formula derivations.

"Just one more question, then we'll wrap up."

Ruler and compass were familiar tools to any Korean who'd properly finished elementary school—tools tied to memories of stabbing yourself on the point while drawing circles wildly or snapping the pencil lead from pressing too hard.

So the regular 17-gon construction was the highlight of the day. Way more thrilling than debating elliptic curves or Morera's theorem in complex analysis with other mathematicians. Showing off the ultimate construction with just ruler and compass? Pure excitement.

Baek Arin and Seo Yu-na, who'd dozed off to dreamland an hour ago, rubbed their eyes when Professor Cheon shook them awake.

As NoName drew a large circle with the compass—the foundation for the regular 17-gon—she kept up her narration. Her long streaming experience let her pinpoint exactly where viewers might zone out.

"Do you all know Fermat's Last Theorem? Pierre de Fermat, who came up with that, also first conceived 'Fermat primes.' Roughly, F is 2 to the power of 2^n plus 1."

Semicircles bloomed and vanished between circles. NoName laboriously moved the stool, then connected two points with a ruler as tall as she was.

"All Fermat primes are constructible. That's why we can construct equilateral triangles, pentagons, 17-gons, 257-gons, and 65,537-gons."

A straight line and two rays extended from the y-axis. Time for the eraser to shine again. White chalk dust flew, and she coughed lightly.

Then she stretched her short arms high, gripping the compass at the center, heels slightly lifted.

"I think collective intelligence is crucial in mathematics. Even if you're stuck agonizing alone, someone else might spot the easy solution. I hope other kids, inspired by my 17-gon construction, solve the proofs I couldn't finish. Just my personal wish."

All other lines were erased. Only a single tree-like line stood firm on the x-axis inside the large circle centered at the origin.

She'd gone through all that just to draw this one line segment.

That's why math feels so futile.

Maria Eupraxia was the type to devote her life to finding something utterly trivial. NoName preferred aura or magic—things that helped people directly.

"Will you count ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠along with me?"

The compass's final act.

"One, two, three!"

She dotted the circle, and with each turn, uniform petal shapes emerged.

"Four, five, six!"

Having come this far with effort, NoName drew the white lines with utmost care and precision.

It could feel futile. Still, she wondered if feeling the beauty here made it okay.

Life hurtled toward death with no single right answer, so every path was valid.

"Fifteen! Sixteen! Seventeen!"

The final arc connected perfectly to the starting point. Seventeen points now dotted the circle.

Normally, you'd connect them with a ruler sans markings, but NoName had another idea.

A magic circle identical to the original hovered in the air. From the geometric pattern, seventeen lines radiated out.

A perfect regular 17-gon.

NoName maneuvered the circle like a soap bubble, aligning it precisely with the blackboard.

"Whoa... it's exact...!"

Yu-na gasped in awe.

The seventeen white chalk petals matched the glowing golden magic circle perfectly.

Ding!

The clock struck exactly 6 p.m. NoName checked her wristwatch and delivered her closing line.

"I've discovered a truly astonishing proof for the Demon King sequence conjecture, but sadly, we're out of time today to share it. Thank you all for listening. This has been NoName."

That day, several witnesses claimed to have seen two horns sprouting from NoName's shadow on the curtain.

"I understand that proving NoName's Demon King sequence conjecture would perfectly prove the twin prime conjecture as well! Is there a reason you're delaying the announcement? Or have you completely abandoned the twin prime conjecture in your heart?"

A reporter, mic in hand, caught me slipping out the back door.

I rolled my eyes, buying a moment to think, then chuckled vaguely.

"Somehow, I just don't feel like talking about it in Korea. Maybe because Korea abandoned me...?"