Chapter 47
Chapter 47
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Arrival of the World's Top Mathematicians
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Incheon International Airport arrival hall,
"Look at the camera on the right!"
"Professor, what's the purpose of your visit to Korea this time?"
"Are you really here to verify the Four Color Theorem?"
Camera flashes exploded without end.
Eliya Kronen stood out immediately, even from a distance.
His tall stature, silver hair, upright posture, and ice-cold gray eyes made it impossible to guess his age.
A man who had already reached the pinnacle of the mathematical world in his mid-40s,
his career of solving dozens of problems as if collecting trophies was more than enough to earn him the acclaim of the world's sharpest mind from people everywhere.
He passed by the reporters with indifferent eyes.
Following him was a young female mathematician.
Chloe Moreau, a topologist from France's ENS, looked fatigued from jet lag but answered the reporters' questions curtly.
"Oui. Something important has happened in the Korean mathematical world. I can't wait to see it for myself."
At another exit, Shimura Kenji, a complexity theorist from the University of Tokyo, appeared. Japanese media swarmed around him.
"Professor Shimura! World-class mathematicians are gathering in Korea—are you joining them? Can we consider you close to Princeton's Eliya Kronen?"
"Professor! There's a rumor that a thirteen-year-old boy in Korea solved the Four Color Theorem—are you going to verify it? What are your thoughts on Japan's promising prodigies?"
Shimura paused for a moment, then sighed as he looked at the reporters.
"Does mathematics have a nationality? I'm just here as a fellow researcher to assist with the verification."
It was an interview devoid of any substance, but the Japanese media extracted the headlines they wanted.
Following them, MIT's Walter Scott and the University of Bonn's Georg Stein entered Korea one after another. Researchers who had been watching the situation with interest also boarded flights to Korea of their own accord.
Young combinatorists from various European countries, PhD students from the US, and even independent researchers who hadn't yet secured formal positions.
The news that Eliya Kronen himself was participating in the verification served as ironclad proof that this was no mere rumor.
Many believed that witnessing the site where a problem was being tackled firsthand would become a lifelong asset to their research careers.
And this atmosphere was soon picked up by the media.
-A student from Korea's Gifted High School is drawing the attention of the global mathematical community.
Recently, a photo that went viral in internet communities as the 'summoning circle' is now claimed to be a new proof of the Four Color Theorem.
The photo seemed like a mere incident at first, but the situation has changed rapidly.
With world-renowned scholars like Princeton's Eliya Kronen arriving in Korea one after another, not only academia but the public is abuzz.
"If it were just a rumor, those figures wouldn't come themselves," is the common reaction among scholars.
Experts caution that "we still don't know if the proof is correct," but the fact that heavyweight academics are moving in person shows this is no simple commotion.
If the Four Color Theorem proof is confirmed true, Yoo Seo-ha (13, Gifted High School freshman) is expected to go down in history as the first to solve a problem long thought impossible without computers.
A luxury hotel near the Sejong City government complex,
Starting two days ago, the hotel lobby—usually frequented by buyers and officials in crisp business suits—began hosting an entirely different crowd.
Instead of suits, they wore casual jackets and shirts; instead of sleek briefcases, they carried thick leather bags or backpacks.
On the sofas, middle-aged scholars let their coffee grow cold while poring over papers; at corner tables, young researchers huddled over laptop screens, debating in hushed tones.
The front desk staff inwardly clicked their tongues.
"All these people are mathematicians..."
The Korean Mathematical Society had provided the verification team with a large conference room at KIAS.
A spacious area with large windows,
at the front stood a massive whiteboard and electronic blackboard, while cameras and scanners lined the walls.
"All materials will be digitized here."
A society representative guided the verification team.
"The originals from the Gifted High School seminar room will be preserved, and verification will proceed here. We've planned to keep the space open 24 hours for free discussion among scholars from around the world."
Kronen nodded. Then, in his impassive tone, he spoke.
"First, I want to see the proof site."
Kronen recalled the classroom from the attached files.
It was one of the most striking scenes in his decades as a scholar.
"Pardon?"
The society rep, who had spent a week organizing materials, looked dumbfounded.
"Professor, all the data is already prepared. We can verify more efficiently here."
The rep protested cautiously.
But as Kronen fixed his gray eyes on him steadily, he had no choice but to bow his head.
"Understood."
In front of the Gifted High School main building,
The principal felt sweat beading in his palms. He straightened his tie once more and unnecessarily pushed at a wobbly stake in the access control line.
"What in the world is happening?"
He had hoped the school would gain recognition, but not to this extent.
A black sedan glided in and stopped before him. The door opened, and a middle-aged man in a dark suit stepped out, a government ministry insignia on his chest.
"Education Ministry liaison dispatch, Jeong Min-su."
He handed over a business card in a low voice.
"From today, we'll handle all media relations, access control, and route management. For any government communication, go through me. Principal, just focus on managing the students."
The principal took the card with a blank expression, then sighed in relief.
"Thank you."
His new suit felt awkward.
But handing over responsibility brought a sense of ease. The situation had long exceeded his control.
Crackle—
The guard's radio flickered.
The main gate opened, and a black van, silver sedan, and minivan entered the campus in succession. As the vehicles lined up and stopped, attendants disembarked first. Then the rear doors opened, and the silver-haired man stepped out.
"Eliya Kronen."
The principal and staff on hand, along with academic figures, swallowed hard in unison.
He looked even more composed and sharp than in photos.
Someone reached for their phone but pocketed it hastily under the guard's glare.
Following him, Japan's Shimura Kenji, France's Chloe Moreau, America's Walter Scott, and Germany's Georg Stein exited the van one by one.
The principal, gauging the moment, stepped forward first.
"Thank you for the long journey. Welcome!"
Kronen gave a brief nod, and Jeong Min-su stepped up.
"Routes are secured. This way, please."
The verification team moved at his gesture, proceeding down the hall to the seminar room in question. The door was layered with seal stickers and 'Restricted Access' notices.
Riiip—
The admin checked the release papers and carefully peeled off the tape.
Click—
The card key unlocked the door.
Kronen entered first.
Chalk dust, paper scent, and the metallic air of a long-sealed room wafted out.
Click.
The principal flipped on the lights, revealing the seminar room in full.
A3 sheets covered every wall, intricate graphs and symbols intertwined, a massive automata diagram dominating the blackboard center.
The verification team stood speechless for a long moment.
"信じられない. (Unbelievable.)"
Shimura muttered in Japanese.
"It's really cool. This is the first classroom like this I've ever seen."
"Jesus Christ."
Exclamations mixed in various languages erupted.
"Hahaha! Incredible. After just papers, being at a site like this brings back my youth."
Georg burst into cheerful laughter.
"Really. Isn't it so romantic?"
Chloe walked slowly along the wall with a lovestruck expression. Her fingertips hovered at the paper's edge before stopping.
"The numbers recognize each other. Rules embracing other rules."
They were all top-tier mathematicians.
Verifying papers was routine for them. But standing in the living site of a proof—not a stack of papers—excited them.
They imagined the young mathematician who had waged a solitary battle here for days.
Stein scrutinized a sheet on the wall.
The symbols were inconsistent; some lines slanted as if scribbled in haste.
"Notation not in any standard textbook."
Chloe nodded.
"He wrote it just for himself. Clearly, he never intended to show this room to anyone."
"And we have to interpret it."
Chloe's hand paused at a spot on the wall.
"He changed methods here. That transition would cause a collision under the original definition. So he created a new rule. I wouldn't have done it this way—too risky."
"A dangerous attempt. But it seems to have successfully avoided contradictions and closed the system in the end."
Click.
Click.
The researchers examined the room, gathering materials.
Kronen stood in the classroom for a long while.
He was tracing the logical flow left by the boy. Being here made it vivid: the resolve with which the boy chose this place, the mindset from which he began the proof.
As he moved, it was as if traces revived like a film unfolding before his eyes.
A young boy standing before the blackboard, writing equations in one go. He must have grasped the overall logical framework before even arriving here.
Unfamiliar symbols caught his eye on the wall. Unable to contain his proof in existing language, he had created his own.
"Not something done in a day or two."
He deftly avoided minefields.
The rules he made were all histories of failure, compiled into regulations.
Faint chalk marks on the blackboard edge held his gaze. One side showed erasure traces, overlaid with new arrows.
"Not all planned from the start."
He had collided, collapsed, risen again, building the system. Yet the structure was remarkably solid.
In the corner sat a pile of notebooks.
Stained dark with handling, edges frayed here and there. Kronen picked up the top one.
Childlike handwriting, solutions still bound by textbook frames, yet traces of earnest exploration lay within.
"Like a research log from the mathematicians."
He sat in a chair and picked up several notebooks.
Dates were neatly noted.
As time passed, the writing sharpened, unsteady equation developments forming coherent structures.
The boy's failures accumulated.
But atop them, new attempts continued relentlessly.
Attempts to track coloring cycles with modular arithmetic, to reduce cases by grouping into isomorphic graphs. Kronen paused flipping pages.
In efforts shuttling between plane and sphere for hints, a familiar pattern emerged.
"This is my method."
This child had undoubtedly read his papers—and tried applying them directly to his own research.
In the latest notebook, clear evolution shone.
His own symbols, notations and conventions unseen in any prior papers, filled the pages.
Kronen closed the notebook and exhaled deeply.
The notebooks made it certain.
This room had been the boy's final battlefield.
What he had read was the grand saga of a boy spanning seven years—the record of that war.