Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Synapse Takes Shape
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Seo-ha decided to start from the absolute basics, without relying on any other programs.
"It's going to get incredibly heavy from here on out, so I should keep the beginning light."
He created an empty project folder in VS Code and named it 'Synapse.' Opening the built-in terminal, he set up a virtual environment and installed only the bare minimum tools.
Four files went into the folder.
The school as a physical space, and the agents as its inhabitants.
The engine that turns the world's time, and the metrics that convert all events into numbers and indicators.
Seo-ha chose 'time and records' as the two axes driving the virtual world.
The school building was born as a square, the students as single dots. But the interior wasn't as simple as the exterior.
Each contained diverse human personalities and metrics.
Insiders, outsiders, explorers, leaders, impatient types—countless human behavior patterns were embedded in every dot.
The school was designed to function as a resource pool.
Each resource had capacity, processing speed, preferences, usage time, and priority rules.
Resources couldn't be distributed equally, so conflict was inevitable. Humans would be forced to make choices, and those choices would stack up to form society.
"Let's start with this."
Click.
Activating the engine, the agents sprang to life.
The launch of the Synapse Engine was astonishingly straightforward.
Time flew by like an arrow, and two seasons had changed.
"Snow's already falling."
Large snowflakes drifted silently past the music room window.
The school buzzed with final exam preparations.
Seo-ha had taken first place in every subject over the last two exams. But no one was surprised anymore. Among students and even teachers, he was treated as an exception.
During exam period,
Seo-ha still haunted the back rows, solving tough problems for those who asked, and otherwise devoured papers on the Riemann Hypothesis.
Synapse Engine updates continued steadily, now realistically recreating the school.
Metrics piled up new data daily.
The cafeteria lines matched reality. During exams, study room occupancy spiked.
Students clashed based on personality values but sometimes yielded or cooperated.
Still, it wasn't a full society yet.
Simulations needed data.
Without real data, Seo-ha tuned parameters using stats from literature or his own observations.
Yet as time passed, the world Synapse created increasingly mirrored the real school.
The talent exchange with Winter continued.
Seo-ha's piano skills had surged; even to untrained ears, he sounded like a music major.
Winter, through relentless effort, now kept up with high school math comfortably. A hugely beneficial swap for both.
"Yeah, time flew. What do you want to hear today?"
The more mature Winter sat at the piano bench, looking at Seo-ha.
"Chopin Ballade No. 1."
Piano notes filled the room.
She now understood her music held special meaning for him.
Delving into the Riemann Hypothesis, he'd shown troubling signs often.
The Riemann Hypothesis linked number theory, analysis, probability, even physics—requiring leaps across countless theories.
Plus each paper's unique twists meant Seo-ha absorbed volumes a university team might tackle over months, daily.
On the Riemann Hypothesis, he now outpaced anyone in Korea, with depth to hold his own against international scholars.
In Seo-ha's mind, endless waves of the Riemann zeta function rolled on. Irregular primes churned like a vast ocean.
"Ah... Again!"
The deeper he dove into the Riemann Hypothesis, the closer he felt to an abyss.
Was that sense of solvability a trap?
Heading that way only thickened the fog. Sometimes he felt adrift alone in a sea of equations.
Then Doki would stir, urging him to merge.
Do that, and he'd read the entire ocean, nearing truth.
"You're practically me already."
"Don't you want to feel truth's waves in your heart?"
Doki's voice was sweet.
But Seo-ha sensed what lay at temptation's end.
"Probably madness."
No sane mind could process it. So, slow steps forward, one by one.
Piano sounds drifted in.
Winter playing Doki's theme—sensing his poor state, she kept going.
Seo-ha opened his eyes.
"How long was I out?"
"About 40 minutes. Longer than usual today."
Winter kept her fingers on the keys, watching him.
Worry and relief mixed on her face.
Seo-ha tried to smile, but his expression wouldn't cooperate.
"That stuff... it's really tough, right?"
Winter eyed the papers in his bag.
Seo-ha shook his head.
"Sorry for worrying you. It's not always like this, so don't worry. Around you, my mind relaxes, and I lose track."
Months of meetings let Winter feel she knew him.
A genius the world watched, but fragile inside—could crumble anytime. And how he courted crisis chasing hard problems.
"No idea! I wouldn't even look at that junk."
Winter gazed at him pityingly, then placed hands on keys again.
This time, softer melody. Warm arpeggios like spring breeze filled the room.
Seo-ha closed eyes, listening.
"Gotta pull myself together. Or I might end up like Gödel."
But there were gains.
Amid papers, a breakthrough clue.
Winter glanced sideways at him.
His lips twitched up—something good? Her playing helped him, joyful yet anxious.
"Why can't I just leave him be?"
She worried for him beyond understanding.
"Thanks."
Seo-ha murmured low.
Winter didn't reply, just kept playing.
"Huh? Same name again?"
Like with the Four Color Theorem, Seo-ha sorted read papers.
Isolated ones for review—and one cited author recurred.
In zeta analytic properties, prime gaps probability, even quantum chaos links... Different authors, same citations.
Common thread: all fringe academics.
"Who is this guy?"
Mikhail Orsen.
Slavic-sounding name.
"Department of Mathematics, Lesley University."
"Lesley?"
Unheard-of school.
But email domain: US, Massachusetts—home to Harvard and MIT.
Seo-ha scoured the internet for his papers.
Found in old journals, buried deep—ignored by all.
"Unpublished material?"
Such papers were usually rejected by editors or trashed in peer review.
"My God!"
Reading Orsen's work, Seo-ha nearly screamed.
His hunches matched Seo-ha's guesses perfectly.
But his ostracism from mainstream made sense.
Crude logic, disorganized thoughts.
Like a kid chasing rainbows with a net.
Seo-ha decided to email him.
Tap, tap.
[To Professor Orsen.]
-I'm a student studying math in Korea.
While researching Riemann Hypothesis papers recently, I stumbled on your work.
If possible, could we talk?
-With respect, Yoo Seo-ha.
Papers hid truths.
Seo-ha wanted to verify hunches only in his head.
"Will he reply?"
Professor or not, forgotten by academia.
A kid from abroad emailing? Could seem a prank.
Seo-ha tempered expectations.
Just wanted confirmation: did his path exist? Had someone followed those traces?
Two days later, dorm room, dawn.
Beep—
Email notification on laptop.
Seo-ha's heart dropped. Trembling, he clicked.
[RE: To Professor Orsen.]
-So you're the boy who proved the Four Color Theorem.
I've long abandoned the Riemann Hypothesis. If you saw something in my work, pretend you didn't. Advice: that path leads to hell. My papers crushed in review after review, funding cut, colleagues turned away.
Not for a promising lad. Take it as read.
PS. If still curious, come to my house. I can't go far.
-Mikhail Orsen.
"Come visit?"
His warning to ignore faded fast. Address attached: Boston, near his university.
But going wasn't simple.
"Ah!"
Seo-ha jumped up, rummaging letterbox.
From the pile, old invites spilled out.
Post-Four Color fame, academia and media sent plenty.
Variety quiz offers, European conference forums, Japanese Math Olympiad symposium invites.
Seo-ha ignored them. Solved problems were past.
"There was one from the US..."
He sifted.
"Found it!"
[Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Department of Mathematics]
Invite to 'Young Mathematicians Forum,' with round-trip ticket and lodging.
Date had time left.
Seo-ha pulled up US map, checked address.
"Close."
Heart raced.
"But how to convince Mom?"
He eyed the envelope.
MIT logo in gold foil glimmered softly.
"An MIT invite? School and parents should buy that easy."
Felt like holding an unbeatable card.