Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Vibrations of the Zeros
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It was a delightful time.
For Yoo Seo-ha, seeing mathematicians gathered in one place was a novel experience.
After the dean's speech concluded, the first session began.
The panel, titled "Challenges and Young Researchers," featured each participant candidly sharing their own tales of failure.
One elderly professor spoke up.
"I spent four years grappling with Fermat's Last Theorem. When Andrew Wiles finally proved it, part of me felt relieved, while another part felt utterly hollow.
It took me another three years to muster the drive for new research. Nothing sparked any motivation.
So, to all of you: Choose your challenges wisely, but don't let them consume your life."
Clap, clap, clap!
Applause erupted.
As the sound died down, a middle-aged professor slowly took the microphone.
Adrian Keller—a name Yoo Seo-ha knew well.
"When I was young, I challenged the Riemann Hypothesis. I truly believed it was my destiny. But years passed with no results.
At home, I was practically a ghost. My wife raised our child alone, growing exhausted, while I wasted away in the lab, pulling all-nighters. I kept thinking, just a little more, and something will break through."
He uncapped his bottle and took a sip of water.
"Most researchers tackling big problems eventually face a special moment: the time to decide when to quit.
I chose my family in the end, and I still believe it was the right call.
But it's painful. Because even now, I think about the Riemann zeta function every day—in the lecture hall teaching calculus to students, even at dinner with my family."
He scanned the participants with deep, piercing eyes.
"This, to me, is the most wretched form of failure. I hope you all become better researchers than I was. That concludes my remarks."
A brief silence fell. Then, quiet but profound applause spread through the hall, lingering heavily.
"Do you regret challenging the Riemann Hypothesis?"
Someone asked.
The professor turned back as he headed to his seat.
"My pain isn't from the Riemann Hypothesis itself. It's from confronting it and realizing my own limits.
Sometimes, you want to dive into a problem even knowing it'll shatter you. Many great mathematicians of the past went through that, leaving us clues like dying messages.
But my cowardice—lacking the courage for that—torments me."
The session's intent was clear: Don't chase problems just for glory or rewards.
Yet someone would always take that path.
That was the essence of mathematics—an discipline propelled by humanity's stubborn curiosity.
So the professors posed a question to the young researchers assembled here:
How much are you prepared to endure?
It gave Yoo Seo-ha much to ponder.
During the break, participants scattered into the lobby and hallways in small groups.
Long lines formed at the coffee machines, and every small table buzzed with researchers holding snacks and cups.
Yoo Seo-ha took a paper cup of water, sipped it, and headed to the end of the hallway. He wanted to escape the crowd.
As he walked, he spotted the professor from the stage earlier sitting on a bench in the corner at the hall's end.
He was hunched over, clutching his head with both hands, lost in thought.
Is he unwell?
Just as he meant to pass by, the man's voice called out.
"Yoo Seo-ha?"
Yoo Seo-ha turned around.
"Eliya Kronen called me. He said you're tackling the Riemann Hypothesis and asked if I could offer some advice."
"You know Professor Kronen?"
"We shared a research lab once.
I'm sorry I couldn't be more help. But thanks to him, I finally confessed my true feelings in front of everyone for the first time."
Yoo Seo-ha felt sorry seeing the man's pained expression.
Despite his substantial achievements, the researcher couldn't acknowledge them and saw himself as a failure.
"Professor Adrian."
He seemed embarrassed.
"I've read all your papers. Your approach to the zero distribution of the Riemann zeta function from statistical and analytic perspectives was incredibly fresh.
There were results along the way, but you also hit a dead end. That's what convinced me we must incorporate probability theory and physical language."
Adrian looked up at Yoo Seo-ha in stunned silence, never expecting the young man to have read his work.
"Your research greatly helped me chart my own path. You've already left a valuable legacy for those who follow. At least, I've certainly received it."
Adrian's eyes reddened.
"I see. So... my work wasn't entirely meaningless."
Yoo Seo-ha left him to his solitude.
No mathematician stands alone.
Even the great Newton admitted his achievements built on those before him.
Though they may not reach the summit, mathematicians desperately leave traces of their existence. Those become stepping stones for the next generation.
The papers Yoo Seo-ha had read were filled with the anguish and frustration of countless authors.
That realization steeled his resolve once more.
No matter what, I'll solve it someday.
The fire in his chest burned brighter.
An old residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Boston.
Thud.
"Thank you."
Yoo Seo-ha stepped out of the taxi and looked around.
A winter chill whistled between the brick walls. Clutching a small map, he navigated the narrow alleys.
In this faded neighborhood, where even the signs had been repainted multiple times, he found his destination tucked in a corner.
Beep—
Pressing the doorbell elicited a creak from inside. Soon, heavy footsteps approached.
Click.
The worn door swung open, releasing a musty scent of paper, dust, and old books—like stepping into a used bookstore.
"Come in. You're much younger than I expected."
Deep wrinkles and graying hair framed Mikhail Orsen's surprised expression as he regarded Yoo Seo-ha.
"Hello, Professor."
Yoo Seo-ha bowed, and Orsen opened the door wide with a faint smile.
"Enter. Coming all the way to this shabby place—youth truly is reckless."
The house resembled a small library. Books, notes, and stacks of faded papers towered to the ceiling, claiming every table and inch of floor.
"Sit."
Yoo Seo-ha sat cautiously, and the old sofa groaned.
Pour.
Orsen fetched a cheap coffee pot from the kitchen and offered instant coffee.
"Now, tell me. How did you even know about me to come here?"
Orsen's voice was low and gravelly, like someone unused to conversation.
Yoo Seo-ha opened his bag and began pulling out papers one by one.
[Research on Zeros of the Riemann Zeta Function and Spectral Statistics]
[Studies on Correlations Between Quantum Chaos and Prime Distribution]
[Chaotic Eigenvalues and the Critical Line Hypothesis]
[On the Mathematical Interpretation of the Hilbert-Pólya Operator]
With each paper placed on the table, Orsen's face paled. Finally, he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.
"These were the studies that caught my interest. I noticed they all cited your papers, Professor Orsen."
He picked up a paper with trembling hands and flipped the cover.
"These authors are old colleagues and students of mine. Others omitted citations out of fear their work wouldn't pass peer review. I don't resent them—they have to make a living."
Orsen had long researched the link between quantum chaos and the Riemann Hypothesis.
But it was a theory on the brink of abandonment—no more funding would come.
Orsen trailed off and fetched a small cardboard box from the room.
On its side, scrawled in marker: R-Flow / Discarded
A collection of discarded ideas from his theory interpreting the Riemann zeta function as a flow.
Opening the lid revealed yellowed calculations, graph printouts, and well-worn notebooks crammed inside. Margins were scribbled with notes.
"What do you think of the Riemann Hypothesis?"
His gaze bored into Yoo Seo-ha. The young man sensed what he sought confirmation for.
"Professor, I don't see the zeros of the Riemann zeta function as static structures. They're moving waves."
Yoo Seo-ha reflected.
The reason great mathematicians had failed to prove it for nearly two centuries: The zeros weren't fixed points but fleeting instants where vibrations halted on the complex plane.
Orsen trembled at his words.
This was the theory he'd championed his whole life.
Preliminary talks and private nods of approval came, but major journals rejected it time and again for "irreproducible results" and "insufficient evidence." He'd gathered them all in this box.
Bam!
Orsen slammed the table with his palm.
"Exactly! How can you describe a flowing river from a still picture?"
Orsen spent a long time explaining to Yoo Seo-ha why he'd arrived at this idea—from hints in the notion that prime distribution resembles music, to anecdotes from grad school assisting with resonator experiments.
He was a chatterbox.
Once he started, words poured out like pent-up steam. Yoo Seo-ha listened quietly to his rage and regrets.
He pulled out a faded printout and spread it on the floor.
Each sheet bore small circles and arrows, dense with handwritten notes: "spacing," "repulsion," "GUE (Gaussian Unitary Ensemble * statistical model from random matrix theory)?"
"But there's no proof."
He sighed deeply.
"That was beyond my reach. With my abilities, I couldn't predict its motion, let alone quantify it.
My life's work proves it. This is as far as I go."
Yoo Seo-ha was glad to find another thinker aligned with his own. He'd achieved his goal in coming here.
"It was a pleasure today. You've helped me immensely."
He needed to return to the hotel before the steakhouse closed. Yoo Seo-ha stood.
"Hm?"
Orsen blinked at him.
"Pardon?"
"Didn't you come for my research materials?"
His tone mixed bewilderment and disappointment.
"Your papers already helped plenty. I was just curious about the man behind them."
A smile crept across Orsen's lips.
He retrieved a notebook from the bookshelf. Its worn leather cover spoke of years.
"This is my last notebook. Never made it to publication. Got cancer."
"Ah..."
As Yoo Seo-ha fumbled for condolences, Orsen shook his head.
"I've envied geniuses my whole life. 'If only I had their brains, I could've solved it.'
But now, I'm grateful a genius like you takes interest in my theory. It might help; don't refuse."
He placed the notebook in the cardboard box and handed it to Yoo Seo-ha.
After a moment's hesitation, Yoo Seo-ha accepted it and bowed deeply to the old professor.
"Thank you."
That night, Orsen prayed silently to a God he'd never sought before.
Please let me live long enough to witness that boy's growth.