Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: Entropy's Shock
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Entropy was astonished.
She hadn't even considered that Key—who was taller than expected—could be Seo-ha.
“Yoo Seo-ha?”
“That Four Color Theorem guy?”
Their eyes went wide.
Entropy nodded.
“No doubt about it. The problem we came up with wasn't that shabby. Solving it without a single hint? Impossible unless you're a genius of that caliber.”
Only then did the two finally grasp the situation, their faces breaking into broad grins.
“So it's true—you're coming to MIT.”
“I had no idea you were heading to our school.”
An unexpected prize fish had swum right into their nets.
Entropy stepped up to the screen for a closer look at the equations Seo-ha had scribbled down.
They'd planned to pass it even if the values were just roughly right. That's why they'd left plenty of wiggle room for calculation errors or phase mismatches.
But Seo-ha's answer was something else entirely.
He hadn't jotted down some approximate match. He'd derived a function that converged perfectly with the data.
“This guy's straight-up a monster. Too spot-on to chalk up to guesswork.”
Given the time it took to clear, it meant he'd leaped past the delay term in one bound. And once he'd clocked the phase rotation, it wasn't some basic frequency-domain parse—he'd rebuilt the phase space from scratch.
“Is that such a big deal?”
Root, no math major, couldn't quite pinpoint what had Entropy so floored.
“To align a delay term without any tweaks, you have to catch the phase discontinuity at least once in the complex frequency domain.
Usually, if the phase warps in an FFT—Fast Fourier Transform—result, you need unwrapping, right? But this kid? Didn't touch it. He rebuilt straight from the raw phase.”
Cipher Fox shot a sidelong glance and asked.
“Rebuilt it directly—how?”
“Not sure exactly, but probably reverse-tracing the phase shift in the eigenvibration function.
Even blind to the function's true shape, you can kinda 'visualize' the phase rotation from energy density and phase angle flow alone. Doing it by hand, though? Unbelievable.”
He furrowed his brow, as if wrestling with Entropy's explanation.
“So, long story short: all our fiddly signal filtering and Fourier transforms? He pulled it off live in his head.”
“Means we struck gold with a top-tier mathematician. Now we just nail the scout.”
Root licked his lips and stood.
‘No, you guys missed the point. This is...’
A mindset only someone who sees functions not as symbols, but as tangible 3D spaces, could pull off.
“Alright, time to roll out the red carpet for our math whiz!”
“You got it! Can't leave VIP like that hanging.”
Root dug out the graphics card he'd snagged as first prize. He grabbed souvenirs too, for 002 and 003 who'd made finals.
The three headed into the hall.
The final stage was the classroom next door. Hearts pounding, they pushed open the door.
‘Hm?’
002 was pounding Seo-ha with the beaver plush. 003 had him in a chokehold from behind.
“How the hell'd you do it?”
“Spill for us too!”
“I told you—it just showed up.”
“You faker!”
“How does it just 'show up'?! Shoulda gone Duke. MIT lands me a nut like you.”
Backpack had Seo-ha by the collar, shaking him silly. Seo-ha flailed helplessly, throwing up surrender hands.
“Ahem!”
“Ease up, kids.”
“Ack! Hackers!”
“Seniors, you sure it's cool showing face like this?”
“Freshmen don't know: MIT pushes hacking. Long as you stick to principles.”
“Principles?”
“Yup. No harm to others, clean your mess, and—crucially—don't get nabbed.”
“Ooh, badass.”
“Totally slick.”
“Okay! 002, 003—grab these and head home. Hold your heads high! Finals is ace enough.”
Entropy offered Eli and Backpack beaker-mugs of coffee.
Graduations swapped for stress-level percentages.
They took the cups, faces souring.
“Stress spiking. Timely, yeah.”
“Handle too—how?”
Eli tilted it like a gem appraiser.
“Prime swag? Our handmade limited run—cherish it.”
Root herded them out.
“And me?”
Seo-ha blinked at the hackers.
“Special for top dog.”
Root fetched the beaver plush.
“No ordinary toy. Gadgets galore inside. Phone-control too.”
Beep—
Button press: tail wagged.
“Saw it, right? Program speech, gyro for motion-react. Code tweaks? Go wild.”
Root handed it over.
“Whoa! Adorable.”
Seo-ha poked around. Tail swishes hummed servo vibes.
“Now, real talk...”
“Huh?”
‘Business over?’
Eyes wide—Seo-ha'd been buzzing to code the beaver home.
“Tough where to start. We kicked off as fun-hack club. Code names, see... I'm Entropy.”
“Root here.”
“Cipher Fox.”
Seo-ha's blank look cracked Entropy up.
“Cut us slack—we vibe more with codes.”
“Cool, yeah.”
“MIT's lousy with teams like us.
Hacking squads? Folks think data heists—but nah. Hacking is MIT's soul.”
“Soul?”
“Yep.”
Root jumped in.
“Hack to learn, learn to hack. Hacking is the lesson here. Hackers, sure—but zero harm.”
Cipher Fox ticked fingers.
“Official MIT hack teams: eighteen. Sec research, robotics, crypto, art, social eng—pick your poison.”
Fascinating stuff.
“You guys?”
Grins swapped.
“Game dev hooks us.”
“Ah!”
Clicked: orientation was gamified.
Cipher Fox flipped his laptop for Seo-ha.
“Check it.”
Tap, tap.
Graphics bloomed: Charles River crisp, Kresge Court sharp, Infinite Corridor endless.
MIT in 3D glory.
“Player: frosh. NPCs: profs, researchers, TAs, staff. Title: Surviving MIT.”
‘Zombie endgame?’
Odd name.
“What's the play?”
“Study, launch startups, romance—your call. Real-space model, so no gore.”
“Dream: blow it into open-world epic. snag? Yeah.”
Cipher Fox winced, headache style.
“What snag?”
“NPC control. Exhibit A.”
Entropy zoomed library.
“Emotion algo snagged. Fatigue maxes? Rest mode. But diligence weight clashes—back to library. Loop city.”
“Then?”
“Planted 24/7. Till dissatisfaction maxes all. Boom—dead.”
Log: 37 coffees today.
Root cracked up.
“Nailed realism. Peak MIT grind.”
“Not funny. Head asplode.”
“Trash the emo graph. Random-ish reacts.”
“Kills soak. Want real-life NPC vibes.”
Root-Entropy spat familiarly.
Seo-ha felt deja vu.
Entropy's every gripe? His old road.
“Hey!”
Divergent aims, but team-up? Synapse turbo.
“Yeah?”
“I've built something like this.”
Seo-ha yanked laptop from bag.
Tap, tap.
Black canvas: boxes rose, dots spawned.
“What's this?”
Hackers mobbed the screen.
“Synapse—my engine.
School: resource pool. Students: agents. Decision funcs drive 'em.”
Seo-ha demo'd Synapse guts.
Kicked off demo-code vibes.
But spiel deepened—faces shifted.
Dots cruised buildings: bumps, probabilistic herds, scatters.
Dining hall packs, classroom swarms, library haunts.
Breathing patterns.
“Your old school? Reality sync rate?”
Seo-ha hitched, then:
“Endgame: 98%...
Time-slot occupancy, paths, avg hangs—dead match.”
Triple gulp.
“Christ, half-year sweat—our NPCs glitchfests...
He did it? MIT-scale viable?”
Seo-ha sheepish.
“Lab toy. Data piles—heavy...
MIT? Too massive.”
Cipher Fox desperate:
“We'll crunch it! Please—game fuel?”
Entropy nodded.
“Ditto. Slap Synapse on. Rename: MIT Simulator.”
Plain boxes-dots, algo wizardry.
She couldn't match Seo-ha's sim.
Root scribbled paper.
“Talk cheap—doc it.”
“Objections?”
Quarter stake. Fat.
Silence.
“That engine? God-tier game.”
“Royalties, IP, ethics—add 'em.”
Entropy grabbed pen, contract drafting.
“Yoo Seo-ha: we build game. You supply engine, tweak optimizes. Deal?”
Seo-ha eyed the sheet.
His engine: their game's core.
Off-script, but game's horizon beckoned.
Seo-ha signed his name.