Chapter 72
Chapter 72
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 72
Chapter Title: Drinking from the Fire Hose
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“P-sets—three of them by next week—differential geometry quiz, algebraic number theory report... And I still need to organize my research meeting notes.”
As expected, MIT's workload was beyond imagination.
Each P-set was substantial enough to rival three short papers. For the average student, completing a single proof typically took around fifteen hours. No wonder everyone dove straight into studying the moment they sat down.
MIT students often described their school life like this:
‘Taking a drink from a fire hose.’
An overwhelming torrent of knowledge poured in faster than anyone could process. There was no time to catch your breath before new concepts hit, and if you couldn't absorb them, you'd be swept away.
Struggling to swallow even one more sip amid that relentless deluge—that was what it meant to survive at MIT.
Seo-ha skimmed his calendar and stuck on a couple of Post-its.
[Wednesday afternoon - Pick up Seo-eun and help with homework]
[Saturday morning - Garden work with family]
He still had a stack of Riemann Hypothesis papers left to read, and he couldn't neglect his work at Spectra Works now that he held equity in the company.
Seo-ha was squeezing a week out of every day, gulping down every drop from that fire hose.
Building 2, Room 203.
Ellie burst into the classroom panting, barely claiming her seat just before the starting bell.
Where had that poised beauty from early in the semester gone?
The crisp blouse, manicured nails, and always-gleaming hair. She'd never once skipped grooming in front of the mirror.
But MIT forced her to choose: makeup or an hour of sleep. To survive, she needed that sleep.
“Hey there.”
Jason greeted her, clutching his backpack like a lifeline. Ellie glanced at his bloodshot eyes and bedhead, inwardly praising herself for at least squeezing in a shower.
“Hello.”
Seo-ha eyed Ellie and Jason with clear confusion.
No matter that they were in the same major—their class schedules overlapped far too much to be chance. Statistically improbable.
“Hey.”
“Fancy meeting you again.”
Of course, it wasn't coincidence.
Ellie, burning with rivalry toward Seo-ha, had deliberately enrolled in his classes. Jason tagged along behind her. She pretended not to notice as she smoothed her disheveled hair in a compact mirror.
Class began.
Professor Whitman strolled to the center of the room, chalk in hand—his only tool.
“Today, let's discuss what a vector field really is. People often call it the ‘direction of force’ or ‘flow of energy,’ but I'd like to explain it differently.”
Whitman dotted the board and drew an arrow beside it.
“I see a vector field as a visualization of where space wants to move—like arrows tracing the direction air flows in the wind.”
He sketched more on the board in quick succession.
“These arrows together form a flow—a field. We mathematicians read the patterns in that flow to uncover the laws of change.”
With calculus, analysis, and linear algebra woven in, students began tearing at their hair.
“Now, let's apply divergence and curl to this vector field. Each tells us how much the space is spreading or twisting.”
His hand flew mercilessly across the board, scrawling symbols. The students were half out of their minds.
Jason muttered under his breath.
“No clue what ‘space twisting’ means mathematically.”
Ellie nodded vigorously in agreement. No matter how smart you were, this was torture straight out of high school graduation.
Just jot it down for now.
Figure out the meaning later. A few hours of study, and she'd grasp what the prof meant.
Everyone thought the same—except Seo-ha.
He jotted only essential notes sporadically, mostly staring at the board.
The arrows came alive.
To Seo-ha's eyes, the vectors on the chalkboard flowed like wind.
As one arrow sliced through space, others reacted around it. Energies intertwined and surged. The thrilling waves of motion captivated him so completely that he didn't even notice the professor calling his name.
“Seo-ha!”
“...Yes?”
Seo-ha snapped to attention and stood.
“What did you see on the board?”
He hesitated, then answered honestly.
“Life.”
“Ho. Elaborate.”
“At first, it looked like a simple flow of energy. But as the vectors interacted, the energy moved like a single living organism.”
The room fell silent.
Life?
Organism?
What was he talking about? The other students couldn't make sense of it. Whitman set down his chalk. He studied Seo-ha for a moment, then broke into a kindly smile.
“Math is often misunderstood as an isolated language, but every formula and symbol presupposes interaction. One vector nudges another into motion, spawning further change. We could even call it the life—or will—of this world itself.” Of course, not just anyone can see it. Not wanting to discourage the class, he swallowed the rest. Whitman paused before continuing.
“We'll figure out what MIT can offer you, Seo-ha. But don't stop learning. Refusing growth with your gifts would be a sin. Extraordinary talent demands commensurate responsibility.”
Seo-ha bowed his head quietly.
“I'll keep that in mind.”
This university demanded growth from its students. The water rose from the floorboards every day. Fail to grow with it, and you'd drown soon enough. Yet it was the perfect environment for Seo-ha. Nothing taught here felt heavy or difficult to him. He absorbed the vast waves of knowledge with his whole body, integrating them into the knowledge map in his mind—like recombining massive genetic data. Seo-ha was growing by leaps and bounds here. Whitman's lecture pressed on. As class neared its end, “This semester's team project is ‘dynamic systems modeling’ based on real data.”
Students buzzed.
“Topics are free, but you must use real data.”
Whitman began listing keywords on the board.
[Urban traffic flow prediction]
[Human body temperature regulation modeling]
[Population diffusion simulation]
After jotting down a dozen or so, he set the chalk aside.
“Be ready to explain your model's design, assumptions, and interpretation. Teams of three to five—your choice. Class dismissed.”
The moment the professor left, all eyes turned to Seo-ha. The super rookie drawing attention from MIT and the global math world alike. Everyone thought the same: Team up with him, and an A is locked in? Someone shot to their feet.
“Seo-ha! Join our team?”
Three or four more piled on almost simultaneously.
“No, team with me! I'll work super hard!”
“I'm great at data cleanup! Programming's pro-level too.”
“Stats and probability are my specialty. Analyzed paper data in R Studio before MIT.”
The room erupted as students shouted their pitches. Seo-ha, swarmed by strangers he'd never spoken to, floundered in panic. Clack, clack. Ellie slung her bag over her shoulder and strode straight to the center. She shoved through the crowd and snatched Seo-ha's wrist.
“Find someone else! He's already got plans.”
The students' faces questioned if it was true. Seo-ha nodded without thinking.
“Too slow.”
“Ellie, not bad.”
“Next time, definitely with us.”
They retreated, faces full of regret. Outside, on a bench. Click. “Here.”
Ellie handed Seo-ha an orange juice from the vending machine.
“Thanks.”
“Don't get the wrong idea. It's not like I want to team up with you.”
“Huh?”
“All those guys are shady inside. Just wanna freeload. I hate that crap.”
Freeloading was one of Ellie's top pet peeves. Especially after getting burned before. “I hate that stuff too!”
Jason, who'd snuck up, jumped into the conversation.
“But Eleanor...”
“It's Ellie.”
“Right, Ellie—what topic interests you? You too, Jason.”
“Me? Hmm... Traffic flow prediction sounds coolest.”
Ellie pondered briefly before answering.
“Really?”
Seo-ha's eyes lit up.
“Then why not team up with me?”
He owed traffic lights one. Too young back then to fully crack signals, but now? He could manage.
“Sure, works for me. I'll pull my weight—no worries.”
Ellie shrugged.
“I... I love cars tons! Count me in!”
A three-person party formed in an instant. But the other two would soon regret today's choice.
“Achoo!”
September, but the chill was already setting in.
Jason, out at the intersection since dawn, logged times every signal change.
“Boston traffic is straight-up insane, right?”
Romantic to tourists, maybe—but a nightmare for locals.
“Why are the roads so damn twisted?”
Jason groaned at his map app.
“Boston's the only U.S. city that grew without planning.”
Ellie, who'd aced U.S. history, flipped up her coat collar as she explained.
“Expanded from 17th-century carriage paths, so signals are a patchwork mess...”
Roundabouts tangled with one-ways, and signal rules varied by intersection. Some prioritized left turns first; others flashed straight-and-left together.
Even the same street shifted patterns between morning and afternoon.
They'd requested data from the Boston Traffic Department but got denied for security reasons. What they could access boiled down to four things:
Traffic volume, average speeds, congestion index, and docs on the city's ongoing signal optimization project.
Seo-ha fixated on the last one—a massive project with over $200 million budgeted, yet zero visible results.
“Signal optimization? Isn't that badass?”
The other two shook their heads firmly.
“Nope.”
“Not even close!”
“We could write an epic paper on this. Optimizing the world's worst traffic city? My heart's racing.”
“Not mine.”
“Ditto.”
But Seo-ha's passion dragged them in anyway. The team had formed around him from the start.
“I can't fix this megacity's signals!”
Jason wailed.
“Nobody's expecting you to. Just keep logging.”
Seo-ha offered to step up, but Ellie shut it down.
“You handle the brain work. Leave the grunt stuff to us.”
Seo-ha looked oddly glum.
What am I even doing here?
Ellie sank into thought. Fixing Boston's traffic signals for a school project? Anyone would call it insane.
Something even the city's top experts at the Traffic Department couldn't crack.
And yet, she'd signed on.
Why?
Digging deep, she realized the reason. Ellie saw that she was expecting something from Seo-ha.