Chapter 74
Chapter 74
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: The Language of Succession
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Late afternoon in Whitman's office.
Alan gazes at the books lining the shelves, lost in memories. An old clock ticks away on the table, marking the passage of time.
Tak.
"Have some."
Whitman sets down two steaming mugs and sinks into the sofa.
"Thank you."
Alan smiles and lifts his mug.
Slurp.
"I miss this coffee—thick as poison. Back then, I drank it just to stay alive."
"I've been that way since my undergrad days. Plenty of things here haven't changed, no matter how much time passes."
"I've changed a lot. I used to boast about changing the world, but these days... I don't even know what I'm doing with my life."
Whitman fixes Alan with a reproachful look.
"Change is just human nature. Truth stays right where it is, always."
Silence settles between them.
Alan finally breaks it, unable to hold back any longer.
"That was an impressive student."
His usually stern face lights up in an instant.
"That's why I can't retire."
He takes a sip of coffee and continues.
"When I was young, my mentor was Professor Noam Keller."
"The Professor Keller who worked with Richard Feynman?"
It was a famous name in mathematical circles, one Alan had heard before.
"That's right. Back when Feynman was formalizing quantum electrodynamics, Keller provided the mathematical foundation for his theories. When I was a grad student, Professor Keller always repeated the same phrase."
"What was it?"
"Mathematics is the language of endless succession."
Alan nods.
"I see. From Pythagoras to Euclid, to Euler... Mathematicians might just live in their own world, nationality be damned—sharing a language that's all their own."
Maybe they were members of some secret society, transcending race, nationality, and even eras.
Whitman chuckles warmly.
"Exactly.
But in the history of this kingdom, every few hundred years or so, a rare figure is born who advances mathematics explosively."
Alan finds himself drawn into Whitman's tale.
"Who would that be?"
"Just as Pythagoras explained the world with numbers, Newton interpreted the universe through calculus. Gauss invented the language of curves, and Gödel proved the limits of human reason with equations.
What do you think they all had in common?"
Mathematicians from vastly different eras.
There could only be one thing.
"Monstrous geniuses?"
Whitman shakes his head at Alan's answer.
"They didn't invent new axioms. They were simply the first to see the rules of the language the world was already speaking."
"Ah..."
Alan had pondered that very question himself.
How could geniuses always stay ahead of the world? They grasped truth before anyone else could reach it.
"I'm guessing Yoo Seo-ha has that same instinct. Call him the darling of mathematics—or in your words, the true heir to our world. That's why I can't retire yet. I have to pass everything I have on to him, just like my mentor did for me."
Alan bows his head.
He had once been inside that boundary too, but now he felt like an outsider—and the realization left him feeling hollow.
"I'm envious. I wanted to live like that."
To Alan, their lives—detached from worldly concerns, freely chasing truth—seemed utterly dazzling.
"What are you talking about?"
"Pardon?"
"You're a full-fledged citizen of this world too, aren't you?"
Alan lets out a hearty laugh.
"You'd include a bureaucrat like me? These days, I stare at budgets more than equations. I think I've gotten too old to chase ideals."
"You're saying that to my face?"
"Ah... no, that was a slip."
Whitman gazes at Alan with those warm, familiar eyes—the same ones from his grad school days, back when he'd mentored him.
"Listen to me. Mathematicians must pursue ideals to the very end."
"Why is that?"
Whitman answers Alan's question in a firm tone.
"Because if they don't, no one in this world will chase truth. Do you really want to live in a world like that?"
In his youth, he'd believed truth could move the world. He hadn't changed his mind...
"I'm glad I came here today. Thanks to you, I know which way to go."
"Glad I could help."
"Could I take a copy of that paper?"
"No need. I just uploaded it to the archive—it'll go public on the system tomorrow."
"Thank you. I'll see you around."
As he steps out of the building, the sunset has already painted the campus walls red.
Alan's footsteps halt.
Still, I should at least say thanks before I go.
Alan heads to the cafeteria where the students had gathered after the presentation.
Stepping inside, he spots three students slumped over a corner table by the window.
Yoo Seo-ha, Eleanor, Jason.
All three had their heads planted on the desk, fast asleep without a twitch.
"Heh heh..."
A smile creeps across Alan's face.
He gives the sleeping students one last look, then quietly turns and heads for the door, careful not to wake them.
The next day,
After work, Alan lingers alone in the empty office.
The monitor displays a paper that had gone public at dawn.
He scrolls slowly with the mouse.
Alan realizes just how much he's neglected his studies lately.
The language he should know by heart is growing harder and harder to parse.
Insane.
The paper wasn't mere signal optimization research.
It was an attempt to interpret the city's traffic system within the topological space of time.
Yoo Seo-ha analyzed human movement patterns and their interactions with signals through pure mathematical structure.
One equation in the paper boiled down all urban decision-making to a single function.
Commuter flows, taxi routes, pedestrian rights, emergency vehicle priority—everything interconnected.
He pulls out a notebook and pen to trace the equations, but his pen grinds to a halt midway.
Me... not understanding an undergrad's paper?
Self-loathing crashes over him.
Alan stares at the monitor for a long moment before rising from his seat.
Tap, tap.
His steps pause at a bookshelf in the corner of the office.
Books and papers blanketed in dust. Half-finished notes still bore his youthful handwriting.
"Never thought I'd dust these off again."
Alan laughs at the absurdity—even to himself.
Every line of equations in the paper prods at his pride.
He grips the pen and resumes the calculations.
At first, his mind refuses to turn over smoothly.
Has math advanced this far already?
The paper's equations leap far beyond the analysis he'd studied in his youth.
For the first time in ages, he finds real joy in studying.
As phases shift with time and signal interference modulates into waves...
He fetches a whiteboard from the next office over, sketches a large circle, then starts mapping out city roads.
His hands come alive.
It feels like long-dormant circuits in his brain are firing up again.
Right—phase alignment boils down to an eigenvalue problem. Gotta correct those nonlinear deviations over time...
Admiration slips out.
An undergrad pulled this off?
Alan shakes his head.
How many child prodigies had unleashed monstrous proofs? He resolves to place Yoo Seo-ha in that same league.
No need to feel ashamed, then.
As he tinkers with the equations, the intuition starts flowing.
He's certain now: this algorithm could apply to Boston's traffic woes.
Papers pile up on his desk, one by one.
Seo-ha's theory demanded far too many prerequisites.
After brewing fresh coffee several times,
Halfway through the paper, daylight is already breaking outside.
Good thing I'm single.
No one calling for him, no obligations pulling him away.
Parents long gone, and he hasn't spoken to his estranged siblings in years.
His eyes snag on one spot in the paper.
'Self-directing topological variable?'
Way too complex.
He'd planned to crack it solo, but it had been far too long since he'd cracked a book.
The paper listed a phone number.
He fires off a text without a second thought.
-Yoo Seo-ha? Alan from the Traffic Department here. Got some questions about your paper—got a minute?
He'd meant to catch a quick nap, but a reply pings back instantly.
-You had lunch yet?
"Huh? Food out of nowhere?"
-Pulled an all-nighter on your paper—haven't eaten. About to grab a sandwich.
-Mom and Dad say if you haven't eaten lunch, come over. Can't you just study here...?
Alan blinks.
In America, inviting someone you'd just contacted over was practically unheard of.
Safety, personal space...
Plenty of reasons—or maybe it was just awkward for everyone.
Of course, Cheol-ho and Mi-young hadn't overthought it.
Adults dropping by for Yoo Seo-ha had been common since he was little, and they'd always treated them to meals.
-Thanks for the invite. On my way.
Alan hesitates for a beat, then nods.
He senses genuine warmth in the offhand invitation.
When was the last time someone invited me for a meal?
Alan hurriedly changes clothes and swings by the liquor store for two bottles of decent wine.
The address Yoo Seo-ha sent wasn't far from campus.
Ding-dong—
The door swings open.
"Come on in."
The boy from school greets him with a bright smile.
Alan had worried he'd been rude accepting what might've been a polite formality—but it was needless concern.
A girl lurks behind Yoo Seo-ha.
"How's the princess?"
A beaver plush pokes out from behind her. Then a shy little girl emerges.
Cute enough for a drama.
"Hello."
Alan strains for his kindest expression.
His face muscles—long unused—feel stiff and unnatural.
"Cool doll."
Praise the plush, and Seo-eun's face lights up.
"Her name's Justin. Big brother gave her to me."
"This way, Mr. Smith."
Out in the backyard, lunch prep is in full swing. Alan exchanges nods with the couple.
Sizzle.
A savory aroma already wafts from the table.
Glassy pork belly sizzles beautifully on the grill.
Beside it: homegrown lettuce, perilla leaves, chilies, and an assortment of unidentified greens, all neatly arrayed.
Gulp.
Hunger hits him belatedly.
Alan realizes he hasn't eaten a thing since last night.
How many Americans have tasted real Korean BBQ?
Awkwardness with strangers melts away before the food.
Cheol-ho flips the meat with tongs, his English halting.
"Just eat like we do."
"Thanks for having me. Smells incredible."
Alan hurries to his seat and starts eating along with them.
Mi-young demonstrates.
A big lettuce leaf topped with thick pork belly.
Smear on some ssamjang, a bit of chive, a sliver of garlic, and a scoop of rice—wrap it up, done.
Alan mirrors her and pops it in his mouth.
"Oh wow!"
The exclamation bursts out on its own.
Juicy meat explodes on his tongue, mingling with spicy seasoning.
The perfect blend of meat and veggies fills his mouth with pure satisfaction.
"Tasty, huh?"
Yoo Seo-ha grins and asks.
"Best meal I've had in years."
Alan shoots the couple a thumbs-up.
He's so captivated by the food that decorum flies out the window. He eats and eats. The doenjang jjigae in the earthen pot? He eyes it, then spoons it up without hesitation and mixes it with rice.
The generous spread of meat vanishes in no time.
"Whoa! This guy's demolishing it."
"Yeah. Makes all that prep worth it."
Cheol-ho pulls booze from the fridge and pours glasses. Alan samples it cautiously, likes the taste, and downs it in one go.
Mi-young fries up kimchi jeon nearby.
The men pass sweet makgeolli with the jeon and soon feel like old friends.
A warm emotion blooms in Alan's chest.
Someone extending pure kindness to him—it had been so long.
"Brother, why's this uncle at our house?"
Seo-eun blows on her hot jeon and asks.
"Dunno. Must've been starving."
Seo-eun nods solemnly.
"Hahaha!"
Amid the warm aromas, laughter, and kindness from strangers, Alan lets out a hearty laugh for the first time in ages.