The Proof Behind Genius
The Special Admission No. 1 student, the talk of the academy ever since Nephthys chose him personally.
Professor Eric knew all about Simon, too.
"Well, well. What brings you here today?"
"I was hoping you could take a look at this formula for me."
With Meilin's help, the error in his elemental magic formula had been resolved — but there was still a long road ahead. This time, Simon laid out the structure of his summoning circle for Eric to examine.
"Let's have a look."
Eric's eyes swept over the magic circle with grave concentration.
"A summoning circle is a web where every single element shapes the whole, so pulling out just one part is always a bit of a gamble. But — here."
Eric tapped a section of the circle with his fingertip.
"This part is definitely wrong. Rather than simple addition, you'd be better off adopting the Gale formula here."
"Then what about this part?"
Every time Simon raised a question, Eric answered without a moment's hesitation.
Then Simon pressed further.
"Why is that?"
"Because the Gale formula is more efficient."
"But using the Gale formula makes the pattern more complicated, so I'm having trouble understanding why this way is the more efficient one."
It happened sometimes.
Students at Kizen who asked why.
It had been so long since anyone had asked that even Eric, who taught Jet-Black Mechanics, found himself caught slightly off guard.
"Hmm. I see. Well, if you're curious about that..."
Still, answering a student's questions was a professor's duty.
Eric amiably picked up a piece of chalk and began writing out the derivation.
"For this section, my thinking is—"
Simon, too, grabbed a piece of chalk and started writing down his own reasoning, right beside it.
Eric's eyes went wide. Simon hadn't used any of the established formulas to carry out the calculation — he'd laid out the equations from first principles, from the very foundation.
And yet the result he arrived at came within a hair's breadth of the answer produced by the official formula.
"This interpretation is fascinating."
Eric smiled.
"But you learned the Hexa formula last semester, didn't you? Why go to all this trouble, computing it the hard way?"
"The Hexa formula."
Simon lowered his chalk and looked at Eric.
"I don't understand it completely. So I decided it isn't truly mine."
"..."
"I didn't want to build an uncertainty into my own magic circle."
An involuntary exclamation of admiration rose in Eric's chest.
When a professor taught new runes or formulas in class, students never bothered to wonder about the principles behind them.
Because they were too busy putting them to use. Everyone would eagerly bolt the new formula onto their magic circles and deploy them in the upcoming Duel Evaluations or the BMAT.
Pragmatism taken to the extreme.
Kizen championed merit above all else, and the students had adapted to survive within that system.
Not that there was anything wrong with it. Competition, by its very nature, always demands maximum efficiency and results.
But what if you asked the necromancers who graduated from Kizen — why did you use the Hexa formula here?
Nine out of ten would have no answer.
"That's just how it's done." "It's always been done that way."
Young necromancers wielding formulas whose principles they never understood would, in time, rise to the very summit of this world.
As an educator, Eric lamented this state of affairs — and yet he, too, had been unable to change.
Competition among professors at Kizen was every bit as fierce. To survive teaching a subject as unglamorous as Jet-Black Mechanics, and to keep earning high marks from students for his lectures, making them understand simply didn't matter.
'And yet.'
For one student like this to come along even once a year — from Eric's standpoint, it was rain after a long drought.
"This explanation may run a little long."
The magic words that make students give up.
"Will that be all right?"
Nine out of ten would say, "Never mind, then."
"Of course! Take all the time you need!"
But what this boy wanted —
No. What Simon wanted, astonishingly, was the root itself.
"Then watch closely."
As he wrote out the proof across the blackboard, line after line, Eric found himself enjoying it.
How long had it been since anyone asked for a proof?
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
-Do we really need to bother with proofs?
-Runes just need to work. That's all that matters.
-It's not like a Kizen professor would teach us some bogus formula.
Words he'd heard countless times.
And they were right, in their way.
The runes and formulas taught at Kizen had been rigorously vetted by every generation that came before.
All we have to do is build on the achievements of our predecessors and grow stronger.
Proof belonged purely to the realm of worthless research.
And yet.
'This is delightful.'
A smile spread across Eric's lips. Here I am, deriving equations in front of this student — and enjoying every minute of it.
"Does that clear it up?"
"Yes! Completely solved. Thank you so much!"
After exchanging a few more words with Eric, Simon bowed his head politely and left the lecture hall. Eric watched him go, the boy walking out with a look of deep satisfaction — and then, suddenly, he picked up his chalk again.
'So this is what I've been holding down all this time.'
Scritch.
And with that, he began lining up proofs of one formula after another across the blackboard.
He was grateful — grateful that this old man's heart could still beat like this, still had plenty of work left in it.
"Alright! Let's try that again!"
Back in his dorm room after class, Simon was copying the newly learned formulas into his notebook, one after another.
In truth, Simon hadn't set out from the beginning to understand the fundamental roots of every formula.
His Jet-Black Mechanics grades were squarely, unremarkably average — dead center of the middle tier. He could barely keep up with the material when it was handed to him in easily digestible pieces, so demanding to grasp proofs on top of everything else would have been pure overreach. Proving a formula required vastly more knowledge and study on top of it all.
It was the summoning circle that had made him want the proof this time. Simon had slammed into a wall called the Skeleton Mage — and yet at the same time, something in his head was itching, restless.
It was close. He could feel it.
That same flash of insight from the first day of Summoning class — when he reverse-engineered the bones of an Island Ratman skeleton and reassembled them into a Gray Rat, sprinting on four legs.
But it hadn't come easily, and he'd come to believe that the reason such insight had become impossible was that he didn't fully understand these difficult formulas.
Now, with Eric's help — it was possible.
Every letter of it was in his hands.
Swish. Scratch. Scratch.
As Simon scrawled formula after formula across a blank notebook, Dick, sprawled out on his bed, clicked his tongue.
"...Incredible. Genuinely incredible."
With him working that hard, there was no room left for sarcasm.
Though he was a little worried.
"You're not about to lose your mind like you did the first time you built a golem, are you?"
"I don't make that mistake anymore."
Simon said it without looking up, still writing.
"I'm keeping my condition up, eating well, exercising hard. I'll be fine."
"The problem is the sleep you're cutting, numbskull."
"Anyway."
Simon kept writing, line after line of equations, as he spoke.
"How's the handwriting analysis on Professor Walter coming along?"
"Ah — that one I managed to hand off to an expert, safe and sound. They've got a bit of a backlog, so it might take a while. And since it's a photograph from a recording device rather than something he wrote directly, they said it could take even longer."
"And the component analysis on the Hematopoiesis Injection?"
"Still looking for someone who'll run the tests discreetly. There's an academic conference going on right now, so I should find someone soon."
"And the Gwaegong corpse auction?"
"Starts tomorrow. Apparently they found academic value in the Gwaegong's skin tissue, so the price might climb a little higher. You can look forward to—"
Dick bolted upright mid-sentence.
"Wait — hey! I'm not your manager! What is all this? How many jobs did you dump on me?!"
Simon stopped his quill and laughed out loud.
"Stop making me laugh over there. It's breaking my concentration."
"Is working your roommate to the bone really how you study, milord?"
Dick stretched his legs out across the bed, looped them around the neck of Simon — seated in his chair — and started shaking him back and forth.
"I'm getting dizzy!"
Simon shouted, still laughing.
"And I pay you every time, don't I? If anything, you're the one milking your roommate for every last coin!"
"That's a merchant's occupational hazard! Can't be helped!"
Dick released Simon's neck, and his expression turned unexpectedly serious.
"I don't know what your angle is with Professor Walter, but be careful. Don't go getting dragged into something you don't need to be in."
"I know."
Click.
The door opened and Kajan walked in. Dick tensed up instantly and shut his mouth, but Kajan just looked at Simon and said:
"The job's underway. I'll let you know when I hear something."
"Understood. I'm counting on you."
Kajan shrugged off his uniform, tossed it aside, and climbed up to the bunk bed. He pulled the covers over himself, squirmed around for a moment, and then went quiet.
Dick scampered over and locked Simon in a rough headlock.
"Hey! You gave Kajan a job too?! This is betrayal!"
"Ack — that hurts! How is this a betrayal—?!"
"The Thieves' Guild beats my information network, huh? HUH?"
Slide.
Simon wedged his arm in between Dick's and squeezed hard — the headlock popped open. In the same motion, he hoisted Dick up and dumped him back onto the bed.
"Huh."
Dick clicked his tongue.
"Your martial arts are getting better by the day."
"Been practicing a new technique lately, actually."
Dick imitated Hector's voice.
"Just how far do you intend to go, Simon Polentia!"
The impression was nothing like the real thing, and Simon doubled over laughing. Dick was laughing just as hard.
"Mmmgh."
Dick stirred under his covers in the dead of night and woke up.
Rubbing his eyes, he let out a long, lazy yawn and shuffled toward the bathroom.
When he was done, he sighed, splashed water on his face, and checked the clock on the wall. Four whole hours until class.
He was just savoring the small happiness of that fact, about to crawl back into bed—
'?'
Simon wasn't in his bed.
'And he's at it again.'
Dick had never met anyone less sane than himself. He slipped on his sandals and stepped out of Room 409.
Shuffling along in his sandals, the first place he headed was the common room.
Click.
Dick flung the door open, rubbing his eyes, and called out.
"Hey, Simon! You sleeping in here?"
But Simon wasn't there.
All that remained in the corner of the common room was the mess of empty Skeleton Mage boxes, scattered about.
"Tch."
Dick smacked his lips at the mess.
"Keep this up and the janitor's going to ban you from the common room."
He fought back his drowsiness, trudged over, and tidied up the wreckage Simon had left behind.
Next, he headed for the garden behind the dormitory.
'Brr, it's cold.'
Dick hugged his shoulders the moment he stepped outside, walking through the chilly pre-dawn air.
"Hey! I get that you're working hard, but sleep is for your—"
Dick's words died in his mouth.
Simon was there.
Hands flying across a spread-out magic circle in a whirl of activity, muttering to himself.
"I think it finally works. This time, for sure."
Who are you talking to?
Looks like he's finally gone off the deep end.
As that thought crossed his mind, Dick's gaze slid to the side.
'...Whoa!'
Three fully assembled Skeleton Mages stood bolt upright beside Simon.
'He... he actually finished all of them? Teaching himself?'
Perhaps to test them, Simon's expression turned serious. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and his face had grown gaunt — all the strain of the past weeks written plainly on him.
"Ready."
Simon stretched out his arm, and the three Skeleton Mages raised their staffs in perfect unison.
Gulp.
Dick swallowed without meaning to, nerves tightening in his throat. He was the one who'd watched Simon's efforts every step of the way, after all.
"Activate!"
The instant Simon's words ended—
Fwoooosh!
Cracklecackle!
Whoooosh!
Before the staffs of the three Skeleton Mages, flames, ice, and wind shimmered into being, flickering and alive.
"IT WORKED!!!"
Simon threw his arms skyward, fists clenched — and the rays of the rising dawn broke over his back in a blaze of gold.
Dick was awestruck.
'He actually pulled it off before Summoning class.'
In a few hours, when Summoning class began, the other students would probably shrug it off.
-He's a genius. Obviously he can do it.
-Special Admission No. 1 — this much is just the baseline.
They'd think that, rationalizing Simon's achievement into something easy to swallow.
But who would ever know?
That behind the face of a genius—
there was this, too: a boy pushing himself until it bled.
"...Hah."
Watching Simon's back, Dick felt a shiver crawl up his spine.
"That's so damn cool, you bastard."
Just as a premise must exist before there can be a result—
there is a reason a person is called a genius.