The Genius Professor's Final Proof
I told them I solved it. When a weekly magazine reporter asked for an interview, I readily agreed—and this piece of trash was the result.
"Tch."
Reading the article hyping me up as the 'genius of the century' and the 'hope of Korean mathematics' with all its over-the-top fanfare, I grimaced.
Sure, my resume might look flashy to outsiders.
Early graduation from science high school, bachelor's from Seoul National University in three years. While getting my PhD in the US, I published three top-tier papers back-to-back, and upon returning home, my alma mater handed me a professorship—at age 26.
It's easy pickings for reporters at a glance. But this vapid drivel...?
"Professor, did you see the magazine? You looked so cool in it."
I turned at the voice behind me.
"Ah, Seol-ae."
Han Seol-ae. My one and only grad student, and the disciple I treasured most.
She approached with two cups of coffee.
"It's not that great. They asked me to explain my research, so I kindly did—and this reporter just chopped it all out."
"It's a magazine, not an academic journal. Readers don't care about the tough stuff; they're more into your face and credentials, Professor. You're secretly pleased, aren't you?"
"Who knows. I've never cared much for public opinion or others' recognition."
"Really? If it were me, I'd cut it out and frame it."
I'd never really craved others' approval in my life. Probably innate. Unless I was reborn, changing this personality would be impossible.
I chatted idly with Han Seol-ae, then took a sip of the coffee she'd given me. The bitter caffeine sharpened my mind.
"Anyway... about that master's thesis you wrote, Seol-ae."
"Yes, Professor."
Han Seol-ae had just finished her master's coursework and passed her thesis defense smoothly.
Her paper blended topology and algebraic geometry in an original topic. I was genuinely impressed by the ideas in it.
"This approach pressing from homology with that condition... it's fresh. Too good to let slide. Polish it up and submit to an overseas journal."
Han Seol-ae's talent was the real deal. She could see directions others missed. With more study here, she could absolutely produce top-tier papers.
"Let's prep your next paper right away. PhD applications close next month, right? Got your docs ready?"
Her expression stiffened at my question. Unlike usual, she seemed hesitant today.
"Professor, there's something I need to tell you."
"Go ahead. If it's scholarships, I'll pull whatever strings I can."
She parted her heavy lips.
"I... I'm putting off PhD for now. Taking a break from studies after my master's."
An unexpected answer. She'd personally said she wanted to go all the way to PhD when she joined the lab.
"Mind if I ask why? It's not the research wearing you down, is it?"
"Family planning came up. Talked it over with my husband—timing-wise, it has to be now."
"Ah... I see."
Han Seol-ae was married, and I knew her husband well. A ten-year friend from the same high school.
In other words, she was my friend's wife before being my student.
"Sounds like a decision with Jin-hu. I support you both."
I offered congratulations, but her voice trembled faintly.
"Sorry. I'd love to dive straight into PhD studies, but... doing it while raising a baby? Honestly, no confidence. Don't want to neglect the child for my ambitions. So, putting it on hold."
Her voice carried guilt for disappointing me. I pondered my response, gazing out the window, then finally spoke.
"Seol-ae, ever heard of Sophia Kovalevskaya?"
"Pardon? No, not really."
"A 19th-century Russian female mathematician. She had a daughter and stepped away from math for five years. Took a gap at a crucial time, drew bad looks from peers. But she returned, became a professor at Stockholm University, and left historic achievements in differential equations."
Han Seol-ae looked at me in surprise.
"Math doesn't run away. It'll hold your spot till you return. So no apologies. Becoming a mom is as valuable—no, more so—than doing math."
"Professor..."
"If you ever want to study again, come anytime. I'll keep your spot open. Lab door's always ajar. Even if not here, anywhere I can reach, I'll help."
"Thank you, Professor. Truly."
Her eyes reddened. She bowed her head in gratitude.
"Seol-ae, congrats on graduating."
She beamed radiantly as I handed her the bouquet. The gown and cap suited her well.
Feels like yesterday she was pale-faced, pulling all-nighters revising her thesis in the lab. Graduation already… it really hits me..
"Thank you for everything, Professor Shin Ijun. Couldn't have finished without you."
"Nonsense. Your talent carried it."
Han Seol-ae scratched her head sheepishly. Then someone grabbed my shoulder from behind.
"Hey, Professor Shin! Long time!"
"What, you made it?"
Yoo Jin-hu. My ten-year high school buddy, and Han Seol-ae's husband.
He'd also recommended her to my lab.
Suddenly recalled her applying: flustered when my friend's girlfriend showed up for interview, but her passion and talent won me over. Took her as grad student, led to now.
Jin-hu handed Seol-ae a bouquet, chatting sweetly.
"Look at you two. I'll snap a couple pic. Strike a pose."
"Oh, thanks. Make it good."
I took the camera; Yoo Jin-hu and Han Seol-ae snuggled close for the shot.
Click! Perfectly handsome pair.
The kid they'll have must inherit blessed looks. The thought crossed my mind.
After the ceremony wrapped, Jin-hu sidled up slyly.
"Ijun, drinks later, just us?"
"What? It's Seol-ae's graduation—spoil her more, or she'll chew you out."
"All good. Got wifey's permission."
Seol-ae smiled softly, nodding.
"It's fine, Professor. Go with my husband. Gotta visit parents today anyway."
Jin-hu, you schemer—wife's at her folks', so booze time.
"Alright then... let's drink."
I agreed; Seol-ae waved lightly and left first.
"Heading out. Don't stay out too late yourself. Got it?"
"Cheers—"
Glasses clinked with a crisp sound. Cold draft cooled my throat. Nibbling pub mac 'n' cheese, Jin-hu asked.
"How's life? Busy?"
"Yeah, end of semester chaos. Seol-ae's admin stuff, freshmen finals... grading alone gives me a headache."
"Even genius prof hates grading?"
"Genius or not, spotting every wrong digit is grunt work. I'd rather just study."
Jin-hu chuckled, chugging beer.
"Break now—what's the plan? Overseas conference?"
"Nah. Staying put this vacation. Pure research."
"Not that Riemann... thing again?"
"Riemann Hypothesis."
I answered seriously. He grimaced, shaking his head.
"Dude, heard a mathematician cracked under that—got schizophrenia? Ease up, or your brain'll burst."
"But this time, it feels different. Something's been teasing my mind all semester. Gonna hole up three months, chase it."
"Huh. Smart guy's hunch—must be legit."
Jin-hu pondered, then turned grave.
"Just hit me: solve Riemann, Bitcoin crashes?"
"Huh?"
"It's the prime number secret, right? Modern crypto's prime-based—if primes crack, Bitcoin and all ciphers collapse. Saw it in a doc."
"Nonsense... conspiracy theory. Modern crypto ain't that fragile from one paper."
"Still, scares investors. Enough for panic. Crypto's not rational anyway. Tell me first if you solve—I'll short BTC. That's friendship."
"Ugh... fine. Enough about me. You?"
He paused bashfully, scratching.
"Got promoted at work."
"No way? Congrats, classic Jin-hu."
"Means we can comfortably raise one or two kids. Wife can focus on parenting worry-free."
"Great. She fretted over money—relief now."
His good news lifted my spirits too. We downed beers excitedly.
"Got baby names picked?"
He sighed dramatically, like he'd waited for it.
"Ugh... toughest part. Wife picks boy, me girl... can't decide. Narrowed candidates, but..."
"Naming's always hardest."
"Hey, Ijun. Pick one? Smartest in our class—good name vibes smarts into the kid."
"What qualifies me...? Parents should name for meaning."
I waved it off, but he persisted.
"Just choose! Here's the list."
He pulled up phone notes: dozen girl names, agonized over.
I scrolled, pondered, pointed.
"Personally, A-yeon feels right. Yoo A-yeon. Clear, intellectual vibe. Second: Yoo A-rin."
"A-yeon? Yoo A-yeon... A-yeon... Love it! Matches my fave. Decided!"
"Just my take—you decide. Listening? Hey!"
He ignored, texting Han Seol-ae on Kakao.
"Haa..."
Suddenly guilty for naming my friend's kid.
What if the daughter learns later her name—A-yeon—was picked by me, drunk, not parents? Terrifying thought.
Our drinks stretched late; we left buzzed.
Break began; campus emptied.
With my sole student gone, lab felt vast, silent.
Stats/applied math labs buzz with grad students; pure math? Unpopular, few applicants. Often empty like this.
No loneliness. Three months pure immersion? Thrilling.
[All non-trivial zeros of the Riemann zeta function have real part 1/2.]
To prove this on the whiteboard, I tried approaches relentlessly.
Takeout piled at door, napping on sofa—routine.
Mirror glimpse: mess. Bushy beard, hollow eyes.
But mind clearest ever.
Mellin transform, Fourier, Cantor integrals—twisted equations every way.
Undeterred by thousands of failures, I pressed.
Third month, 4 AM. Dim lab, desk lamp sole light.
I let out a hollow laugh.
"...No way."
Found the self-adjoint operator deriving trace formula matching Riemann zeta's explicit formula exactly.
In other words, 'proof the Riemann Hypothesis is true.'
Coincidence? I shook my head.
Scribbled madly, verified. No errors. Only confirmation: I'm right.
"For real?"
Me, solving Riemann? With this operator? 160 years unsolved, I nail it? Like finding needle in desert. Needs deep modern math grasp, obsession, luck. Everyone failed 160 years—I succeed.
Wiped sweat-drenched face. Joyous laugh slipped through fingers.
That's it... The zeros aren't on the 1/2 line—they're defined solely in the Hilbert space spectrum there from the start!
Jotted inspirations fast, uploaded to personal cloud.
Before joy faded—chest seized, I collapsed.
"Gahk!"
Cold tile hit cheek. Arms numb, vision blurring.
Congenital heart condition struck at worst moment.
No. Not yet. Must share this proof. How I found it... Can't let it vanish.
"Can't... die... like this..."
But will irrelevant—strength fled, vision blackened.
Came to in pitch black.
Couldn't move—stifling, scary. Instinctively wailed.
"Waaah!"
Voice not mine. Tried shutting mouth—couldn't stop crying.
Sudden bright light stabbed eyes; warm arms lifted me.
"Congratulations! Healthy baby girl."
Struggled to open eyes—heavy lids.
Finally, cradled in arms.
"A-yeon... thank you for being born healthy."
Gazed at tearful, beaming face.
That face, voice—someone I knew well.
Seol-ae?
"Huh, hng?"