The Riemann Theorem, Resolved
The editor-in-chief of the journal sat in front of his monitor.
He opened the reports written by the peer review panel, composed of experts in each field, one by one.
They were written in the formal style of official business reports.
Though the tone was dry and rigid,
the fact that every single reviewer recommended publication was, in truth, the highest praise possible.
The editor-in-chief read through all the reports sent by the panel.
Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of his coffee.
Then, he slowly opened a new email window.
In the recipient field, he typed Han Seol-ae's email address.
The editor-in-chief hovered his cursor over the send button.
But instead of clicking it immediately, he paused to think.
A moment later,
he added one more line to the very bottom of the email.
— It was an honor to handle this manuscript.
The news spread rapidly.
A professor abroad, upon hearing the news, sent a message to a colleague via a chat app.
A professor gathered the graduate students in his lab.
"Have you guys heard the news that Yoo A-yeon's paper is being published in a top journal?"
"Yes. We just checked."
Everyone nodded.
"I was called in as part of the verification team and spent over four months tearing this paper apart. Honestly, at first, I was hoping to find a flaw somewhere, but it held up without a single crack."
One of the PhD students spoke up.
"The paper's quality must have been exceptional to satisfy your strict standards, Professor."
The professor smiled and replied.
"Indeed. I'm going to add the contents of this paper to next year's graduate curriculum."
"Pardon? Professor, are we going to be lectured on this paper?"
"That's right. It's not just because she solved the Riemann Hypothesis. The theorem Yoo A-yeon used to solve the problem will likely be of immense importance in future number theory research. I suspect it might eventually be called the 'A-yeon Theorem.' You all need to learn it."
Hearing this, the graduate students looked at one another.
Although they didn't fully comprehend Yoo A-yeon's paper yet,
seeing their notoriously strict and stingy-with-praise professor offer such glowing compliments allowed them to grasp its greatness indirectly.
"...Professor, I think the fact that our advisor was on the verification team for this paper will be a major point of pride for us in the future."
The professor laughed heartily.
"I think so too. Having verified Yoo A-yeon's paper will be the pride of my life."
A certain elderly professor's hobby was writing popular mathematics books in simplified language that laypeople could understand.
He had already written six books.
Before he was a math professor, he was a writer.
Rustle.
Alone in his office, the professor reopened his printed copy of Yoo A-yeon's paper.
The 148-page document was already heavily highlighted, its margins packed with dense notes.
Every single sentence of Yoo A-yeon's paper was beautiful.
Perhaps he had simply fallen in love with that beauty.
The professor resolved to write a book about Yoo A-yeon, wanting to share her achievements with a wider audience.
He pulled out his typewriter and adjusted his reading glasses.
"Let's see... What should the title be..."
After pondering for a moment,
he began to carefully type the letters.
Clack, clack, clack-clack.
The Clay Mathematics Institute.
A non-profit foundation based in Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA, established by mathematicians from Harvard University.
It was neither a government agency nor the official governing body of the mathematical world.
However, they were the ones who had designated the Millennium Prize Problems and placed a one-million-dollar bounty on each.
As such, it was an institution possessing immense authority within the mathematical community.
And now that the Riemann Hypothesis was effectively solved,
it was finally time for them—usually incredibly cautious in their movements—to take direct action.
The conference room of the Clay Mathematics Institute.
A printed copy of Yoo A-yeon's paper lay on the table.
The cover was worn and smudged, showing it had been read many times.
"I assume everyone has heard the news of the journal's acceptance?"
one person said.
"Yes. The academic consensus is practically complete. There are almost no dissenting voices."
"The final reports from our internal verification teams have all been submitted as well."
"Were there any teams with differing opinions?"
"None."
The conference room fell silent for a moment.
"In that case, we must refer to the Riemann Hypothesis as the 'Riemann Theorem' from now on."
The Riemann Theorem.
The term lingered in the air of the conference room.
Everyone felt a strange thrill at the fact that what had been a hypothesis for over 160 years had now transitioned into a proven theorem.
The changing of official terminology carried a profound weight.
"Let's prepare the official statement."
"We should invite the press."
"Yes. We will hold the award ceremony alongside the official announcement."
"How should the statement be structured?"
"Please divide it into sections: the award announcement, paper citations, an explanation of the verification process, and the background of the Riemann Theorem."
"And the venue for the ceremony?"
"It seems appropriate to hold it in Paris, France, just like the 2010 conference celebrating the resolution of the Poincaré Conjecture."
"Then I will start compiling the list of key figures in the mathematical community to invite to the event,"
one person added.
"Ah, and please make sure to invite Yoo A-yeon herself, the prover of the Riemann Theorem."
"Of course."
"Do you know how to contact her?"
"According to our research, we can reach her through the email of the paper's co-author, Han Seol-ae."
The meeting adjourned.
Soon, invitations began to be sent out to prominent figures in the global mathematical community under the name of the Clay Mathematics Institute.
...it read.
"Huh?"
One day,
I noticed an academic news article quietly pop up.
The view count on the article wasn't very high.
Most people didn't even know what the Clay Mathematics Institute was,
so they probably didn't feel like clicking on such an honest, clickbait-free title.
But those in the know knew.
They knew the Clay Mathematics Institute was the foundation that declared the seven Millennium Prize Problems and put up a million-dollar bounty on each.
And they knew that this incredibly slow-moving institute was finally taking action.
"Hehehe~"
Which meant they were about to shower me with praise!
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter!
I ran over to Mom, who was working on her laptop.
"Mom! Mommy!"
"Yes?"
"Open your email! Hurry, hurry! Hurryhurryhurry...!"
"Why the sudden rush? Alright, alright."
Unable to contain my excitement, I hopped up and down on the spot.
Mom's inbox was already on the verge of exploding, constantly displaying a '99+' notification due to countless interview and lecture requests.
Because of that, she had long since resorted to just skimming through them once every few days.
But now that the Clay Mathematics Institute is on the move, there must be a super important email waiting for me!
Click, click.
Mom opened her inbox.
Filtering out the sea of interview and lecture requests, two important emails caught her eye.
One was from the journal I had submitted my paper to.
The other was from the Clay Mathematics Institute.
"Hehehe."
A wide grin spread across my face.
Just looking at the senders made the corners of my mouth shoot up to the sky.
I read the email from the journal first.
It said my submitted paper had passed the review process and would be published in the next issue.
The final sentence, in particular, made me feel incredibly good.
"Mom, did you see that? The journal's editor-in-chief mister said it was an honor to handle this manuscript! An honor!"
This mister is a master of lip service! It's so sweet my teeth are going to rot...! And I haven't even been to the dentist once in this life!
"Hehe, A-yeon. You must be thrilled."
Having experienced publishing papers in journals herself, Mom smiled warmly, fully empathizing with my joy.
Next, I read the email from the Clay Mathematics Institute.
I read it with my automatic mental translation, and the phrase 'Yoo A-yeon, the mathematician who proved the Riemann Theorem' kept floating before my eyes, refusing to fade.
"Whoa! Mom, did you see? It says 'Yoo A-yeon, the mathematician who proved the Riemann Theorem'! Hehehe!"
I had received recognition from none other than the very foundation that designated the Riemann Hypothesis as one of the seven Millennium Prize Problems...!
Praise served directly by an official institution was on a completely different level compared to compliments from internet articles!
Naturally, the resonance was far deeper and sweeter.
I threw my arms wide, shouting "Hooray!" as I hopped up and down.