Black-Haired Genius Undergrad (4): The Future Lasker Award Winner
Hugh McDevitt stared at me quizzically, waiting for my explanation.
"Other professors mentioned it. They said there's this undergrad who has answers to every question. Professor Berg was raving about you."
"Yes."
Let me explain for those who aren't future Nobel laureates or modern doctors. MHC—Major Histocompatibility Complex—is the protein that presents antigens to lymphocytes. That's knowledge from the future, but how do I prove it logically here?
Think of it like a restaurant analogy. The cops (lymphocytes) are watching the crowd (cells). A zombie's hiding among them. The cops have to decide whether to shoot the suspicious ones or let them go. So the people pull out their wallets (MHC proteins) and show ID (antigens). If the ID says "zombie" (foreign antigen), the cops take them out. Why zombies in a restaurant? Why "zombie" on the ID? No idea. End of analogy.
The gist: There's a substance that lets cells present antigens to lymphocytes. A concept that will change the history of modern medicine.
"Keep going. Looks like you've got something."
I met McDevitt's eyes. "Prior studies show that the H-2 protein predicts whether an immune response will occur against a transplanted organ."
"And?"
"What decides if there's an immune response to cells or transplanted organs? Lymphocytes, right?"
"Exactly."
First step. The precise function of the H-2 protein wasn't known in this era yet, but even professors knew it was deeply involved in immune responses.
"So, how could the H-2 protein convey information to lymphocytes?"
A simple question. McDevitt answered with an intrigued expression.
Second step. "There's only one way cells exchange complex information: direct contact."
Cells don't have Wi-Fi. To pass info to other cells, they have to hand over substances physically.
So, what substance? "The simplest explanation: The only way cells exchange info is through contact, and lymphocytes deliver immune verdicts."
"You think the H-2 protein connects directly to lymphocytes on the cell surface?"
"Simplest view, yeah. And we need Occam's razor for what info gets exchanged between cells."
Moment of enlightenment. McDevitt's face went pale. He got it.
"Ah... You mean the H-2 protein picks up externally derived substances directly?"
"Yes."
"Absurd."
"Logically, it follows that H-2 proteins have the structure to present antigens to lymphocytes. That's experimentally verifiable."
Complicated stuff. But McDevitt grasped the essence. His research wasn't just about organ transplants—it illuminated the principles of adaptive immunity. The cornerstone of modern—no, future—immunology.
In short: Uncovering the principles of adaptive immunity, unknown in this era.
"If you're right, we could snag a Nobel for H-2 research."
"You definitely will."
"Who knew I'd snag a genius like you."
I watched McDevitt scribble furiously, like he'd uncovered something monumental.
McDevitt adjusted his research direction toward antigen presentation after hearing me out. Even in the era of geniuses, an undergrad publishing in Nature was enough to turn heads at Stanford. Not an everyday occurrence.
My undergrad life, dragging on for years now, was getting boring. I wanted back to the hospital, seeing patients.
Time flew by. Studies, undergrad routine, research. I got along fine with my Stanford classmates.
"Congrats on topping the class. What's your secret?"
"Library again today? Weekend, let's hit a bar. Got a good spot."
"Hey, wanna come to my family's cabin with the gang? We're yachting to Hawaii to spot whale sharks this time."
Alice was definitely a Dagon cultist. Obsessed with the sea for some reason.
Most weren't much help. But undergrad life flowed on.
One day, Stanford's dean, Clayton Rich—visiting undergrad class for the first time in ages—set down the chalk. The blackboard showed a heart diagram.
"Class dismissed there... Heard you published in Nature."
The dean turned to me; hundreds of students in the lecture hall followed suit.
Startled me.
"Yes."
Rich frowned. "What's the topic?"
"Using bacterial components for medical research. Simple enough to handle in a test tube."
All eyes from the year group on me.
"Give an example."
"Professor Berg's latest work: Successfully editing genes using bacterial restriction enzymes. Enzymes that cut DNA—proteins humans don't have."
In simple terms: Bacterial innards are simpler, easier to replicate in vitro than human environments.
The dean sighed. "Top of the class is different, huh. What do they even teach in those Eastern schools?"
"Never been, so no idea."
I met the dean's gaze.
"Class over. Dismissed."
As undergrads packed up and filed out, they glanced back at me, amazed.
Independence Day that year. The whole family—minus the golden retriever—munched popcorn, staring at the night sky. Dog wouldn't like fireworks anyway; it hid in the basement.
I sat quietly eating popcorn; the family chatted idly. Raccoon family behind the trash cans, neighbor's daughter marrying so-and-so.
The sky was dark. Soon, Independence Day fireworks would light it up.
Dad looked up. "Studies going well?"
"Going great."
"We didn't study much like you, but today celebrates the birth of the American Dream. Figure you know."
I nodded. Even in our small town, smoke from countless fireworks blotted the stars out to the suburbs.
Isekai culture was weird. Guess imperialists, fascists, communists—opposites of the American Dream—get fireworks'd to bits? Whatever.
Needed to get back to the hospital soon.
"Professor gave me a new white coat last week. Clinical rotations starting soon."
"Working at the hospital?"
"Yep."
Finally seeing patients. Time to live the oath for real.
Undergrad year 5. 1975. Fifth year. Time to learn division? Wait, colleges don't have fifth years?
Regrettably, med school is six years, plus grad work. Life's endless study and suffering.
What can you do.
In those months, McDevitt finished his paper. After long toil, my name made it on there too. Molecular bio labs are always grindfests.
Published in The Lancet. Prestigious journal, but not headline-worthy for one prof.
Immune Response Gene
Title fit his personality. "Immune Response Gene"? Short, arrogant...
More like a book title. Papers usually specify the research.
But McDevitt's was like planting a flag as field's authority, taunting future scholars. Written with conviction it'd underpin immunology.
Probably would.
His confidence wasn't baseless. Antigen presentation concept was a decade ahead of schedule. Nobel material.
Whether he'd win sans original history? I thought possible.
"Good work."
"All thanks to you, Professor."
He extended a hand. "Stay in my lab? Helping humanity means changing science in the lab, not seeing patients."
I nodded. "Long road ahead... See you in Stockholm someday, Professor."
"Stockholm...? Ah."
Nobel ceremony spot.
Anyway. I left McDevitt's lab.
Clinical rotations next year. Finally facing real patients, real diseases in the wards.
Time for my past-life-honed skills to shine.