Chapter 72
The reason I told Arin about analyzing games mathematically was
to find out whether there was a game tournament that suited Arin.
‘Digital game tournaments are the biggest right now, but... they aren't suitable for a four-year-old.’
With our little stubby hands, gripping a mouse and controlling it like this wouldn't be easy, either.
Even games that placed a heavy emphasis on reading ahead usually had age restrictions for their tournaments.
So those were out.
I searched for games with major tournaments that even children like me could enter.
I opened Mom's laptop in the master bedroom.
Arin watched what I was doing from behind me.
Tap-tap-.
I searched keywords like ‘youth game tournaments’ and ‘children’s board game tournaments’ in the search bar.
Smack-.
Arin pressed close beside me, resting her adorable face on my shoulder as she peered at the screen.
“Sis, what came up?”
“Yeah. Just a second—I’ll sort it out for you.”
There were lots of small tournaments here and there, but if we were choosing one anyway, it would be better to pick a major one that drew lots of participants, especially children.
The more players there were, the more often tournaments would be held, and the more friends there'd be to play with.
— Major board game tournaments in Korea: chess, Go.
Chess and Go had a solid foothold, as expected.
Both were major games whose youth followings had exploded in recent years.
‘Come to think of it, janggi used to have a decent following too... but judging by how little comes up in searches, I guess its influx of new players has completely dried up.’
Seeing that, I guess even classic board games have their own metagames that come and go.
R.I.P. Janggi.
I also looked into the imperfect-information side, the kind I'd just taught Arin about.
“Oh... this one might be worth trying.”
Among card games, there was a genre called TCGs (trading card games).
And among TCGs, Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh! card games were fairly popular in Korea.
You carefully build a deck to fit the meta, hide your hand, infer your opponent's hand, and construct a strategy through that kind of reading ahead.
For Arin, who had just learned Kuhn Poker, there couldn't be a better practical teaching aid.
“Sis, what game is this?”
Arin poked at the screen.
“You know Pokémon, the one we played on the Nintendo last time?”
“Yeah. The one where you collect Pikachu and his friends.”
“That’s the video game version, and this is a physical card game. The rules are different from the video game, though.”
“Oh... really? Do cute Pikachu and Eevee show up here too?”
“Yep. That's right.”
“Ooh!”
Arin’s eyes sparkled-.
Pikachu's cuteness was powerful enough to squeeze a four-year-old girl's heart tight!
Then Arin thought hard for a moment.
She pursed her tiny lips and hummed.
“Sis, I... I never learned Go because it seemed kind of scary.”
“Mm-hm.”
“You said lots of children take part in this game too?”
“That’s right. Just like they held youth chess tournaments in France, there are youth Go tournaments in Korea too.”
… To be precise.
There was one catch: the number of Go players in Korea only briefly spiked during elementary-school after-school programs, then plummeted around middle school.
Apart from a small number of players who delved into it deeply, most had their time swallowed up by smartphone games, social media, and running from academy to academy, so they apparently had no time for such leisurely games.
I suddenly imagined it.
Arin reaching puberty and becoming addicted to her phone, staring at nothing else—
Then coming home coldly and slamming her bedroom door—
“Aaaah! Don’t do that!”
“Sis, why are you suddenly acting like that?”
“Ah, it’s nothing.”
Let’s not imagine unnecessary things.
Our cute Arin wouldn’t do that.
“Sis, then I want to try Go too! And that Pokémon game!”
Arin clenched her fist.
“Ooh, good thinking. It’s good to explore all kinds of things when you get the chance.”
She was only four, the age when everything was fun, no matter what she did.
The age when everything in the world was new and fascinating.
Building up a variety of experiences at this age would be much better for Arin's brain development, too.
✒️✒️✒️
A few days later.
Plop-plop-.
Arin and I took turns placing black and white stones on the Go board as the book instructed, getting a feel for the rules.
When she learned chess, Dad had taught her himself.
But Dad didn’t know how to play Go either. Of course, neither did I.
Maybe we'd take lessons at a nearby Go center later.
Arin also seemed to have developed enough social skills by now to take lessons alongside other children.
And one more thing.
Shrrk-. Rip-.
Every now and then, we went to the stationery shop in the neighborhood and became hooked on the fun of opening Pokémon card packs.
Our hearts fluttered with anticipation every time we opened a pack.
What if we got a glittering rare card—or better yet, a super-ultra-rare one so dazzling we'd gasp at how bright it was?
Man, those game companies.
You've made me want to keep opening packs without even realizing it, huh?
Arin spread the cards out in a fan and said,
“Hee-hee. Sis, even without playing the game, collecting them is fun all by itself!”
“I think so too. The game company's scheme is really scary...”
The urge to collect was truly frightening.
Just looking at brightly colored scraps of paper was enough to make my dopamine go pop-pop!
✒️✒️✒️
And that night.
At the hour when everyone had gone to sleep.
Soft, even breathing-.
I opened my eyes, wide awake despite being unable to sleep.
Rustle-.
After quietly getting up,
I sat down at the desk and opened Mom's laptop.
There was still an unanswered email on the screen.
I had already politely declined every email from an overseas university.
I felt bad about suddenly asking my family to leave Korea. I still liked living here, after all.
That answer required no deliberation.
The problem was the Korean universities.
Seoul National University, KAIST, POSTECH, and so on.
Emails from universities everyone in Korea recognized by name alone.
[Hello, mathematician Yoo A-yeon. Seoul National University would like to appoint you as a special professor... If you're interested— ]
“Uuugh...”
But when I tried to write replies to those emails, my fingers stopped.
The cursor blinked- blinked- over the empty reply box.
… I couldn't bring myself to write a reply.
Why?
Even though I'd turned down the overseas emails so easily,
why did my fingers stop in front of the Korean university emails?
When I thought about it carefully,
I felt I was beginning to understand.
This wasn't simply a matter of which university to attend.
The moment I answered ‘yes’ here,
it would amount to deciding that I'd spend this life researching mathematics too.
So.
For the first time since I was born,
very deeply,
for a very long time,
I began to reflect on myself.
I enjoy mathematics.
I already knew that.
When I unraveled a complicated, tangled problem one strand at a time.
When the scattered pieces in my head clicked neatly into place.
That thrill.
That intellectual pleasure.
I definitely loved them.
But.
A thought suddenly occurred to me.
Was that feeling... really mine?
The me from my previous life.
Shin I-jun, the mathematics professor.
Could this enjoyment be nothing more than a trace left inside me by that person's memories?
Until now, I had lived by keeping the two separate.
Shin I-jun from my past life and Yoo A-yeon in this life were different people.
I had merely inherited his memories; I wasn't Shin I-jun himself.
I'd accepted that and lived without any trouble.
But.
It was the memories of Shin I-jun that had proved the Riemann theorem.
It was thanks to those memories that I had been recognized by mathematicians around the world, received a million dollars, and been offered a professorship.
In the end, none of it would have happened without them.
If so.
As for me now, Yoo A-yeon—
did I truly want to keep doing mathematics in the future?
Or.
Was I merely following the path Shin I-jun had taken, walking it out of inertia?
“...”
Honestly,
it was a little ridiculous.
That a mere six-year-old was lying awake at night, worrying about something like this.
If Mom and Dad woke up and found me, they'd tell me to hurry to sleep, or I wouldn't grow taller.
Even so.
This felt like a question I had to settle before moving on.
I questioned myself again and again.
Did Yoo A-yeon, a six-year-old girl who was merely a little cuter and a little smarter than everyone else,
truly want to continue researching mathematics?
Even if people didn't shower me with praise or applaud me?
“...Yes. I do...”
After thinking it over for a long time, I had my answer.
Yes.
I want to.
It didn't matter whose memories these were.
Because it was Yoo A-yeon's heart that fluttered at the thought of difficult mathematics.
That feeling was mine, no matter what anyone said.
Regardless of my previous life.
In this life, I wanted to delve deeper into modern mathematics.
Proving the Riemann theorem had only been the first step.
In the world of mathematics, mountains of unsolved problems still stood untouched.
Thump-thump-.
...Thinking about it made my heart flutter again.
See?
I really do love this.
Once I'd finished thinking, I let out a small breath.
“Phew-.”
The night I looked deep into my heart for the first time in my life.
I decided to be honest with that feeling.
Blink- blink-.
The cursor in the reply box was still waiting for me.
Now I thought I knew what to write.
[Hello, President. I’m mathematician Yoo A-yeon. First of all, thank you for making me such a wonderful offer. — ]