Visitor I: Alright now, let me get a good look at this thing. So, the special exhibition area is located in Zone C. It looks like we need to take this path to get there.
Visitor II: I just can't believe I'm finally getting to see the stone with my own two eyes!
Visitor III: Yeah, I remember those critics on TV calling it all a hoax. Let's see what they have to say for themselves now.
The Laplace Museum, a place rich in history and heritage. For a long time, it has been silent, but now, it buzzes once more with shuffling feet and whispered curiosity.
37: So, this is the promotional poster for the special exhibition.
37: I like the simple geometric lines. Their arrangement is just right.
Three young people sit at a round table in the museum's refreshments area. One of the girls, dressed in peculiar, flowing robes, draws curious glances from passersby.
However, her eyes do not budge—they are fixed on the poster in her hand. Its title reads: "LAPLACE MUSEUM—SPECIAL EXHIBITION: THE MIRACLE STONE FROM 4.5 BILLION KILOMETERS ACROSS THE COSMOS."
A small area circled at the bottom reads: Special "Star of Wonder" themed ice cream—available during exhibition only.
Shopkeeper: Sorry for the wait, folks! Here's your ice cream!
37: I don't think we waited too long, but thank you all the same.
Shopkeeper: Come on, now! You and your friends saved my shop! I owe you big time!
The two other young people at the table also receive their ice cream.
Ezra: Looks yummy—even better than the poster.
Mesmer Jr.: I wouldn't usually eat this kind of thing. All the same, though, I never thought things would turn out the way they did.
Ezra: Miss Miller told me she considers the survival of her ice cream shop to be the result of your hard work, but I still don't know the whole story.
Ezra: And then, there's Miss 37.
Ezra: Everyone at the computing center has been talking about you. They say you're a brilliant mathematician! I'm honored to finally be meeting you in person.
37: Please, there's no need for formalities. You can call me 37, and I'll call you Ezra, if that's alright? I've heard a lot about you, too.
37: You're precisely as I thought you'd be. Your real and imaginary parts are neat numbers—not that I dislike that at all. I've never had an imaginary number for a friend before!
Ezra: Uh, imaginary numbers? Like the ones Descartes proposed in the 17th century?
Mesmer Jr.: You'll get used to it. I had no clue what she was saying when I first met her. To be honest, half the time, I still don't.
Ezra: Haha! I'm sure that must be an interesting story. I still have some time before my lecture. I'd love to hear it, if you'd like.
37: Certainly. I think we should start with my theorem that our heads in tangent with the table.
Ezra: Sorry?
Mesmer Jr.: I warned you.
Mesmer Jr. sighs.
She'd rather just finish her ice cream in peace, but it seems the task of telling the story sensibly has been forced upon her.
Mesmer Jr.: Well, it all started with an old classmate—Vertin.
Mesmer Jr.: It was all because of her that I got mixed up with 37, and a series of peculiar events followed.
Mesmer Jr. begins her tale, and time is rewound to three days ago.
This is a story about a museum, ice cream, distant stars, and numbers.
Mesmer Jr.: sigh What was she thinking? Do I look like a babysitter?
Mesmer Jr.: Who even uses this kind of thing nowadays?
The therapist looks down at the scroll in her hand, like something out of Ancient Greece.
Mesmer Jr.: It's none of my business.
Mesmer Jr.: Excuse me, I'm looking for someone here from the Foundation. She came to headquarters for advanced training.
Laplace Researcher: Incredible! So, that was the right value ... eh? Huh? What was that?
This particular self-absorbed target for her inquiries is not the best choice, but then finding a "normal" researcher at Laplace is never a simple task.
With the lobby uncommonly empty today, it seems there is no better option available.
Mesmer Jr.: I said I'm looking for someone here from the Foundation. She came to headquarters for advanced training.
Laplace Researcher: Do I look like a receptionist? Go ask someone else! I don't have time for—hang on.
Laplace Researcher: Ugh, you're looking for 37, too?
In both number and name, it seems they're both looking for the same figure, and that they're not alone.
Mesmer Jr.: Too? Yes, I'm looking for a girl named 37.
The researcher's eyes widen, a fear response.
Laplace Researcher: No. No, no, no.
He begins moving toward the hallway as fast as his uncoordinated, noodle-like limbs will carry him.
Laplace Researcher: I was here first! You! You get behind me. Wait your turn!
He runs off. As the echoing of his footsteps fades from the lobby, the lone therapist is left standing there, bewildered.
Mesmer Jr.: What?
Mesmer Jr.: What's going on here?
Researchers are spread across the corridor like an outbreak of gray-coated mold.
Some are locked in heated discussion, while others sprawl out on the floor or lean against the walls, writing, notating, and sketching out figures and graphs. All of them enthralled in the kind of manic frenzy Mesmer Jr. recognizes but certainly does not condone.
Mesmer Jr.: So, that's why the lobby's so empty today. Emptier than usual, anyways.
She pauses there a while, as a constant stream of researchers clutching their papers rush into the room at the end of the hall, or go running off out of it, waving their seemingly solved problems.
Laplace Researcher: Yes! She's got it! That girl really is a genius!
Mesmer Jr.: This place never changes. Egghead scientists losing their minds at the slightest provocation.
Fortunately, the researchers, glued as they are to their place in line, take no notice of her.
She takes a deep breath and heads to the room at the end of the hallway.
Piles of paper and scattered geometric models almost bury the entire desk, and the small office is crammed with researchers, packed like jittering cans of liquefied anxiety.
They wave their papers in the air, surrounding the desk like hungry Glawackus.
Laplace Researcher I: Hey, 37, look at this! I calculated it using the method you suggested last time. Here's the new data. But now a new problem's cropped up.
Laplace Researcher II: Wait! I'm not done yet! Wait your turn!
Laplace Researcher I: I've been waiting all day, you buffoon! Swallow your pride, and just accept 37's algorithm is simpler than yours!
Laplace Researcher II: What? Tosh! Tosh, drivel, and baloney! Just look! Look closely, you—
Mesmer Jr.: What kind of mess have I walked into now? This place is a battlefield in egghead hell.
The therapist draws a sharp breath, pulling her head out of the chaotic abyss.
X: Personally, I'd be more inclined to employ the metaphor of "valiant heroes catapulting themselves into a courageous confrontation to earn the favor of their goddess."
Mesmer Jr.: X.
After the initial surprise of hearing the familiar voice, Mesmer resumes her usual indifferent expression.
Mesmer Jr.: Do you intend on becoming one of these "heroes"?
X: Rather than genuflecting to win the favor bestowed by this "goddess," I intend only to extend an invitation her way, to join me in spectating a sumo-wrestling match.
X: However, encountering a friend here—that's you, Mesmer—I must admit, I have indeed been taken quite by surprise.
X: I didn't take you to be the type to enjoy these gory spectacles; even when faced with challenges, you lean toward resolving them independently. Oh.
The papyrus scroll cradled in the brunette's arms is an obvious clue.
The young researcher may excel at constructing complex systems, but he is just as adept at circumventing obstacles and distractions to find the truth.
X: Was this the Timekeeper's doing?
Mesmer Jr.: She certainly knows how to use people to get what she wants.
Not long ago, while Mesmer Jr. was on official business at the Foundation, she encountered her now illustrious former classmate.
At that time, she was hurrying down the hall, on the phone with some unknown party. She always seems so busy.
Vertin: Yes, I'm on my way. I'll be there soon, Mesmer Jr.
Mesmer Jr.: Vertin.
Vertin: I must say, I'm actually glad to see you. I have a favor to ask of you.
The busy star of the Foundation makes her request—to deliver an important letter on her behalf to a colleague training at the computing center.
Mesmer Jr.: They have this thing these days called Critter Express.
Vertin: I'm afraid Carbuncles won't be able to confirm what's going on with 37 for me.
Vertin: She's said that she's fine, but she's never left her island before, so I worry that her "fine" may not really count as "fine."
Vertin: I was hoping you might help confirm just how "fine" she is now—as the most trustworthy person I know at the computing center.
Mesmer Jr.: ...
How amusing. She seems to have forgotten what transpired in this very hallway, but Mesmer Jr. knows that is impossible.
Is this a trap? Psychological manipulation? A true gesture of goodwill? Or perhaps ...
She should have said "no."
Mesmer Jr.: I really don't know why she insisted on asking me.
X: I have always trusted her judgment, particularly when it concerns people.
Mesmer Jr. doesn't wish to dwell on the topic. Her eyes reach for the room down the hallway.
Mesmer Jr.: Anyway, how would you describe things around here? Vertin leaves this girl with you for a second, and now it looks like she's being eaten alive. How long has this been going on?
X: Since the day she arrived at the computing center. Do you recall the problem Baird left on the blackboard to the left of the lobby over a year ago? The one no one could solve?
X: That girl passed by during her first-day perambulations, and two seconds later, bam! She had the answer all chalked out!
X: Since then, this hallway has become the rowdiest strip in the entire LSCC.
Mesmer Jr. looks at the researchers coming and going, a frown growing more evident on her face.
Mesmer Jr.: There are researchers from every department here. Are you telling me that this one girl has insights into every field of research compelling enough to cause all this?
Mesmer Jr.: It's impossible.
X: Oh, no, no, no. That's not it. She's barely aware of most of our research. All she deals with is "mathematics."
Mesmer Jr.: Mathematics.
She repeats the word.
Mesmer Jr.: Of course. I've heard that "that island" was a hotbed of math geniuses.
X: Exactly. Just as dear old Leonardo pointed out long ago, mathematics is the foundation of all sciences, but most people have failed to grasp this universal truth.
X: But this girl is not like most people. She doesn't know anything about chemistry, astronomy, or physics.
X: But she can solve any single one of their problems if she can reduce it to a mathematical problem.
X: I'm not overstating her abilities here. There's yet to be a math puzzle she's encountered that's eluded her computational comprehension.
Mesmer Jr.: Really? She does all that with just mathematics?
X: I, too, harbored reservations until I observed it in action. Maybe I could offer an example for your elucidation.
X: The original progenitors of "mathematics" employed a fascinating sexagesimal numeric system, yet this is not the most extraordinary aspect of their knowledge.
X: The most remarkable aspect was that their frameworks lacked both the notion of zero and of decimals, yet they still managed to produce accurate results.
X: The pinnacle of our most advanced arcanum pales in comparison to the skills demonstrated by that remarkable girl.
Mesmer Jr.: Exaggerating as always, I see. We both know how they did it.
Mesmer may not enjoy drawing attention to her intellect the way her peers do, but there is no doubt that she belongs among them.
Mesmer Jr.: 1, 10, 100, and 0.1, all represent 1 when written in their method. Whenever they needed to use this number in their calculations—like if they wanted to multiply it by 100—in theory, they'd end up stuck, with no way to proceed.
Mesmer Jr.: Since they used cuneiform symbols but not the actual numbers they represent, they had no way of knowing what numbers the symbols stood for.
Mesmer Jr.: But they didn't need to know.
Mesmer Jr.: In their abstract mathematical world, whether the answer was 100, 1,000, or 10,000 ... ultimately, by following the same rules, they'd arrive at the same answer—"1."
The therapist shakes her head.
Mesmer Jr.: There's nothing magic about it.
Mesmer Jr.: Please step aside. Sorry, today's Q&A session is over.
Laplace Researcher: By what right do you think you've got a monopoly on 37's time? This is a travesty! All of Laplace will suffer, you hear?! You're holding back global scientific progress.
She slams the door. Global scientific progress will have to wait.
Mesmer Jr.: Alright. Now ...
Mesmer Jr. clears a path to the desk.
Beneath the desk, next to a chair rendered an impromptu bookcase due to the pile of papers stacked on it, hides a head of tangled light-colored hair.
37: So, it can be proven that when n is greater than 2, there are no positive integer solutions ...
37: This proof is correct! But his method is different from ours. Incredible!
