The Genius System-Chapter 62: The Paradox of Omnipotence

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Lassen’s eyes roamed across the room after his talk, gauging the reactions. The silence was thick—not empty, but alive. It was the silence of minds shifting, of certainties unraveling. Faint murmurs began to ripple through the audience, cautious voices sharing thoughts caught between wonder and disbelief. A hand went up. Professor Hargrove from Cambridge spoke, his voice calm, but carrying an edge of challenge.

"Your approach is... intriguing, but it poses a fundamental question. You’ve modeled millions of elliptic curves and examined their spectral properties. But how can you be sure your findings are universal? Have you demonstrated that they hold true for every imaginable elliptic curve, even the ones we haven’t yet discovered?"

Lassen was ready for this question. He smiled faintly, a carefully measured expression, and answered with poise. "An excellent question, Professor Hargrove. The answer lies in what I refer to as ’spectral continuity.’ Let me elaborate."

He grabbed the chalk and sketched a graph on the board, showing a series of curves converging at a single point. The soft squeak of the chalk, combined with each deliberate stroke, held the audience’s attention. "What I’ve uncovered is that the symmetry I referred to earlier isn’t tied to the specific traits of any one elliptic curve, but rather to its position in a larger topological framework."

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He paused, motioning toward a set of equations he had written earlier, as if drawing attention to their elegance. "To put it differently, every elliptic curve is part of a universal geometric structure. This structure guarantees that the connection between rank and the L-function remains unchanging, regardless of the curve."

Hargrove crossed his arms, his brows knitting together. His face flickered between skepticism and admiration. Before he could utter a word, another professor—this one from Harvard—stood abruptly, his features drawn tight and his voice edged with challenge.

"I see the point of spectral continuity. But your method relies heavily on large-scale simulations. How can you be certain these numerical results are unbiased? Exact calculations are still out of reach in some scenarios, aren’t they?"

Lassen inclined his head, silently affirming the importance of the question. "An excellent observation. Simulations tell only part of the story. After identifying the patterns, I turned to rigorous algebraic techniques to prove that these patterns naturally arise from the fundamental properties of elliptic curves."

He outlined a logical progression on the board, his movements deliberate yet effortless. "Every assumption was proven analytically, without relying on numerical shortcuts."

A murmur coursed through the room, an almost palpable wave of shared curiosity. Lassen’s methodology united the best of two worlds: computational power to uncover patterns, and analytical rigor to confirm their universality.

"But how did you come up with the idea in the first place?" asked a voice from the back of the room. A young doctoral student, visibly intimidated, had dared to ask the question on everyone’s mind.

Lassen gave an amused smile, a childlike spark in his eyes "That’s a good question. It goes back to my own frustration with classical approaches. When I started working on this problem, I noticed something all the existing theories had in common: they didn’t communicate with each other. Algebraic geometry, spectral analysis, probability—each worked in its own silo. I simply broke down those barriers."

In his mind, the familiar voice resounded, dripping with its usual sarcasm [Oh, of course… You worked so hard on this. All on your own. Absolutely brilliant.]

Lassen barely held back a laugh, disguising it just in time as an amused sigh. He added, his tone tinged with playful irony: "Oh, and a dash of boredom. Nothing sparks creativity quite like wanting to outshine the generations before you."

The system chimed in, smugly [And me. Let’s not forget me. But you’re not telling them that, are you?]

Lassen suppressed another grin, straightening slightly "Any other questions? Surely, I haven’t won you all over just yet."

The audience erupted into animated discussions, hands shooting up almost in waves. The intellectual storm he had unleashed was exactly what he had hoped for.

One hand rose almost immediately, belonging to a professor from Stanford. "Mr. X, your method seems revolutionary, but how did you handle the massive amount of calculations required? Even the best computing centers would struggle to achieve what you’ve described."

Lassen smiled faintly, adopting an almost casual tone. "That’s a valid question, and the answer is simple. My infrastructure is innovative, but I’d say it’s mostly... optimized. Raw power isn’t everything—it’s the algorithm that matters. I’m confident your university could replicate my results, with a bit of patience."

In his mind, the system cut in with its characteristic sarcasm [Or just a stroke of luck. But let’s see them give it a shot.]

Another professor, visibly exasperated, rose, his features taut. "Optimized? Really? How can we trust these assertions if we can’t reproduce your calculations?"

Lassen shrugged casually, his expression tinged with mockery. "I never claimed it’d be easy. But trust me, it’s all there. The data, the proofs—you’ve got everything you need."

A louder murmur rippled through the audience, an undercurrent of mixed reactions. Some were clearly impressed, while others bristled with frustration.

At the back of the room, a researcher cautiously raised her hand. Her voice was hesitant, but her question struck with precision. "Mr. X, you speak with such certainty, yet no one here knows who you are. Why should we trust you? Why hide behind anonymity?"

A profound silence blanketed the room. Lassen exhaled deeply, stepping forward with a composed air, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping the audience.

"Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters are the ideas. Mathematical truth stands independent of its messenger. But if it reassures you, think of me as just that—a messenger. Mr. X is merely a name."

He paused deliberately, allowing the tension to mount. "You don’t need to trust me blindly. Explore my theories, attempt to tear them apart. I challenge you to prove me wrong. But until that day comes, the truth I’ve uncovered will stand unshaken."

A ripple of admiration spread through the room. Some nodded thoughtfully, while others continued murmuring in low voices. Lassen stepped back, a trace of satisfaction on his face, knowing he had sown both doubt and wonder in their minds.

He left the podium with deliberate steps, each one calculated to seem neither hurried nor overly confident. Behind him, voices swelled—a mix of passionate debates and exchanged theories, caught between admiration and doubt. Every murmur seemed to hang heavily in the air, a sharp contrast to Lassen’s composed demeanor.

In his mind, the system’s familiar voice cut through. [Bravo, prophet of mathematics. You’ve left them craving more, just as you planned. Add a monk’s robe and a torch, and you’d have nailed the performance.]

"Always so dramatic" Lassen thought, his subtle smile barely widening. "But you’re not wrong. A touch of mystery never hurts."

As he approached a side exit, focused on safeguarding the anonymity he so valued, a student abruptly stepped into his path. The young man, dressed in a slightly crumpled shirt and holding a notebook tightly, seemed torn between hesitation and resolve, unwilling to let this rare opportunity pass.

"Mr. X!" he called, his voice betraying a hint of nerves "One last question, if I may!"

Lassen stopped, the gleam of his polished shoes catching the room’s muted lighting. He tilted his head just slightly, his keen gaze locking onto the student, as though weighing whether the interruption merited his attention.

"I’m listening" he said finally, his voice neutral but touched with a trace of warmth, a subtle encouragement for the student to speak.

"Why did you choose to solve this problem?" the student blurted out, nearly tripping over his words. "With your talents… and what you showed today… you could’ve tackled other mathematical enigmas! Maybe even revolutionized fields like physics or engineering! Why this one?"

Lassen stood still for a moment, his expression calm and unreadable. He seemed to carefully weigh his answer, letting an almost unbearable silence linger.

In his head, the system muttered sarcastically [So, is this where you claim a prophecy chose you, or do you stick with the classic ’because I can’? Make it quick—I’m getting bored already.]

Lassen ignored the comment, his gaze locked on the student. At last, he spoke, his voice resonating as though it carried far beyond the room.

"Why? Because it was there."

The student blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the response. His lips parted as if to ask for more, but Lassen cut him off.

"Sometimes" he said, a sly smile playing on his lips "the only question worth asking is: why not?"

The young man froze, torn between admiration and confusion. Lassen turned away slowly, his footsteps faintly echoing in the nearly deserted hallway. Without a backward glance, he slipped through the side door, leaving the student with even more questions than before.

Outside, the air was crisp, and a dark car idled quietly at the curb. Lassen strolled toward it, his hands in his pockets. Adrian, his driver and bodyguard, opened the door with practiced ease.

"So, is this how legends are made?" Adrian asked, his tone laced with playful sarcasm as he adjusted his sunglasses, despite the night.

"I’m already a legend" Lassen replied, sliding into the car with a faint smile. Once inside, he let out a soft sigh, somewhere between contentment and fatigue.

In his mind, the system broke the silence, brimming with its usual sarcasm [Poetic. Honestly, you’ve got the theatrical flair of a Shakespearean actor. Taking all the glory while I’m the one doing all the work.]

"What are you talking about? Everything I said came from my head," Lassen retorted

[Wasn’t I the one answering all those questions, or am I imagining things?]

"You’re in my head. So whatever you do is, quite literally, from my mind."

[…]

[Fair point.]