Monsieur X
Lassen stared at the ceiling of his studio, a faint smile on his lips. "System, so, where are we with this famous Collatz conjecture?"
[Resolution complete] the system retorted, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. [The Collatz conjecture is now a solved problem. You can finally add this success to your list of… passive contributions.]
A sly grin appeared on Lassen's face. "Oh, how adorable. So, after decades of everyone getting nowhere, you solved it in seconds. Bravo, I suppose?"
[You could be more grateful. But I assume admiring the genius of others isn't your strong suit.]
"More like I don't need to admire anything since you do all the work for me."
[Ah, of course. The genius of delegation. A discipline in which you truly excel.]
"Go ahead, explain what you did."
[A simplified and vulgarized version, I assume?]
"Obviously," Lassen replied, crossing his arms. "I'm not going to waste my time deciphering your gibberish."
[Very well. The conjecture states that any integer, following simple rules—divide by two if it's even, multiply by three and add one if it's odd—will eventually reach 1. I've proven that this pattern holds for all possible numbers.]
"So… all this just to prove that numbers eventually become 1. Honestly, it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that."
[And yet, no one managed it before me. Perhaps the ridiculous is more complex than it seems.]
Lassen ignored the sarcasm and sank deeper into his chair. "Alright, now that we have the solution, what do we do with it?"
[You could keep it to yourself. Or share it with the world. After all, it would be a historic contribution.]
Lassen frowned. "Share it, huh? But how does that work exactly? This whole scientific publication thing isn't really my domain."
[Nothing is your domain, anyways]
[Scientific journals have a strict process. You submit an article detailing your proof. An editorial committee briefly reviews the submission to ensure it's legitimate. Then expert reviewers spend weeks, sometimes months, validating every detail. If everything checks out, the article gets published.]
"Weeks? Months? Seriously?" Lassen groaned.
[Are you surprised? It's not like writing a novel summary, host.]
Lassen rolled his eyes. "Okay, let's do this. But there's no way my name is going on it. I don't want to be bothered. Call me… Monsieur X."
[Why not Monsieur Lazy, to reflect your exact contribution?]
"Monsieur X sounds better. Classy and mysterious."
[A pseudonym worthy of a cheap sci-fi novel. Very well, submission in progress.]
[Submission complete. The article has been sent to the Annals of Mathematics. We should receive feedback in the coming weeks.]
Lassen nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now I'll get back to important things." He grabbed a novel lying nearby and settled comfortably in his chair. "Wake me up when they publish the article."
[As if you really need rest after so much effort...] The sarcastic tone of the system echoed in his mind.
---
Nicholas Katz, an influential member of the Annals of Mathematics editorial board, sifted through new submissions in his email inbox. It was a tedious routine, filled with promising but poorly structured articles and pseudo-scientific nonsense sent by amateurs.
When he opened the document signed "Monsieur X" his first instinct was to sigh. Another crackpot, he thought.
However, within the first few lines, something caught his attention. The writing was clear, concise, and almost too methodical. He kept reading, and his expression gradually shifted from boredom to intense focus.
"This can't be… this simple" he murmured. Adjusting his glasses, he reread the key part of the proof, his heart racing. He sat upright in his chair, glancing around as if to confirm he was alone.
Quickly, he forwarded the article to two other board members, Peter Sarnak and Jean Bourgain, seeking their opinions.
---
Peter Sarnak opened Katz's email the next morning, still groggy from a long night of work. Skimming his inbox, he spotted the message containing the article by "Monsieur X." He frowned, skeptical at the pseudonym.
"Monsieur X… What kind of prank is this?" he thought, already weary of examining what was likely another flawed or overly ambitious submission. Nevertheless, out of professionalism, he opened the file.
Initially, he read distractedly, expecting clumsy formulations or poorly substantiated hypotheses. But within a few lines, something gripped his attention. The reasoning was clear, methodical, and deceptively simple. The proofs, rare in their elegance, unfolded with almost surgical precision.
"This is… brilliant," he murmured, instinctively setting his coffee cup down. He leaned back in his chair, reread the key sections, then quickly grabbed his phone to call Jean Bourgain.
"Jean, check your email immediately. I just sent you something. You need to see this," he said, his voice tense with excitement.
---
Meanwhile, Jean Bourgain, occupied with another review, took some time before turning to Peter's email. When he finally opened the article, he skimmed the first few lines with indifference, but his demeanor quickly changed. He froze in the middle of a proof, reread several lines multiple times, then leaned back in his chair, incredulous.
"Who could write something like this?" he muttered aloud, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Setting his glasses on the desk, he rubbed his temples. After a few minutes, he resumed reading, taking detailed notes and hunting for any flaws. But there were none.
---
The two experts spent the day exchanging frantic emails, dissecting every part of the article. An impromptu video call brought them together that evening. Seated in front of their screens, the two mathematicians debated every detail.
"This is incredible," Peter said, showing his annotated notes. "Every step is logical, every argument airtight. And yet, it feels almost too perfect."
"I agree," Jean replied gravely. "The style is so direct it's as if the author didn't even have to try, like it all came to them naturally. It's frustrating, don't you think?"
"Frustrating, yes. But it's also magnificent," Peter concluded. He paused, reflecting. "This Monsieur X… if he's real, then he's a genius. A true genius."
---
The article underwent a rigorous validation process. Several handpicked reviewers meticulously examined every line and formula. Some searched for the slightest inconsistency, while others worked to replicate the calculations. The precision of the proofs and the elegance of the arguments left everyone speechless. No errors, no gaps, not even a questionable approximation.
"It's as if the author saw mathematics from an entirely new perspective," one reviewer remarked during a team meeting.
"And this pseudonym… Monsieur X. Why so much mystery?" another asked.
"Maybe they just want to avoid attention," a third suggested. "But whoever they are, this article will make history."
A month after the validation process began, the article was officially accepted and published in the Annals of Mathematics. Upon its release, it sent shockwaves through the mathematical community, captivating researchers and students worldwide.