While the Imperial Court was keeping its sharp, wary eyes on the Jewish immigrants who had suddenly made their mark on the capital markets, that same group was beginning to reveal its presence in another, entirely different field.

The field where the Jewish people now asserted their presence was academia.

As had already been discussed within the court, mastering a specialized field of study was an endeavor that consumed a vast amount of money. But, if one’s achievements were recognized, even a Jew could earn respect. This was why many Jewish families had cultivated scholars and raised their names to prominence. And the reason these scholars, who held a relatively firm social standing in their homelands, had chosen to immigrate to the Empire… was because of its research institutes and, most of all, the Challenge Records.

Every time one of the new papers, textbooks, or anatomical atlases, all intentionally leaked by Hyang and Hyeon, reached Europe, it stirred up a storm across the continent’s academic circles. Whenever the Empire introduced a new theory that completely challenged conventional wisdom or established doctrine, a frenzy of attempts ensued, all aiming to disprove it.

But these attempts, almost invariably, ended in failure.

This split the European academics into two distinct camps: Those who accepted the Empire’s new theories, and those who summarily dismissed them.

“We may not have found a refutation, but we still cannot accept it. The Empire’s theory is simply wrong.”

“This theory has been the established orthodoxy for hundreds of years. The Empire must be the one that is mistaken.”

This was the general reaction from the rejectionist and denialist factions. The ‘pro-Empire’ camp, in turn, would criticize them, often citing one key example.

“Oh yeah? Then what about heliocentrism?”

“Heliocentrism is the very symbol of a false theory! Geocentrism is the truth!”

“…You know what? There’s just no point in talking to you.”

It was in this frustrating, dogmatic environment that Jewish scholars began to seriously contemplate immigration.

Their thinking was practical: Even if a new theory did emerge from the Empire, the time it took to reach Europe was far too long. And it was clear the Empire wasn’t releasing everything. They wanted to be in the Empire, to receive the sacred, new theories directly and immediately. On top of that, if they could just get into one of the research institutes, they would receive a government-funded budget to pursue their work.

But, despite these advantages, they only “contemplated.” They couldn’t easily make the final decision.

What if I go all the way to the Empire… and I can’t get into an institute? Am I really willing to abandon the entire foundation I’ve built here?

And just as they were wavering, trapped in this loop of indecision, the Challenge Records gave them the final push.

***

The European scholars, who had gotten just a taste from the Challenge Records challenges Hyang had previously leaked, had become completely addicted.

“I need to see the higher-level problems. I need to challenge them.”

As they thrashed about, consumed by this academic desire, new papers began to flow out of the Empire. And the prefaces of these papers, which detailed new theories, all began with a similar phrase:

—This paper, being the solution to a challenge in the Challenge Records, has been confirmed for inclusion in the Responses to Challenge Records…

“It is the Challenge Records!”

“The Challenge Records… it’s the Holy Grail of academia!”

Amidst this firestorm of academic fervor, the discoveries of ‘oxygen,’ the ‘cell,’ ‘capillaries,’ and the ‘theory of blood circulation’ were the final straws. Scholars across the continent shot up from their desks.

“We’re going.”

Seeing their colleagues mobilize, the Jewish scholars finally set aside their long-held worries and began to pack their bags.

“We’re going!”

“We have to move first and secure our positions!”

“Who cares if I can’t get into an institute! I’ve heard that just by becoming an Imperial citizen, you get a chance to see the Challenge Records. I’ll just do the research on my own!”

Desperate to seize the opportunity before anyone else, a great many Jewish scholars boarded the next ships bound for the Empire.

***

Seeing this sudden flood of academics pouring into Seoul, the Imperial Court scrambled to begin the vetting and sorting process.

“Well… their language skills aren’t the main problem…”

Most of the scholars who applied for immigration were already fluent in Jeongeum (the Imperial alphabet) and the Imperial language. The reason, of course, was the Challenge Records.

“If you’re going to read it, you have to read the original!”

The next step was to assess their professional field and their level of achievement. This was where the problems began.

Just as the English term for a polymath was ‘Renaissance Man,’ these scholars did not have a single specialty. A dual- or even triple-major was standard, and it was always sprinkled with a heavy dose of religion or mysticism. Or, just as often, they were theologians or mystics who had merely “taken an interest” in natural philosophy.

“…So. What… is… your actual specialty?”

“Well, that is… difficult to say…”

“Hooooo…“

Every time this exchange took place, the Imperial administrators responsible for the interviews would press their hands to their foreheads.

“This makes me want to curse…”

To solve this unexpected bottleneck, the administrators reported the issue to Hyeon, who, as always, went to find Hyang. On the way to Sugang Palace, Hyeon suddenly burst out laughing.

“Hahat! I knew this felt familiar… This is the Empire Emeritus. If you just remove the religion and mysticism… this is him.”

Everyone in his entourage nodded in agreement.

When Hyeon arrived at Sugang Palace and explained the problem, Hyang’s internal monologue kicked in.

‘This… this feels… familiar. It’s that feeling from the 21st century, when you meet a fellow nerd. To be fair, though, if you look at how scholars behaved before the 19th century, “nerd” is a perfectly accurate label.’

Feeling a sense of kinship with the new arrivals, Hyang nodded and provided his solution.

“Why should we be the ones to figure it out?” Hyang said. “Just ask them what they want to research. Our job starts after that. We verify how deep their knowledge in that specific field is. If they’re good, we give them a position as a professor or a researcher. If their skills aren’t quite there, we tell them to enroll in an academy or a learning centres and learn properly.”

Hyeon hesitated. “These are men who had great renown as scholars in their homelands. They will likely protest, being told to go back to school.”

“Then tell them to go home,” Hyang said coldly. “Did we drag them here? No. They came of their own free will. And now they want to protest because their ‘learning is too shallow’ for the position they want? That’s laughable.”

It was a cold, but perfectly logical, argument. Hyeon nodded, accepting it.

“That does seem to be the best way.”

Following Hyang’s proposal, the screening process was changed, and the new scholars’ fates were decided. As it turned out, most of them were renowned for a reason, and they were able to secure positions as professors or researchers.

This massive influx of personnel, however, meant the administrators at the research institutes were now suffering from extreme overwork. The number of new projects, new building expansions, and all manner of budget-draining activities had exploded. Worse, the volume of personal letters the new scholars were sending back to their relatives and colleagues in Europe had increased tenfold, meaning the censorship and review workload had also multiplied.

***

With this surge of new talent, the research institutes became more dynamic than ever, and the pace of discovery began to accelerate. The most visible change was the increase in interdisciplinary projects, with various departments joining hands. A typical example was a joint task force between the Departments of Electricity, Chemistry, and Mathematics.

The process of creating, storing, and transmitting electricity demanded new alloys and new combinations of materials. For that, the cooperation of the Chemistry department was essential. And to properly express the properties and capabilities of electricity, new mathematical equations were an absolute necessity.

At first, the polymaths from Europe tried to do it all themselves, true to their nature. But the deeper they dug, the more they realized they were in over their heads. They became desperate for collaboration, and as time went on, this forced cooperation began to produce progressively more advanced results.

But as the Empire’s science and technology began to accelerate, an unexpected—or perhaps inevitable—group of victims emerged: the students in the learning centres and the various academies.

The Commoners School (entry-level school) was fine; it stuck to the basic four arithmetic operations, as it always had. But for those who moved on to the Academy of Mechanics, the Middle School, and specialized academies like the Engineering or Medical Academies… their lives became a living hell of increasingly complex and difficult equations.

The group that suffered the most from this situation, however, were those aspiring to be government officials.

In the old days, an aspiring administrator just had to master the Classics. But in the new Empire, admission to the Mathematics Department had become a mandatory prerequisite.

“Are you kidding me?! It’s hard enough just to master the Classics, and now they want us to do math?! MATH!”

“In my grandfather’s day, mathematics was a gentleman’s hobby! A pastime! And now it’s mandatory?!”

“Look, all you need is to add, subtract, multiply, and divide! Why do we need these… these complex equations?! What the hell is a ‘function’?! And why are we drawing pictures?!”

The senior officials and instructors who heard these screams could only offer a bitter smile.

“You need it, kid.”

“If you’re not good at it, ‘overtime’ will become your new best friend, and ‘promotion’ will be a distant dream. Ah, wait, who am I kidding? Overtime is your best friend anyway.”

Before long, it wasn’t just the government- hopefuls who were screaming.

“Sir! I just want to work at a trading company! Why do I have to learn this much math?! Isn’t it enough to be good at arithmetic and keep the ledgers straight? Why in the world do I suddenly have to learn this bizarre thing called ‘statistics’?!”

“And what the hell is ‘double-entry bookkeeping’?!”

As Imperial society changed, more and more people rushed to apply to the Mathematics Department. The problem was, the number of seats was limited. The “entrance exam competition” to get in became fiercer by the day.

The Imperial Court, sensing the danger of this overheating “exam hell,” debated the issue and announced a new policy.

• The Mathematics Department and similar high academies are institutions for training professional academics who will dedicate their lives to research.
• A “scholar” is one who dedicates their entire life to their chosen field.
• Therefore, the expansion of the Mathematics Department is not permissible.
• Instead, we will train masters of mathematics and deploy them as teachers to Middle School across the Empire.
• Furthermore, we will begin licensing private academies.
• The law will define the minimum standards for an instructor and a place of learning. Any who meet these standards will be granted a license.
• Henceforth, any citizen who passes the national mathematics examination will be granted a qualification equivalent to graduating from the Mathematics Department.

Almost immediately after the proclamation was posted, the court was flooded with applications to open private academies. The government dispatched officials to meticulously inspect and approve the new schools.

In this process, a new profession was born: the Math Teacher.

At first, they were mostly retired researchers from the Mathematics Department. But as time went on, the role was filled by other retired academics or scholars who, for whatever reason, hadn’t been able to get a position in the research institutes.

Having these high-level scholars as teachers was, in a way, a blessing. They were used to teaching students in Europe and the Middle East and were highly skilled at instructing the students.

For the students, however, it remained an ordeal.

This new wave of “over-qualified” teachers meant the baseline education level of the middle schools and private academies skyrocketed. This, in turn, created a chain reaction, forcing the Mathematics Department to also raise its academic level just to stay ahead.

Hyang, upon hearing all this, clutched his chest and let out a long sigh of genuine relief.

“Hooo… I never knew how sweet this life would be, where I can just… get an educated person to do it.”

In the early days, he had been the one who had to do all the tedious calculations. As time went on, his role had evolved—he would provide the concept and the basic design, and others would handle the precision design based on “actual math.” Then Da Vinci arrived, and his role evolved again: now, he only provided the ideas.

“Got a problem with it?” he smirked to himself. “What are you gonna do? I’m the Empire Emeritus.”