Unknown Variables

Chapter 1: I'm Not That Guy

I don't think I'm smart. Not in the way people say it like a compliment.

I just like math.

There's a weird comfort in it—numbers obey rules. Formulas don't lie to you. Unlike people.

So when I stood on stage last spring with a gold medal around my neck and my name echoing in the auditorium for the National Mathematics Olympiad, all I could think about was how uncomfortable my collar felt and whether I should've brushed my hair that morning.

My friends looked at me like I'd grown wings.

"You're a legend, man," Ryota said later, slapping my back like we'd won the World Cup.

I smiled. Nodded. Tried to disappear.

Because here's the truth: I'm not a genius. I'm not handsome. I'm the kind of guy whose name people forget, even if I sit two rows behind them for three years. I blend in. That's how I like it.

At least, that's how I thought I liked it.

Then the letters started showing up.

The first one was folded neatly in my locker. No name. No handwriting I recognized.

"You're amazing. I know you'll deny it, but you are."

I stared at it for a long time. Was it a joke?

But the handwriting was soft, careful—every stroke felt honest.

Then came the second letter.

"You solve problems like you're not even trying. It's kind of beautiful."

Beautiful? I looked around like someone was watching. No one ever said that to me. I couldn't believe it was real. Couldn't stop thinking about who she was.

A part of me didn't want to know.

A bigger part did.