What’s this?

The lecture hall was a good size.

About sixty computers ran in a ring, stacked in a spiral of tiered rows some five levels high.

A strange room.

And then there was the owner of the grabby hand that had just made off with my coffee.

Click.

Without so much as asking, she popped the can and gulped it down like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

“Ahhh. Caffeine recharged!”

A woman.

Her hair was yanked back any old way with a rubber band, and she’d downed my coffee in one shot.

She wasn’t tall.

163 centimeters, tops?

She was bundled up in a black padded parka that didn’t fit a campus in full spring bloom at all.

Thick, out-of-style horn-rimmed glasses sat on her nose.

Her fashion was a disaster, but…

A girl like this, in engineering?

Computer Science and Engineering had more women than the other engineering departments.

Still, an engineering girl is an engineering girl.

But this one was a diamond in the rough.

She hadn’t done a thing to herself, yet a glow from inside shone right through.

Her eyes were black as peppercorns and bright as glass beads.

Like a star that had survived all alone inside a black hole.

Her forehead was smooth and straight.

Her face was slender, her nose high and fine.

She’d tried to hide her looks behind those clunky glasses, but they only made her prettier.

Her features were so delicately perfect it was startling.

“You’re a freshman, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t take it personally. Your noona here is On Si-eun, fourth year. Nice to meet you, newbie.”

She’d stolen my coffee and didn’t look the least bit sorry about it.

On—an unusual surname.

She stuck out her hand for a shake without a moment’s hesitation.

I took it firmly.

Her hand was warm.

“Think of it as tribute. My caffeine had totally crashed, and you saved me. From now on, just trust your noona. Noona’s got killer skills.”

“At what?”

She had a funny way of talking.

The bounce in her voice was cute.

“I butted heads with the professor three years ago and didn’t pass, but he’s gone now. Just stick close to noona and you’ll get an A, minimum.”

On Si-eun, a fourth-year I’d run into out of nowhere.

She’d taken me for a freshman in her own department.

I hadn’t asked, but she’d rattled off her whole history anyway.

“Um…”

“Grateful, right? Look at them. They’re all jealous.”

The CS freshmen already seated in the room were staring slack-jawed at the two of us squabbling in the doorway.

The Wednesday afternoon class was Understanding Computer Programming, a required first-year course for CS majors.

Every CS student in the room was eyeing me, wondering who I was.

I could’ve taken a junior-level major course, but I wanted this one to be easy.

I liked the professor.

He was an Indian national who went by the surname Rahul.

According to the school website, he had a doctorate from Caltech—the California Institute of Technology.

An incredible school—its graduates and faculty had won a whopping thirty-two Nobel Prizes.

Caltech’s student-to-faculty ratio is three to one.

It had even been ranked the university with the hardest-studying students in the world.

Countries all over the world snap up the PhDs who come out of there.

Amazingly, one of them was teaching in Hanguk University’s CS department.

He was also famous as a genius who churned out incredible papers on algorithms.

I wanted to meet Professor Rahul.

I wanted to talk through the programming skills I’d absorbed from Vladimir.

Lately I’d gotten really into algorithms, a field that takes a massive amount of mathematical thinking.

Math happened to be one of Nova hyungnim’s specialties, too.

No playboy was ever dumb.

World-famous Nova hyungnim was the final boss of know-it-alls.

The math Vladimir had passed on to me was outstanding, too.

If the kid had been born in a better country, that country would have landed a huge talent.

“Name?”

“Jang Tae-san.”

“Your name’s as solid as your face. Come on. Sit next to me.”

Maybe it came from being an engineer, but this CS girl didn’t hold back on anything.

She’d had the nerve to steal a freshman’s canned coffee the first time she laid eyes on him.

The more I watched her, the cuter she got.

I chuckled and sat down beside her.

Our seats were right under the professor’s nose.

Anyway, better a girl I’d already met than a total stranger.

A pretty one, no less.

This was no story where I came out the loser.

“That senior’s a fourth-year?”

“Guess so!”

“No way. A fourth-year taking a first-year required course?”

“Must’ve flunked it. It’s required—no pass, no diploma.”

“Humiliating as hell.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“He’s not in our department, is he?”

“Looks like he’s from some other major.”

“Since when did CS classes get as easy as grabbing a hotteok?”

The CS kids were whispering all over the room behind us.

The freshmen didn’t seem to know who On Si-eun was.

The trash talk got pretty harsh.

“What’s with Si-eun? She scouting a younger one?”

“She can be as hungry for a man as she wants, but a fourth-year going after a first-year? Time for the engineering goddess to take down her sign.”

“Si-eun really changed while I was in the army. She blew me off every time I asked her out for a drink…”

“Still, a first-year? That’s kind of much, right?”

“But who does that bastard think he is? You see him at orientation?”

“I don’t think he’s in our department.”

I could hear the army vets grumbling in the back corner loud and clear, too.

My heightened five senses didn’t filter out the useless chatter.

Whatever they said, Senior Si-eun just smiled away and browsed shopping sites online.

“What do you think’ll be in this year?”

“What will?”

“What do you mean, what? Style. When it warms up, I’m going to let my last scrap of youth rip. Only one more year of boring engineering. Pfuhuhu.”

She didn’t seem entirely sane, but she had a good face.

The classic face of a single-minded specialist.

The energy in her philtrum was strong.

That stubborn mouth told you exactly who she was.

Hers was a face that would go far if she stuck to one thing. (TL Note: The Korean saying is “dig a single well”—keep at one thing and you’ll strike water.)

The energy coming off her was clear and refreshing, too.

One of the signs she hadn’t lived a wicked life.

“Hair will start with the shaggy cut, and the baby perm will be in for summer. By fall, the Hye-kyo bob will rule.”

“Huh? What? Sh-shaggy cut? Hye-kyo bob?”

The engineering senior was thrown by the jargon.

She’d tossed me the question assuming I’d know nothing, and I’d answered way too precisely.

“An off-the-shoulder dress would look good on you, sunbae—Gucci’s picked it as one of the trends it’ll lead this year. You’re a little on the short side, but your figure’s well balanced overall, so wide pants and a printed chiffon blouse would work, too. I’d also recommend the belt look that’s been going since last year.”

“…”

The engineering noona stared at me with eyes as big as a manga heroine’s.

Nova hyungnim was always ahead of the trends.

Hye-kyo’s bob, which I’d loved so much in my past life, became a huge hit in 2008 thanks to a drama called Worlds Within.

Big brother Bin was doing great back then, too.

I hadn’t forgotten a thing the girls said back in my repeat year.

As for clothes, I’d picked those up surfing the internet.

After absorbing Nova hyungnim’s abilities, I’d gotten into this kind of stuff, too.

“You… who are you?”

Took her long enough to ask.

“A freshman.”

“Wow. Freshmen these days are seriously scary. You’re not… into guys, are you?”

“I like women. A lot.”

“R-right?”

I said it with a long, deep look at her, and Senior Si-eun got flustered.

“Of course. That’s why I’m sitting next to you, sunbae. You’re the prettiest one in this room.”

I threw it straight down the middle. Strike.

“!!!”

Her eyes went wide again, and her face went red, too.

The flush spread across her whole face.

Fourth-year or not, to me she was a young girl.

I gave her a fresh smile and turned my eyes to the front.

The front door opened and a man walked in.

He had the light tan complexion typical of Indian men.

About 175 centimeters, with thick-lensed glasses.

One look and you could tell he loved to study.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Rahul Rao Sati, and I’ll be teaching this course this semester. You can call me Professor Sati.”

Smiling broadly, Professor Sati began the class in English.

“Ugh. It really is in English.”

“We’re so screwed. What do we do?”

Not every Hanguk University student is good at English.

Entrance-exam English and lecture English were miles apart.

Complaints broke out on every side, like wailing at a funeral.

“Don’t let it scare you. The course content isn’t that important anyway. There isn’t much I’ll be teaching in lectures.”

Professor Sati said it with a kind smile, but the words themselves were ominous.

“My goal for this semester is to help you understand the road to becoming a minimally proficient programmer. Very easy, right?”

A minimally proficient programmer?

Professor Sati was talking pure gibberish. (TL Note: The Korean is “can’t tell if it’s mal or makgeolli”—mal means words, and makgeolli is rice wine; the near-rhyme is a way of calling someone’s talk nonsense.)

In a word, he was going to work them like hell.

“Ughhh…”

A groan came from the back row.

There’s a reason Hanguk University’s engineering school is famous.

In national research projects, it pulled in more than half of all the money going to universities nationwide.

That wasn’t free.

Taxpayer money—and if you didn’t deliver results, you got judged without mercy.

Proof of how good they were.

“A programmer must, first of all, be proficient in computer languages. The broader your range, from low-level to high-level languages, the more you’ll be valued. If you hope to become mass-produced coders… I will not be able to hide my deep disappointment.”

A long-winded way of warning them not to expect a free ride.

“You know my field is algorithms, yes?”

“Yes…”

“Algorithms are the cells of programming. An algorithm is a set of rules for solving a mathematical problem and completing a process.”

Every word of the lecture sank right in.

“To put it in Eastern terms, coding is external training and algorithms are internal energy.”

“Ooh!”

Exclamations burst out of the students right away.

The expression lost a little in English, but it was easy enough to understand.

“Coding skill is like a tattoo inked on the skin, but algorithms must be carved into the bone. The algorithm itself is the programmer’s identity.”

Spoken like a true algorithms man—he’d hit the core.

“As IT evolves, security developers, game and web developers, and above all mobile developers for users of phones like the recently released iPhun will be in great demand. If you show me extraordinary ability, I may even break with custom and invite you into my lab.”

“Ooooh!”

“L-lab…”

These CS undergrads weren’t here just to get a degree and a job.

They obviously wanted to join a professor’s research team, pick up the know-how and develop programs of their own.

Make one good program and a jackpot was a given.

The man was a master at dangling bait.

“Before that, you have to show me what you can do. Surely you’re not expecting a Python course in my class?”

“…”

He said it with a smile, like a joke, and nobody answered.

Most of them had come in off the entrance exam because they’d heard CS had a bright future.

And Professor Sati was flat-out announcing he’d skip the basics.

“Coders who can only read and test code will have less and less of a place. I don’t ask for much. By the time you graduate from this department, I’d like you to understand data structures, algorithms and design patterns. And I’d like you to be comfortable doing context tuning on the programs you’ve created. A pretty modest dream, isn’t it?”

Professor Sati’s grin must have looked like a devil’s to them.

That was the level of a professional programmer.

“The class is simple. During class time, I’ll be right here. You’ll build all kinds of programs using the algorithms I’ve created and posted in the course archive. If you have questions, ask me anytime.”

Study on your own and ask when you’re stuck—a brute-force teaching method, and the toughest there is.

“In the past, some of your seniors built multiplication-table programs… Of course, those seniors ended up face to face with me again. They must really love me. Spending their precious time to take my boring class twice… I really don’t recommend it.”

Professor Sati knew exactly how to toy with his students, lift them up and slam them back down.

“Good thing I waited till fourth year to take it~. I’ll be done in a day. Right, Tae-san? Just trust your noona.”

Senior Si-eun, a genius at gaming the system.

She shot me a triumphant grin.

“Si-eun.”

Just then Professor Sati called on her.

“Y-yes!”

“For fairness, a fourth-year ought to be held to a slightly different standard than a first-year, don’t you think?”

“…”

Senior Si-eun went tongue-tied.

“You seem to be close with the student next to you, so I’ll put you two together.”

What? Why me, all of a sudden?

“Before the semester ends, the two of you will make me an app… one that satisfies me very much.”

“A-an app?”

Senior Si-eun blurted it out before she could stop herself.

The iPhun had barely come out, and Google had announced its early Android program in October 2007.

The Ojeong Group wouldn’t launch its Galusy series for real until 2010.

Her professor had just handed Senior On Si-eun a steaming pile of crap.

Professor Sati smiled wickedly.

I smiled right back at him, from the dark.

App development?

Are you kidding me right now?

Heh heh heh.

(End of Chapter 122)