Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 3

3. Grace in Wonderland

This world is filled with mathematical theories.

The length, width, volume, and weight of objects. Squares, triangles, circles. Cubes, cylinders, domes. Straight lines on graphs, and curves. Sets formed by individual elements. Infinity and finiteness, limits. Negative numbers and positive numbers. The present, certain as a proven formula, the future, uncertain like an unproven one, and the past, discarded like a miscalculated equation.

It doesn’t require much thought. The world itself is a grand manifestation of mathematics.

In this world, the most beautiful thing is a sequence. Among sequences, the most perfect is the work of Italine’s mathematician Fibonacci.

0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144…

At first glance, it seems devoid of any pattern, but adding the previous two numbers allows one to predict the next. It is simple and fun. Above all, it gains deeper meaning when intertwined with nature.

Take, for example, a flower in full bloom, the stretched arms of fresh leaves, a pinecone dropped by an aged pine tree, or a seashell found on a sandy beach.

Among Fibonacci’s numbers, 8 is a particular favorite.

The pink petals of peonies illuminating the campus, the arrangement of willow leaves bending toward the Grenta River, the spiral of a pinecone crackling in the fireplace, and the ridges of a seashell whispering waves when held to the ear—all of these come in groups of eight.

8 is a number of extraordinary balance. Its upright shape, with zeroes at the top and bottom, is perfectly harmonious.

Turn 8 on its side, and it becomes the symbol for infinity. It also resembles a Möbius strip.

And…

Among the players darting around the rectangular grass field, the most noticeable one also bears the number 8. To be precise, the captain of Christ Church’s rugby club, one of Grentabridge’s many colleges, dons the number 8.

Few in Grentabridge are unfamiliar with him. He is Richard Spencer, the heir of the Spencer family, noblest among nobles, and the Young Earl. His towering stature and masculine features make him impossible to overlook.

Richard Spencer usually keeps his mouth set in a straight line. His lofty demeanor is utterly captivating, adding to his charm.

That’s not to say he never smiles. When he does, his rare smiles are as sweet and thick as sugar cubes melting away. On the rugby field, however, he resembles a god of war.

With his impeccable attire, red hair styled to fall across his left temple, and a refined, emotionless expression habitually on his handsome face, Richard commands attention. On the pitch, he fiercely collides with opponents, but the moment the whistle blows, he transforms into a boyish figure with a simple grin.

The world has bestowed upon him the nickname “Lion King,” a tribute to his fearless demeanor and flowing red mane.

It’s fitting, considering that the founder of the Spencer family, whom Richard shares a name with, was also nicknamed “Lion King.” Both his real name and his moniker suit him perfectly. Richard Spencer carries an effortless composure that seems to place him above everyone else.

Richard Spencer’s eccentricities are also part of his fame. Whenever his name comes up among the local gossipers, one story inevitably surfaces: the Young Earl’s frequent visits to Cherry Hinton to gaze at his reflection in the stream.

It’s undeniably peculiar, even eerie. Most people don’t spend their time staring at their own image.

But even this odd behavior couldn’t tarnish Richard Spencer’s allure. The nickname mockingly coined behind his back paradoxically underscored how his presence evoked mythical grandeur.

That’s how extraordinary the Young Earl is. Apply the golden ratio derived from Fibonacci’s sequence to him, and he would fit it perfectly.

“Grace.”

Though she had tried to suppress the sound of her footsteps, Grace Gurton’s guardian, Professor Charles Dodgson, had remarkably sharp ears. Deeply immersed in his frenzied research like a mad scholar, he still managed to detect her subtle noise, making the hairs on the back of Grace’s neck stand on end.

“Are you heading out again today?”

He asked while adjusting his small round glasses. With his hunched shoulders and bent back, he resembled a turtle craning its neck.

Grace hesitated before nodding. “I-I’ll be back soon.”

Charles Dodgson narrowed his eyes, staring at her intently. He often made that expression when confronted with a challenging mathematical equation.

“Be back before dinner.”

At the begrudging permission, Grace’s expression brightened instantly. Flashing a cheerful smile at Charles, she left the house.

Over the past few months, Grace hadn’t missed a single rugby match featuring Richard Spencer. Afternoons spent in the stands of the pitch had become her favorite pastime. Ever since she had seen him by chance at Cherry Hinton two months ago, her world had changed.

It was during the peak of spring. Grace had been walking along the slopes of Cherry Hinton when cherry blossoms scattered their pink petals in the breeze. Seated neatly by the stream, Richard Spencer appeared sharper and more vibrant under the sunlight than any backdrop could ever hope to be.

The yellow sunlight pierced through his back like a golden arrow and struck Grace Gurton’s heart just as decisively. From that day forward, her unrequited love began, and her life took on a new hue.

Grace’s simple and repetitive daily life had once been filled with constants and known variables. Richard Spencer introduced both variables and unknowns into that equation. Sneaking out to catch a glimpse of him while avoiding Charles Dodgson’s watchful eye or the shy smile she couldn’t suppress when she saw him—these were the new variables and mysteries.

And so it was that Grace unexpectedly encountered Richard Spencer in a lecture hall earlier that morning. From the moment she saw him until she returned home, she couldn’t erase his face from her mind. No matter where she looked, he was there.

It was just like the Cheshire Cat in the fairy tale she had read as a child. The strange feline left behind only its grinning mouth, disappearing entirely while its smile lingered.

Yes, Richard Spencer was the Cheshire Cat of her Wonderland. Even if his physical presence vanished, the afterimage remained indelibly etched.

In truth, despite months of harboring her secret love, Grace had never seriously thought about meeting Richard Spencer in person. It was enough to linger on the edges of his world and steal glances.

To Grace, Richard Spencer was like a shadow projected by candlelight in a cave. Although the sunlight outside illuminated the world a thousand times brighter than the candlelight, she had no desire to leave her safe confines.

Unrequited love was a simple and pleasurable hobby, a comforting pastime. Through the shadows, she could see only what she wanted to see, imagine to her heart’s content, without the need for worry or unease.

Thus, stepping out of her cave to invite concern and anxiety was unnecessary. This was Grace Gurton’s value system, rooted in safety and comfort.

However, she had been dragged out of her cave by sheer accident and forced to confront Richard Spencer. The event had occurred just this morning, the day Grentabridge’s colleges concluded their final exams and ended the term.

“Late, I’m late!”

Charles Dodgson, clutching a pocket watch, descended the second-floor stairs in a fluster, looking around. Spotting Grace preparing breakfast, his wide, reddened eyes sparkled.

“Grace!”

Grabbing her hand tightly, he exclaimed with urgency.

“Could you help me today? Joseph said he couldn’t make it because he’s off to the market to sell a pig. I needed an assistant for the exams today, but I was so busy yesterday that I forgot to arrange one!”

Grace, bewildered, stood rooted to the spot as Charles’s words poured over her like a waterfall. Her hand, caught in his grip, swayed back and forth like a pendulum.

“That dress—what are we going to do? You’ll need men’s clothes; only men can enter the lecture hall. Oh! Go borrow some clothes from Bobby next door. He’s thirteen this year, isn’t he? His clothes should fit you!”

After the whirlwind passed, Grace found herself in front of a lecture hall in Christ Church College’s restricted “men-only” area. She was even dressed in borrowed male attire to assist Charles Dodgson in proctoring exams.

The atmosphere of the lecture hall, which she entered for the first time, was beyond description. Tiered seating arrangements, a massive blackboard stretching across the wall, the solemn majesty of a high ceiling, polished wooden floors, and the tense faces of students.

This space, forbidden to women, was one Grace had only ever imagined through Charles Dodgson’s stories. It was a sanctuary of reason and intellect. To her, it was the perfect archetype of the shadows she had drawn within her cave.

“…What is it?”

“…What is it?”

“…What is it?”

The presence that added perfection upon perfection, squared and cubed, was none other than Richard Spencer, who had addressed her. In just one hour, under the sunlight outside the cave, Grace had glimpsed her ideal made real. It was truth, essence, and absolute purity.

The brief excursion beyond her cave had shown Grace Gurton a complete and unchanging reality.