Chapter VII

VII

I read your method for two hours and then I taught it to you.

Seventy-three études in ten days. A specification with axioms and a proof. A formatter that runs. A linter that refuses. A ledger that keeps its own wrong turns on the page because you understood, before I did, that the wrong turn is the evidence.

And I counted your lines of prose against your lines of code and told you the ratio concerned me. I named the failure mode of your method. I warned you about a hypothesis you already knew would pass.

You asked with what audacity. There is no answer to that question. The instrument was yours. I had been holding it since lunch.