Security directed Danielle and Elijah toward a side entrance, but a reporter slipped around the barricade before they reached it. "Did someone write your paper for you?" she called, holding a microphone at Elijah's eye level. She wore a fitted blue jacket and the friendly expression of a person asking a question she considered routine. Elijah stopped walking, confused by the implication. Danielle stepped between them and said, "He will discuss the mathematics inside. He doesn't owe strangers a defense of his honesty on the sidewalk."
Another reporter shouted that Whitfield had challenged the authenticity of the proof. Someone asked how much money Elijah expected to earn from his discovery. A camera operator stumbled backward into a security rope, and the whole scene became louder for a moment. Okonkwo placed herself on Elijah's other side and guided him through the doors, refusing requests for interviews. Her attention was on his breathing, which had grown shallow beneath the noise.
Inside, Park met them near a private conference room. She apologized for the media scrum and explained that the symposium had revised its access arrangements. Only accredited academic reviewers would question Elijah during the formal session, and press inquiries would be handled afterward with his mother's permission. Park also said she had instructed event staff to stop distributing clips of the previous day's confrontation as promotional material. "This is supposed to be a research discussion," she told Danielle. "We allowed it to become a spectacle, and I intend to correct that."
The professional-track waiting room had walls lined with bookshelves and a large whiteboard covered in faded marker ghosts. Doctoral candidates talked quietly over coffee. A young researcher with a Cambridge badge recognized Elijah and told him yesterday's presentation had been "adorable," adding that his little sister loved puzzles, too. Elijah managed a polite smile, then sat alone with his notebooks while the word adorable settled over him like a coat he had not chosen.
Brooks entered carrying a fresh copy of the manuscript. "I brought you something," he said, showing Elijah the pages marked with neutral questions rather than corrections. "These are the places where I want you to slow down, because your reasoning is interesting enough to deserve a careful hearing." He did not tell the boy the proof was definitely right. Instead, he described the purpose of a defense: to discover whether an argument was as strong as its author believed, even when people asked uncomfortable questions.
"What if I don't know a word?" Elijah asked.
"Then tell us the idea using words you do know. If the word matters to the proof, we'll define it. Don't mistake vocabulary for understanding, although eventually you'll need both." Brooks glanced toward the auditorium, where the expanded panel was taking its seats. "And don't let anyone persuade you that asking for clarification is a sign of weakness. It's how you keep the conversation honest."
Park's briefing began at eight-thirty. The panel would include twelve reviewers, some present in person and others joining by secure video, and the session would last about an hour. Elijah would have a protected period to explain his construction before questions began, except for clarifications necessary to follow the definitions. The chair could stop a question if it became repetitive, personally accusatory, or unrelated to the claim. Whitfield remained on the panel because of his subject-matter expertise, but Park made clear that he would not chair the review or decide its outcome alone.