The Greatest Showman - Act Bravely
"No, no, not me," Renly corrected with a smile. "But my friend, Matthew Dunlop... well, he's a law student, but he has a deep interest in natural sciences. If you ever get a chance to browse his bookshelves, you'll find astronomy, geography, mathematics, physics, and medicine—fields he actively studies. However, that's not the point.
When I have the opportunity, I'll introduce you to him. The real point here is that if you analyze a problem using the logic and principles of mathematical models, things begin to look different. You can start to understand the broader picture, track developments, and even predict future possibilities. Stock market analysis works in a similar way."
The speaker was Rooney; the one who answered was Renly.
Kianush-Dias kept his hands relaxed on the steering wheel of the taxi, glancing at the rearview mirror with a skeptical expression. He knew his actions were impolite, but he couldn't stop himself. He kept verifying, yet he still couldn't believe his eyes.
It was just another ordinary night as a taxi driver, navigating the crisscrossing streets of the lower city, searching for his first passengers after nightfall. His dinner—a freshly baked Turkish kebab—rested in the compartment in front of the passenger seat. The aroma lingered, making his stomach growl, but he ignored it, determined to pick up another fare before his meal.
Tonight was going to be a long one. He needed to stay awake, keep his energy up, and push through until dawn.
For many, the United States represents the "American Dream," especially for those fleeing war-ravaged regions of the Middle East. Kianush was no exception. However, upon arriving, he quickly learned that the dream required relentless effort to build. And in that, he had no objections—he was used to forging his own path through hard work. It wasn't easy, but it was filled with hope.
However, tonight seemed to present an unusual challenge.
Despite the night settling over Manhattan, the streets were eerily quiet. The usual rush of pedestrians was missing, and the city felt wider and emptier than usual. The paradox of New York—overwhelmingly busy at peak hours yet hauntingly silent during off-hours—never ceased to amaze him.
After circling the same blocks a few times, on his third pass at the intersection of Sullivan Street and Prince Street, Kianush finally spotted a man and a woman signaling for a ride. He pulled over swiftly, adjusting his expression to greet them politely.
As he did, he stole a glance at his passengers. Then, he froze.
The man in the back seat looked strikingly familiar. Kianush had seen him before—on a screen, in a movie, or maybe on a poster? The name lingered at the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated, questioning his own eyes. Was it really him? It couldn't be... could it?
As if unaware of Kianush's growing astonishment, the two passengers dove into a discussion he barely understood. English words tumbled between them—complex terms, abstract ideas. The arrangement of words made it sound like they were reading aloud from a philosophy textbook.
Even more bizarrely, they argued with the same intensity as ordinary people debating a TV show, seemingly oblivious to the silent storm of recognition unraveling in Kianush's mind.
He wanted to ask: Was this really Renly Hall? And was the woman with him the actress from that Facebook founder biopic? What were they doing in his taxi? Could he get a signature? Maybe take a photo for proof? Could he tell his friends that he had transported a top-tier star in his cab?
Yet, he held back, knowing it would be rude to interrupt. Instead, he continued watching them through the rearview mirror, unable to mask his curiosity.
"I understand what you're saying, but why?" Rooney pressed.
"Because that's how they think," Renly explained. "I have a friend who studied at MIT, and he remembers and categorizes people based on the exact date he met them. For example, he and I met on March 29, 2003. Every time he sees me, that string of numbers flashes in his mind, and he retrieves all the memories associated with it, like an indexed library. It's fascinating but entirely logical to him. They perceive the world in a fundamentally different way than we do."
"So, you're saying they analyze cause and effect in structured patterns and use those connections to predict outcomes? That there's a hidden formula in everything? Whoa, that sounds... like madness. You know, like John Nash Jr. Can you actually find these patterns in real life?"
"I'm from the literature department, remember?" Renly teased.
"No, no, no! You started this theory, so now you have to follow through. Otherwise, I won't be able to sleep tonight!" Rooney insisted. "Jesse Katzenberg has been trying to crack the Mark Zuckerberg character, and I always felt something was missing. Now, based on what you're saying, I think it's because we can't fully grasp the way geniuses think. I need an example—something tangible. This is your idea, so you have to take responsibility. Can you give me a real-life example? Right here, right now."
Renly chuckled, then turned his gaze to the street, searching for a suitable example in the dim glow of Manhattan's lights. It wasn't easy—there were fewer pedestrians than expected, and the street looked like a vintage film still, soaked in a nostalgic filter.
Then, his eyes narrowed.
"For example," Renly said, his voice sharpening, "over there, four thugs are attacking a food delivery driver. According to our theorem, someone must intervene, or the worker who relies on his labor for survival will suffer serious consequences. We can analyze the internal logic, explain the motivations, and predict the aftermath—but I don't think that delivery person has time to wait for our calculations."
In his line of sight, Renly saw a food courier being dragged off his bicycle, surrounded by four young men in their early twenties. One held a wine bottle, the others kicked and struck the victim. His delivery box had been overturned, spilling food onto the pavement. The scent of wasted meals mingled with the cold night air, making the scene feel all the more unsettling.
Few pedestrians were nearby, and the ones who were seemed hesitant to get involved.
Renly wasn't the type to play the hero, nor did he actively seek out trouble. But when faced with injustice, he couldn't simply turn away.
"Stop the car!" Renly commanded, his voice sharp and unwavering. He pounded the back of the driver's seat. "Stop! Right now!"
Kianush, though confused, instinctively obeyed, pulling the taxi to a halt.
Before Kianush could even process the situation, he saw Renly push open the door and sprint towards the commotion.
Kianush hesitated only for a moment before his instincts kicked in. He threw open his own door and followed after him, barely keeping up.
In the cold night air, Renly's voice rang out, cutting through the chaos: "Let him go! I've already called the police! Let him go!"
His words, sharp as a blade, sliced through the tension, sending a ripple through the gang of attackers.
The night, once quiet and indifferent, had just taken a sharp turn into something unpredictable.