Jin Mayama, Novelist

‍

"First, please discard any basic knowledge you have, such as the idea that quantum computers are just good at prime factorization or secret spy communications."

I will never forget January 2020. These were the words spoken to me upon our first meeting at Professor Akira Furusawa’s laboratory at the University of Tokyo’s Faculty of Engineering, which I visited to learn about optical quantum computers.

To be honest, I am terrible at science. Physics, in particular, was a subject I completely abandoned back in high school. Despite this, I have written works centered on cutting-edge themes such as nuclear power and space exploration. Each time, I start by learning the basics, identifying exactly where my understanding ends, and then visiting experts to shamelessly expose my ignorance and ask for their help. That is how I have managed to transform these subjects into novels.

I have never once believed that a bit of preparation would make such subjects easy to understand. However, I have always told myself that one can write a story without knowing the theory, and that since my readers are at the same level as I am, I don't need the knowledge of an expert. That is how I have ventured into unknown worlds.

Yet, on that day, I knocked on the laboratory door with a heavy sense of regret and anxiety, wondering why I had chosen such a difficult genre. Then, Professor Furusawa's opening words hit me. Wait, all the knowledge I had desperately tried to cram in through crash-course studying was unnecessary?

"Nobody knows how their smartphone works before using it, right? So, that doesn't matter. Instead, I want you to know something far more important." I thought, "Well, that's true," and became intrigued by what he considered "more important."

"It's power saving." I thought I had misheard him. But I had not.

"It is said that as AI evolves and society changes, we will need many more supercomputers. In reality, the electricity required for just one supercomputer is equivalent to the output of a single nuclear power plant."

When supercomputers run at full capacity, they generate immense heat. Computers are collections of semiconductors, and the copper wiring used in them is vulnerable to heat. Therefore, they require systems to cool them down, and those cooling systems consume enormous amounts of power. I had no idea that a single supercomputer could require as much as 1 million kilowatts—the output of a modern nuclear power plant.

"In this era of global warming, can we really afford to consume more power? We need a new kind of computer that allows us to utilize AI without exhausting energy. That is the optical quantum computer."

It was a revelation. At the same time, it made perfect sense. I was immediately fascinated by optical quantum computers and felt a surge of determination to master this theme, no matter how difficult it might be. Yet, what impressed me most was that a world-leading researcher in optical quantum computing explained his passion not through technical specs, but as a tool required by society.

Explaining one's own obsession to others is difficult. Often, people want to share everything and end up overwhelming their audience with details, ignoring the listener's lack of basic knowledge. As a result, the listener sinks into a chaos of "He's researching something amazing, though I don't really get it."

But Professor Furusawa was different. He first explained why his research was essential and necessary for the future of the world. This man is no ordinary person— I became more interested in Akira Furusawa himself than in the optical quantum computer. That was the beginning of our long relationship.

Since then, I have felt that Akira Furusawa is a man who embodies my own personal motto: Question common sense. Never assume you understand; doubt everything. But never stop challenging. And transcend the impossible. Meeting Professor Furusawa showed me a new frontier for my work as a novelist.