The Algorithm of Spring

21

The makgeolli bar sat hunched between a shuttered rice cake shop and a convenience store, marked only by a paper lantern bearing a single Chinese character so faded it was more ghostly memory than sign, its light bulb stuttering like a drowsy eye. Maya had walked this Seochon alley for years without ever noticing it.

Inside smelt of fermented rice wine and layers of grilled mackerel. Low wooden tables squatted on a floor smoothed by countless nights, while in one corner, a cluster of salarymen nursed their drinks, their laughter swelling with each empty bottle.

Maya chose a table against the back wall, watching Jun-ho check his device with unusual focus.

"Your sister's running late?" she asked.

"She's always running late," he replied, pocketing his device. "Though, miraculously, her schedule cleared when I mentioned you'd be joining us."

Maya raised an eyebrow. "You used me as bait?"

Jun-ho shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting in that irritatingly self-assured way of his. "I might've mentioned I was having dinner with Maya Kim. I didn't specify which Maya Kim."

"There are so many of us," Maya said dryly.

He made his way to the counter, ordering what sounded like enough food for six rather than three. When he returned, he dropped onto his cushion with a satisfied air. "She'll be impressed when she realises it's actually you."

Maya opened her mouth to respond when the door swung open. Jun-ho rose at once, his face brightening with warmth as he embraced his sister, briefly shifting from art-world cynic to protective older brother.

As they pulled apart, Maya studied the siblings. Though the family resemblance was there, you had to look for it. To the passing observer, they gave off the impression of a dishevelled rocker standing outside the courthouse and his upstart young female attorney, clutching one another in celebration after all charges had been dropped.

"Yeon-joo," Jun-ho said, "this is Maya."

Yeon-joo's eyes widened briefly before she steadied herself, offering a polite, measured bow. She settled onto the cushion, her movements unhurried.

"I've heard plenty about you, Maya," she said smoothly, her expression guarded.

Jun-ho swallowed the briefest of snorts.

"She's a fan," Jun-ho teased. The accusatory glare she threw at him carried years of sibling history.

"You know my work?" Maya asked.

"Of course," Yeon-joo replied, her enthusiasm genuine as she composed herself. "Your last exhibition was... transformative. I'm in film—or wanted to be. Your take on digital spaces kept pulling me back. My friends were all obsessed with it too."

"Yeon-joo was the real family rebel before she went respectable," Jun-ho said, with a careful nonchalance masking how much he'd already told Maya about his sister.

The owner shuffled over, balancing their food on a weathered tray—steaming pajeon sending green onion wisps into the air, bubbling kimchi stew in earthenware pots, and small plates of banchan crowding the cramped table. They fell silent as Jun-ho poured the makgeolli, the milky rice wine swirling like a tide pool in their cups.

"So," Yeon-joo said after a delicate sip, "what exactly brings my brother into your orbit? Please tell me he's not trying to convince you to let him represent your work. His commission rates are criminal and so are some of his clients from what I hear."

Maya smiled despite herself. She could see flashes of Jun-ho's wry humour in his sister.

"Actually," Jun-ho said, glancing at Maya. "We've been talking about HarmoniQ lately—trying to figure out if it's as insidious as it feels."

"What, visually, you mean?"

The shift in Yeon-joo was subtle but readable: a faint stiffening of posture, a stillness in her usually lively face.

"So... is this a HarmoniQ situation?" she asked lightly. But Jun-ho caught the flicker beneath—admiration edged with something sour, as if the idea of her oppa landing someone like Maya didn't sit cleanly.

"Funny—you two actually have the kind of chemistry HarmoniQ would brag about," she added.

Maya bit back a laugh.

When Yeon-joo excused herself to the bathroom, Jun-ho leaned across the table. "What do you think?"

"She seems normal enough," Maya said.

"That's because you didn't know her before." His frustration was audible. "She used to be electric—her mind never stopped. Now... it feels like she's reading from a script. A very good script, but it's not hers." He glanced toward the bathroom. "But tonight she's different. Looser. I think she's trying to impress you. Mirror you."

"Are you saying my effect is strange or brilliant? That part's not quite clear," Maya said, needling him gently as she watched Yeon-joo return.

At the mirror, she smoothed hair that didn't need smoothing. There was precision in every gesture—a touch of theatre in the way she carried herself. But was it really more than anyone else?

If Jun-ho was offering up his sister as some kind of cautionary tale about HarmoniQ, Maya wasn't entirely sold. But she wasn't entirely dismissing it either.