The Algorithm of Spring

24

As the evening wound down, Yeon-joo declined Jun-ho's taxi offer with a faint smile. "I've a late meeting across town," she said, checking her watch. "But this was... illuminating."

She turned to Maya with renewed composure.

"Your work is genuinely brilliant. I've wanted to meet you for a long time." A brief, unguarded spark crossed her face.

"Perhaps next time Jun-ho won't need to use you as bait to get me here."

Jun-ho rolled his eyes but didn't deny it, prompting a chastising look from Yeon-joo. She bowed, then nodded thanks to the owner.

Through the rain-streaked glass, they watched her pause to check her device. Its pale light briefly lifted her face—then she folded into the river of umbrellas and disappeared.

Jun-ho poured the last of the makgeolli. "I might've gone in a bit too hard," he said, sliding a cup to Maya. "Cosmetic enhancement, matchmaking—they're hardly new ideas. But this does feel different." He traced the table's edge. "It feels opt-out rather than opt-in."

"You can't opt out—we're all profiled now, whether we like it or not," Maya reminded him.

"How do you know I haven't had work done, by the way?" Maya asked playfully.

He glanced up, eyes lingering. "Because you still look like yourself when you laugh," he said simply.

Heat crept up her neck, and she wasn't convinced it came from the makgeolli.

Rain pattered outside, blurring the bar's lantern glow.

"Another bottle?" he asked, his crooked smile hinting some things were still worth doing the old-fashioned way.