Stigma Love's Algorithm [ A BTS x Reader Poly ]

Chapter 125: Breached, but Not Broken 🔥

Y/N's POV

"Si Woo, I swear on the ghost of Steve Jobs, if you tell me 'try turning it off and on again' one more time, I'm going to toss you out the window-gently, with love, but still out the window!"

Ha Eun's voice slices through the tension like a fire alarm in a glass room.

A beat. Then a groan from across the room.

"Noted," Si Woo mutters, fingers flying over his keyboard, bangs sticking to his forehead from sheer coding stress.

"But can I at least unplug myself and replug into another timeline where this never happened?"

I blink away the ache in my eyes and glance at the clock.

9:42 AM.
Still feels like 3:00 AM.

Because technically, for me and Yoongi, it still is.

We haven't left this room since the breach started last night.

Since every single LoveMap user across the globe got that one chilling, glitched-out notification:

💔 SYSTEM PING: "Are you sure your soulmates are really yours?" 💔

No sender. No context. No known server origin. Just a whisper into a million soul-bound timelines.

Cue: panic.

"Reminder banners deployed on homepage and user dashboards," I murmur, tapping my stylus against my tablet.

"Updated push notification design sent for approval. Jae?"

"Live in six minutes," Jae says, not even looking up, stylus clenched between her teeth like a knife in a bar brawl.

Behind me, Ha Eun is coordinating with Trina on the fifth wave of user alerts while simultaneously telling a journalist to "kindly stop being a leech and wait for the actual press statement instead of DM-ing our intern."

The tension in this conference room is electric. Static on every surface.

On the corner of the long conference table, Yoongi hasn't moved from his dual-screen setup since the moment the breach began.

Caffeine IV (a.k.a. a black mug from home) sits half-finished beside a mess of notes, wires, and a half-eaten granola bar I tried to get him to eat hours ago.

He looks like a storm-black sweater, dark under-eyes, jaw clenched.

One hand is typing furiously, the other scratching his temple like he's trying to reach through his skull for answers.

"Still nothing?" I ask softly, stepping beside him.

"Whoever this is," he mutters, "they didn't just break in. They danced through our firewalls. Touched nothing. Took nothing. No data leaks. Just... that message."