The Algorithm of Spring

35

The Hyundai Card Music Library rose through the afternoon haze—all clean lines and right angles, like a circuit board turned vertical. Maya sat cross-legged on the floor between the vinyl racks, surrounded by album covers she'd arranged in a pattern only she could see. The others had claimed a corner table upstairs, their laptops squeezed together, but she needed space to think.

She'd been staring at HarmoniQ's interface design for over an hour, letting her mind drift until patterns began to surface. It was how she worked best—not analysing, just absorbing until something felt off. Like watching ripples in water and knowing there's a stone beneath, just out of sight.

Through the geometric windows, a digital billboard cycled through its endless loop. Build Your Future Family Today! followed by something about tax incentives for new parents. Maya had seen versions of these ads her whole life, but lately they felt less like suggestions and more like commands.

A vinyl sleeve caught her eye—some obscure electronic artist from the '90s. The cover reminded her of HarmoniQ's map, that same retro-future aesthetic. She added it to her pattern on the floor, next to an old Kraftwerk album. Something in the visual language was nagging at her.

"Found anything?" Jun-ho's voice floated down from above. He leaned over the mezzanine railing, coffee in hand despite it being well past lunch.

"Maybe." She gestured at her arrangement. "Look at these. Early electronic covers, early computer graphics. They all share something with that map."

"They look nothing alike to me."

"Exactly." She stood, a flicker of excitement in her voice. "Modern AI doesn't reference the past like this. It builds on what's current, what performs. But these designs—and that map—they're drawing from a specific aesthetic history, giving it a 'knowing nod'. Someone chose this look. Someone with taste."

Outside, Seoul's skyline bloomed with algorithmic ads, tailored to the crowds below. But here, surrounded by analog history, Maya could see the fingerprints HarmoniQ had tried to hide.

"The aesthetic is deliberate," she said, brushing dust from her knees. "Like it's aping something—and paying homage to it at the same time."

"Or to someone specific," Jun-ho said, descending to her level. "Yeon-joo mentioned the map once, before... everything. Said it reminded her of old arcade games. But by then, she was already defending the app like scripture."

Maya rolled her eyes, to Jun-ho's obvious annoyance.

"That's what I don't get," she said. "She seemed aware of it at the bar—how the app was steering her toward matches based on family planning. But Min-seo talks about her like she was totally transformed against her will."

"It comes and goes," Jun-ho said, leaning against a shelf. "Some days she jokes about it. Other days... it's like a script. All about climbing the Samsung ladder, embracing optimisation. HarmoniQ feeds her ambition—and in return, her independence... dissolves."

Maya looked back at her pattern. "Honestly? This still sounds like jealousy."

"If it weren't for that map—and the notifications I've been getting..." She nodded towards the upstairs table. "I'd probably chalk this whole thing up to jealousy too."

She crouched again, hovering her hand over the Kraftwerk sleeve, then shifting another album to complete a line. "There's something else. The way the pixels move in the map—it's not smooth."

"Go on."

"Modern AI is fluid. Seamless. The map... stutters. It's janky on purpose. Like old-school programming. The kind Yeon-joo would've learned back in uni."

Jun-ho's train of thought slowed. Outside, the birth rate ad cycled again, its pastel reassurance reflected in the gloss of the vinyl sleeves, warping into abstract patterns.

"You think it was designed to appeal to people like her? Jun-ho frowned. "Nostalgia bait?"

"I know it sounds like a reach. But think about it—this artist from the 2000s is clearly referencing Kraftwerk. A deliberate homage. What if the map is doing the same thing, but for digital natives now hitting childbearing age?"

She sat back on her heels. "That's not AI. That's someone designing with intent. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Somewhere in the building, a vinyl crackled to life on a turntable. Another ghost from a different timeline, making itself heard.

"We should share this with the others," Jun-ho said, starting to turn—but Maya held up a hand.

"Wait." She pulled out her device and opened HarmoniQ. The map sprang to life. Pixels moved across Seoul's grid in that same halting rhythm. "Look. It's not just retro aesthetics. The entire behaviour model is backward-engineered. Built to feel familiar."

She paused. Something cold moved through her.

"It's not just clever. It's strategic. A trap dressed like a game. Designed by someone who knows exactly who they're trying to catch."

She began to gather the album covers, but her gaze kept drifting to her device, where the little blocks jittered through the grid—stuttering, imperfect, and very much by design.