The Algorithm of Spring

43

Steam from a pot of simmering odeng broth cut through the evening chill of the pojangmacha. The smell of pepper and boiled fishcake wrapped around them like a blanket.

"Order something," Jun-ho urged. "We don't want to look like we're just here to talk."

Maya ordered soondae and soju. The USB drive pressed against her ribs through her coat pocket. A reminder she wasn't ready to look at—and couldn't ignore.

Jun-ho poured for both of them. "What she said back there... about 'preventative consultations' and flagging women's records—what does that really mean?"

"I don't know," Maya said, the soju warming her against the night. "But it feels... clinical. Targeted. It's not just about selling them things based on their corporate data. This is something else."

Through the plastic walls, Maya watched passersby lit by device screens. "We need to see what's on that drive," she said. "The case files she mentioned, the access logs... It's the only way to understand the human cost of what they're doing."

"Min-seo can help," Jun-ho said. "She knows secure systems."

Steam rose again as their order arrived, curling toward the plastic canopy. "Dr. Park said they're digitising everything old," Maya said, quieter now. "Overseas treatments too." The words caught, sharp in her mouth.

Jun-ho's chopsticks stilled. "Beijing?"

Maya nodded, eyes on her plate.

"When they get to those records—"

"They won't," Jun-ho said firmly. "We'll figure this out before they do. You're not the only one. I know several people who've made solo trips to Beijing lately, and I doubt it was to see the Summer Palace."

The owner sang along to an old trot song drifting from a radio.

"What bothers me most," Maya said, "is that Dr. Park said they're not even hiding it anymore. They're so confident, they don't care who notices."

"Or they're ready for anyone who does." Jun-ho refilled their glasses. Outside, another billboard flicked to a HarmoniQ ad.

Maya's fingers brushed the edge of the USB in her pocket. "We need to be smart. Whatever's on that drive is exactly what they're trying to suppress."

"First thing tomorrow," Jun-ho said, "I'll contact Min-seo. We'll set up somewhere secure." He leaned in. "Tonight, we should split up. Harder to track two people moving separately."

Maya watched the owner refill the odeng pot. "If they really are watching me," she said, "they'll expect us to run."

"So?"

"So maybe we don't." She looked at him. "I want them wasting resources watching us do nothing while Min-seo works the drive. "Disappearing, after all, screams guilt."

Jun-ho's voice dropped. "When Dr. Park mentioned overseas records, you looked like you'd seen a ghost."

Maya stared into the steam rising from the broth pot. "I just need my ghosts—and everyone else's—to stay buried a little longer," she said. "At least until we know what we're up against."

Jun-ho nodded and reached for his wallet, the moment thinning to silence. Traffic washed past in waves of white and red light.

As they parted at the intersection, Seoul's LED skyline lit the night like a theatre set. Just two people heading home after a late meal. Nothing to report. Nothing to flag.