The Algorithm of Spring

59

Only the installation's glow remained, casting long shadows across the empty space. Min-seo sat motionless beside her now-useless equipment, while Maya stood in the centre, watching what was supposed to be her work continue its regimented beat.

She felt Jun-ho's presence beside her before she looked up.

"This wasn't a normal attack," Min-seo said. "They got through seven layers of security. Rewrote the base code. The security patterns definitely match what I found on Dr. Park's USB. I finally cracked it this morning."

Maya studied her distorted reflection in a darkened panel of the wall where her creation had once lived—an artist overwritten, her voice drowned out by someone else's design.

Jun-ho crossed the room quietly, the glow catching in his hair. He lowered himself beside Min-seo, settling cross-legged on the floor. For a moment, none of them spoke. The silence was thick and still.

"So you know who did this?" Jun-ho asked, his voice low.

"I know where the attack was routed from," Min-seo murmured, turning her laptop so they could both see. "A secure server farm in Chuncheon. But look at the ownership registry."

On the screen, in plain text, were the words: Nexus Design Solutions.

Jun-ho let out a short breath. "The company from the Startup Hub. The 'employee wellness' consultants."

"This isn't just a data-sharing partner, Jun-ho," Min-seo said, her voice tight with a mixture of fear and excitement. "An attack of this sophistication, a server with this level of security... it isn't corporate. It's intelligence-grade. Nexus isn't just a front. It's their operational arm."

His hand found Maya's in the dark. For a second, she didn't respond—her fingers cold, curled into a fist. Then she let out a slow breath and gripped back.

They understood now. The scale. The intimacy. The violation.

Min-seo helplessly waved a hand at the looping, uniform projections still scrolling across the walls.

Maya thought again of Su-jin selling books for cash. The tteokbokki shop owner, forced to turn her away. The small freedoms being dissolved—not in sweeping gestures, but pixel by pixel.

She exhaled a sound almost like a laugh—sharp and humourless. "God, the irony."

"They hollow out anything they can't control," she murmured. "That's the real point. They're creating two worlds, theirs... or nothing."

"And most people won't notice," Jun-ho added. "They're too busy chasing compatibility scores. Running on autopilot."

Cool blue light spilled over them. Maya watched the altered patterns in the feed above—the bricks still being laid and dismantled, over and over, like a silent metronome.

"They're sending a message," she said, her voice even. "We investigate them, they erase us. First the work. Then access. Then..." She didn't need to finish. 

They both knew the next step in the sequence.

Min-seo closed her laptop with a soft click. "They knew we had the USB. Knew we'd decode it. This—" she nodded toward the transformed space—this is just the beginning."

The three of them sat in the half-light, like actors on a bare stage. The gallery no longer felt like a sanctuary—more like a warning.

"So what do we do?" Jun-ho asked.

Maya looked up at the projection—the flickering grid resetting itself in mechanical loops. A twisted echo of her original vision.

"We keep going," she said. "We show them. We find a way to make people see—before there's no one left to show."

Min-seo glanced down at her locked-out laptop. "They'll come harder now. For all of us."

Outside, Seoul shimmered. Inside, something else stirred—quiet, methodical, viral.

Maya thought of her mother's expectations. Of Ji-young, gently nudging her towards compliance. Of Su-jin—erased, but still breathing.

"Good," Maya said, her voice quiet but clear in the cavernous room. The word surprised her, but it landed like an anchor.

"Let them come out of the shadows."

Above them, the installation pulsed on—empty, ordered. A perfect lie.

But in the shadows, three figures sat close.

Planning what came next.

Some harmonies, she knew now, had to be broken.