The Algorithm of Spring

65

The Samsung company car Min-seo had arranged picked them up from Seoul Station. They'd expected something functional, but the black Genesis glided through traffic, its driver wearing the same uniform as the Tower Palace staff. As cover for their fake lunch pitch meeting, Min-seo had clearly deemed this level of polish necessary.

At the Digital City gates, the driver produced a barcode on his device that moved them through security without delay. Employees moved between glass buildings, badges scanning at every threshold. Conversations were muted, almost choreographed — as if noise itself required approval.

The cafeteria occupied an entire floor of the main building, its social landscape as stratified as the company itself. Min-seo had explained the unwritten rules—junior staff ate near the entrance, middle managers claimed the central tables, and executives dined behind frosted glass partitions.

Through one of the partitions, Maya spotted Yeon-joo. A faint pressure gathered in her chest, the quiet panic of seeing someone mid-transition, halfway absorbed by a system that pretended to care.

She sat among senior managers, her conversation punctuated with laughter. A man beside her—designer watch, studied ease—leaned in as she spoke. His possessive body language identified him immediately: Minho. There was no curiosity in his gaze — only assessment, charm learned with the precision of code.

                                                                                            ***

Jun-ho watched them, imagining the man's patter. He likely remembered names, held eye contact, and made everyone feel significant. The type who advanced smoothly through corporate hierarchies.

Yeon-joo smiled at something Minho said, but Jun-ho noticed her fingers twisted the napkin—a childhood habit that surfaced only when she felt unsure. A muscle twitched in Jun-ho's jaw—the only sign that seeing her like this cost him more than he'd admit aloud.

                                                                                           ***

A nearby digital pillar, disguised as a decorative panel, cycled through internal company announcements. Maya nudged Jun-ho as it flashed to a slick, animated graphic under the heading: 'Q3 Partner Programme: Boost Your Synergy!'

Beneath the title, key metrics scrolled by: 'Enhanced career progression now linked to compatibility scores! Top-tier matches lead to better team performance!' The graphic was followed by a testimonial from a smiling manager: 'My team lead met his wife through the programme! Go team!' It struck Maya how seamlessly personal life had been absorbed into corporate infrastructure — romance treated like another efficiency target.

Jun-ho's attention was still on Yeon-joo's table. Even from a distance, he could see why the system would mark Minho as ideal—he fit perfectly into this world of metrics and achievements.

As lunch ended, Minho guided Yeon-joo toward the executive elevators, his hand at her back as if positioning her for a photograph. They looked refined together—two people already adjusted to fit a template.

Behind them, the digital pillar flickered:
REMINDER: Partner Programme meeting at 2 PM. Q3 rollout of relationship performance data.

An update for anyone still resisting revision.

Jun-ho's device vibrated with a pre-arranged message. He excused himself, pretending to leave but really planning to snoop around the complex. He left Maya to finish their 'meeting' with Min-seo—they had arranged to debrief later that evening.

Maya watched Jun-ho stand, letting the lunch crowd carry him toward the exit. Digital displays throughout the building showcased company milestones, team performance rates, and optimisation targets. A world where everything could be measured.

The Genesis was waiting exactly where it had dropped them off. As they pulled away from Samsung's showpiece campus, Maya thought about the subtle hierarchies, the unspoken pressures, and the ways HarmoniQ had clearly woven itself into every aspect of Yeon-joo's world. No wonder she was changing—the entire system was designed to reshape people, one small choice at a time. And watching Yeon-joo in that cafeteria, Maya realised how invisible the edits were until the original version was nearly gone.