The Algorithm of Spring

78

Min-seo's workshop occupied the basement of an unremarkable office building in Yongsan, its entrance partly hidden behind a vending machine that appeared perpetually broken. The space beyond revealed the true nature of her "freelance consulting" work—banks of custom-built servers hummed efficiently along one wall, while multiple workstations displayed scrolling code on high-resolution monitors.

"They've become sloppy," Min-seo said, not looking up from her keyboard as Maya and Jun-ho entered. Her fingers flew across the keys, multiple windows opening and closing faster than Maya could track. "Overconfident. Left fingerprints all over the Beijing database access."

Maya set her bag down on the cluttered workbench. "You traced it back to HarmoniQ?"

"Better." Min-seo spun her chair to face them, satisfaction evident in her normally composed features. "I traced it to specific workstations within HarmoniQ—individual access credentials." A few of the ID strings pulsed red — the tell-tale marker of forced access that Min-seo had coded into her tools. Not just misuse. Intent. She tapped a command, bringing up a list of timestamps and user IDs on the main screen. "This wasn't a system glitch or integration error. This was deliberate. Manual. Targeted. Someone pressed go on this."

Jun-ho leaned closer to the display. "Can you identify who accessed it?"

"Not names, not yet." Min-seo pushed her glasses up her nose. "But I have their internal user classifications. Engineering level seven, data integration specialist, security clearance alpha." Maya had seen enough corporate frameworks to know: level-seven engineers didn't sneeze without approval from someone above them. She pointed to another entry. "And this one—executive access, content authorisation override."

"Someone high up approved this," Maya said, the confirmation of what they'd suspected landing.

"The highest." Min-seo's voice carried unusual emotion. "This wasn't a technical team going rogue. This came from leadership."

HarmoniQ's reach was undeniable—executives had personally signed off on her humiliation.

"What about the others?" Maya asked. "Jun-ho mentioned seven other women were exposed."

Min-seo nodded, pulling up another screen. 'Similar patterns. All women who visited international clinics recently, flagged for resisting HarmoniQ's so-called compatibility matches.

Maya circled the workbench, absorbing this information. "They're punishing women who don't comply. Making examples of us." Until now, she'd believed HarmoniQ was invasive. She hadn't understood it was vindictive.

"Yes," Min-seo agreed. "But they made a strategic error. International agreements govern medical data privacy. By exposing these records so publicly, they've opened themselves to legal scrutiny they typically avoid. De-anonymising medical data across borders is the digital equivalent of shouting," Min-seo added. "Someone in leadership panicked."

Jun-ho pulled up a stool, his expression thoughtful. "Could we use that? Build a case?"

"We'd need concrete proof linking the breach to HarmoniQ's executive team," Min-seo said. "The internal access logs I found would help, but we'd need more—documentation of their decision-making process, internal communications authorising the breach."

"The file," Maya whispered. "The one being left at the Championships."

Min-seo's eyes sharpened with interest. "What file?"

Jun-ho relayed the details of their meeting with the Nexus team member, the instructions about the Gungdo Championships, the promised file hidden under seat sixteen.

"If he was part of the original team," Min-seo said, "he might have access to foundational documents. System architecture. Decision matrices." Her excitement was visible despite her attempt at detachment. "This could be exactly what we need."