The Algorithm of Spring

83

"After we initiate this," Jun-ho said quietly, "everything changes. They'll try to discredit us—label us as criminals or fantasists."

"Facts remain facts," Maya replied. "No matter how they twist them."

Min-seo began the final encryption sequence to protect their files during transmission. "Twenty-eight minutes," she announced. "Last chance for bathroom breaks before we do this."

Unexpected laughter escaped Maya. The tension needed an outlet, and absurdity was the only pressure valve she had left. The sheer audacity of their position—three individuals in a borrowed basement, challenging a system with government and corporate backing suddenly felt surreal. Jun-ho caught her mood, his own smile appearing.

"What?" Min-seo asked, glancing between them.

"Just thinking," Maya said, tension easing from her shoulders. "Not exactly how I imagined tonight would go."

Jun-ho's smile broadened. "The resistance never advertises the uncomfortable seating or irregular hours."

Min-seo's mouth twitched—the closest thing to a smile she'd managed all day. "Reserve the declarations for afterward," she said, returning to her keyboard. "Twenty-seven minutes left."

"These integration patterns," Min-seo said, her voice uncharacteristically tight. "They're familiar."

Jun-ho looked up. "From where?"

Min-seo gestured to a section of code on the screen. "At Samsung, I was part of a team developing health monitoring systems. Strictly opt-in, privacy-focused—health insurance type stuff. I designed protocols specifically to prevent this kind of cross-database access." Her expression hardened. "If I'm not mistaken, someone's taken my architecture and inverted it. Used my security framework as a blueprint."

Maya moved closer. "Your work?"

Min-seo nodded, hands forming fists at her sides. "My signature is still visible in the base code. They didn't even bother to remove it." She looked up, meeting Maya's eyes. A violation, coded in her own hand.

"So that's why you recognised the patterns so quickly," Jun-ho said.

"And that's why I won't be stopping until this system is completely dismantled," Min-seo replied.

Maya moved to the small street-level window, watching feet pass on the sidewalk outside. Seoul's evening continued uninterrupted—workers heading home, delivery drivers hurrying between destinations, couples walking together against the chill. All unaware that within half an hour, the system quietly directing their social lives would stand exposed. A faint draft slipped under the basement door, cold and metallic, like the city exhaling.

"Will exposing all this truly matter?" she asked without turning. "Will people demand accountability once they know?"

"Some will ignore it," Jun-ho acknowledged, joining her by the window. "Some will defend what benefits them. But others will question everything they've been told. Change begins there."

"Fifteen minutes," Min-seo announced. "Final verification complete."

Maya turned from the window, her commitment long established but somehow crystallising in this moment. Whatever followed—government retaliation, public scrutiny, personal danger—they had crossed a threshold. Soon their evidence would belong to the world.

"I should contact my Umma," she said suddenly. "Not to explain anything, just... I just need to hear her voice."

Jun-ho nodded. "Keep it brief — and keep your location vague."