The Algorithm of Spring

86

The headlines appeared by morning, exactly as Jun-ho predicted:

HEADLINE: HarmoniQ Internal Files Reveal Coordinated Government Surveillance
HEADLINE: Dating App or Social Engineering Tool? Leaked Documents Point to the Latter HEADLINE: Whistleblowers Release Proof of Widespread Privacy Violations

International tech journals were already analysing the HarmoniQ revelations, with governments worldwide nervously monitoring the fallout.

Maya read them from a small café in Incheon, far from anywhere she'd been seen before, her hair now cropped short and dyed an unremarkable brown. She sat with an iced americano, observing the people around her scrolling through news feeds on their devices, some pausing with concerned expressions over particularly troubling details.

"This is outrageous," a young woman at the next table told her friend, displaying her screen. "HarmoniQ has been monitoring women who travel abroad for medical procedures. That's an absolute violation."

Her companion leaned in, lowering his voice: "My cousin went to Japan last year for treatment. She said her app behaved differently when she came back."

"Could be fabricated," the friend replied, though he appeared disturbed. "The government claims it's manufactured by anti-technology groups."

"These internal documents seem genuine. And it explains why my suggested matches changed after I mentioned not wanting children."

Maya sipped at her coffee through its straw, resisting the impulse to join their discussion. Hearing her most private trauma discussed so casually by strangers should have felt violating. Instead, a strange sense of calm settled over her. It wasn't just her secret anymore. It was evidence—public, undeniable—and the pain in it felt distant now.

She watched the television mounted in the café corner, where experts debated the implications. The government spokesperson appeared uncomfortable, repeating official statements about "unverified allegations" and "ongoing investigations into these fabrications."

Her burner device buzzed against the table. A simple message from Jun-ho: In position. Status?

She typed back: Clear. News spreading.

The café door opened as two uniformed police officers entered. Maya tensed. They weren't looking for her—she could tell by their casual posture—but her pulse still spiked. Even innocence felt incriminating now. Nevertheless, she gathered her belongings before exiting through the side door.

The street bustled with morning commuters, people heading to work as if nothing had changed. Yet something had shifted—in the way people glanced at their devices, in conversations that faltered when strangers drew near, in the subtle uncertainty now threading through the morning routine.

Maya walked toward the bus station, her next destination in their carefully planned route. Above her, digital billboards cycled through advertisements, but between them, news tickers displayed headlines about the leaks. Information flowing like water, finding every available channel.

The first battle was won. The truth was out. Now came the harder part—surviving what followed.

And making sure the truth stayed louder than the denials already gathering on the horizon.