The Algorithm of Spring

87

The dirt road to the Yangpyeong safe house twisted between neglected rice paddies, their remaining stalks turned golden brown in the late autumn light. The farmhouse itself sat partially hidden behind a stand of pine trees; a thin column of woodsmoke rose from the chimney, the only sign of life amid the stillness. Its wooden construction dated back to before Korea's economic miracle. Min-seo had chosen well—the property belonged to her grandfather, who had stubbornly refused to sell to developers, leaving this pocket of rural life intact despite Seoul's ever-expanding reach.

Maya arrived last, unsure until the final moment whether the others had reached the house safely. Her route had been the longest by design. The wooden gate creaked as she pushed it open, her footsteps crunching on the gravel path. Inside, Jun-ho and Min-seo had already set up. An old dining table served as their workspace, covered with laptops and hastily gathered supplies. The afternoon sun streamed through dusty windows.

"You made it," Jun-ho said. He looked tired but alert, the last forty-eight hours carved into the hollows beneath his eyes.

"Any problems?" Min-seo asked, not looking up from her laptop.

"Nothing obvious. But there were police at Cheongnyangni Station checking IDs, so I took the local bus instead."

Min-seo nodded, satisfied. "Smart."

The farmhouse smelled of old wood and instant ramyeon from Jun-ho's single-burner meal. A small television in the corner played a news broadcast at low volume, its antenna wrapped in aluminium foil. Maya moved closer to watch.

The coverage showed split-screen images of opposing protests in Gwanghwamun Plaza. On one side, hundreds held signs condemning HarmoniQ's privacy violations: "Our Lives Are Not Data!" and "Stop the Manipulation!" On the other, equally passionate supporters defended the app with banners declaring "HarmoniQ Saved My Marriage" and "Progress Requires Courage"

"It's been like this all day," Jun-ho said, joining her. "The country's splitting right down the middle."

Min-seo looked up from her screen. "HarmoniQ's PR machine kicked into overdrive around dawn. They've launched a counter-narrative about 'dangerous privacy extremists' threatening social harmony."

"Are they naming us?" Maya asked, the question she'd been dreading.

"Not directly," Min-seo replied. "But they've described the leak as 'a coordinated attack by disgruntled former users with personal vendettas.' They're focusing on discrediting the documents instead of the people behind them."

Jun-ho pointed to the screen, where a government spokesperson was addressing reporters. "The Digital Affairs Minister just called for an investigation into 'malicious actors spreading misinformation about essential social services.'"

Maya dropped into the chair, muscles going slack as reality crashed over her. She'd expected backlash, but not this ferocity—not this division.

"We did the right thing," Jun-ho said, as if reading her thoughts.

"Did we?" Maya gestured toward the television. "People are already choosing sides," Maya murmured. "What if we've only accelerated the fracture?"

Min-seo paused her typing. "Public opinion is splitting along predictable lines. This was always their risk calculation," Min-seo continued. "If exposed, let society fight itself while the system stays intact. Those who've benefited from HarmoniQ—found partners, advanced careers—are defending it. Those who've felt pressured or manipulated are finally seeing confirmation of what they suspected."

The news broadcast shifted to social media reactions. "I met my husband through the app," a young woman said tearfully. "Our compatibility score was 97%...we're expecting our first child. How can people call that manipulation?"

Cut to a middle-aged man, his expression stern: "I wondered why my suggested matches changed after I mentioned retiring early and travelling the world. "Turns out HarmoniQ was nudging me toward what the government wanted—more work, more taxes, less freedom."

Maya shook her head. "It's about consent. About choice. Can't they see that?"

"Most people don't want to believe they've been manipulated," Jun-ho said. "It's easier to defend the system than admit you've been fooled."

Maya felt the truth of it settle cold in her chest. Exposing HarmoniQ hadn't just revealed a system—it had revealed people's willingness to cling to it.

Min-seo closed her laptop sharply. "We can't stay here indefinitely. People are already analysing the leaked files. Someone will connect them to us."

"What are you suggesting?" Maya asked.

"We need to move to the next phase," Min-seo replied. "We've exposed the system. Now we need to show people what it means."

"Your installation," Jun-ho said. "It's time."