The Algorithm of Spring

92

The Shilla Hotel dominated Jung-gu's skyline, its radiant façade a beacon of luxury amid Seoul's endless lights. Limousines and luxury sedans lined the circular driveway, passengers in evening finery stepped out. The gallery entrance was marked by floating lanterns and staff in immaculate uniforms directing guests toward the exhibition space.

Maya and Jun-ho approached on foot, having abandoned their taxi several blocks back as a precaution. As they climbed the steep driveway winding up the hillside, the city lights spilled out beneath them. The Shilla's position atop one of Seoul's many hills had always seemed fitting to Maya—luxury elevated above the common streets—both literally and figuratively.

She wore a simple black dress—elegant enough for the occasion but unremarkable. Jun-ho had managed to find a dark suit that just about looked like it belonged to him. They looked the part of art enthusiasts, though Maya's purpose burned far hotter than appreciation.

"Remember what we discussed," Jun-ho urged under his breath as they joined the queue for admission. "If anything feels wrong—just go."

"I know," Maya interrupted. "But I'm not leaving without confronting him." He recognised the tone—she was already past persuasion.

The gallery occupied the hotel's entire mezzanine level, a space transformed into a temple of contemporary art. Dramatic lighting cast each piece in relief against amber-toned walls. Waiters circulated with champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres while Seoul's wealthy and powerful admired Richards' latest creations.

Maya scanned the crowd, noting the familiar faces of politicians, corporate leaders, and cultural elites. The very people who had enabled HarmoniQ's integration into every aspect of Korean society now sipped champagne in appreciation of its creator's "art."

Jun-ho touched her arm lightly. "There. By the west wall."

Alan Richards stood surrounded by admirers, gesturing animatedly as he explained a large abstract canvas. At sixty, he remained striking—silver hair perfectly styled, tailored suit emphasising his tall frame. He moved with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to admiration, his charisma drawing people into his orbit.

"I'll circle around," Jun-ho said. "Watch for my signal."

Maya moved through the crowd, studying Richards' new works as she approached. They were undeniably beautiful. Technical masterpieces of light, colour, and form. Yet they lacked the raw energy of his earlier period, the challenge and disruption that had once defined his vision. These pieces weren't meant to challenge—only to impress. Like HarmoniQ itself, they were beautiful lies.

With a jolt, Maya recognised an uncomfortable similarity to her own recent work: technically flawless but spiritually hollow. She had been drifting toward the same safe, lucrative harbour. The thought hit like ice water: Am I becoming him?

But as she drew closer to Richards, movement in her peripheral vision made her freeze.

A sharp, involuntary breath caught in her chest. Her vision narrowed, depth of field collapsing until only one impossible sight remained.

Professor Kim stood near him, engaged in conversation with a hotel executive. Her mentor wore an elegant hanbok in muted tones, her own silver-streaked hair arranged in a traditional style. The sight stopped her cold.

Professor Kim had helped her through Beijing. And now she stood here, in Richards' inner circle. Not accidental. Not peripheral. Central.

Before Maya could process this revelation, another shock struck: Jia and Min-ah, Professor Kim's current students, stood nearby in gallery attendant uniforms.

Jia caught Maya's eye briefly—no warmth, no surprise. Just that cool, appraising look of someone who had never been dazzled by her at all. The awe she'd once performed had been theatre; what flickered now was the truth—a thin, unmistakable blade of disdain—before she turned away as if Maya were beneath her notice.

Maya felt the past months rearrange themselves—every compliment, every curious question—now exposed as hollow performance, not admiration. She'd been handled, not honoured. 

And she'd never even seen it.

The pieces locked into place with nauseating clarity.

Her pulse thudded once, hard, like a dropped stone.

Professor Kim.

She hadn't just known about HarmoniQ—she was part of it. Woven in from the start.