Chapter 1
1030words
"Kijima-kun."
The voice of Department Head Tanaka from Design Section One came from behind, carrying that distinctive bureaucratic authority. Shin slowly turned around, his face expressionless as he regarded the fifty-something man with thinning hair.
"Yes, Department Head Tanaka."
"There's a project I need you to handle." Tanaka dropped a thick folder on Shin's desk with a dull thud. "The Umikaze Community Center. You must have heard of it."
Several colleagues turned to watch, their eyes gleaming with subtle excitement. Shin noticed their glances but kept his expression neutral.
"The Umikaze Community Center..." Shin repeated the name. "That suspended project?"
"That's right." A cold smile tugged at the corner of Tanaka's mouth. "The budget has blown past forty percent, the design is riddled with issues, and the contractor walked off the site three months ago. Now someone needs to clean up this mess."
"Clean it up?"
"Reassess, fix the design flaws, find ways to keep the budget within a reasonable range." Tanaka paused. "Or... write a detailed project termination report."
Several suppressed snickers rippled through the office. Yamada, sitting in the front row, whispered to a colleague beside him: "Garbage disposal duty again." The nickname had been circulating for years—messy situations specifically dumped on "problem employees" like Kijima Shin.
Shin stood up and took the folder. It was about ten centimeters thick, stuffed with drawings, reports, and various technical documents.
"When do you need the results?"
"Two weeks." Tanaka turned to leave, then added, "Kijima-kun, try not to screw this up."
The moment Tanaka walked away, unrestrained chatter erupted throughout the office.
"The Umikaze Community Center? That's the notorious disaster project."
"I heard they shipped the former manager Hashimoto off to some backwater branch office."
"Kijima is toast this time."
"Fixing that trainwreck in two weeks? Not a chance in hell."
Shin tucked the folder under his arm and walked to the storage cabinet next to the printer, pulling out a cardboard box. His movements were steady, as if executing a long-planned procedure.
"Packing up already, Kijima-kun?" Yamada called out, deliberately raising his voice.
Shin didn't answer. He simply placed the folder into the box and walked toward the elevator.
"Probably clearing his desk before they kick him out." Mocking laughter followed him from behind.
As the elevator doors closed, Shin finally allowed his expression to change—not to anger or frustration, but to something resembling anticipation.
The project office was tucked away on the eighth floor—an isolated room of about twenty square meters. Expired construction schedules hung on the walls, and a layer of dust covered the desk. When Shin flipped the switch, the fluorescent tube flickered several times before casting its harsh light.
He placed the cardboard box on the desk and methodically removed the documents. First came the basic design drawings, followed by structural calculation reports, then materials lists, budget reports, construction records... He arranged each document precisely by date and category.
The quartz clock on the wall read nine-thirty. The building had emptied hours ago, with only the occasional footsteps of the security guard echoing down the corridor.
Shin unfolded the first drawing—the floor plan of the Umikaze Community Center. A comprehensive twelve-story building with two basement levels, incorporating commercial, office, and residential functions. On paper, the design looked quite reasonable, even impressive.
But...
His fingers moved methodically across the blueprints, his eyes scanning every data point and line with remarkable speed. Complex calculations that would require calculators for most engineers flowed effortlessly through his mind.
Thirty minutes later, he spotted the first problem.
"The spacing between the load-bearing columns on the second basement level..." Shin picked up a pencil and marked the blueprint, "doesn't match the load distribution from the above-ground structure."
This wasn't an obvious error—it had even passed the preliminary structural review. But when Shin recalculated the relevant data in his head, the problem became clear: with the current underground structure, the building faced a twelve percent risk of column failure during a magnitude 8 earthquake.
Shin worked through the night. Midnight, 2 AM, 4 AM... The second hand of the quartz clock ticked relentlessly, but his concentration never wavered.
At 5 AM, he uncovered the second problem.
The material procurement list showed the project used HRB400 specification threaded rebar, with a quantity of 1850 tons. However, in the budget report, the corresponding cost was calculated based on only 1650 tons.
The price difference for 200 tons of rebar... Shin calculated rapidly in his head: about 1.8 million yen.
This might be just a recording error. Shin continued reviewing related documents, and half an hour later, he discovered a similar issue with the concrete grade, then discrepancies in cable specifications, followed by mismatched waterproofing material quantities...
A clear pattern began to emerge.
Shin paused and leaned back in his chair. Outside the window, the sky was beginning to lighten, and the distant rumble of the early morning train broke the silence.
His expression remained calm, but his eyes took on a predatory sharpness—not anger, but the focused intensity of a hunter who had just picked up a scent.
Shin sat up straight and pulled a brand new notebook from the cardboard box. At the top of the first page, he wrote in precise characters:
"Umikaze Community Center Project Issue List"
He began methodically recording each issue he'd discovered. Structural design flaws, material procurement anomalies, budget data contradictions... Each entry included detailed data and precise source page references.
While writing the thirteenth item, his pen paused. He thought about the former project manager Hashimoto—the middle-aged man reportedly transferred to a branch office after the project's failure.
A transfer, or forced departure?
Shin wrote a name on the last page of his notebook: Kentaro Hashimoto.
Then a second name: Department Head Tanaka.
The third: Kawasaki Construction Materials Co., Ltd.
As the sun rose, Kijima Shin closed his notebook. Looking at the neatly arranged documents on the table, the faintest smile crossed his face.
Two weeks?
More than enough.
