Chapter 4
1308words
Pale blue fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, casting their sickly light on rows of filing cabinets that resembled tombstones. Shin pushed a small cart, moving methodically through the "1998-2005 Project Archives" section.
"Tsukiwan Civic Center..." he silently repeated to himself, his finger sliding across the labels on the file boxes.
Found it.
The file box was surprisingly light. Shin placed it on the reading table and took a deep breath before opening it.
The documents inside were suspiciously sparse. A project of this magnitude should have contained volumes of design drawings, meeting minutes, and construction logs, but only a few thin documents remained.
《Tsukiwan Civic Center Project Summary Report》
《Final Accident Investigation Report》
《Construction Company Liability Assessment》
Shin opened the accident investigation report, his eyes narrowing as he read.
"...After investigation, the direct cause of this collapse was determined to be the subcontractor Kijima Construction's use of non-compliant welding materials during the steel structure welding process, resulting in insufficient connection strength at critical nodes..."
"...Makoto Kijima, as the technical director of the subcontractor, bears primary technical responsibility for this accident..."
"...It is recommended that relevant subcontractors be permanently disqualified from the industry..."
Each line cut into Shin's heart like a knife. But what truly infuriated him was the complete absence of any record of design changes in the report.
"How is that possible?" Shin muttered to himself.
Every construction project undergoes design changes during the building process—this is fundamental industry knowledge. For a complex municipal project like this, it was inconceivable to have no records of design modifications.
He continued examining the documents and found that all technical drawings were labeled as "final versions"—pristine design drafts without modification traces, no change notification forms signed by engineers, and not a single record of technical coordination meetings during construction.
This wasn't accidental loss; it was deliberate purging.
Shin's hand clenched into a fist. Someone had systematically destroyed all evidence that might have cleared his father's name, making him the sole scapegoat for the tragedy.
"Find what you were looking for?"
The sudden voice made Shin look up sharply. Archive administrator Tamura stood nearby, wearing a practiced smile.
"Ah, Mr. Tamura. Just reviewing some technical documents from past projects." Shin quickly gathered the files.
"The Tsukiwan Civic Center project?" Tamura stepped closer. "The materials for that project are incomplete. I heard there was an accident back then, and many documents were..."
"Were what?"
"Were sealed or destroyed as required by the Legal Department. Litigation issues, you understand." Tamura shrugged. "However, if it's for official business purposes, I could help you request access to more detailed materials."
"No need, thank you." Shin pushed the archive box back toward Tamura. "I've found what I needed."
As he left the archives, Shin noticed Tamura immediately reaching for the phone on his desk.
Nine o'clock at night, at a small izakaya in Shinjuku.
Shin sat alone in a corner booth, an untouched beer before him. On his phone was Kenji Moriyama's address—which Hana Sawamura had helped him extract from the company's retired employee registry.
Kenji Moriyama, 60 years old, 35 years with the company, professional skill rating: special grade. Early retirement three years ago due to "personal reasons."
Current address: an old apartment building near Kinuta Park in Setagaya Ward.
Shin stared at his phone, hesitating. It wasn't really hesitation, but fear—fear of learning more painful truths about his father.
But eventually, he stood and headed for the door.
Ten thirty at night, Setagaya Ward.
The streets near Kinuta Park were quiet, old apartment buildings standing like silent sentinels under dim streetlights. Shin found Kenji Moriyama's residence—a three-story wooden apartment building from the Showa era, room 202.
He stood at the door for a long moment before finally pressing the doorbell.
"Who's there?" came an elderly but still resonant voice from inside.
"Hello, I'm Shin Kijima. I'd like to speak with you."
The footsteps inside suddenly halted.
After a long pause, the door slowly opened. An elderly man with graying hair stood in the doorway, his expression shifting dramatically when he saw Shin.
"Are you... Makoto's boy?" Moriyama's voice trembled slightly.
"Yes."
Moriyama studied Shin's face for a long moment, then heaved a deep sigh.
"You look just like him." He stepped aside. "Come in."
Moriyama's apartment was sparse but neat. What stood out were the various construction tools hanging on the walls—saws, hammers, squares, levels—all meticulously maintained and gleaming.
"Tea or coffee?" Moriyama busied himself in the small kitchen.
"Tea is fine." Shin sat at the low table, taking in the modest surroundings.
Moriyama returned with a tea tray and sat across from Shin. Neither spoke, the ticking of the wall clock the only sound in the room.
"You're here about the Tsukiwan Civic Center, aren't you?" Moriyama finally broke the silence.
"Yes."
"I don't know anything," Moriyama said, avoiding Shin's gaze. "I was just a site supervisor on that project. Technical issues weren't my domain."
"Mr. Moriyama," Shin's voice remained calm, "I'm not here to blame anyone. I just want the truth."
"The truth?" Moriyama gave a bitter laugh. "What good is truth now? Your father is gone, the company made its ruling. What can truth possibly change?"
"It can change how I understand my father." Shin looked directly into Moriyama's eyes. "It can tell me whether he was truly the negligent engineer they claim he was."
These words made Moriyama visibly tremble.
"Your father..." Moriyama began, then stopped himself. "Forget it. There's no point discussing this now."
"Mr. Moriyama, you were a special-grade technician with 35 years at the company. By all rights, you should have worked until 65. Why retire early?"
Moriyama remained silent.
"And from what I've learned," Shin continued, "you and my father were close friends. After his incident, you became practically invisible at the company."
"I..." Moriyama stood abruptly. "It's late. You should go."
Shin stood too, but instead of leaving, he removed something wrapped in cloth from his bag and placed it gently on the coffee table.
"I believe you'll recognize this."
He unwrapped the cloth, revealing an old square ruler, polished smooth from years of use. The wooden handle gleamed from countless touches, and though the metal showed some oxidation, it was clearly a tool that had been lovingly maintained.
Moriyama's hand began to tremble.
"Is that... Makoto's square?"
"Yes. It was my father's most treasured tool," Shin said, gently stroking the ruler. "He often said that a craftsman's tools are his soul. A good tool will never betray its master."
Tears welled in Moriyama's eyes.
"He... he did say that." The old man's voice cracked. "Makoto was always like that—serious about his work to the point of stubbornness. He'd say, 'A square is for measuring right angles, and if you can't get right angles correct, how can you build anything that stands?'"
"So," Shin said quietly, "tell me honestly—would a man like my father ever cut corners in his work?"
Moriyama stared at the square ruler, tears finally spilling down his weathered cheeks.
"Never... absolutely impossible..." his voice dropped to a whisper. "Makoto was the most meticulous engineer I've ever known. He would spend an entire day monitoring a single weld joint to ensure its quality..."
The room fell silent again.
Shin rewrapped the square ruler and gently pushed it toward Moriyama.
"This is for you."
"I couldn't possibly..."
"If my father were alive, he'd want you to have it." Shin stood. "Mr. Moriyama, I won't force you to say anything. But if someday you're willing to speak for my father, this square will remind you what makes a true craftsman."
With that, Shin turned toward the door.
"Wait!" Moriyama called after him.
Shin turned to see the old man clutching the square ruler, tears streaming down his face.
"Son, your father... your father was framed."
