"Are you Ryo Matsuda?"
He slowly lifted his head, without looking surprised. "Yes."
I nodded toward the chair opposite him. "May I sit?"
He silently gestured.
I sat down, feeling my hands heavy on the table. He didn't ask anything, nor did he seem annoyed. He just waited.
I spoke, my voice closer to a whisper: "I read your article… about the doctor who was wrongfully accused after a patient died at Shinzo Hospital."
He gently closed his notebook and placed the pen on top. His gaze wasn't sharp, but a calm curiosity watching without intrusion. "Not many have read that article…"
"I read it recently. And for personal reasons, I wanted to know more."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he lit a cigarette silently, then asked: "Do you know the doctor?"
I smiled tiredly, unwilling to reveal my identity, and said: "I felt the article was about more than one person… as if it was a testimony against injustice itself."
He nodded slowly, as if my words didn't surprise him at all. "When I wrote that report… I didn't even know his name. I was investigating corruption inside Tika Corporation — a medical device company known for selling defective devices cheaply and deliberately. Then, a maintenance worker at Shinzo Hospital gave me some internal files and asked me to write a report about the doctor who was blamed after the patient's death."
He paused, then continued: "Everything in the files pointed to the same conclusion: the surgeon was not at fault. The device failed."
"What exactly was in the files?"
"It wasn't just a file. It was a complete digital archive — emails, alerts about device modifications, covered-up malfunction reports… and a single medical record. For the patient."
He took a deep breath and exhaled smoke aside. "The bleeding started less than ten minutes after the surgery. The tear was severe. The doctor tried to control it but couldn't find the real cause. Later, we discovered that a valve in the device leaked, creating abnormal pressure that damaged the tissue around the artery."
I remembered that moment clearly.
The light above the operating table. The alarms sounding.
Blood pooling on the sterile floor.
"Then why wasn't any of this mentioned in the official report?"
He gave me a small smile — not sarcastic, but a bitter, familiar one. "Because the device wasn't supposed to be used at all. The company had received official warnings. But they repackaged it as an 'updated version' and distributed it to hospitals. Some hospitals were even complicit… buying the devices cheaply despite knowing the risks. What happened to the doctor… wasn't his fault. It was the fault of the market."
He looked at me for a long moment, as if weighing whether to say more. "I don't know what happened to him after that. Some say he left the country, others say he's living under a different name in a remote town."
He stopped, and I remained silent, keeping my identity hidden.
"All I know is that his voice was never heard. He didn't defend himself. He never appeared in the media. He didn't write a single word."
"And that's why you wrote about him?"
"To be honest? I hadn't planned to. I was focused on the company — the deals, the numbers… but something about his story pulled me in. The silence forced upon him. How he went from a respected surgeon to a scapegoat overnight."
I lowered my eyes, then asked: "What about the maintenance worker? The one who gave you the files?"
He looked toward the window, as if recalling a painful memory. "He disappeared after a month. I don't know if he left the city or was forced into silence. But I never forgot his name."
He pulled out his notebook again, tore a small piece of paper, and wrote a name clearly:
Hiroyuki Nagaisé
He handed me the paper.
"If you're serious about finding the truth… this is the first thread."
I took the paper from Ryo, folded it slowly, then placed it in the inner pocket of my coat.
"Thank you, Matsuda."
He nodded lightly. No need for more words.
I left the café. A cold breeze slipped under my coat, sending a sudden shiver through me. I paused on the sidewalk, watching the passersby absentmindedly, as if searching for something lost in the faces of strangers.
Then I took out my phone and called the number the police had given me months ago… when my name was still tangled between doubt and silence.
The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Sergeant Koda speaking. Who's this?"
"It's… Takeshi."
There was a brief silence, then his voice softened.
"Are you okay now? Have you regained your memory?"
"I still need some time… but now, I need your help."
"Tell me what you need."
"I'm looking for someone… named Hiroyuki Nagaisé. I think you might have a record or a recent address for him."
I heard quick typing on the keyboard, then a short hum. He said:
"One moment… Yes, the name is there. He changed his residence about two years ago. His current address is registered in a small town near the mountains… called Hakurai."
"Hakurai?"
"Yes. About three hours from Shinzo. Not a tourist spot. A quiet town near the forest… nothing special. And that might make it the perfect place to disappear."
"I understand. Thanks, Koda."
But before I hung up, he added in a low tone:
"Takeshi… be careful. As you know… we still haven't caught Kento."
I thanked him, then ended the call silently.
I took the paper out of my pocket again and looked at the name: Hiroyuki Nagaisé.
Finally… I had an address.