City Hallwas always quiet.
Quiet didn't meannothing was happening.
It meantnothing showed on the surface.
The hum of printers.Keys tapping on keyboards.Pages turning.
And the thingspeople chose not to say.
The document arrivedthat morning.
The reference number was ordinary.The title, unremarkable.
"Comprehensive Plan for the Utilization of Idle Land (Draft)"
Someone skimmed itand moved on.
Someone saved itfor no clear reason.
Someone printed itand placed itat the corner of their desk.
Strangely,it kept drawing the eye.
"New town…?"a city planning officer murmured.
"But it's not fixed."
The further they read,the more unfamiliarthe language became.
Mobile infrastructure.Modular housing units.Rotational medical deployment.Truck-based employment platforms.
Someone scoffed.
"Isn't this justa concept proposal?"
But the numberson the next pagedidn't feel like a concept.
Budget allocations.Phased execution plans.Recovery structures in case of failure.Response scenarios for civil complaints.
Too…realistic.
In the welfare department,someone stopped at a different point.
Areas hospitals never reached.Time zones with no medical access.Citizens invisibleto existing systems.
"This overlapswith our complaint list."
He opened an Excel file.
Ten years' worth of complaintsmarked as "resolved."
Resolved—but never actually fixed.
The youth policy teamhad a different reaction.
"Wait a second."a junior official said.
"Did you seethe employment numbers?"
Per truck:direct employment.Associated jobs.Operational staff.
"This isn't a factory,and it's not a conglomerate, but…"
He lowered his voice unnecessarily.
"People would actually come."
There was no meeting.No directives.
And yet,a sense spread through the building—
that peoplewere reading the same document.
In the elevator.In the hallways.By the coffee machine.
"Did you see it?""How far did you read?""Do you think this could actually work?"
No one mentioned approval.
No one could.Nothing had been said officially.
There was anxiety.
"If complaints explode, who takes responsibility?""There's no precedent.""A moving city?Is a city a toy now?"
The longer someone stared at the pages,the quieter they became.
Because the ideawas unsettling.
This wasn't a proposal that said,"Let's try."
It was a plan that said,"If this works, things change."
There was also hope.
"To be honest…"someone said carefully.
"Isn't the citytoo fixed right now?"
No one answered immediately.
That silencewas the answer.
That afternoon,at the far end of City Hall's corridor,
a department head closed the documentand said,
"This was made by someonewho's been on the ground."
"How can you tell?"
"It smells like the field."
A plan that had watched peoplelonger than paper.
Nothing had been announced yet.
No banners.No press releases.
The cityhad not begun to move.
But a single documentwas circulating quietly among people,subtly adjusting direction.
And Doyoondidn't know this yet.
Cities always began like this.
Not with people moving first—but with the air changing.