NOVEL NEXT Chapter 174: Groundbreaking
July 22nd, 2029
Morong, Bataan – Proposed Site of Facility One
8:50 AM
It wasn't a festival.
No parades, no fireworks, no political tarpaulins.
Just a cleared stretch of land—graded, surveyed, and marked with precise boundary flags. On the far end, surveying drones buzzed quietly, mapping elevation points and soil density values. Somewhere near a patch of temporary office containers, a group of engineers were reviewing seismic tolerance charts.
This was the groundbreaking ceremony.
But it didn't look like one.
A few tents. A few microphones. A plain white banner with black text:
PHILIPPINES NUCLEAR FACILITY ONE – CORE DEVELOPMENT SITE
Construction Phase Commencement – TG Energy Systems & NRA
No flashy branding. No politician's face.
Just work beginning.
Timothy stood near the edge of the site with Jose, wearing a plain white helmet and safety vest. There were maybe sixty people total—government representatives, future NRA personnel, LGU leaders from Bataan, DOE technical staff, and TG Energy Systems executives.
No public cheering.
But a quiet audience.
Watching history begin.
Across the dirt path, the governor of Bataan stood speaking with DOE Undersecretary Salcedo. A group of students from Bataan Peninsula State University, wearing ID lanyards, stood at the back. They weren't spectators—they were observers from the future Nuclear Training and Licensing Center.
At 9:10 AM, the small crowd gathered near the temporary podium.
It wasn't raised high. No stage lights. Just a wooden platform placed on gravel.
DOE Undersecretary Salcedo opened it.
"This is not an inauguration," he began. "This is the beginning of work. For decades, this land has symbolized 'what could have been.' Today, it symbolizes 'what is being built.'"
That line didn't receive applause.
Instead, people listened.
Because it was true.
He explained that construction wouldn't begin with foundations or concrete. It would begin with site grading, groundwater assessment, and safety zoning. They would install perimeter access roads, logistics staging areas, and temporary worker housing before anything resembling a reactor even arrived.
No rushing.
No shortcuts.
This wasn't fantasy. It was engineering.
—
Next speaker: Engr. Feliciano Lim, representing the Senate's Technical Committee.
He didn't speak like a politician. He spoke like someone making sure the rules were followed.
"NRA formation begins next quarter," he said. "No construction of reactor components will begin until they approve the safety protocols. We are here not to stop this development—but to make sure it is done right."
His tone was serious.
Not overly supportive.
But responsible.
—
Then it was Timothy's turn.
He walked to the front. No prepared speech in hand.
He didn't need one.
He looked at the group—engineers, local officials, staff, and students.
"This is not the day we build a nuclear plant," he said plainly.
"This is the day we begin building the conditions that allow a nuclear plant to exist."
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't dramatize.
He just spoke.
"For nine months, there will be no concrete poured. No reactor parts delivered. No cranes lifting anything up. What we will build instead are access routes, flood barriers, cyber-security routing centers, geological observation stations, and training facilities."
He paused.
"Nuclear is not built with steel first. It is built with structure first."
He turned slightly, looking toward the students in the back.
"And one day, it will be built by you."
The governor of Bataan nodded.
The future NRA officers took notes.
The students looked shocked—nobody had ever included them in this kind of moment.
But they were included now.
—
A local news camera recorded the statements, but there was no cheering.
Instead, the ground broke quietly.
Timothy stepped forward with Undersecretary Salcedo, Engr. Lim, and Governor Reyes of Bataan. Instead of golden shovels, they symbolically placed survey markers—steel rods hammered into the ground at the exact coordinates where the facility control building would one day stand.
It looked too simple.
But that was the point.
A nuclear plant didn't begin with ceremony.
It began with accuracy.
—
After the symbolic marking, Timothy and Jose walked toward a temporary operations cabin—soon to be the site office for the first construction monitoring phase. Big technical screens were already set up—showing supply chain routes, equipment port arrival schedules, and a countdown timer labeled:
PRIMARY CIVIL WORKS COMMENCEMENT – 162 DAYS
Jose looked at it and exhaled.
"It feels real now," he said.
"It's been real since the Senate hearing," Timothy replied. "This is just the part people can see."
Outside, several container trucks were slowly rolling onto the access road—bringing ground-penetrating radar units, lab trailers, satellite-linked site surveillance towers, and mobile command modules.
No reactor parts.
Not yet.
This phase was about making the site capable of receiving them in the future.
—
Down the road, three men in blue uniforms were taking soil core samples.
Two security staff were installing digital fence markers.
A small group was configuring wireless site sensors to monitor temperature, tremors, and water saturation.
It looked nothing like a power plant.
But it was.
In slow motion.
Layer by layer.
Not rushed.
Not improvised.
—
Around 10:55 AM, three local residents were invited to speak—not for politics, but to represent the community.
A retired schoolteacher.
A fisherman.
A tricycle driver.
They didn't give emotional speeches.
They just asked for clarity, job training, and community safety programs.
Timothy listened and said, "We won't build around you. We will build with you."
And unlike most groundbreakings…
They believed him.
Not because of promises.
But because nothing today looked like a photo opportunity.
It looked like planning.
—
By noon, people began to leave.
No fireworks.
No press conference.
No speeches for social media.
Just quiet work beginning.
Jose looked at Timothy one last time before heading back to Manila.
"Sir," he said, "this isn't the hardest part."
Timothy nodded.
"No," he agreed. "It's just the first part."
—
That afternoon, while headlines rolled quietly online, the public reaction was notably calm.
No viral hype.
No hysterical opposition.
Just a gradual realization—
That something serious was happening.
And it had finally begun.
By 3:00 PM, the last utility van left the site perimeter, leaving behind only the contractors, core engineers, and a small operations team. On the central cabin wall, a newly printed sign was posted:
PHASE 0 – PRE-CONSTRUCTION WORK
Duration: 162 Days
Purpose: Prepare. Measure. Train.
Below it was a handwritten message, added anonymously:
"No shortcuts."
Timothy read it once before stepping into the vehicle that would take him back to Manila.
He didn't know who wrote it.
But he didn't need to.
Because it was the right message.
Because this time—
They would build it properly.