Prologue

The Kyoto National Museum’s workday runs from 8:45 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. It’s sometimes said that government employees work from 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., but in reality, it often ends up being 8:30 a.m. to 5:15 p.m.

The odd timing stems from the fact that the Act on Working Hours, Leaves, etc. for National Public Officers Engaged in Regular Services states that government employee working hours are to be seven hours and forty-five minutes per day. The lunch break is typically 12 p.m. to 1 p.m., but staggered work hours allow one to change their assigned schedule, and there are places that have introduced a flextime system.

The Kyoto National Museum (KNM) is part of the National Institutes for Cultural Heritage (NICH). The NICH is what’s called an Independent Administrative Institution, so its employees technically aren’t public servants, but much of its organizational structure follows that of the national government.

I, Aoi Mashiro, was currently interning at the KNM as part of a special opportunity for university and graduate students. It was a two-to-three-week program running from July to August, and I’d learned of it back in February. The announcement had also been posted at my school, Kyoto Prefectural University.

That brings us to today, but... “What a chaotic time that was,” I mused as I reflected on everything that had happened.

*

One February day at the antique store Kura, I mentioned to Kiyotaka “Holmes” Yagashira that the KNM was recruiting interns.

“This is an incredible opportunity, Aoi,” the handsome young man said, his face flushed with excitement. He must’ve been very surprised. “As a general rule, the KNM doesn’t offer training for university students. They only accept foreign museum specialists and curators from collaborating museums as trainees, and only for a few weeks at a time.”

“That’s what I heard too,” I said. “Apparently this is a trial program to foster the young curators and researchers of the future.”

“You’re very fortunate to have the chance to do this. When I was in school, I dreamed of being able to work at the KNM,” he lamented, placing a hand on his forehead.

“Holmes...” I felt a bit bad.

Quickly regaining his composure, he set a small whiteboard on the counter and picked up a marker. “Now, according to the application guidelines, only a select few will be chosen for the internship. It’s quite a serious process—they’ll be screening résumés and conducting interviews. Applicants must either live in Kyoto Prefecture or be enrolled at a university, junior college, or graduate school within the region. You definitely qualify there, Aoi. Additionally, you need to have passed Introduction to Museology.”

“Oh, I’ve done that,” I said proudly.

Introduction to Museology was a course that taught the fundamentals of museums, such as what they were, how they were built, and what a curator’s job entailed. Students aiming for a curator certification were required to obtain this credit before their fourth year.

“The issue, then, is the field of expertise,” Holmes said. “Corresponding to the KNM researchers’ specialties, there are eight available: paintings, sculptures, ceramics, textiles-metalwork-lacquerware, archaeology, historical books and documents, conservation, and management. You must choose one of them.”

I hesitantly replied, “Since I’ve been studying at Kura, I was thinking of applying for ceramics.” I’d been exposed to numerous antiques here, the majority of which were pottery and porcelain. If I apply for ceramics, I might stand a chance—or so I thought.

“Remember, they’re only selecting a few people. What tends to happen with museum internships is that even if they’re recruiting for eight fields, they won’t necessarily choose one person for each. In other words, there’s no guarantee that they’ll hire eight people.”

“Huh? Really? I assumed it’d be at least eight...”

“I imagine the selection hinges on whether the applicant can be matched with a researcher with the workload capacity to accept a trainee.”

I understood his reasoning, but I still had my doubts.

“This is because the KNM is short-staffed,” he continued. “Someone in a busy field is unlikely to be able to attend to an intern, regardless of the student’s achievements. They have the special exhibitions in autumn to prepare for.”

That convinced me. “So the researchers in charge of the autumn exhibitions might not have time to take on interns?”

“That’s right.” Holmes nodded and took out his phone. “It looks like the main focuses this fall will be ceramics, sculptures, and paintings.” The KNM’s schedule for the year was posted on their website.

I looked up at the ceiling. “That means...if I choose something other than ceramics, sculptures, or paintings, I might have a better chance of getting selected?”

“In this case, yes. That said, it’d be difficult to apply for a field you’ve never studied before. The odds certainly wouldn’t be good.”

“Right,” I murmured, gazing down at the application guidelines again. Paintings, sculptures, ceramics, textiles-metalwork-lacquerware, archaeology, historical books and documents, conservation, management... I cleared my throat and looked at Holmes. “I think I’ll try applying for management.”

He smiled and nodded. “That would have been my suggestion too. You’re Sally’s honor student, and you designed an exhibit in New York. You also organized a small but successful exhibition for Ensho’s paintings. Those experiences are a great asset. Now then, the deadline is in mid-June. We have until then to create the perfect application package. The key lies in the ‘reason for applying’ field.”

“Understood,” I said energetically, standing up straight.

From then until the deadline, I wrote countless “reasons for applying” for Holmes to review. This was because he rejected all of them, saying, “This won’t get you selected.” I wasn’t good at communicating my achievements—I always ended up understating them.

“You need to exaggerate a bit!” Holmes encouraged me.

With his help, I finally completed my application. I passed the screening and did the interview, and at the end of July, I received a notice saying that I had been chosen. My internship began shortly after, in August.

*

Three weeks had passed since then, bringing us to today, the last day of my internship.

I got off the Keihan Line at Shichijo Station and walked toward the KNM. I smiled as I gazed at the contrasting Meiji Kotokan Hall and Heisei Chishinkan Hall. The former was an elegant, old-fashioned brick building, while the latter was a modern building with a beautiful glass facade.

It was truly a miracle that I had been able to experience an internship at this wonderful place. It was all thanks to Holmes’s support—he really was incredible.

“But still...” Aside from the internship, many other things had happened this past spring and summer. “What a chaotic time that was.”

Let me tell you a story that happened to me. It was like a midsummer night’s dream...

Chapter 1: A Birthday Stroll in Shiga

1

“Happy birthday, Kiyotaka! Thank you for everything. It’s not much, but I prepared a birthday gift for you—a voucher for Hino’s guest house. I thought it’d be nice to go on a little trip together, even if it’s not far from here. I made the car-shaped vase and hot-air balloon flowers with the hope that I can continue to travel with you on the journey called life. (I’m sorry for acting suspicious by glancing at you when I was trying to think of a present.) From Aoi”

On Holmes’s birthday, February 14th, I presented him with a voucher for a guest house on the shore of Lake Biwa. It had been given to me by Hino, Holmes’s senior from high school, whose wife’s family owned the property.

Since it was a birthday gift, I had wanted to redeem it right away, but between bouts of bad weather and us both having business to take care of, we ended up not being able to set out for Lake Biwa until a weekend in March.

I sat in the passenger seat of Holmes’s car, a Mitsuoka Viewt. We were currently on the Shiga-goe Pass, a route that connected Kyoto’s Shirakawa Street to Shiga Prefecture. It was also known as the Yamanaka-goe, meaning “mountain pass,” because it passed Mount Hiei on the way.

Along the mountainside, I saw an old-looking building with red flags and signs that said “Fudo-in Temple” and “Jizodani Fudou Onsen, Natural Radium Hot Spring.” I found myself bringing my face closer to the window to look at it.

“There’s a hot spring here, huh?” I remarked.

“Fudou Onsen is the oldest hot spring in Sakyo-ku,” Holmes explained. “It’s said that long ago, construction workers on the temple grounds discovered a mineral spring gushing from the granite. When those who injured themselves while working washed their wounds in the spring, they healed quickly, so the water came to be called ‘salvation water.’”

I looked at the building again. It had a unique atmosphere, as if it had assimilated into the mountain. “It does seem like it’d have beneficial effects.”

“Indeed. It’s also known as an energy vortex.”

“We’re at the foot of Mount Hiei, after all.” Suddenly remembering something, I took the guest house advertisement from Hino out of my bag. “Hino’s guest house says it has a private hot spring bath in each room. That means Lake Biwa has hot springs too, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. The famous one would be Ogoto Onsen, but there’s also a hot spring in Nagahama, where Hino’s guest house is.”

“I can’t wait,” I said, grinning.

We’d set out early this morning so that we could make the most out of our trip. The plan was to see various places in Shiga before arriving at the guest house in the evening.

Noticing some cherry blossom buds outside, I realized what season it was and felt apologetic. I clapped my hands together and said, “I’m sorry, Holmes. It’s already been almost a month since your birthday.”

“Don’t be.” He smiled and shook his head. “We’ve both been busy, and I was glad to have something to look forward to.”

“Holmes...” He always responds with words that ease one’s emotional burden—not just to me but to others as well. I love how thoughtful he is.

“I was so excited, I feared what would happen to my mental well-being after this trip was over,” he suddenly muttered with a serious expression.

I choked on my breath.

“Oh, but your birthday is in May. I can look forward to that next,” he continued, beaming.

It wasn’t an emotional burden, but his words took a different kind of toll on me. What am I going to do if he gives me something overly expensive for my birthday again? Then again, I’ve already warned him about it, so he should understand now, I thought with a strained smile.

“I’m sorry for always being so overbearing,” he murmured. “I’ll make sure my gift won’t burden you, but I still want it to be something heartfelt.”

I choked again. Holmes was an appraiser with a bright future ahead of him. Not only did he have a keen eye for observation, he also had sharp perception, to the point that it sometimes felt like he was reading my mind.

Regaining my composure, I straightened my back. “But before that, we’re celebrating your birthday today, so let’s enjoy this belated trip,” I said firmly.

“Yes,” Holmes replied happily. His childlike smile made my heart flutter.

We continued to drive up the mountain road. Before long, we passed through the gate to the Mount Hiei Driveway.

2

Our first destination was Enryaku-ji Temple, located northeast of Kyoto, on the southwest side of Lake Biwa. It was the first temple that came to mind when one thought of Mount Hiei.

We got out of the car and made our way toward the main building.

“This temple was founded by Saicho,” Holmes explained as we walked. “It is one of the sacred sites of Japanese Buddhism, along with Kongobu-ji Temple on Mount Koya, which was founded by Kukai. It is said that Enryaku-ji was built here in order to seal Kyoto’s demon gate.” Evil spirits were believed to enter from the northeast, hence the direction being called the “demon gate.”

“Come to think of it...” I looked up. “Iwashimizu Hachimangu Shrine sealed a demon gate too, didn’t it?”

“That’s right.” He nodded. “Enryaku-ji is the northeastern ‘demon gate,’ while Iwashimizu Hachimangu is the southwestern ‘rear demon gate.’ Both have been considered important guardians of Kyoto since ancient times.”

“But Enryaku-ji isn’t in Kyoto, right? It’s in Shiga Prefecture.”

He folded his arms. “Well, Enryaku-ji’s grounds cover about 1,700 hectares. It includes all of Mount Hiei and its foothills. In fact, ‘Enryaku-ji Temple’ is a collective name for the hundred or so buildings scattered across this vast area.”

I couldn’t begin to imagine how large 1,700 hectares was.

Holmes, sensing my plight, chuckled and raised his index finger. “It’s equivalent to roughly 363 Tokyo Domes or 500 Koshien Stadiums.”

“Oh, now I get it.” I giggled. “Why is it that even though I don’t actually know how big Tokyo Dome is, I can understand the sense of scale when you use it as a point of reference?”

“It’s certainly a very Japanese analogy.” He smiled. “Anyway, Mount Hiei is located right on the border between prefectures. The cable car station and observation deck at the summit are part of Kyoto Prefecture, while most of the temple complex is part of Shiga Prefecture. Enryaku-ji’s address is in Shiga because that’s where its office is. However...” He frowned slightly. “It doesn’t feel right to say that Enryaku-ji isn’t part of Kyoto. After all, it has a deep historical connection to Kyoto, and Mount Hiei is partially under Kyoto’s jurisdiction.”

Enryaku-ji Temple was part of Shiga Prefecture, but it also felt like a Kyoto tourist attraction. I’d always wondered why, but now I understood.

“Holmes, which prefecture do you think it should belong to?” I asked.

“Well, the main temple building is on the Shiga side, so it should be Shiga. The founder, Saicho, was from Shiga too.”

“That makes sense.”

“Now then,” Holmes said, looking at the path ahead, “The vast Enryaku-ji complex is divided into three areas: Yokawa in the north, To-do in the east, and Sai-to in the west. They each have their own central temple building. We won’t have time to visit all of them, though, so let’s go to To-do, where Konpon Chu-do is. That’s Enryaku-ji’s main temple hall.”

“Okay.” I nodded enthusiastically.

“Monjuro Gate is the main gate, which one would pass through first if they were visiting on foot.”

Since he’d mentioned it, we walked around to Monjuro Gate, which was quite far from the parking lot. It was a majestic structure. It had presumably once been a vivid vermilion, but the color had faded considerably. Still, this gave it a sense of history and culture.

“It’s named after Monju Bosatsu, a buddha of wisdom,” Holmes explained.

We bowed, passed through the gate, and cleansed our hands and mouths with the purification water before heading to Konpon Chu-do Hall.

“In the year 788, three years after Saicho erected a thatched hut on Mount Hiei, he built a temple at the site of the present-day Konpon Chu-do. That was where it all began.”

The thatched hut had come to be known as Ichijo-shi Kan-in.

“‘Chu-do’ in this case means ‘center hall,’ and the name is said to have come from the fact that it was originally located in the center of three buildings, Yakushi-do, Monju-do, and Kyozo. These three were later combined into one, but the name ‘Chu-do’ remained.”

We stepped into Konpon Chu-do Hall. It was built in shinden-zukuri style, with a courtyard on the south side and a corridor around it. It reminded me of a Heian-period noble residence. The hall was said to have burned down on numerous occasions, but it was fully rebuilt each time.

“The principal object of worship is withheld from public view, but it is said to be a statue of Yakushi-ruriko Nyorai carved by Saicho himself. Saicho placed a lamp in front of it, and legend has it that the flame within has never been extinguished in the twelve hundred years since.”

“Huh? Saicho’s flame has never once gone out?”

“No. When Nobunaga Oda set the temple on fire, the flame was moved elsewhere to preserve it. As a result, the lamp in Konpon Chu-do is called the Eternal Light.”

My heart was touched by the powerful sentiment that had been woven in the course of human history.

We left Konpon Chu-do Hall and visited three of the other halls, Dai Ko-do, Amida-do, and Hokke Soji-in. Then, as we walked around outside, we looked down at Lake Biwa and the city of Kyoto below.

“Wow, what a great view,” I remarked.

“It makes you feel more like a socialite than a hermit, doesn’t it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “True, it’s similar to the view from a high-rise condo.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t have been an issue for someone as virtuous as Saicho, but if someone less mature were to train here and gain power, they might mistakenly think they held the world in their hands.”

It was said that Nobunaga Oda had set Mount Hiei ablaze because Enryaku-ji had sided with his enemies, the Azai and Asakura clans. However, some theorized that it had also been because the priests at the time had been corrupt, indulging in luxuries, eating meat, drinking alcohol, and calling on women to join them in their depravity. Perhaps it was as Holmes surmised—living in a high place that overlooked the rest of the world, with money and power in their hands, had given them the false impression that everything belonged to them.

If Saicho were alive, what would he have thought? I looked down, feeling bitter.

“That said, Enryaku-ji has also produced many great priests. In fact, it’s known as the Mother Temple of Japanese Buddhism.”

“Really?”

“Many famous priests who founded schools of Japanese Buddhism studied here, such as Honen of Jodo Buddhism, Shinran of Shin Buddhism, Eisai of Rinzai Zen Buddhism, Dogen of Soto Zen Buddhism, Nichiren of Nichiren Buddhism, and Ippen of Ji Buddhism.”

“If most of their teachings were based on Saicho’s, does that mean they came from the Tendai sect?”

“Correct.”

“It’s kind of strange that there ended up being so many schools when the teachings were originally the same.” Today’s Japan was peaceful, but religious wars were still breaking out all over the world. Could these conflicts have been avoided if there were only one unified teaching?

“I think it’s inevitable, or rather, natural that a single teaching spawned many sects,” said Holmes.

“Is that so?”

“Everyone has their own interpretation. Even when it comes to enlightenment, some disciples can attain it in the same way as their teachers, while others cannot. Rather than copying everything that one’s teacher does, it’s important to take in good teachings and develop one’s own answers.”

“You might be right.” I fell silent for a moment. “I don’t know much about Buddhism, but the purpose of their training is to attain enlightenment, right?”

“Yes.” Holmes nodded.

“What exactly is enlightenment?”

“In Buddhism, it means awakening to the truth of the world.”

“It’s difficult to achieve, right? Is it even possible to comprehend the truth of the world in the span of a lifetime?” I muttered, crossing my arms. “And is enlightenment something you can only attain by becoming a devout Buddhist?”

Holmes chuckled. “I hear that in the Tendai sect, the way to enlightenment is open to all.”

“Really?”

“People tend to think that attaining enlightenment requires performing Buddhist practices such as reciting ‘Namu Amida Butsu’ or meditating, but the Tendai sect teaches that each person can have their own path, whether it be through artistic outlets like tea ceremony, flower arranging, painting, and sculpture, developing human relationships, or raising children. As long as your mind is seeking the truth, that is the way to enlightenment. Sometimes dealing with complicated relationships can be harder than sitting under a waterfall, after all. Even while living an ordinary life, one can still learn the truth.”

I nodded in agreement. His words resonated with me. Years ago, when I’d heard that my ex-boyfriend had started dating my best friend right after breaking up with me, I’d felt as if my heart had been torn apart. But now, looking back on that time, I didn’t feel the same pain because I’d confronted the problem and put the past behind me. Perhaps that could be considered life training too.

“I think I understand,” I said. “When you’re suffering from messy relationships, you might think meditating under a waterfall would be easier. Not that I think it really is easy, of course.” I gazed at the view in front of us. “But in the end, attaining enlightenment is difficult, huh?”

“I feel that the term ‘attaining enlightenment’ is an exaggeration. The way I see it...” Holmes suddenly fell silent. He was looking behind me, his eyes widened in disbelief.

Wondering what he’d seen, I turned around and gasped in surprise.

“Fancy meeting you here, Holmes and Aoi.” It was Ensho—real name Shinya Sugawara—dressed in a hat, a black leather jacket, and jeans.

For a second, Holmes looked both startled and relieved. However, his expression quickly changed to an irritated scowl.

“Indeed, what a coincidence,” Holmes said. “Where have you been all this time?”

Ensho had disappeared about a month ago—the last time I’d seen him was on February 14th, at the exhibit the pottery club had held at the Demachi Masugata shopping street. He had moved all of his belongings out of the Komatsu Detective Agency, leaving a note that said “Thanks for everything.” There had been no sign of him returning to his apartment in Adashi Moor, nor had anyone been able to get in contact with him.

“I felt like looking down at Kyoto, so I came here and ran into you guys of all people. We really are hopelessly linked to each other, eh?” Ensho chuckled in amusement.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Holmes replied. “Where have you been?”

“Do I have to tell you?”

Seeing Ensho’s crooked smile, Holmes sneered back at him. “I won’t force you to, of course. Komatsu has been worried about you, but you appear to be doing well, and that’s all that matters.”

Actually, Holmes had been worried too. But unfortunately, Ensho didn’t seem to care that his colleagues had been concerned about his well-being.

Unable to hide his annoyance, Holmes turned away and said, “Aoi, let’s go.”

“Huh?” Bewildered, I looked between the two of them and decided to walk up to Ensho. “Thank you again for your contribution to the Valentine’s Day exhibit. I was worried when I heard that everyone had lost contact with you. I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Something flashed in his eyes. He faced the scenery and said, “The flowers shall decide.”

“Huh?”

Ensho smiled softly. “See ya.” He turned his back to me and walked away.

I felt uneasy as I watched him leave. I nearly ran after him but stopped when I remembered how gentle his smile had been.

“Aoi,” Holmes said, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Oh, sorry. I was worried too, so...”

“It’s fine. What did he say?”

“Um, nothing, really. Except...”

“Except?”

“He said, ‘The flowers shall decide.’”

“I see,” Holmes murmured. “I thought he might tell you something if I left.”

So that was why Holmes had angrily turned on his heel—it had been an act to get Ensho to open up.

“Well, he doesn’t look tired or stressed, so he’s probably all right.” Holmes glanced at Ensho’s receding figure and breathed a sigh of relief. “Shall we go, then?” he asked, seeming to have regained his composure.

We left the To-do area of Enryaku-ji Temple.

3

At the foot of Mount Hiei was a shrine called Hiyoshi Taisha. It was the head shrine of all Hiyoshi, Hie, and Sanno shrines in Japan, and it was said to be even older than Enryaku-ji Temple.

Holmes had suggested, “When descending from the Shiga side of Enryaku-ji, you should stop by Hiyoshi Taisha too.”

And so we did.

“When Saicho built his temple on Mount Hiei, he revered Hiyoshi Taisha—which was simply called Hiyoshi Shrine at the time—as a guardian deity, because it enshrined the local deity of Mount Hiei,” Holmes explained as he looked up at the torii gate. It had a triangular gable on top of it.

“That’s an unusual torii shape,” I remarked.

“This is called a Sanno torii. It represents the union of Buddhism and Shinto.”

I hummed. “Is it because they joined hands with Enryaku-ji?”

“Perhaps. This shrine also protects the demon gate, and it’s known for warding off misfortunes caused by directions or unlucky years.”

We bowed in front of the Sanno torii before proceeding into the shrine grounds.

“‘Hiyoshi Taisha’ is the collective name for roughly forty shrines within these grounds. The two main deities are enshrined at Nishi Hongu and Higashi Hongu, the western and eastern main shrines.”

We prayed at Nishi Hongu and Higashi Hongu, then walked leisurely through the shrine grounds.

I smiled as I looked around. “There really are a lot of monkey-related things here.”

There was Saruzuka, meaning “monkey burial mound,” Masaru-sha, meaning “monkey stable,” Saru no Reiseki, meaning “miraculous monkey rock,” and numerous monkey carvings. A peek at the gift shop showed a large selection of monkey souvenirs.

“The word ‘saru’ has been associated with Hiyoshi Taisha since ancient times. In addition to meaning ‘monkey,’ it can also be found in the phrases ‘sending away evil’ and ‘excelling.’ As such, monkeys have been treated as a symbol of warding off evil.”

“They call them ‘masaru,’ as in ‘divine monkeys,’ right? I remember that from a novel I read that talked about Hiyoshi Taisha.”

“Was it set in Shiga?”

“No, it mainly took place in Kyoto. It was about a division of the Kyoto Prefectural Police that exterminated evil spirits.”

“Similar to what Reito does, then.”

“They were a bit different from Reito. In the story, they used special katanas and naginata to battle demons.”

As we talked, we returned to the car. Since it was almost noon, our next destination was a soba restaurant that served Enryaku-ji Temple. It was located in Sakamoto, a town at the foot of Mount Hiei.

“Take a look at that,” Holmes said, looking out the window as he drove.

I followed his gaze and saw a stone wall. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the stones were of varying sizes.

“They fit together so neatly even though they’re all different sizes,” I remarked.

“This is the work of Anoshu, a stonemasonry group that was active in the Azuchi-Momoyama period. They built beautiful and sturdy walls using their Ano-zumi technique of stacking natural stones. Anoshu originated in Sakamoto, and the stone walls they created can still be seen here today. Oh, right, there was a novel written about them too.”

“Is it the one that recently won the Naoki Prize?”

“Yes. It’s a historical novel full of adventure.”

I hummed and looked at the wall. Stones of all different sizes were slotted together like puzzle pieces. “Kansai—or, well, western Japan as a whole—has a deep history, huh?” It wasn’t just Kyoto. Even here, on the other side of the mountain, one could still see traces of history-makers from long ago.

“Indeed. Any place where people have lived has a history of sentiments and techniques, and in western Japan, many traces of that history have remained intact to this day.”

“You can really sense the drama that unfolded here.”

“Now, shall we have lunch?”

“Yes!”

We ate at the soba restaurant in Sakamoto, then returned to the car.

The Lake Biwa region was divided into four areas: north (where Nagahama was), east, south, and west. We were currently heading north on National Route 161, which ran along the west side of the lake. The warm spring afternoon made for a refreshing drive with a lovely view.

I soon spotted a torii gate floating in the water. “Huh?” I leaned forward. “Holmes, there’s a torii in the lake.”

“That belongs to Shirahige Shrine, which was founded around nineteen hundred years ago. It’s said to be the oldest shrine in Omi Province, the former name of Shiga Prefecture.”

“It’s beautiful. It reminds me of Itsukushima Shrine, although I’ve never been there.”

“People also call it the ‘Itsukushima of Omi.’ I’ve been to Itsukushima Shrine, but my impression was different. Itsukushima has a grand and powerful atmosphere, but the mysterious sensation you get when you see the torii floating in the water may be weaker compared to that of Shirahige Shrine.”

“It is a strange feeling. It’s like something you would see in a dream.”

The large vermilion torii towering over the deep-blue lake looked fantastical, like the entrance to another world. It must be chillingly beautiful in the twilight hours.

We continued along Route 161, which briefly diverged from the lake to pass through an area lined with metasequoias. It was truly a tree tunnel. I’d love to come here again in a later season, when the leaves are at their best.

“Oh, right, you should also try a salad roll while we’re in Shiga,” said Holmes.

“What’s that?”

“A specialty of a Shiga bakery called Tsuruya Pan. It’s a bread roll containing pickled daikon and mayonnaise.”

“Huh? Pickled daikon?”

“It has an exquisite taste.”

We eventually arrived at Kurokabe Square in Nagahama, on the north side of Lake Biwa. We got out of the car and leisurely walked through the area.

According to Holmes’s explanation, Kurokabe Square was the general name for an intersection along the Hokkoku Kaido highway that utilized traditional architecture. It centered around the Kurokabe Glass Shop, which had been renovated from an old bank—nicknamed Kurokabe Bank for its black walls—from the Meiji period. The old-fashioned streets were also lined with museums, galleries, glass workshops, cafés, and restaurants.

“Kurokabe is especially famous for its glass workshops,” he said. “It’s known as the ‘Town of Glass.’”

Western-style buildings reminiscent of the Meiji period stood next to Japanese-style wooden townhouses in a way that felt perfectly natural. Off in the distance, I could see the distinctive black walls of the elegant Kurokabe Glass Shop.

I didn’t know there was such a wonderful place in Shiga, I thought, impressed.

“I’ve been meaning to bring you to the Kurokabe Glass Shop ever since you first took an interest in glassware,” Holmes said.

My heart fluttered. I lowered my gaze, trying to hide the tears welling up in my eyes.

Holmes turned around and looked at me curiously, either oblivious to my feelings or pretending not to notice them. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No, I’m just moved.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He offered me his hand. “Shall we go?”

I shyly accepted and gazed at the quaint streetscape as we headed to the Kurokabe Glass Shop. There were many middle school and high school students in front of the building. Perhaps they were on field trips.

Just as we were about to enter the shop, foreign tourists stopped Holmes and asked him for directions. Holmes answered their questions with a smile. Not wanting to block the entrance while I waited for him to finish, I went inside first.

As I was thinking, I really have to work on my English too, I heard some girls whispering.

“Don’t worry. The two of us just need to deceive her.”

“Y-Yeah, I know.”

What are they talking about? Before I could look for the girls, Holmes entered the building.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.

“Were you able to help the tourists?” I asked.

“Yes. They were saying that they’ve been all over Japan and that this area reminds them of Otaru.”

“Oh, right. Otaru is also known for its glass.”

We looked around the shop. It had glass from all over the world—Venetian glass, Bohemian glass, Turkish glass, and Japanese kiriko glass. There was even a hands-on experience where visitors could try making their own glass. Glass beads, pipes, flowers, accessories... Just looking at all of the glasswork in the shop made my heart pound with excitement.

“Holmes, this place is amazing,” I murmured.

“If there’s anything you want...”

“It’s okay. I’ll buy them myself,” I replied immediately. “I love these glass pens. They’re beautiful.”

“Ah, those are nice. I’d love to give you one—why don’t we buy them for each other?”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Can you choose a pen for me?”

“I think it’d have to be indigo or deep green. Which one do you think would suit me?”

“Perhaps this light-red one, or the jade-green one because it resembles aoi leaves.”

“Ooh, these are great.”

As we were fawning over the pens, Holmes suddenly noticed something and looked toward the corner of the shop. Following his gaze, I saw a group of students standing in a row with grave expressions on their faces.

“So who broke it?” their female teacher asked.

None of the five schoolgirls answered. They all looked confused.

“I’m not going to punish anyone,” the teacher continued. “I just want to know who did it.”

The students remained silent. The teacher facepalmed.

A store employee came over and said, “We’ve finished cleaning up. Is anyone hurt?”

“No,” the students replied quietly.

“I’m really sorry about this,” the teacher said, bowing deeply to the employee.

“It’s fine.” The employee shook her head and went back to her work.

The teacher sighed and raised her head. Sensing our stares, she looked in our direction. “Oh!” She placed her hand over her mouth. “Is that you, Yagashira?” She walked up to us.

“It’s been a while, Sawada,” said Holmes.

“It really is you. You haven’t changed one bit.”

“I doubt it. The last time we saw each other was in my third year of high school.”

“You do look more mature and handsome, but I recognized you right away.”

“Um, you know each other?” I asked, confused.

“Yes,” Holmes said with a smile. “This is Hidemi Sawada, my high school junior. She was also on the student council.”

He said “also” because Hino, the owner of the guest house we would be staying at tonight, had been on the same student council with Holmes.

“This is my fiancée, Aoi Mashiro,” Holmes said to Sawada.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, bowing.

Sawada giggled. “Yagashira, you’re still being called Holmes? Are you still solving problems like a detective too?”

“Huh?” I looked at Holmes. “Have you been doing that since high school?”

“No, of course not. As I’ve said many times, people called me Holmes because of my surname,” he insisted. “Sawada, are you a schoolteacher now?”

“Yes,” Sawada replied. “I teach at a high school. We came to Kurokabe Square on a field trip, but... I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“From the sound of it, someone broke the merchandise?”

She nodded with a pained look on her face. “You see...”

Sawada explained that a little while ago, the second floor of the shop had happened to be completely empty except for five of the students. Their names were Aiko Ikushima, Iori Kaido, Shizuka Kitagawa, Taeko Kuninaka, and Mami Sone. It wasn’t a group of friends—the students had been divided into groups based on their order in the attendance list.

“I left the five students there while I went to use the restroom,” she continued. “When I came back, I found a broken wine glass. It was quite expensive too.”

Aside from the students, no one else had been on the second floor at the time. Shocked, Sawada had asked them who had broken the glass, but they had all refused to answer. For the time being, she had told them to call for the store staff, and she had just finished apologizing.

“Just now, I was asking them again, but...”

The students were still remaining silent.

“I know it wasn’t on purpose, so I wish they’d just be honest,” Sawada murmured, slumping her shoulders.

Holmes hummed and folded his arms. “Why don’t you speak with them one at a time? There are things that are hard to say in front of others.”

“You’re right. I’ll do that. Um, would you mind being present while I talk with them? You can read minds, after all.”

It seemed that Holmes really had been the same since high school.

Sawada decided to question each student individually. She called the first student—Aiko—to the empty staircase landing. Aiko seemed like the honest and energetic type. She had semilong hair and looked Sawada straight in the eye.

“I didn’t break it,” Aiko said.

“Do you know anything about what happened?” Sawada asked.

The girl averted her gaze. “I was in the accessory section with Iori the whole time, so all I know is that it wasn’t either of us.”

Next, we heard from Iori. She looked like the honor student type, with glasses and a ponytail that fell past her shoulders.

“I didn’t break it,” Iori said. “I was looking at accessories the entire time.”

“Do you know anything, then?” Sawada asked.

The girl glanced up at the ceiling and said, “Mami was in the wine glass section.” It wasn’t a definite accusation, but the implication was there.

The third student was Shizuka, who had a calm atmosphere. She placed her hand on her cheek with a troubled expression.

“Um, it wasn’t me,” she said.

“Do you know who it might have been?” Sawada asked in a gentle tone.

Shizuka tilted her head. “I’m not sure, but Aiko was wandering around the second floor the whole time, and Taeko never left the glass section. I think it was one of them.”

The fourth student was Taeko, whose semilong hair was beautifully curled. She had an air of maturity unlike a typical high schooler, and judging by the brand-name watch on her wrist, she possibly came from a wealthy family.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Taeko said languidly.

“Did you see anything?” Sawada asked.

Taeko sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “No, but I think it was Iori or Shizuka.”

The last student was Mami, who wore makeup. Her blazer was unbuttoned, and her shirt wasn’t tucked into her skirt. In other words, she was the flashy type.

“Look, it wasn’t me,” she said in a blatantly annoyed tone.

“If you know anything...”

“I don’t. But Aiko and Shizuka are clumsy, so it was probably one of them.”

After questioning all of the students, Sawada groaned and held her head in her hands. “I can’t believe one of them would continue to lie and pin the blame on others. I’m so ashamed.”

As a teacher, it must be depressing when your students refuse to tell the truth.

Holmes held up his index finger. “I suspect that all of them were lying.”

“Huh? All of them?” Sawada and I asked in unison.

“Yes.” Holmes nodded.

“Do you think that because of how they were behaving?” Sawada asked.

“That’s part of it, but it wasn’t just their behavior.” Holmes gave a strained smile. “As an example, let’s say that all five students knew who the culprit was. When you first asked them who broke the glass, it was in front of the entire group. It makes sense that none of them said anything, because they couldn’t incriminate the culprit in front of everyone. They must all be kindhearted people.”

After a pause, he continued.

“And just now, you questioned them one by one. Those who know the truth obviously wouldn’t want to be deemed the culprit. They would want to take this chance to report who the real culprit was, but at the same time, they wouldn’t want to be a snitch. So they spoke vaguely, naming the culprit alongside someone else.”

“So they were telling me who broke the glass?” Sawada asked.

“I’m still speaking hypothetically,” Holmes reminded her. “Now, let’s look back on their testimonies. Aiko said it wasn’t her or Iori, but didn’t name the culprit. Iori named one person, Mami. Shizuka named two people, Aiko and Taeko. Taeko also named two people, Iori and Shizuka. Mami named Aiko and Shizuka.”

“Yes...” Sawada and I said, trying to follow along.

“But let’s instead focus on who’s innocent according to the testimonies.”

Two people testified that Aiko wasn’t the culprit.

Three people testified that Iori wasn’t the culprit.

Two people testified that Shizuka wasn’t the culprit.

Three people testified that Taeko wasn’t the culprit.

Three people testified that Mami wasn’t the culprit.

“Aiko and Shizuka had fewer people claiming their innocence,” Holmes said. “It’s possible that one of them was the culprit, while the other was blamed to muddy the waters.”

I gulped.

“Is something the matter?” Holmes looked at me.

“Um, I heard some whispers earlier.” I recounted what I had heard when I first entered the building.

“Don’t worry. The two of us just need to deceive her.”

“Y-Yeah, I know.”

Thinking back, I felt as if the voices had belonged to two of the students we’d just heard from, but I couldn’t remember who.

“It’s as I thought, then,” said Holmes. “I imagine when Sawada told the students to call for the store staff, they went down to the first floor, and that was when you overheard their conversation. Sawada, who did you send to call the staff?”

“They all scattered in different directions to look for someone, so...” Sawada replied timidly.

“In that case, let’s go back to my theory. Assume all five know who the culprit is. Aiko and Shizuka were the vaguest in suggesting multiple suspects. Aside from Aiko, who didn’t name anyone directly, the only one who didn’t name Shizuka was Iori. When you think about it that way, does a certain possibility not come to mind?”

“Could it be that Iori was protecting Shizuka, and Shizuka was trying to shift blame to Aiko?” I murmured.

“Correct.” Holmes nodded. “I think it’s highly likely.”

“Even if it was to protect her friend, she shouldn’t accuse someone else,” Sawada said, disappointed.

“I’m sure there were personal feelings involved in the testimonies.”

“Personal feelings? As in grudges?”

“Not so much grudges as negative thoughts. For example...” Holmes raised his index finger. “Aiko seems like an honest and kind girl. She didn’t accuse anyone—instead, she testified that she and Iori had been in the accessory section the entire time, which is probably true. Meanwhile, Iori is the honor student type, so she wouldn’t like seeing Mami’s makeup and disorderly uniform. That would explain why she named her.”

His theory made sense.

“Shizuka is the gentle type. She probably adores Iori for being dependable and didn’t like that Aiko was with her. That is why she named Aiko. Next, Taeko seemed overly calm. It’s possible that she realized Iori was covering for Shizuka and named both of them because of it. Lastly, Mami named Aiko because she doesn’t like typical ‘good girls.’”

Holmes’s powers of analysis were a force to be reckoned with. Sawada seemed frightened—her face had turned pale.

As I ruminated over Holmes’s hypothesis in my mind, something stood out to me. “Wait...” I furrowed my brow. “Shizuka named Taeko in addition to Aiko, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Holmes nodded firmly. “I believe that is where the key to this case lies.”

“What do you mean?” Sawada and I asked, awaiting his next words with bated breath.

“I suspect Shizuka named Aiko and Taeko because she is jealous of them—Aiko because she is close with Iori and Taeko because she is wealthy.”

Sawada gave a bitter expression, neither confirming nor denying the statement. Her reaction suggested that Shizuka’s family was indeed in a difficult financial situation.

“You really haven’t changed,” she finally said. “I’m going to talk to them again, this time keeping what you said in mind.”

“Please do,” Holmes said gently. “By the way, this field trip is insured, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Including property damage liability?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, you should tell Shizuka that. It’s possible she was reluctant to confess the truth because she thought she would have to pay for the expensive glass she broke. The other students wouldn’t have been able to say anything either because they know about her family’s situation.”

“Oh!” Sawada’s eyes widened. “I didn’t even think to tell the students about the insurance because it was so obvious to me. I’ll make sure to let them know.”

“Yes, please do.”

“Thank you.” Sawada bowed deeply before going back to her students.

Holmes and I bowed back and returned to where the glass pens were.

4

After purchasing our pens, we looked around the Kurokabe Music Box Hall. Then, we snacked on the salad rolls that Holmes had mentioned in the car.

At last, it was time to head to our lodging. Hino’s Lakeside Guest House was located near Saikachi Beach. It was a Canadian-style building with two-tone exterior walls that were part brick and part white. It also had a large terrace.

The door was in the center of the building’s frontage. Inside, we found a reception counter where a woman in her late twenties was smiling at us. She was wearing a black vest and pants with a dark-red tie. Her outfit was very similar to what Holmes typically wore at Kura.

“Welcome,” she said.

I took the postcard out of my shoulder bag and bowed. “I’m Mashiro. I have a reservation.”

“We’ve been waiting for you, Miss Mashiro.”

The woman rang the bell on the counter, and a man wearing the same uniform came out from a back room.

“Hello, Hino,” I said.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Mashiro and Mr. Yagashira,” he said. “Please follow me.” He courteously took our bags and went upstairs, opening a door on the right side of the second floor. “Here is your room.”

From the entrance to the living room, I could see an L-shaped sofa, a large window, and the door to the bedroom. Outside the window, there was a spacious balcony with a view of Lake Biwa. The balcony was surrounded by partitioning screens, beyond which was an open-air bath.

“You’ll find drinks in the fridge, like beer, orange juice, tea, and water,” said Hino. “These are provided free of charge, so feel free to have them. Also, dinner will be Omi steak, but since the weather is nice today, you can also choose to have a barbecue on the balcony. Would you like the regular meal or the barbecue?”

Holmes and I looked at each other before replying in unison, “The barbecue.”

“In that case, we’ll take care of setting up the charcoal grill and cleaning up afterwards. The beef and vegetables will be delivered to your room—do you have any allergies or preferences?”

After a run-through of the meals and facilities, Hino’s expression relaxed as if he were shifting out of work mode.

“Thank you again for coming,” he said.

“No, I should be thanking you for the postcard,” I replied. “Oh, this is a souvenir from Kyoto.” I bowed and held out a box of mini apple pies from a store called Baikal. They were called “Happiness Pies.”

“And this is from me,” Holmes added, presenting a bottle of champagne in a box.

“Wow, I really appreciate the gifts,” said Hino. “I feel kind of bad since all I did was send you an advertisement.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” said Holmes. “Thanks to you, Aoi invited me on a trip.”

“You haven’t changed, huh?” Hino murmured with a distant look in his eyes.

Holmes looked around the room. “This is a lovely establishment. The exterior is that of a guest house, but the service is similar to a hotel. Was that the business concept?”

“It was originally a typical guest house with a homey atmosphere, but last year, my wife’s parents retired and we took over. We tried to run it the same way they did, but it didn’t go well. That kind of service is really personality-dependent.”

“I’m sure it is,” I said.

“My wife and I aren’t good at having casual conversation with strangers, so we decided to make it more like a hotel, where we could be attentive to guests without having to talk to them more than necessary. We had uniforms made and went for a more professional approach. That had better results.”

“I see.” Holmes nodded. “It’s important to work in a style that suits you.”

“Speaking of style, this uniform was based on yours,” Hino said, placing his hand on his chest.

“I had a feeling.”

“I’ll treat you to wine in return. It’ll go perfectly with the Omi beef.”

“Thank you.” Holmes smiled.

As the sun began to set, the barbecue was set up for us on the balcony. Sofa benches were placed in a square around the grill, with tables at the corners. Footlights softly illuminated the balcony.

On the tables were a variety of ingredients: Omi beef, sausages, eggplants, zucchinis, onions, and bell peppers, along with baguettes and small pots of prawns and cheese fondue. There was also a small cake with a plaque that said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”

“Okay, it’s time to finally celebrate your birthday, Holmes,” I said, picking up my glass of wine. “Happy belated birthday.”

“Thank you,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

We sipped our wine and tasted the beef.

“Wow, it’s delicious,” I said.

“Omi beef is one of the top three types of wagyu in Japan. It has a high degree of marbling and melts in your mouth. Here,” Holmes said, placing a moderately grilled piece of meat on my plate.

“Oh, you should eat too.”

“Don’t worry; I will.” Despite saying that, his eyes didn’t leave my plate.

“I had fun today. I didn’t know Shiga was such a wonderful place.” I sipped my wine again and gazed at the darkening sky and lake.

“Yes, it really is.”

“I feel like Shiga misses out because it’s next to Kyoto.”

“Huh?”

“Kyoto is just too incredible. I think Shiga would be a much more popular tourist destination if it were located a bit farther away. Mount Hiei, Lake Biwa, Shirahige Shrine, and Nagahama are all so beautiful.”

Holmes chuckled softly.

“Um, did I say something weird?”

“No, I was just thinking that you might be right. There are many more great places in Shiga that we didn’t get to visit today, like the Biwako Terrace, La Collina Omihachiman, Ogoto Hot Spring, and Hikone Castle. Shiga deserves to be more popular.”

“It really does.” I nodded firmly, then sighed. “But even though I wanted to celebrate your birthday today, you ended up doing all of the work. I feel like I was only on the receiving end, and that’s frustrating.”

“Oh?” Holmes smiled fondly. “I had a splendid time. Seeing you enjoy yourself at each place filled me with worldly desires.”

“Worldly desires?”

“Yes. My mind was constantly focusing on tonight’s activities. The thought of being able to spend all night with you made my heart burn with passion.”

I choked.

“However, this is purely my own fantasy, so if you drink too much and don’t feel well, or if you simply aren’t in the mood, please don’t hesitate to tell me. I am capable of waiting.” He placed his hand on his chest and flashed me a smile that somehow seemed completely innocent.

It probably wasn’t the wine that was making my cheeks and ears feel hot. Holmes looked amused as he regarded my surely flushed face.

“You’re as wicked as ever,” I muttered.

“I’m merely stating my honest feelings. Well, perhaps you wouldn’t be able to imagine.” He shrugged.

I stood up and sat next to him. He looked at me, confused.

“It’s not like...I don’t have fantasies either,” I whispered in his ear.

His eyes widened, and his face turned bright red. “You can’t just say that,” he said, covering his mouth with his hand. Holmes was good at being assertive, but he quickly became a mess when he was on the receiving end, and I adored that about him.

We teased each other for a while. Afterwards, I gently rested my head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Aoi,” he said. “I couldn’t ask for a better day.”

“Me neither. Everything from Mount Hiei until now was so much fun. Oh, speaking of which, when we were talking about enlightenment at Enryaku-ji Temple, you were interrupted when Ensho showed up. I’ve been wondering what you were going to say.”

“Ah, that.” He smiled cheerfully. “Enlightenment is the truth of the world. I believe that it’s fine for it to be different for everyone.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, because everyone has their own perspective. Right now, we’re sitting next to each other in the same place, but the scenery we see is slightly different.”

I silently listened to him speak. Thinking about it, the colors of the sky and lake from my perspective would be a bit different than they were from his.

“If I die, the world from my perspective will disappear,” he continued. “Everyone has their own unique world.”

I turned my eyes to the lake. Only one world from this perspective existed. I felt the words sink in.

“I always thought the world would keep turning without me,” I said. “In reality, if I died, the world would keep turning, but the world from Aoi Mashiro’s perspective would disappear, huh?” I murmured.

“Aoi, if you’re gone, my world will disappear too. Please remember that and value yourself.”

He said it so seriously; I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you. I will. So what does enlightenment mean to you, Holmes?”

“I think it’s the same as the answer to the question, ‘What does happiness mean to you?’”

“Happiness... It’s different for everyone, so it makes you think.”

“The way I see it, happiness is an ephemeral feeling or sensation.”

I tilted my head, not understanding what he was saying.

“For example, when you achieve a goal, eat something delicious, or go somewhere you’ve always wanted to visit, that momentary feeling of satisfaction and elation is ‘happiness.’ Like cotton candy, the sweetness quickly spreads in your mouth but disappears just as fast. It’s very fleeting.”

Come to think of it, I always felt happy the moment I got into the bath or laid down on my bed, but that feeling didn’t last forever.

“People often say that getting married, having a child, getting a promotion, or making your dream come true will give you happiness, but even those things will feel normal soon enough. When that happens, people are confused because they’d thought they’d already obtained happiness.”

“Now that you mention it, it’s easy to think, ‘I’ll be happy if this happens.’”

“Exactly. But happiness isn’t something that can be seen, so it’s impossible to assign it to something with a tangible form. If you try to, you’ll feel starved by your current situation and think, ‘I can’t go on like this.’ Then you start acting recklessly and eventually lose sight of yourself.”

If happiness is a momentary feeling, then thinking “I’ll be happy if I become _____” isn’t quite right. No matter how lofty the dream, once it comes true, you’ll get used to it quickly.

“Since happiness is ephemeral, I think it’s important to always be looking at the small happy moments around us and reflecting on each one,” Holmes continued. “This is just my personal opinion, though.”

“I feel like I really have attained enlightenment...”

He chuckled. “My greatest happiness is being with you like this. Each and every moment feels fresh and full of joy.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and leaned his head against mine.

“Oh, you.” I laughed and patted his head.

“I’m only going to get worse tonight. Please be ready,” he said, peering into my face and touching my cheek.

So much for getting the upper hand on him.

Before I knew it, the sun had set and the sky had turned indigo. The moonlight reflected on the lake seemed to create a path of light on the water’s surface. The sight was so beautiful that I teared up, my heart filled with warmth.

Today truly was a perfect birthday celebration.

Short Story: Probing Gaze

“Oh, so this is what the store you work at is like, Mashiro.”

One afternoon during spring break, I was working at Kura when a member of KyoMore came in. KyoMore was short for the Make Kyoto More Beautiful Project, a volunteer group led by Akihito Kajiwara’s younger brother, Haruhiko. It was similar to a university club, but its activities and membership extended beyond our school.

This man’s name was Kohei Shinoda, and he attended a private graduate school in Kyoto. During a KyoMore gathering where we were picking up trash along the Kamo River, we’d learned that we were both from Kanto, which had sparked conversation. I’d mentioned that I worked part-time at an antique store in Teramachi-Sanjo, and he’d said he would visit sometime. I hadn’t expected him to actually come, though, so this was a surprise.

Shinoda looked around the store curiously. “How long have you been working here, Aoi?”

“Oh, since high school.”

I was startled by his sudden usage of my first name—he’d called me Mashiro upon entering the store, after all. Then again, there were people like Akihito who quickly closed the distance with those they met. Maybe Shinoda was like that too.

“Here you go,” I said, placing a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Thanks.” He sipped his drink. “This is a nice shop.”

Shinoda explained that he’d been doing some solo sightseeing since school was on break. He’d stopped by here on his way back from Nishiki Market. He’d moved to Kyoto for graduate school after doing his bachelor’s in Kanto, so he was still new to the city and everything was exciting to him.

“I wander around whenever there’s a break,” he said.

I nodded. I could relate to that feeling.

“You moved here in your first year of high school, right? Are you already a Kyoto expert?”

“Not at all.” I shook my head. “There’s a lot to know about Kyoto.”

“I bet. I’m not even used to the Kyoto dialect yet. People here use different words for things, and at first I didn’t know what they were talking about half the time.”

“Yeah,” I said with a giggle. I didn’t run into that issue too often nowadays, but I remembered having difficulty adjusting at first too. “I was so confused by ‘Fresh’ in coffee.”

“Same! And there are so many stores that aren’t in Tokyo, like Fresco, Shinshindo, and Sizuya!”

“Now that you mention it, yeah...”

“Do you feel at home here now, Aoi?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” I tilted my head.

Suddenly, there was a clatter upstairs. Shinoda looked up at the ceiling, startled.

“Is someone there?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. He’s doing some work.”

Holmes was currently performing an inventory check on the second floor.

“That’s good. I was afraid it might be a ghost.” Shinoda placed his hand on his chest, relieved.

“A ghost?” I giggled.

“Oh yeah, you mentioned applying for an internship at the museum. How’s that going?”

“I’m still plugging away at the paperwork.”

“It seems like there’ll be a lot of applicants, right? How are your chances looking?”

“To be honest, I think it’ll be difficult, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Well, I’m rooting for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, do you think you’d be able to show me around Kyoto sometime?”

“Huh?” I didn’t know what to say. He probably genuinely just wanted a tour, but I didn’t feel comfortable going somewhere alone with him. “Oh, um, if it’s with the rest of the KyoMore members, then sure.”

“So you wouldn’t want to if it was just us?”

Would he think I’m overly self-conscious if I said, “I have a boyfriend”? I mean, he’s probably not actually asking me out... No, it’ll be faster if I just tell him.

“Um, I’m going out with someone, so...”

Shinoda blinked twice, then chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Okay, that’s what I thought.”

“The KyoMore members are all locals. I figured you’d be able to show me around from the same perspective as a tourist.”

I understood what he was saying, but... “Sorry, I really don’t think I can.”

He hummed. “You sure are serious, Aoi.” He rested his cheek on his hand, suddenly seeming to be in a bad mood.

“Oh, um, it’s less that I’m serious and more that—”

“Her boyfriend—rather, fiancé—is right here,” came a voice from upstairs.

Shinoda and I looked up with a start. Holmes, dressed in a suit, was slowly descending the stairs. Shinoda stared at him, his eyes wide.

“She can’t help but feel uncomfortable if another man asks her out while her fiancé is nearby, can she? Especially when her fiancé, aka me”—Holmes came behind the counter, wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me closer to him—“gets jealous very easily.” He grinned.

Shinoda’s face went pale. “Oh, sorry.” He quickly stood up from his chair. “Uh, I really didn’t mean anything by it, but yeah, I guess her partner wouldn’t like it, huh? I’m really sorry,” he stammered before fleeing the store.

“He ‘didn’t mean anything’?” Holmes murmured with a faint smirk when Shinoda was out of sight. “Why would he run away unless he had something to feel guilty about?”

“He’d run away no matter what,” I said. “You’re radiating a terrifying aura right now, Holmes.” I shrugged with a strained smile.

“Oh, is that so? But I smiled at him.”

“It was the smile of the devil.”

“In that case, my apologies,” Holmes replied nonchalantly.

I giggled, and he gave me a sideways glance.

“Knowing you, you probably thought, ‘There’s no way he has ulterior motives, so it’d be fine to give him a tour,’ didn’t you?” said Holmes.

“It’s true that I didn’t think he had ulterior motives, but I would’ve refused even if you weren’t here.”

Holmes’s eyes widened.

“Why do you look so surprised?” I asked.

“I wasn’t expecting that. You tend to not be cautious of people.” He wasn’t wrong.

“If it was in a large group, it’d be fine. But I wouldn’t go anywhere with just him, because...”

“Because?”

“If you went somewhere with another woman for nonprofessional reasons, I wouldn’t like it either.” It was embarrassing to admit my jealousy, so I couldn’t look him in the eye.

Suddenly, I heard a loud thud next to me. I turned my head in surprise and saw Holmes face down on the counter.

“Holmes?!” I exclaimed.

“You’re too cute, Aoi. I really can’t take it anymore. But the store’s still open.” He clenched his fists atop the hard surface.

I gently rested my hand on the counter and he squeezed it.

“Can we go on a date after work?” he asked softly. “It doesn’t even have to be a date—I just want to be alone with you and do lovey-dovey things.”

Feeling my face heating up, I gave a small nod and squeezed his hand back.

“Aoi...”

And so, after closing the store, we went on a date—but the particulars of what happened are our little secret.

Chapter 2: Behind the Scenes of the Grand Stage

1

It was now July. Holmes had finished his training at the Komatsu Detective Agency and returned to Kura, but he still visited the office occasionally to see how things were going.

Today, as we were walking in Gion, he suggested, “Shall we drop by the Komatsu Detective Agency?”

“Sure.” I nodded. “You like looking after people, huh?”

“Looking after people?” He seemed conflicted.

“Oh, I guess Komatsu would be angry if he heard that.” He’s much older than Holmes, after all. Komatsu was in his forties and had a daughter around the same age as me.

“I don’t think he would be.”

“Really?”

We continued to walk hand in hand. We were on our way back from delivering a Kyoto-ware vase to a restaurant in Gion.

“I was surprised by this request,” I murmured. “I didn’t know Kura loaned out antiques.”

Holmes chuckled. “We just started recently. Traditional restaurants and inns need vases and tea bowls to match the seasons. It wouldn’t be interesting if they were the same every time, though, and not everyone can afford to always be replacing them. One such restaurant asked us for advice, and we decided to offer this service on a trial basis.”

“So that’s what happened.”

“This is the age of subscriptions, so it might be nice to provide seasonal implements on an annual contract.”

“That sounds interesting. Nowadays, there are even subscriptions for things like clothes and purses.”

“My grandfather wasn’t too fond of the concept, though. He said, ‘I don’t like rentals.’”

“I’m not surprised,” I said with a strained smile. The owner had an old-fashioned way of thinking, so he probably wouldn’t be able to accept the idea of a subscription for antiques. “Did he object to it?”

“No, but he said, ‘If you’re really gonna start this, choose the customers carefully and set the bar high.’”

“Will you also provide services like you did just now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, not just delivering the antiques but also giving advice.”

The item we had just delivered was Sokuzen Eiraku’s “Pale Blue-Green Kochi Crane-Necked Vase.” I thought back to our time at the restaurant.

“The Eiraku family is the head family of Kyoto ware and one of the Senke Jisshoku—ten artisan families that supplied the Sen family. Sokuzen, born in Kyoto in 1917, was the sixteenth head of the Eiraku family. He received the name Sokuzen quite recently, when he retired in 1998. Before then, he was known as Zengoro. He is hailed as one of the greatest craftsmen of the modern era. This crane-necked vase is...”

As its name implied, the vase had a beautiful, long, slender neck. The proprietress had asked Holmes to give this explanation to the waitresses and chef, who were listening attentively to his eloquent speech.

“Its curves are firm yet graceful, and the blue-green glaze is stunningly vibrant. The addition of summer flowers will make it stand out even more.”

“Indeed,” the proprietress said with a cheerful smile. She had requested a vase for white bellflowers. “It’s perfect. Oh, Kiyotaka, what do you think of our website? Is it easy for foreigners to understand?”

Even though the question had nothing to do with antiques, Holmes didn’t hesitate to provide his feedback.

“Of course.” Holmes nodded. “If necessary, I can even prune their trees or change their light bulbs,” he said with a smile.

I fell silent. If he launches this service, it’s going to be more like a Holmes subscription than an antiques one.

“Well, it’s still in the pilot phase, and I haven’t decided when it will officially begin. I still need to go somewhere else before I settle down at Kura, after all.”

“Wait...wasn’t Komatsu’s office your last placement? You can take over Kura now, can’t you?”

“Yes, but I intend to work at one more company first, for about a year.”

“Huh? Where are you going?”

“A tax consulting agency. I want to become a certified accountant.”

“But...” I looked at Holmes. “I thought the certification exam required two years of experience.”

“Yes, in order to be eligible based on work experience, you need to have been engaged in accounting activities for a corporation or sole proprietorship for at least two years. I’ve been Kura’s accountant for many years and I’ve already passed level 1 of the official bookkeeping proficiency test, so I actually already qualify. I just want to gain more practical experience first.”

“You’re going to become an accountant?”

“Yes. I’d like to do as much tax work as I can while working at Kura.”

“I see.”

“After I get my certification, I’ll be able to formally handle my father’s tax returns as well.”

Holmes’s father—the manager, Takeshi Yagashira—was an author who mainly wrote historical novels. Tax returns were the bane of his existence, and he always struggled to prepare them. Holmes helped him every year out of pity, but it wasn’t paid work.

“It seems like there are a lot of authors who aren’t good at doing their taxes,” I said.

“Indeed.” Holmes nodded. “One of his acquaintances is having a hard time and can’t find an accountant who suits her needs. She said to me, ‘Kiyotaka, can you hurry up and get certified?’”

“That was Kurisu Aigasa, right?”

“Could you tell?” He grinned mischievously.

“It was a pretty good impression.”

Kurisu Aigasa was an author known for her trademark pigtails and Gothic Lolita fashion. Her dark fantasy and mystery novels were very popular—most of them had been adapted into TV dramas, movies, or anime series. She also liked Holmes’s personality so much, she’d modeled the protagonist of a book after him. She would definitely be a good client if he became a tax accountant.

I giggled, then sighed. “But still, you’re going away on training again...” Just when he finally came back to Kura...

“The office is in Shijo, so it’s within walking distance. I’ll be working from 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., and I’ll come back to Kura after that.”

“Has it already been finalized?”

“Yes. They’ve agreed to take me on starting in September.”

“Wow, you work fast. So you’re going to be both an appraiser and an accountant, huh?”

“Does it seem strange?”

“No, it suits you. It’s just that I thought you’d be like the owner and focus solely on mastering the art of appraisal.”

“That would be ideal, but it’s no longer possible to make a living from Kura’s sales and appraisal work alone. That ended with my grandfather’s generation. Nowadays, one needs to branch out and do a variety of things. Most of all, I think it’s best to have more than one source of income.”

This was something Holmes said often.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I have to think about it too. Even if I get a curator certification, I probably won’t be able to work at a museum or art gallery.” Only a handful of people could get jobs at such places. Most people with curator certifications weren’t able to make use of them. “It’d be nice if I could continue to be involved in art while looking for something I can do.”

“You’re welcome to keep working at Kura forever,” Holmes said, peering into my face.

“I appreciate the offer, but I do want to find a proper job. I want to see the outside world like you are. I wonder what kind of work I can do,” I murmured.

“It’s fine to think in terms of ‘what can I do,’ but you can also try thinking in terms of ‘what don’t I dislike’ and ‘how I can work.’”

“How I can work?”

“In my case, I don’t love accounting, but I don’t hate it either. I want a job I can do from home or at Kura that I don’t dislike, and that was how I arrived at tax accounting.”

“That makes sense.” I nodded. “I think I’d rather go out than stay home.” I was always excited on my way to Kura.

“For now, I hope you’ll get that internship at KNM.”

“Yeah.” I smiled weakly.

Thanks to his corrections, my application had passed the initial screening. There had been an interview after that, and now I was waiting for the results, which I was told might take until the end of July.

“It sounds like there were a ton of applicants, so I’ve basically given up hope,” I said.

“Don’t lose heart so soon. You never know... Oh?”

Holmes stopped in his tracks. I followed his gaze to Minamiza Theater, a building designed in the style of the Momoyama period. Next to its iconic large red lantern was an eye-catching banner above the entrance that said “Case Files of a Kyoto Detective: The Tragedy of the Grand Family.”

“Wow!” My eyes lit up. “They already put up the sign.”

“It’s almost opening day, after all.”

The play was based on a novel by the aforementioned Kurisu Aigasa. Written as a pastiche of Ellery Queen, it was a mystery set in Showa-era Kyoto, featuring dual protagonists. Kiyosato Kamizu, modeled after Holmes, was the son of a wealthy merchant, while Akito Kajima, modeled after our actor friend Akihito Kajiwara, was a student.

For the stage adaptation, the setting had been changed to the Taisho period. Akito Kajima would be played by Akihito, while Kiyosato Kamizu would be played by...not Holmes, but a kabuki actor named Kisuke Ichikata. They and their costars were featured prominently on the banner. Kisuke had a beautiful face, shiny black hair, and fair skin. There was no better actor to play the role of Holmes.

As I was thinking about the play, a pair of tourists commented on the sign.

“Huh? Minamiza’s doing a play that isn’t kabuki?”

“Wow, that’s unusual.”

“If Kisuke Ichikata and Akihito Kajiwara are starring, I have to see it.”

Holmes and I looked at each other and smiled.

“It is unusual for a nonkabuki play to be performed at Minamiza,” I remarked.

“They began showing other plays at the beginning of the Heisei period, so it’s been quite a while now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Even Minamiza has changed with the times.”

“Yeah.” I looked up at the sign. “I can’t wait to see Akihito perform.”

Holmes glanced at the theater and grinned. “I imagine he’s absorbed in his final rehearsal right about now.”

“Do your best, Akihito!”

We continued on our way, crossing Shijo Bridge to the west.

2

“Kiddo! Little miss! Thanks for coming!”

The Komatsu Detective Agency was located in a renovated wooden townhouse south of Kiyamachi-Shijo in Gion. Upon our arrival, the chief, Katsuya Komatsu, welcomed us with a big smile on his face.

“Thanks for having us,” we said, bowing.

“It’s been a while, Komatsu,” said Holmes.

“Have a seat,” the detective said, standing up and gesturing toward the sofas. “I was just making coffee.” He headed into the kitchen.

“Is there anything troubling you?” Holmes asked in a gentle tone.

If an outsider had seen this, they probably would have wondered, “What is this young man talking about? That’s not something you ask a detective.” Komatsu didn’t feel that way, though. He placed all of his trust in Holmes and always wanted his help. In fact, even if there wasn’t anything troubling him, he would still want Holmes in the office. This was because he worshipped Holmes as a god of fortune.

Holmes sat down and looked around. The office was cleaner and tidier than expected. “He doesn’t seem to be in trouble,” he murmured.

Komatsu returned with a tray. “Oh, I’m in trouble, all right. I’ve got so much free time that I’m bored enough to clean the place.” He served our coffee and took a seat on the sofa across from us.

“The supplies have been replenished, though, so you don’t seem to be struggling financially.”

He was even checking the supplies?

“Well, I can thank my side job for that,” Komatsu said, scratching his head.

Before becoming a detective, Komatsu had been a white-hat hacker. He’d refrained from saying the name of the organization he’d worked for, but apparently he’d been on one of the top cyber teams in Japan. Now, he used those skills and knowledge to take on programming jobs on the side.

“Why don’t you just make your side job your main job?” Holmes asked nonchalantly.

Komatsu choked on his coffee. “You’re so mean, kiddo.”

“Hmm? Was that a mean thing to say? Your side job is earning more money, isn’t it?”

“But I’m a detective first and foremost,” Komatsu said, placing his hand on his chest. The man was proud of his occupation.

Holmes smiled. “I understand how you feel.”

“Glad you do.”

At first glance, Komatsu seemed the same as always, but I noticed he was missing his usual gusto.

Holmes glanced at Ensho’s desk and asked, “Has Ensho come by at all?”

Komatsu heaved a sigh. “Nope. I wonder how he’s doing. Oh, you guys ran into him at Mount Hiei, right?”

“Yes. He seemed fine.”

I couldn’t help but interject. “Um, how long ago did Ensho disappear? What exactly happened?”

“Lemme think...” Komatsu crossed his arms. “Around February, he sent me an email saying, ‘I’ll be gone for a while.’”

Later, Ensho had visited Kura and had shown me his drawings. They hadn’t been finished pieces, but rather sketches with a tinge of color added. They had depicted three Kyoto scenes as seen from Shijo Bridge: Cacao Market, Tohka Saikan, and Minamiza Theater. The exotic, fantastical touch had made the familiar sights look like foreign landscapes. Since I’d been impressed by them, he had torn them out of his sketchbook and given them to me.

“They’re just doodles, so if you like ’em that much, you can have ’em,” he’d said.

“I can’t accept these,” I’d said, startled. But, fearing that continued refusal would result in him throwing them out, I had taken them anyway. “Um, I’d like more people to see these. May I display them at the upcoming Valentine’s Day event at the Demachiyanagi shopping street?”

“They’re yours now, so you can do what you want with ’em,” he’d said before taking his leave.

On Valentine’s Day, I’d done as I’d said and displayed Ensho’s drawings at the Pottery and Flowers exhibit at the café in Demachi Masugata. Ensho had stopped by and said, “I didn’t think they’d be displayed in a cutesy place like this,” sounding embarrassed but happy.

After I relayed what I knew, Komatsu crossed his arms and muttered, “Oh yeah, it was the day after Valentine’s.” He stroked his neck bashfully. “On Valentine’s Day, my wife and daughter invited me for dinner, which usually doesn’t happen. I left the office at 6 p.m. for that. When I came to work the next day, I found a note that said, ‘Thanks for everything. I’ll return my spare key via post at a later date.’ Because of the polite language and fancy handwriting, for a second, I seriously had no idea who’d written it. I quickly realized it was Ensho, though.”

Komatsu gave a strained smile.

“His desk was wiped clean. It was all polished and shiny, and his personal belongings were gone. I took a peek at the second floor and it was totally empty—he’d even cleaned his room. He never missed rent or utilities, so I can’t complain, but it was sad to see him go so suddenly. That guy doesn’t seem chatty, but when it was just us, he’d talk to me about a bunch of stuff.”

“Did you try to contact him?” I asked.

“Of course.” Komatsu nodded. “I tried calling and emailing him, but he didn’t respond. Worried, I went to his apartment in Adashi Moor, but I didn’t see his motorbike, so he probably wasn’t there.”

Holmes nodded in silence. I had the feeling that he had also gone to check on Ensho’s apartment.

“Well, I feel better knowing that he seemed fine when you ran into him at Mount Hiei,” said Komatsu. “When you think about it, it’s just like him to leave out of the blue.” Despite his words, he still seemed lonely. He probably missed the days he’d spent with Holmes and Ensho in this office.

A somber atmosphere filled the room. As if to break the silence, Holmes’s phone rang.

“Please excuse me,” Holmes said, standing up and heading to a corner to take the call.

“Holmes, where are you right now?” It was Akihito, speaking loudly enough that I could hear his voice at a distance.

Holmes grimaced and distanced the phone from his ear. “I’m at Komatsu’s office. Why do you ask?”

“Nice, that’s really close. Come over to Minamiza!”

“I can’t. I’m with Aoi.”

“She can come too! I’ll be waiting!”

Akihito ended the call, leaving us with that unreasonable demand.

“Did something happen to Akihito?” I asked, concerned.

“Who knows?” Holmes tilted his head. “Sorry, Komatsu. I know we just got here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Komatsu. “I appreciate you stopping by.”

“Um, if Ensho comes by, could you tell me?”

“Sure.” Komatsu nodded. “Even if you won’t admit it, you’re worried too, right?”

“Well, it’s more that...” Holmes trailed off, averting his gaze with a bitter expression.

We bowed to Komatsu and left the office.

3

When we arrived at Minamiza Theater, a man in his late thirties, wearing a suit and glasses, approached us and bowed.

“Yagashira, Mashiro. It’s been a while.”

He was Akihito’s manager, Tamachi. I had met him once before at the staff party for an event Akihito had been part of at Hirakata Park.

“Hello again,” Holmes and I said, bowing as well.

“I’m sorry you suddenly had to come here. Please follow me.” Tamachi led us into the theater.

“What happened?” Holmes asked.

“There was a rehearsal today, so most of the cast and staff members are present.”

We looked around the lobby as we trailed behind him. The vermilion carpet and white walls were dazzling to the eye, but since there wasn’t a performance being held, there were no spectators to be seen. Busy-looking, casually dressed people—probably staff—came in and out every now and then, but otherwise, the place was deserted.

We entered the seating area, which was dimly lit. Only the stage was brightly illuminated. The actors were chatting on the stage—I spotted Akihito and Kisuke among them.

Akihito noticed us and waved. “Oh, Holmes! Over here!” With his light-colored hair and well-defined features, he could be so attractive if only he could have kept quiet. Instead, he was jumping up and down, shouting, “Holmes! Holmes!”

“Who’s Holmes?” asked the actors aside from Kisuke.

Holmes’s lips were curved in a smile, but there was no mirth in his eyes. “I’m used to being called Holmes, and it shouldn’t bother me...so why is it that I just want to run away right now?”

For once, I sympathized with him. He resignedly walked onto the stage, smiling and placing a hand on his chest.

“It’s nice to meet you, everyone. My name is Kiyotaka Yagashira. Since my surname has the character for ‘home’ in it, people like to call me ‘Holmes.’”

The actors’ confused expressions instantly changed to those of understanding. No wonder he uses that explanation so much. Strangely enough, I was learning something from this too.

“So, what happened here?” he asked.

Akihito eagerly wrapped his arm around Holmes’s shoulder. “You won’t believe this. The author, Kurisu Aigasa, is here!”

Aigasa timidly stepped out from the wings of the stage. She was dressed in her usual jet-black Gothic Lolita fashion. Only the ribbons in her pigtailed hair and around her neck were a bright blue. She’d often worn red ribbons in the past, but perhaps she’d switched to blue since it was summertime. Her dress also had short sleeves, and she had a blue rose tattoo sticker on her upper arm.

“Oh!” The actors cheered and clapped.

“Thank you for coming today, Aigasa,” said Kisuke, presenting the author with a bouquet of flowers.

Holmes bowed to Aigasa, then looked at Akihito. “You called me because Aigasa was here?”

“Yep!” Akihito nodded firmly. “The author of the book this play was based on is here! That means we need to get the characters’ real-life models together too, right? And that’s you and me!”

“Wait, was today your first time meeting her?”

“We met briefly before, but it was just to say hi. This is the first time she’s come to watch our rehearsal. Aigasa, I’m so glad you’re here!” Akihito took Aigasa’s hand and shook it vigorously.

In other words, now that opening day was approaching and the crew were doing their final rehearsals, Aigasa had come to see them for the first time. Akihito, delighted that the original author had come to spectate, determined that he had to call Holmes over so that he could meet her too.

The problem was that Akihito didn’t know that Holmes and Aigasa saw each other all the time. Aigasa came to Kura from time to time to chat with Holmes and take pictures of him. So for Holmes, meeting her was not a special occasion. Judging from the apologetic glances Aigasa was shooting his way, she knew it too.

Holmes knew better than to ruin the mood, though. He quickly put on a cheerful smile and stopped Akihito’s hand. “Hey, don’t swing the author’s hand around like that.”

Akihito snapped out of his reverie and let go of Aigasa’s hand. “Sorry!”

“I wanted to come sooner, but work has been busy, so I’m afraid I had to leave it until the last minute,” Aigasa said nervously. “Thank you all so much for performing in this adaptation of my book.” She bowed.

The cast and staff applauded again. Holmes and I joined in too.

Kisuke walked up to Aigasa and bowed. “Thank you for coming, Aigasa.”

A few of the actors, following his lead, bowed and said, “It’s an honor to meet you.” They were the ones playing the members of the Hanayashiki family—the “grand family” referred to in the play’s title.

The Hanayashiki family consisted of four siblings: two older sisters, one younger brother, and a half-sister from their mother’s previous marriage. Each of them had wildly different traits. The eldest sister, Shoko, was the very picture of a proper lady. The second sister, Ranko, was extravagant and free-spirited. The brother, Kikuo, was an arrogant jerk. Lastly, their half-sister, Yuriko, was blind and deaf.

The Hanayashikis were played by talented actors and actresses. My best friend, Kaori Miyashita, was a fan of stage plays, and when the roles had been announced, she had exclaimed, “What a star-studded cast!”

The actors for the siblings said that when they were on set, they called each other by their character names in order to immerse themselves into their roles. So I decided to think of them as Shoko, Ranko, Kikuo, and Yuriko as well.

“I’ve been a stage actor all my life, but with Akihito as leader, this is one of the friendliest sets I’ve been on,” said Kikuo, a well-built man. When he was quiet, he seemed intimidating, but now that he was smiling and laughing, he looked like a very nice person. According to Kaori, he was a popular stage actor who often played strong and fearless roles. This might have been his first time playing a character like Kikuo.

Shoko stepped forward next. “I’ve always been an avid reader, and I especially love tragic series. I’m so happy to be able to play the role of Shoko.”

She was an actress who often appeared in TV dramas as well, and she tended to be cast as the gentle older sister type. For this role, she had straight black hair and a beautiful, calm atmosphere.

“I’m Akky’s friend, so I auditioned because I heard he was leading this play,” said Ranko.

I’d met her before on my first visit to Minamiza Theater. She was a model and Kisuke’s ex-lover. Her stage name was Airi Kano, but just for today, I would call her Ranko in my mind. To match her role, she had wavy red hair and bright-red lipstick.

“I’m having so much fun playing Ranko,” she energetically told Aigasa. “I really want to do my best in this role, for Akky’s sake too!”

“Hey, Ranko, you’re doing it again,” Shoko chided her, probably because Ranko was referring to their leader as “Akky.”

“Oops.” Ranko shrugged.

Yuriko was played by an actress who had appeared on television since she was a child. She was said to be excellent at supporting roles rather than leading roles. She smiled gently and said, “I’ve always lived in the world of dramas, so this is my first time performing in a play. I auditioned because I’m a big fan of the novel, and I’m really looking forward to the show.”

As I watched the actors introduce themselves to Aigasa, I murmured, “They’re all perfect for the characters they play, huh?”

“Yes,” Holmes said with a nod. “They really are professionals. They’ve assimilated into their roles.”

“So it’s because of their acting ability? Wow.” I gulped.

Kisuke, who was playing Holmes, smiled at Aigasa and said, “The dance scenes were especially tough, but we’ve been practicing hard, so please look forward to seeing them.”

“Oh, um, yes. I will.” Aigasa gave an awkward bow. Perhaps she was nervous.

“Huh?” said Holmes. “There are...dance scenes?”

“Yes,” said Kisuke. “Plenty of them.”

“Er, which part of The Tragedy of the Grand Family had dancing in it?”

The story was a pastiche based on Ellery Queen. It took place in Showa-era Kyoto (Taisho era for the stage adaptation). It was a full-fledged mystery with a lighthearted touch, and, as Holmes said, it contained no dancing whatsoever.

“Oh, yeah,” said Akihito. “It’s been adapted as a musical.”

“What? A musical?” Holmes asked.

“That’s right,” Kisuke replied, placing his hand on Holmes’s shoulder. “You—as in, my character, Holmes of Taisho—do a tap dance while you deduce things in your head.” He shifted his hand to his chest and twirled around as if dancing.

“Why is that necessary?” Holmes squeaked, sounding unusually distressed. It was a valid question.

“Because it’s a musical,” Akihito and Kisuke replied in unison as if it were common sense.

“Isn’t it too comical to tap dance while solving a mystery?”

“The dance isn’t going anywhere,” Ranko and Kikuo stated with serious expressions. Shoko and Yuriko, who were fans of the original novel, simply chuckled awkwardly.

Holmes spun to face Aigasa. “Are you all right with this, Aigasa? Your story has been drastically altered.”

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine,” said Aigasa. “I was the one who wanted to make it a musical.”

Holmes froze. The other actors also looked surprised—they must not have known either.

“I love shows with singing and dancing, like the Takarazuka Revue’s. So I wanted it to be more like a musical, and the director was on board with it.”

“Still, tap dancing while deducing?” Holmes facepalmed. It was probably hard for him to accept because the character was based on him.

“It’s okay,” I said reassuringly. “This is just a stage production. And since Kisuke is playing the role, it’s bound to be wonderful.”

“Aoi gets it,” Akihito said with a toothy grin. “Well then, we’re gonna practice the scene where I meet Holmes now. Watch us, okay?”

“Ooh!” My face lit up, as did Aigasa’s. Holmes, however, nodded weakly.

We excitedly took our seats in the audience as the actors retreated offstage. Akihito moved to the edge of the stage, while Kisuke set an armchair in the center and sat down.

“All right,” said Akihito. “Aigasa, can I get you to clap your hands? We’ll start when you do.”

“Oh, um, okay,” said Aigasa. She raised her hands in front of her chest, gulped, and clapped them.

I heard Akihito take a deep breath.

“Holmes, Holmes! We have an emergency!” Akihito shouted, running toward center stage only to stop in his tracks. “Well, I guess it’s not an emergency.”

Next, he spread his arms and broke into song, twirling around as he did.

“My name is Akito Kajima, and I’m a grand student in this grand Taisho era. I don’t care if they call me a dropout; I go at my own pace, and that’s my strength!”

Holmes watched with a cold expression. “It really is a musical,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” I replied.

At first, I thought it was awkward too. But as I watched, I found myself drawn in. Akihito’s singing and dancing captured his charm and carefree nature perfectly.

“He’s so cute,” Aigasa whispered enthusiastically, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

Even Holmes seemed to change his opinion as he watched. “I didn’t know Akihito could sing and dance that well,” he murmured, impressed. However, his expression darkened again when Kiyosato “Holmes” Kamizu—played by Kisuke—began his part. Kisuke folded his arms and hummed as Akihito, who had burst into the room, relayed the contents of the newspaper article to him.

“The head of the Hanayashiki family, believed to have run away from home, was found dead at the Port of Osaka?” Kisuke asked.

“Yeah,” said Akihito. “My brother and the other officers were arguing about whether it was a suicide or murder.”

Kisuke slowly rose from his seat. With a sudden clack of his heels, he began to tap dance. “The Hanayashikis own an enormous business...” Tap, tap. “And the late head married into the family.”

Rhythmic steps echoed through the theater. I was floored by the intensity of his dance. Holmes’s mouth was agape as well.

Kisuke stopped and looked at Akihito. “It was probably suicide.”

“Huh? What makes you think that?”

“He was head of the family in name only. His wife held the rights to their assets. Perhaps if he were younger, there could be a motive for murder, but I see no reason to kill him after he’s already turned sixty.”

“Man, I thought for sure it’d be murder and you’d be on the case.”

“If every death were a murder, I’d never get any rest,” Kisuke said with a tap of his foot.

We couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“That’s how it goes,” Akihito said, coming over to our seats with Kisuke.

“It was wonderful,” Aigasa and I said, clapping enthusiastically.

Holmes clapped too. “Well...it’s entertainment, so I suppose it’s a good thing that it’s over-the-top,” he said as if to convince himself.

Akihito beckoned for us to follow him back on stage.

“There’s gonna be a dance battle between me and Kisuke too!” he proclaimed.

“A dance battle?” Holmes repeated, bewildered.

“Yeah. We practiced like crazy.”

“I still think the dancing is excessive,” Holmes muttered.

“Hey, Holmes, do you know how to tap dance?” Akihito asked, ignoring his friend’s complaint.

“No. I’ve never done it before.”

“Oh. Why don’t you give it a try right now?”

“What? Why?”

“You said something about being able to copy someone’s movements just by watching them, didn’t you?”

“I only meant it in a general sense.” Holmes turned away.

“Hey, Aoi.” Akihito looked my way. “Don’t you wanna see Holmes tap dance?”

“Huh?” I squeaked. Kisuke’s tap dancing had startled me at first, but it really was amazing. If the real Holmes were to tap dance... Imagining it made my cheeks flush.

Upon seeing my face, Holmes placed a hand on his chest and said, “I’ll do it.”

“What?” I gaped. “But I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, it’s a rare opportunity. However, I would like Akihito and Kisuke to join me.”

“Sure,” Akihito said, his eyes lighting up. “This is a dance-off too, in a way.”

“In that case, how about we have Akihito go first, then me, then Kiyotaka?” Kisuke suggested.

“Let’s do this!”

The three men stood in a triangle and faced the center. Akihito went first, followed by Kisuke. Then Holmes, who had been following their movements with only his eyes, began. Even though it was his first time, he danced just as well as the other two, much to everyone’s surprise.

Akihito and Kisuke looked a bit frustrated and picked up the pace. Eventually, the three formed a line and tapped their feet in unison, stopping at the same time when Akihito gave the cue.

Aigasa and I cheered and applauded.

“That was amazing,” I said.

“Three hot men tap dancing? Absolutely powerful!” Aigasa clapped furiously.

“Man, Holmes really is incredible,” said Akihito.

“He must exercise regularly,” said Kisuke.

“Hey, Holmes, why don’t you perf—”

“No, thank you,” Holmes interjected.

“There’s no way Kiyotaka would perform in the play,” Aigasa said with a laugh before looking at Akihito. “The mood at this rehearsal has been really nice, and I think it’s largely because of Akihito’s efforts. I feel fortunate to have you as the leader. Thank you.”

“Whoa, I’m so happy to hear that,” said Akihito. “Thanks. Hey, wanna get dinner tonight?”

He took Aigasa’s hand again, and her face immediately turned bright red. We all laughed. After taking a commemorative photo with everyone, Holmes and I left the venue.

It had been a very cordial experience, with the exception of Holmes’s occasional displeasure. However, I hadn’t realized at the time that someone had been watching us with malicious intent.

4

The incident took place the night of our visit to Minamiza Theater. The official social media account for The Tragedy of the Grand Family posted something completely unthinkable.

“Today, the author suddenly showed up with no prior notice, wearing her usual Gothic Lolita stuff. Does she think it suits her? Her rose tattoo was like a bruise. It hurt to look at.”

The attached photo had been taken at a moment when Aigasa’s eyes were half closed. It was truly a spiteful post.

The post was deleted right away, but many people had already seen it. Over the next few days, the topic blew up to the point where the phrase “Official Slander” was trending at one point.

I had expected Aigasa to fly into a rage, but instead, she chose to remain silent. The official account also had yet to release a statement, perhaps because they were still deciding how to handle the situation. However, social media was flooded with posts saying, “They knew the author visited, so it must’ve been an insider” and “They should figure out who did it and make them step down.”

“Holmes, help!” came Akihito’s cry for assistance. The situation was rapidly worsening. “It’s almost opening day, but we can’t practice ’cause everyone’s suspecting each other. The audience won’t be able to enjoy the show either at this rate. We need you, Holmes.”

“Kiyotaka, I’d like to ask for your help too,” said Aigasa.

Unable to turn down the author’s heartfelt request, Holmes had no choice but to investigate the matter.

5

Not long after the uproar, Holmes and I returned to Minamiza Theater. Gathered on stage with us were Akihito, Kisuke, the stage manager, the director, and the actors playing Shoko, Ranko, Kikuo, and Yuriko.

“The login info for the official account is shared between me, the director, and the actors,” explained the stage manager, a man named Yokoyama.

“In other words, all of the actors are free to post whatever they like?” Holmes asked.

“No.” Yokoyama shook his head. “Only the main actors—the ones here.”

Kisuke, Shoko, Ranko, Kikuo, and Yuriko looked at each other.

Aigasa seemed annoyed. Today, she was wearing a bright-red dress as if to spite whoever had ridiculed her Gothic Lolita fashion. She glared coldly at the actors.

“If you come forward, I won’t escalate this further,” she said. “Is anyone feeling honest?”

It was hard to think that anyone would admit their guilt in front of the others. The actors simply stood there with bitter looks on their faces.

Holmes looked around at everyone, hummed, and folded his arms. “Even if we inspected everyone’s phones, the culprit will probably already have deleted anything that could be used as evidence, such as images. However, if I ask my detective friend for a favor, we’ll know right away who accessed the account.”

He must be talking about Komatsu.

“Can they really find that out?” the director asked.

“Yes, but the fee will be quite steep,” Holmes replied.

The director’s expression clouded over.

“I’ll pay for it,” said Aigasa. “I don’t care how much it costs.”

Even after hearing this exchange, none of the actors seemed to panic. I had no idea whom to suspect, but I wondered if Holmes had already figured out the truth.

Aigasa looked at everyone and said, “I’m simply curious. You all should have known what kind of author I am. Why would you write something like that after choosing to work on this play?”

I could sense that she was seething with anger.

“Aigasa, what do you think the motive was?” Holmes asked.

Hearing that, the author seemed to regain her composure. “They’re probably an aspiring writer.”

“Huh?” I blurted. “So one of the actors wants to become an author?”

“Yes.” Aigasa snorted. “It’s not an unusual situation. I could see their envy toward me in the tone of their post.”

“By the way, did you really show up without prior notice that day?” Holmes asked.

“I would never be so rude. I contacted Yokoyama before I came,” Aigasa replied, annoyed.

Yokoyama bowed apologetically. “I didn’t tell the actors because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Did the staff know?” Holmes asked.

“They did. I needed someone to pick her up when she arrived, as well as someone to prepare the bouquet.”

I hummed. “I guess it has to be one of the actors after all.”

“Not necessarily,” said Holmes. “The culprit could have pretended not to know in order to remove themselves from the pool of suspects.” He looked at Yokoyama. “May I ask how you and the director got your jobs?”

The two looked puzzled.

“Erm...” Yokoyama scratched his head. “The publisher requested me because I’ve worked on quite a few stage adaptations in recent years. It’s my first time directing at Minamiza, so I was really happy to do it.”

“It was a similar situation for me,” said the director. “Any trouble becomes my trouble, so this incident has been a real headache.”

“Tell me about it,” said Shoko. “As I said before, I auditioned for this play because I enjoy tragic series. If I had a problem with the author, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Agreed,” said Yuriko. “I’ve been in this industry since childhood. Even if I did take issue with something, I would never let it interfere with my work. Most of all, I auditioned because I’m a fan of Aigasa, and I was excited to be able to play Yuriko.”

“Me too,” said Kikuo. “In my case, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to play an intense, villain-ish character like Kikuo. I really want to make the show a success.”

“Yes,” Kisuke said with a nod. “I feel exactly the same way. I think Aigasa’s style is unique and very charming. Moreover, I’ve never spoken poorly of a woman in my life,” he declared proudly, placing a hand on his chest.

“Aha ha!” laughed his ex-girlfriend, Ranko. “It’s true. Kisuke would never insult a woman.”

“That’s right.” Kisuke nodded again.

“Oh, speaking of which, are things going well with Rei Asamiya?” Ranko asked.

“Well, yes...but I don’t think we need to discuss that,” Kisuke replied, embarrassed.

“Yeah, now’s not the time. Sorry.” Ranko turned to Holmes. “I’ve been a model for a while now, but I wanted to try something new. That was when I found out that Akky—I mean, Akihito—was starring in a play. The theater world is all about skill, so I was always scared they’d be harsh on someone like me. But I figured if Akihito was the leader, it’d be fine. That’s why I auditioned. This play has been really fun, and it’s a chance for me to expand my potential. I’d never ruin it by posting slander.”

I frowned. Listening to everyone’s defenses, I found myself thinking that none of them could possibly be the culprit.

Similarly stumped, Aigasa gave Holmes a sideways glance and asked, “Kiyotaka, who do you think did it?”

“At the moment, I cannot provide any proof,” said Holmes. “Not until Komatsu identifies the culprit. All I have is conjecture.”

“I’m fine with conjecture. Just tell me,” the author said impatiently.

“Very well. I will be addressing the actors by the names of their roles. Shoko, Yuriko, Kikuo, Ranko—where are you from?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Everyone stared blankly at Holmes for a second.

“Um, I’m from Tohoku,” said Shoko.

“Tokyo,” said Yuriko.

“Kyushu,” said Kikuo.

“Oh, I’m from Kanto,” said Ranko.

Holmes turned to Ranko. “You say you’re from the Kanto region. Would your hometown happen to be in Ibaraki Prefecture?”

“Huh?” Ranko’s eyes widened. “Um, yes, it is. Actually, I still live there. How do you know that? It’s not a secret or anything, but it’s not in my public profile.”

“The other day, you let your accent slip when you were introducing yourself to Aigasa. I was curious about it, so I looked it up afterwards and found out that it was Ibaraki dialect.”

“Oookay...” Ranko’s face stiffened. “So what about it?”

“The problematic post also used Ibaraki dialect. ‘Her rose tattoo was like a bruise.’”

Ranko frowned, not knowing what he was talking about.

“Is it the ‘bruise’ part?” I asked. The word had been written with the characters for “blue blemish” rather than “blue mark.”

“That’s right,” said Holmes. “‘Blue blemish’ is how it’s written in Ibaraki dialect.”

“Huh?” Ranko’s eyes widened again. “It’s not universal?”

“That means...” Shoko glanced at the other actress. “You made the post.”

Ranko shook her head, flustered. “No, it wasn’t me! Really! I think Aigasa’s aesthetic is super cute.”

The others, including Aigasa, didn’t seem to believe her. They glared at her coldly. Just as Aigasa was about to say something, Holmes spoke up as if to interrupt her.

“Indeed,” he said. “I don’t think it was you either.”

“Huh?” Ranko and Aigasa blinked.

“The rest of the post didn’t sound like it was written by you. It was as if the regional way of writing ‘bruise’ had been crudely added in to give the impression of a dialect.”

“Does that mean someone tried to frame Ranko?” I murmured.

“Yes, I suspect that to be the case. For example, someone who’s more sensitive to Ranko’s dialect than others...”

Come to think of it... I recalled the events of the other day. Someone had immediately chided Ranko after her introduction.

“I’m having so much fun playing Ranko. I really want to do my best in this role, for Akky’s sake too!”

“Hey, Ranko, you’re doing it again.”

That person had been...

Everyone looked at Shoko. Her face was pale and her eyes were darting around. It was often said that eyes spoke louder than words, but in this case, she seemed to be confessing with her entire body.

Bewildered, Aigasa looked back and forth between Shoko and Holmes. “Why would she...”

“I suspect it was due to the dance scenes,” said Holmes.

“Huh?”

“Shoko never specified that she liked the original novel. She said she was a fan of tragic series, which I take to include Ellery Queen’s Drury Lane, consisting of The Tragedy of X, The Tragedy of Y, The Tragedy of Z, and Drury Lane’s Last Case. Am I mistaken?”

Shoko awkwardly shook her head.

“And The Tragedy of the Grand Family is a pastiche of The Tragedy of Y,” Holmes continued.

We listened to his reasoning in silence.

“Shoko enjoyed The Tragedy of the Grand Family and was happy to be able to perform in the stage play...until she discovered that the direction was heavily skewed toward the entertainment factor. However, adaptations always come with alterations of some sort. Knowing that, she may have accepted it as inevitable at first. But when she learned that Aigasa had suggested the modifications herself, perhaps she thought, ‘I can’t believe the author changed her own story like this. It’s inexcusable.’”

Shoko was an avid reader of Ellery Queen. Because of that, she couldn’t stand that the author who had written a pastiche of their work had made such drastic changes to it.

Aigasa’s expression clouded over. “If this is true, then I can’t fault her for thinking that way. But please believe me when I say that I was just doing everything I could to produce something good. A novel is a novel, and a play is a play. I wanted to provide the best possible experience for the consumers of each medium. I often go to the theater, so...” She hugged her trembling body and looked down at the floor. “But now that I think about it, maybe I was abusing my power as the author to take control of the play.”

“That’s not true,” Akihito said, quickly walking up to her. “This play is way more entertaining than a straight adaptation would’ve been. I truly believe that.”

Suddenly, Shoko screamed, “You’re completely wrong!”

We all looked at her, startled.

“About what?” Holmes asked.

“Like Yagashira said, I’m a fan of Ellery Queen’s tragedies and I was surprised by the changes in the play,” said Shoko. “I mean, who wouldn’t be? But I do think it’s a good production.”

“Are you an aspiring writer, then?” Aigasa asked.

“No, that’s not it either,” Shoko said, annoyed. “You call yourselves ‘Holmes’ and a mystery author?! Your dimwit deductions are all stupid and wrong!”

“Oh?” Holmes smiled in amusement. “My apologies. However, am I correct in assuming that you wrote that post?”

Shoko fell silent. After a little while, she said, “Even if I lie, that detective friend of yours will figure it out, right? Fine, I—”

“You don’t need to finish that sentence,” Aigasa interjected. “I just want to know the motive.”

Shoko had indeed posted the slanderous message. However, neither Holmes nor Aigasa had guessed her motive correctly—she wasn’t dissatisfied with the play and she wasn’t an aspiring author.

I furrowed my brow. But like Aigasa said, it seemed like there was jealousy in that post. What is Shoko jealous of?

“Um...was it because of Akihito?” I asked hesitantly, not confident in my suspicion.

“Huh?” Akihito pointed at himself. “Why me?”

Shoko’s face quickly turned red. “That day, I was furious that Aigasa would use her position as the author to get closer to Akihito—an actor—with her...womanly charms.” During Aigasa’s visit, Akihito had taken her hand and invited her to dinner.

“I did no such thing,” Aigasa said, dumbfounded. “Besides, he was only trying to be polite, wasn’t he?”

Shoko shook her head with a bitter expression. “I...used to not like Akihito Kajiwara as an actor. I thought he was a frivolous idiot who couldn’t read the mood.”

“Wait, why am I being dissed?” Akihito muttered. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Holmes held an index finger to his mouth and shushed the actor.

“But after working with him on this play, my impression changed,” Shoko continued. “He seems stupid, but he’s actually a quick thinker, and it’s not that he can’t read the mood, but that he interrupts it on purpose. I found that really attractive, so I tried to get him to pay more attention to me...but he didn’t take me seriously at all. I was starting to lose hope.”

She heaved a sigh.

“Then Aigasa showed up. Since Akihito’s proud of his father, who was an author, his respect for the field is really obvious when you see him with other writers. It made me think that maybe he could only fall in love with an author. He never invited me to a private dinner, but he asked Aigasa so easily...”

Shoko must have tried quite hard to pursue Akihito. Perhaps she had felt desperate after her efforts failed.

“Wait, you were into me?” Akihito asked, dumbfounded. It seemed that he hadn’t noticed Shoko’s advances at all. He probably needed these things spelled out for him.

“I see,” said Holmes. “And you tried to pin the blame on Ranko because she and Akihito were close on a personal level.”

“I didn’t know that Ranko auditioned because she was friends with Akihito until she told Aigasa,” said Shoko. “That kind of rubbed me the wrong way too. And...” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “That night, I tried to drown my sorrows in alcohol even though I can’t hold my liquor. As I was drinking, I thought, ‘Aigasa and Akihito might be on a date right now,’ and I just couldn’t take it anymore. But in my defense, I didn’t mean to post that message for real. I was just imagining writing something insulting and making it look like Ranko did it so that I wouldn’t get caught, and I was going to delete it before posting it. I often do that when I’m stressed. But since I wasn’t used to drinking so much, I messed up and published it by accident. To make things worse, it took a while for me to realize what had happened. Once I did, I deleted it right away, but it was too late.” She buried her face in her hands.

It felt like she was telling the truth.

Aigasa gave an exasperated sigh. “Akihito invited me to dinner, but we didn’t actually go. Even if we did, it obviously wouldn’t have been just the two of us. Akihito doesn’t see me that way, and besides, I already have a partner,” she said in a stern tone.

Shoko grimaced and looked down. “I’m very sorry. I understand that I have no choice but to step down after making such a terrible mistake.”

Yokoyama, the director, and the actors looked to Aigasa for her verdict.

Aigasa scoffed. “I’m not letting you run away. You’re going to play Shoko. That’s what it means to take responsibility.”

“Really?” Shoko asked, her voice trembling. “But what about the controversy?”

Aigasa crossed her arms. “I know how we can address that.”

6

At last, it was the opening day for The Tragedy of the Grand Family. Holmes and I had received complimentary tickets, so we eagerly took our seats in the audience. It was a sold-out show, and everyone was excitedly looking through their programs.

Some people were making comments like, “That video was pretty funny.”

“I’m surprised they turned that whole incident into a PR stunt,” I whispered as I gazed at the closed stage curtains.

Aigasa had posted the following on her personal social media:

“This was something I had planned for promotional purposes. It was only published ahead of time by mistake.”

When probed for more information, she had replied:

“We were going to create an official video channel for the play. That post was supposed to be published on the eve of opening night along with a message saying, ‘Who slandered the author online?! Watch this video for the answer!’ We apologize for causing a disturbance. Please look forward to the show.”

As promised, the channel had been created yesterday. The video was a skit that played out as follows.

Kisuke—acting as Holmes—had the other actors stand in a line as he performed a flashy tap dance. After a while, he stopped with one final clack of his heels and said, “I’ve arrived at the truth. The culprit is you, Shoko. As an ardent fan of Ellery Queen, you tolerated the pastiche, but not the changes made for the stage adaptation. Am I correct?”

“Yes, it was me!” Shoko cried out. “Tap dancing during the deduction doesn’t make any sense. I just can’t accept it. And I have a problem with Ranko too!”

“What?!” Ranko exclaimed dramatically.

“I’m from Tohoku, and I’ve been very careful with my language since moving to Tokyo. But outside of work, Ranko doesn’t try to fix her Ibaraki dialect at all!” Shoko pointed her finger accusingly at Ranko.

“You pillock! The dancing obviously makes it more fun! And why should only some accents like Kansai get special treatment? Every accent is a valuable representation of culture!”

“What the heck is a ‘pillock’?”

“It means ‘bloody fool’!”

“Now that the truth has been revealed, it’s time to promote the play,” said Kisuke. “Tomorrow is our grand opening day.”

The video had attracted a lot of attention, and many people online had expressed their interest in seeing the play.

“I’m happy that they used my ‘dimwit deduction’ for the video,” said Holmes.

I giggled at his word choice and thought back to when Aigasa had asked him for permission to use his deduction.

“We’re going to make a PR skit,” said Aigasa. “Would it be okay if we used your deduction as the motive? It’d be more dramatic than mine.”

“By all means, do whatever you like with it,” said Holmes. “By the way, are you going to forgive Shoko?”

“Not really, but the play’s success is my top priority. I’ve had film, TV, and anime adaptations, but this is my first stage adaptation. Besides, I’ve been to hell and back, so this is nothing. But I do understand that love makes you blind, so I let her off with a warning to never post on social media while drinking again. It might be good to have an actress indebted to me. Wouldn’t you agree, Kiyotaka?” Aigasa grinned mischievously. She seemed to have become much more strong-willed in the time since we first met.

Before long, the buzzer sounded, bringing me back to the present. The lights dimmed and the curtain rose.

“Holmes, Holmes! We have an emergency!”

Akihito’s appearance on stage was met with loud cheers and applause. Then came Kisuke’s tap dancing. It had startled me the first time I saw it, but from the audience, there were cheers of “This is what I’ve been waiting for!”

The play was an exciting combination of mystery, action, song, and dance. Especially memorable was the scene where Holmes (Kisuke) got stuck on a deduction and Akihito shouted, “Don’t be so sullen!” The dance battle that ensued was so spectacular that it took the audience’s breath away.

The curtain call was followed by endless applause, bringing the first day of the show to a successful conclusion.

“It was better than I expected,” Holmes remarked as he clapped.

“I can’t wait for the last day,” I said. We had secured tickets for the final day of the show as well.

As the days progressed, the play grew in popularity. Eventually, people were calling tickets for the final show “premium tickets.”

The last day was even more exciting than the first. Unfortunately, Kisuke sprained his foot toward the end of the performance. The staff called me and Holmes backstage.

“Kiyotaka, can you take my place for the final tap-dancing scene?!” Kisuke pleaded, dragging his foot as he clung to Holmes.

“What? I couldn’t possibly,” said Holmes.

“No, I know you can do it. We have similar silhouettes, so if you wear the hat low over your face, no one will realize you’re not me. Please, I’m begging you!”

“It’d never work,” Holmes insisted.

“Um, I think you’d be able to do it too,” I said. “I’d like to see you on stage.”

“Please, Kiyotaka,” said Kisuke.

Holmes fell silent.

In the end, Kisuke’s persistence prevailed and Holmes got on stage.

The momentous last dance of the final show was performed by Holmes, but that’s our little secret.

Extra

This is a story from a little while ago.

“Hey, guys, come out here for a sec,” Akihito said, poking his head through the door and beckoning to us with his hand. He had shown up at Kura out of the blue.

Wondering what was going on, Holmes and I went outside.

“Hold this for me, Holmes.” Akihito vigorously shook a 500-milliliter bottle of sparkling water and handed it, along with his phone, to Holmes.

“Why are you giving me this?” Holmes glared icily at the actor, as if he had a bad feeling about being forced to hold the bottle.

“I wanna do the bottle cap challenge from a while back. Can you hold the bottle and film it for me?”

“The bottle cap challenge?”

“You haven’t heard of it? It was trending years ago. Well, just watch.”

Akihito took a step back, twisted his body, and performed a roundhouse kick. It seemed he was trying to open the bottle with his foot, but unfortunately, he completely missed and fell on his backside.

Holmes nodded. “The video turned out excellent,” he said with a malicious smile.

“No! I’m not trying to film myself falling down! One more time!” Akihito repeated the roundhouse kick, but the result was the same.

The contrast between his cool kick and him landing on his butt was so comical, I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Don’t laugh, Aoi!” he lamented pathetically.

“Sorry,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Holmes would probably be good at this, though, considering his martial arts background. Why don’t you have him show you how it’s done?”

Akihito looked at Holmes, his eyes filled with hope.

“Fine.” Holmes sighed. “Just once. But first, let me watch a video of someone who can do it well.” He began searching on his phone.

“Oh, is that important? Watching other people do it, I mean.”

“Yes. If I watch someone’s movements, I can copy them to some extent.”

“Dang, you really are amazing.”

After reviewing the video several times, Holmes put his phone back in his pocket. “All right, I’ll give it a try. I don’t know if it’ll go well, though.” He returned the plastic bottle and Akihito’s phone.

“Don’t worry. Whether you succeed or not, it’ll be a great sight either way,” Akihito said, ever the honest one. He held the bottle and got ready to take the video. “Whenever you’re ready!”

“You were spinning with too much force,” Holmes explained. “Since the goal is to open the bottle cap, you need to ascertain that your swing is in line with it.” He bent his knees slightly and performed a swift roundhouse kick, slowing down a bit right before reaching the bottle. The sole of his shoe grazed the cap, sending it spinning and flying into the air while the sparkling water gushed out of the bottle. After finishing his rotation, Holmes caught the falling bottle cap and hummed. “That’s the gist of it. Perhaps it could be faster.” He took his handkerchief out of his chest pocket and wiped the cap before returning it to Akihito.

His brilliant display rendered us speechless.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Holmes!” Akihito lunged at him and clung to his waist.

“What?!”

“That was so cool! Teach me your ways!”

“I said I was only going to do it once.”

“Don’t be like that!”

“I refuse.” Holmes pulled the actor off him, exasperated.

“I understand how Akihito feels, though,” I said.

“Huh?”

“You were really cool just now.”

Holmes fell silent and raised a hand to his mouth. After a few seconds, he said, “I suppose I have no choice. One more time, and that’s it.”

“Man, you seriously can’t say no to Aoi, huh?” Akihito remarked.

“Yes, so you should be grateful to my lovely fiancée.”

“Ugh, stop it with the casual bragging.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Holmes said nonchalantly.

I felt my cheeks flush.

Later, Akihito posted a video of himself succeeding at the bottle cap challenge. It attracted quite a bit of attention, and he was very pleased. He then posted the video of him falling on his rear as a blooper reel, and much to his annoyance, that one got more views.

He also sent me the video he’d taken of Holmes, which I now watch from time to time...but don’t tell Holmes that.

Chapter 3: At the Mercy of the Gods

1

It was late July when I, Aoi Mashiro, received my notice of employment from the Kyoto National Museum (KNM).

My internship officially began on August 1st. Only three interns had been hired. The other two were graduate students, making me the only undergrad. When I first heard this, I gasped at how lucky I’d been to win such a fierce competition. But later, I learned that the applications had been concentrated on ceramics and paintings. Hardly anyone had chosen management, and of those who had, I was the only applicant with real experience organizing exhibits. That in itself was perhaps lucky too, but in the end, it was Holmes’s strategy that had prevailed.

On our first day, we interns were instructed to wait at the south entrance at 9 a.m., so I arrived at 8:50. The south entrance was the one on Shichijo Street used by the general public.

August mornings were hot in Kyoto. It was a sunny day with blue skies, and the heat was already unbearable. It felt like the sun was going to burn my skin off, and the feeling was exacerbated by the sound of buzzing cicadas. When I’d left my house, my mother had told me to wear a hat, but I had hesitated because I’d been afraid it would make my head sweaty.

I should’ve brought a hat or a parasol after all, I lamented as I looked up at the sky.

“Um, excuse me, are you one of the interns?” a young woman asked timidly. She was slim and fair-skinned, and her naturally smiling eyes gave her a charming aura. She had black hair in a bob cut and wore a white blouse and navy skirt.

“Oh, yes. Good morning. I’m Aoi Mashiro.”

“Great.” She smiled. “I’m Eri Kimura. Pleased to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

Eri explained that she was a graduate student at Kyoto Women’s University. She was studying history and had been selected for the historical documents internship.

As we were talking, I noticed a young man running down Shichijo Street. He came to a stop in front of the south entrance.

“Oh man, I was almost late on the first day,” he said, panting. He looked up at us and grinned. “Nice to meet you. I’m Koki Segawa. I’m a grad student at KIT, studying fiber science. I was hired in the textiles category.”

The man was baby-faced with a carefree smile. Since he was a graduate student, he had to be older than me, but it felt like we were around the same age. KIT was short for the Kyoto Institute of Technology, a national university headquartered in Matsugasaki. Rikyu was majoring in architecture there.

As the three of us were exchanging greetings, a female staff member came outside. “You must be Kimura, Segawa, and Mashiro,” she said.

“Yes,” we said in unison.

“My name is Kurishiro. I look forward to working with you.” She bowed. She had a slender frame and slightly wavy short hair. She wore a black pantsuit and looked like the strong-willed type.

“Likewise,” we said, bowing back.

“Please follow me.” Kurishiro headed east instead of going inside. “The south entrance on Shichijo Street is for the general public. Staff members use the east entrance on East Oji Street.”

We arrived at the side gate on East Oji Street.

“Regular visitors using this entrance need to check in with the guard station, but we’ve issued ID cards for you, so you can just show them to get in,” Kurishiro said, handing us our cards.

We presented our new IDs to the security guard and entered the building.

“By the way, that guard just now was a subcontractor,” Kurishiro added. “Most museums in Japan outsource their security operations. However, KNM also has full-time employees called gate guardians, named after the historic guards posted at the Imperial Court in the days of the ritsuryo system. They patrol the museum and handle disaster prevention and visitor relations as part of the General Affairs Division.”

I listened enthusiastically, knowing that I would have never learned this if I hadn’t become an intern.

We were brought to the director’s office first. The sign next to the door was written in both Japanese and English. Inside, there was a central reception area with black sofas—a pair of armchairs and a pair of two-seaters—situated around a rectangular table. The wall behind the table had a hanging scroll that depicted morning glories. I imagined it was changed out every season. The director’s desk was on the window side of the room. Behind it were shelves full of books.

The director was a man in his sixties. When he saw us, he smiled cheerfully and stood up. “Welcome to KNM,” he said.

After we introduced ourselves, he politely gave us our letters of appointment.

“Wow, KNM even gives proper letters to student interns,” Eri murmured.

Next, we went to the deputy director’s office. Kurishiro entered without knocking. The room was smaller than the director’s office. It had a reception area too, but it was cramped. There was a big pile of documents on the desk by the window, along with wooden boxes labeled “Resolved” and “Unresolved.”

A man and woman in their forties were sitting on the sofas. They stood up when we entered the room.

Kurishiro turned to face us. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m the deputy director, Yuki Kurishiro.”

“Huh?”

Our eyes widened. I had already heard of Yuki Kurishiro. She had only been appointed KNM’s deputy director this year, but she was a famous figure in the museum world, having previously worked for the likes of the Agency for Cultural Affairs and Tokyo National Museum. I had even read her columns before, but she didn’t show her face in them, and I had thought that her surname was read as “Kuriki,” not “Kurishiro.” But the biggest reason for my failure to recognize her was that I had assumed that person was a man.

“I didn’t realize the deputy director was a woman,” I said.

“Me neither,” said Eri, turning to Kurishiro. “And you’re really young, aren’t you?”

Kurishiro, who looked to be in her mid-thirties, gave a weak shrug. “I’m not that young. But people often think I’m younger than I actually am, and it doesn’t help that I’m a woman. Society’s views may be changing, but I still have to deal with envy from others if I show my face, and sometimes they won’t judge me fairly. So I keep my gender ambiguous on purpose.”

We nodded in understanding.

“Anyway, these are our researchers,” she continued, turning her gaze to the staff who had been waiting for us. They bowed to us.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said the female researcher, a bespectacled woman with her hair tied back. “I’m Noriko Akiyama, and I’m in charge of historical books and documents at this museum, as well as conservation.”

“I’m Tetsuya Hayashida,” the male researcher said with a smile. “I’m in charge of textiles, metalwork, and lacquerware.”

“Now then, Akiyama will be instructing Eri Kimura in historical documents, and Hayashida will be instructing Koki Segawa in textiles,” Kurishiro explained.

“Thank you very much,” Eri and Segawa said, bowing politely.

I looked at Kurishiro, wondering who my instructor would be, and her eyes met mine.

“And Aoi Mashiro will be taught management by yours truly,” she announced.

“Huh?” My eyes widened in shock. The deputy director herself?!

Kurishiro giggled at my expression. “I’m the one supervising management at this museum. We do have other staff, but they’re all too busy.”

The latter seemed to be the main reason.

After giving us a general overview of the museum, Kurishiro said, “First, let’s show you the face of KNM, Meiji Kotokan Hall.”

As soon as we stepped outside Heisei Chishinkan Hall, we were assaulted by the midsummer heat. It was too much for my body, which had been spoiled by the air conditioning indoors.

“This heat wave isn’t letting up, huh?” Kurishiro remarked. “We should hurry.”

We quickly made our way to Meiji Kotokan Hall, a brick building facing the main entrance. The palatial structure was the symbol of the museum and a designated Important Cultural Property of Japan. It had originally been KNM’s main building, but since it was quite old, it was currently undergoing repairs and earthquake-proofing, so it wasn’t being used for exhibitions.

“Events are held at Meiji Kotokan Hall a few times a year,” Kurishiro explained as she opened the door.

I’d seen the building countless times from outside, but this was my first time entering it. I excitedly stepped in with the others and was greeted by a wide-open space with a high ceiling. All of the furnishings had been removed for the renovation work, so it was completely empty. There were double doors leading to other rooms to the front, left, and right.

“All right, it’s quiz time,” Kurishiro said, looking at us. “I don’t have any buzzers for you, but the first to answer wins. Who designed Meiji Kotokan Hall?”

“Tokuma Katayama,” Eri, Segawa, and I replied in unison.

“Not bad. Well then, which architect did Tokuma Katayama study under?”

Segawa was the first to respond. “Josiah Conder.”

I was a bit frustrated because I’d known the answer too.

“That’s right. During the Meiji period, Tokuma Katayama studied under British architect Josiah Conder at the Imperial College of Engineering, which is now the University of Tokyo’s Faculty of Engineering. Now then, did Tokuma Katayama design any other buildings in Kyoto?”

Segawa and I fell silent.

“The Kujoyama Water Purification Plant?” Eri answered hesitantly.

“Correct. He designed the pump room. I’m impressed you knew.”

“I went there once to sketch it,” she replied shyly.

“Now, who can tell me what was here before this museum was built?”

“Hoko-ji Temple,” I replied. Built by Hideyoshi and Hideyori Toyotomi, the temple had once enshrined a giant Buddha statue that was even larger than the one at Todai-ji Temple.

“Oh, the Great Buddha of Kyoto,” Segawa said, disappointed that he hadn’t gotten the answer.

“All right, that’s it for the quiz,” said Kurishiro. “Let me show you the most beautiful room here, the central hall.” She opened the doors in front of us, revealing a pure-white hall with pillars along the walls.

“Wow!” we exclaimed as we looked around.

“It’s like a Greek temple,” I remarked.

“It really is pure white,” said Eri. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I feel like I’m in Athens,” said Segawa.

Kurishiro chuckled. “It does look like the Parthenon, but this is called an Egyptian-style hall.”

“Huh, so this is what Egypt is like?” Segawa asked, surprised.

“The pillars along the walls are what make it Egyptian-style.”

Come to think of it, Philae Temple and Luxor Temple have distinctive columns too.

“By the way, the pillars in this room look like they’re made of stone, but they’re actually wooden from top to bottom. They only appear to be stone because they’re wrapped in plaster.”

We hummed and examined the pillars more closely.

“The beautiful skylight, vaulted vents, and comb-shaped gables are all part of what makes this room so special.” Kurishiro turned to face us. “As I mentioned earlier, Meiji Kotokan Hall can be rented for a fee. There are also events held here, such as concerts and luxury brand exhibitions. In the past, the museum avoided proactively marketing it because it’s a national facility, but things are changing now.”

It would be so wonderful to hold an event in this beautiful hall.

“If you were to plan an event here, what would it be?” Kurishiro asked.

Segawa raised his hand. “I’d want to hold a dinosaur exhibit. It’d be really cool to display dinosaur fossils in a pure-white room like this.”

“Agreed.” The deputy director nodded with an amused look. “That would be exciting.”

Next, Eri and I raised our hands at the same time.

“You first, Eri,” said Kurishiro.

Eri hesitated before saying, “I’d like to hold a modern art exhibit.”

“Modern art in a historic space, huh? That’d be a great contrast.” Kurishiro nodded and turned to me. “Your turn, Mashiro.”

“I think I’d take advantage of the atmosphere here and hold an ancient Egypt exhibit,” I said.

“Yes, that would definitely look amazing.” Kurishiro smiled cheerfully. “Thank you for your different opinions.”

“Is it possible for them to become a reality?” Segawa asked.

Kurishiro shrugged. “The ideas aren’t bad, but KNM is mainly focused on Japanese and other East Asian cultural properties. So if KNM itself is the event organizer, we need to consider the museum’s mission and policies. In the past, when this hall was rented out for displays, the word ‘exhibition’ wasn’t allowed to be used. But personally, I’m not too picky about it. I think we need to be more flexible going forward. Now then, shall we look at the next room?”

“Yes,” we said in unison and left the Egyptian-style hall.

2

In the afternoon, the interns split up to follow their respective instructors. Kurishiro gave me a tour of the museum, after which we returned to the entrance hall.

“Simply put, this is a course where you study the specialized knowledge necessary for museum planning and management,” she explained. “In other words, the know-how for running the organization itself.”

The sun shone through the windows along the corridor wall. As I was squinting from the brightness, she stopped and looked at the windows.

“As you can see, the grand lobby and entrance hall of the Heisei Chishinkan Wing are filled with sunlight. However, the exhibit and storage rooms have double-layered walls that keep out all natural light.”

Natural light could cause deterioration. The thick walls meant the museum’s collection was well protected.

Kurishiro turned to face me. “Now then, it’s time for another quiz.”

She seems to like making games out of her lessons. My expression relaxed. “Okay,” I said with a nod.

“What’s the definitive difference between a museum and an art gallery? Keep your answer simple.”

I gulped. “I’d say...the purpose of an art gallery is to exhibit artwork in an appealing way and to grow and protect the field of art. On the other hand, a museum gives the general public an opportunity to interact with culture and places more importance on research and investigations.”

Kurishiro hummed. “That’s a common answer. But legally, an art gallery is a type of museum, and the terms aren’t clearly defined. For example, KNM is a museum, but it displays artwork in appealing ways, and the National Museum of Modern Art Kyoto in Okazaki is set up as an art gallery but also conducts research.”

I listened to her explanation in silence.

“Museums, art galleries, archives, reference libraries—they’re all just names, and founders are free to call them whatever they like.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In English, they’re all just called museums, so more places are going with that nowadays. That said, there’s a definite difference between national museums and national art galleries, which are separate types of Independent Administrative Institutions. In a nutshell, national museums don’t exhibit works by creators who are still alive.”

I see. So no matter how famous an artist is, their work can’t be displayed in a national museum until after they die.

“Well, sometimes they might be displayed at the entrance as part of a project,” Kurishiro clarified. “They just won’t be in the exhibits themselves. But that might change eventually too.” She laughed. “So a modern art exhibition like what Kimura suggested earlier would essentially have to be held at a national art gallery, not KNM.”

“What about the dinosaur exhibit?”

“That’s natural history, so it would go to the National Museum of Nature and Science in Ueno, Tokyo. By the way, the ancient Egypt exhibit you suggested would also go there if it was focused on human history, such as mummies. But if it was focused on Egyptian culture, it could be held at either a national museum or art gallery. The Tutankhamun exhibition held at Tokyo National Museum in 1965 attracted 1.29 million visitors, and to this day, its attendance record has only been bested by a Mona Lisa exhibition in 1974. Speaking of which, KNM also had a big Egypt exhibition in 1988, and it was apparently very successful. When you hear all of this, it’s unclear what has to be displayed where, isn’t it?”

I remembered learning in my university classes that national museums and art galleries were largely run by three Independent Administrative Institutions, so I brought that fact up.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Kurishiro. “When the present-day Tokyo National Museum was founded in 1872, museums and art galleries didn’t exist. The concepts were only separated later on. So it won’t surprise me if there’s more separation and merging in the future.”

It was said that when the National Art Museum—now the National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo—was founded in 1952, artworks from post-1907 (when the Bunten art exhibition was established by the Ministry of Education, Science, Sports, and Culture) were transferred there from the Tokyo National Museum. That marked the general borderline between their collections to this day.

“But if you go to a museum in a foreign country and look at their Japanese art exhibit, you’ll see antique and contemporary art displayed side by side,” she continued. “So I don’t quite agree with bureaucratically drawing a line between ‘museum territory’ and ‘art gallery territory.’”

Kurishiro’s lecture was exactly the kind of challenge that Japan’s museum policy was facing. It was more realistic and in-depth than my university classes, and I found myself wanting to hear more.

“That was a lot of walking,” she said. “Shall we have a seat?” She sat down on a bench in front of a window.

I nodded and sat next to her.

“I’m actually really happy,” she said cheerfully.

“Huh?”

“As expected, we had an enormous number of applicants for this internship program. But almost all of them were students majoring in specialized fields like painting or sculpture rather than museology itself. I was a bit disappointed. Well, it is what it is,” she muttered. “In the middle of all of that, I came across your application. When I saw that someone with exhibit experience had applied for management, I thought, ‘Yes!’”

“Were there so few people who applied for management?”

“There were actually only two, including you.”

“Two?” I squeaked.

“The other person’s reason for applying was rather vague, so you were selected relatively quickly.”

I hadn’t thought Holmes’s strategy had played that much of a role in securing the position. I couldn’t help but imagine his smug face.

“Um, why did you choose to hire interns this year?” I asked.

“The Agency for Cultural Affairs came to Kyoto, which resulted in the prefecture telling all of the museums and art galleries to put effort into training young curators, so we decided to recruit interns.”

“I see.”

“We really would’ve liked to have hired many more, but unfortunately, our researchers are very busy. In the end, we could only take on three.”

“So you’re short-staffed?”

“That we are. Honestly, there are plenty of qualified and talented curators across the country. But there are no job openings because of the difficulty of running museums and art galleries. With so many people out there whose skills are going to waste, I think those who are able to work in a museum, like me, are lucky. Oh, what’s wrong?” Kurishiro asked, concerned that I had suddenly lowered my gaze.

“I’ve been very fortunate. I only got this internship in the first place because I had someone who gave me great advice.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes,” I replied, still looking down. “But I feel guilty because I only have luck, not knowledge or skills,” I said bitterly.

Kurishiro chuckled. “No matter how guilty you feel, you mustn’t waste an opportunity you’ve been blessed with. It’s often said that luck is a skill. Lucky people are those who can notice even the smallest chances and take action. This is a strength because there are many people who fail at the ‘taking action’ part.”

Thinking back, I used to have all sorts of ideas that I never acted on. I’d changed since working at Kura.

“And those who are blessed with opportunities must strive to make the most of them,” she continued. “I consider myself fortunate too, and that’s why I feel that I have to work hard.”

I fully agreed. I intended to give the internship my all to make up for those who couldn’t come this far.

“Also, those who are fortunate must aim to be givers, not just of knowledge but of experience and opportunities too. Once you’ve achieved your dream, you should help others achieve theirs as well.”

Her words resonated with me.

“That said, reality is harsh.” Kurishiro slumped her shoulders. “Japan’s museums have been shifting to part-time work as of late. Even if you get a job, laws like the Worker Dispatch Act prevent part-time and fixed-term employees from working at one place for too long. You’ll always have to worry about finding your next job. No one can work in peace like that.” She sighed. “Even if greater demand leads to more openings, it doesn’t help anyone when the salaries are so low. Curators are subject matter experts, and I think it’s imperative that their working conditions are improved.”

Based on her tone, I could tell that curator salaries really left much to be desired. The current state of affairs was grimmer than I’d expected.

“As far as human resources go, employing these curators, improving their working conditions, and developing their expertise is management at its core.”

I gulped. Whether a museum could hire excellent staff and let them work freely hinged on its management division. I thought I’d known that, but Kurishiro’s impassioned words made me feel like I truly understood. At the same time, I felt my shoulders tense.

“There’s no need to be anxious,” she said. “Just learn as much as you can over the next three weeks.”

“I will.” I bowed deeply.

3

After finishing the first day of my internship, I stopped by Kura to let Holmes know how it had gone.

“I see,” he said. “So the deputy director is instructing you. You really are special, Aoi.”

“That’s not true...” I shrank back.

“It is. I’ve always thought you were blessed with good luck.”

I did feel fortunate these days. Thinking about it, it had to have started when I first came to Kura. Working here had given me confidence and made me more optimistic. And that was definitely because...

“It’s all thanks to you, Holmes,” I said.

He chuckled. “I think it’s that aspect of you, Aoi.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled and changed the subject. “So how did the first day go?”

“I heard a lot of thought-provoking stories. I also learned just how important management is to a museum, and I’m determined to make the most of this opportunity.”

“That’s great. What was the schedule like?”

“Um...” I looked up at the ceiling. “In the morning, we received our letters of appointment. Then we were given an overview of all of KNM, which took up pretty much the rest of the day. Oh, and I had lunch at the museum’s Maeda Coffee with the other interns—Eri and Segawa—and people from the General Affairs Division. Apparently there’s an employee discount, and interns get to use it too. It seems like there’s an unspoken rule that staff should try not to eat at the café when there are a lot of visitors, but when it isn’t busy, we can go as much as we want.”

Holmes hummed in amusement. “So what did you eat for lunch?”

“I ordered the Napolitan spaghetti, since I heard it was their specialty. It was really good, but eating it without getting sauce on my blouse was hard.”

He chuckled.

“I got to talk to the other interns a lot during lunch, which was nice. I asked them about their hobbies. Eri’s an artist, and on her days off, she goes around town sketching places. She also goes to the zoo often because she likes drawing animals. The other intern, Segawa, said something that interested me.”

Holmes, who had been listening calmly thus far, suddenly had a sharp look in his eyes. “How so?”

“He lives in Nishijin, and his family specializes in dyeing textiles. That’s why he’s studying fiber science at KIT. But completely unrelated to that is his lifelong dream, which is to communicate with aliens.”

“With aliens?”

“Yes. Every morning at sunrise, he goes to the top of Mount Funaoka and performs a ritual for establishing extraterrestrial contact. Apparently he has yet to succeed, though. After the ritual, he does radio calisthenics with the elderly people in the neighborhood.”

Holmes laughed. “That is indeed an interesting pastime.”

“Right? I was curious, though, so I asked him, ‘Why do you go in the morning instead of at night?’ and he said, ‘Most of the UFOs you see at night are airplanes or satellites. If it’s visible when the sky is bright, that’s when you know it’s real.’”

“I see.”

“Do you believe in those things, Holmes?”

“I believe that other life-forms exist in this vast universe, but I don’t want to involve myself with them unless it’s necessary. The same goes for ghosts.”

“Oh yeah, there was the ghost incident...”

Holmes had seen a ghost for the first time while taking on a request from Reito Kamo, an exorcist. That probably counted as “necessary.”

“Right, I almost forgot,” I said. “The deputy director, Kurishiro, showed us around Meiji Kotokan Hall.”

“Oh?” Holmes’s eyes lit up. “You were allowed to go inside? Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “And Kurishiro is so funny and smart. I couldn’t help but be overcome with admiration.”

“Huh?” Holmes froze. “Admiration? Well...the deputy director is already married, no?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t see a ring, so maybe not. Kurishiro claimed to be ‘not that young’ but only looked around thirty-five. Anyway, I couldn’t ask for a cooler instructor.”

Holmes’s eyes widened. “Cool?” he murmured.

Suddenly, there was a loud gong. The grandfather clock had struck eight o’clock while we were talking.

“Well then, I should close up,” Holmes said, stepping out from behind the counter.

“Oh, I’ll help.”

“I appreciate the offer, but you must be tired from your long day.”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. But I do want to focus on my work at KNM, so during my internship, I probably won’t stop by here on my way home anymore.”

Holmes froze again but quickly recovered with a smile. “I understand. Let’s have a date on the weekend, though.”

“Yes, I’d love to,” I said, smiling back.

While Holmes brought the sign inside, I closed the curtains and draped cloths over the antiques. As I was doing so, my phone buzzed on the counter. Realizing it was a call and not a message, I went to pick it up, wondering who it could be. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen. Maybe it’s someone from KNM?

“Hello?” I answered without giving my name.

“Aoi, is that you? Long time no chat. Sorry, I changed my number. It’s me, Yilin.” Yilin Jing was a businesswoman from Shanghai and the daughter of Zhifei Jing, one of the richest men in the world.

“Oh, Yilin! It’s been so long.”

“I’m sorry for the sudden call. Is Kiyotaka with you right now?”

Her question bothered me slightly. In the past, Yilin had called him “Holmes.” When had she switched to using his first name?

“Oh, yes,” I replied. “He’s here. Should I pass him the phone?”

“No, I want both of you to hear this.”

I placed my phone on the counter and put it on speaker so that Holmes could listen too.

“Did you two already know?” Yilin asked.

Holmes and I looked at each other, confused.

“Um, about what?” I replied.

“Hong Kong’s M+...”

Recently opened in Hong Kong’s West Kowloon Cultural District, M+ was one of the largest contemporary art museums in Asia. It focused not only on paintings and sculptures, but on visual art as a whole, including architecture, design, photography, film, pop culture, theater, and dance. The concept was “a museum and more,” hence the name “M+.” It had been a huge topic of discussion in the art and culture community when it opened, and I remembered curators from around the world talking about it, including Sally Barrymore, who had once granted me an opportunity to work in New York.

Yilin took a deep breath before continuing, “They have a painting by Ensho on display.”

“Huh?” I blinked.

Before I could say anything, Holmes leaned toward the phone and asked, “Is this true? How did it end up there?”

“I have no clue,” Yilin said. “I was just attending the opening reception for a new exhibit, and his painting is here.”

An opening reception was a sneak preview held before a new exhibit was opened to the public. Yilin would have been invited as someone involved in the industry. Japan was ahead of Hong Kong by one hour, making it just past 7 p.m. on her end.

“Um, is it really his painting?” I asked.

“Technically, it’s uncredited,” said Yilin.

“What?”

“The theme of this exhibit is ‘equality.’ The artwork is displayed without the artists’ names. There will be a business meeting held at another location, and after a piece is bought, its creator’s name will be revealed.”

It was often an artist’s name that dictated the value of their work. Any art could be praised as a masterpiece if it was by a famous creator. Having an exhibit without names removed these preconceptions, making viewers evaluate the artwork purely based on their own sensibilities. It was an interesting concept that indeed put every piece on an equal playing field.

“Even without a name, I knew immediately that Ensho painted this,” Yilin said in a firm tone.

“What kind of painting is it?” Holmes asked.

“Photography isn’t allowed at the reception party, so I can’t send you a picture, but...”

I could tell that she was looking at the piece right this moment. What could it be? My heart pounded furiously.

“It’s a painting of Kyoto,” she declared.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe. I thought back to Ensho’s sketches. What did he choose to paint in the end?

“Oh, I suppose you’re missing the context,” Yilin added. “Ensho would have needed connections to display his work here—someone must be backing him.”

“I imagine so,” said Holmes.

“My father told me again and again not to let anyone else take him, so I’m truly at a loss.” Yilin sighed. “Sorry again for the sudden call. Until we meet again.”

She hung up, leaving us with the revelation that Ensho had a painting on display at an avant-garde museum in Hong Kong. Part of me was happy, part of me was sad that he hadn’t mentioned it, and part of me was slightly uneasy. The emotions swirled together in my heart like a marble pattern.

How does Holmes feel about this? I thought, glancing at the man beside me. His arms were folded and his right fingers were pressed to his chin. He had a serious look in his eyes.

Sensing my gaze, he looked at me and shrugged. “It seems I’ve been rejected.”

“Rejected?”

“Oh, it’s nothing important.” At first glance, he seemed to be wearing his usual smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Rejected. Despite Holmes’s dislike for Ensho, he was drawn to the painter’s artistic talent and wanted to help him. Perhaps Holmes had wished to bring Ensho to the world stage.

Regaining his composure, Holmes resumed closing up. He went outside to check the mail and returned with a small stack of flyers, postcards, and letters.

“Oh, right, Aoi,” he said, remembering something.

I stood up from where I had crouched down to unplug the lamp.

“I have some more work to do here, so I’ll be staying behind,” he continued.

“Oh, okay. I’ll take my leave, then.”

“Good luck with your internship tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” I bowed and left the store.

Through the gap in the curtains, I could see Holmes’s back. It was hard to tell because he was facing away, but he seemed to be holding a white envelope.

4

The internship provided me with many new experiences.

“Today, you’ll be working with the exhibit attendants and interacting directly with visitors,” Kurishiro said, holding up an index finger.

I obviously wasn’t trained for the job, so it was more about observing how the attendants worked.

“I want you to see how old KNM’s visitors are, how many are foreigners, the paths they take through the museum, and their reactions to the exhibits and environment.”

The reception staff, guides, and attendants were outsourced from an external company, but Kurishiro had instructed KNM employees—especially administrative staff—to observe the attendants as a sort of training course, saying, “You shouldn’t stay in your offices all the time.”

The managing company’s meeting had begun at 8:30 a.m. before the museum opened. I had arrived a little earlier than that. At the meeting, we had reviewed various management topics, such as issues that had arisen the previous day and the number of visitors and groups coming to the museum. The staff had provided me with tips like “This exhibit is popular, so be careful of large crowds forming” and “Visitors at that exhibit often ask these kinds of questions.”

At 9:30 a.m., when the museum opened at last, I was standing in an exhibit room with the attendants. I’d always thought this was a sitting job, but at KNM, they remained standing at all times. They had rotating shifts, but it was hard to stay on my feet for the whole day. Observing the visitors was eye-opening, though. Many of them were on the elderly side, and about twenty percent were foreigners. However, since it was summer break, I also saw a lot of families and students. The museum had a suggested route, but some visitors preferred to only see the exhibits that interested them, while others wandered around on a whim.

“Um, excuse me,” a young man called out to me.

“Yes?” I turned, and much to my surprise, the man was Kohei Shinoda from KyoMore.

He laughed mischievously and whispered, “I see you got the internship. Congrats.”

“Thank you.” I bowed.

“I’m guessing you don’t get a summer break this year?”

“That’s correct.” I nodded.

“You aren’t gonna travel on the weekends or anything?”

“No, I want to focus on my work here,” I said in a quiet voice. As a staff member, I couldn’t spend too long chatting with an acquaintance.

Sensing my concern, Shinoda asked a normal visitor’s question. “Do I have to follow the route exactly as shown?”

“Oh, no. It’s just a recommendation, so you can see things in any order you like. Just be careful not to bump into people if you’re backtracking.”

“You’re doing a good job,” he whispered before continuing, “Oh, so it’s not a hard rule. Thanks.” He waved and headed toward the displays.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Thinking about it, I had also always assumed that I had to follow the provided route, but it turned out that everyone was free to enjoy the museum however they liked.

While monitoring the exhibit, I observed that groups sometimes got carried away and spoke in loud voices. But before I could do anything, the attendants would advise them at the exact moment it was about to become an issue. I was impressed by their capabilities as professionals.

“But sometimes those visitors get upset, so it takes skill to warn them without causing a scene,” Kurishiro muttered during our break.

Today, we were having lunch at her office instead of the café. We sat on the sofas, her with a sandwich and me with a simple lunch box filled with last night’s leftovers.

“By the way, KNM has what we call the Three Big Complaints,” she said, holding up three fingers. “What do you think they are?”

She really likes her quizzes. “Um, ‘It’s too expensive,’ ‘There are too many people,’ and ‘Why can’t we take pictures?’”

Kurishiro burst out laughing. “Well, people do say those, but the most common complaints are ‘It’s dark,’ ‘It’s cold,’ and ‘The words are too small.’”

I nodded in understanding. The first two needed to be that way in order to protect the cultural properties on display. The temperature was normally set to twenty-five degrees Celsius and the humidity to fifty-five percent. And since Japanese art was often made with fragile materials, the lights had to be dimmed to avoid deterioration and fading.

“Making the words bigger wouldn’t affect the artwork, would it?” I asked.

“Well...” Kurishiro had a distant look in her eyes. “It’s a design issue. Increasing caption size wouldn’t be a problem for large display items, but for small ones, it would ruin the visual balance. The government also requires national museums to provide labels in Japanese, English, Chinese, and Korean, which further restricts text size because we have to fit four languages. That said, I do want to make it easier for visitors to read the exhibits. I imagine most curators find themselves in this dilemma.” She sighed and looked at me. “Anyway, what did you think of your morning as an attendant?”

“Observing the visitors was really interesting. I realized that everyone has their own way of enjoying the museum.”

“Yes, yes. That’s how it should be. Oh, are your feet all right? You must be tired from standing all day.”

“It was tiring, but I’m used to standing a lot at my part-time job, so it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. But staying put in one place was tough. I was grateful whenever it was time to rotate locations.”

“Right?” Kurishiro laughed mischievously. “Some museums have their attendants sit in chairs, but we stopped doing that because it was dangerous.”

“Is it because it’s a hindrance when there are lots of people?”

“Well, you can’t sit during busy times to begin with. Imagine sitting in a dim, quiet room, just watching a few visitors come in and out. You can guess what would happen, can’t you?”

“Oh.” I chuckled. “It’d make you sleepy.”

“Exactly. Before you know it, you’re drifting off. Standing is actually easier. As for your ‘Why can’t we take pictures?’...we do get that a lot. And it’s a reasonable complaint. Recent studies have shown that camera flashes don’t harm artwork, and many museums allow photography.”

The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York allowed photography, as did several exhibits in the Tokyo National Museum.

“KNM has the highest number of loaned pieces in Japan,” Kurishiro continued. “There are sixty-five hundred of them in comparison to the eight thousand in our possession. Some owners are fine with photography, while others won’t even entertain the thought. In particular, shrines and temples are often against it because they don’t want their statues to be cropped in humorous ways or used for malicious purposes. Even private owners wouldn’t want their precious treasures to be misused.”

It was true that people were more cautious when it came to objects of worship.

“Showing an indicator for each and every piece is an option, but it would cause confusion and lead to problems. There are also visitors who would find the shutter sounds annoying. So for now, we have a uniform no-photography policy.”

“That makes sense,” I said.

“But in the future, I’d like to discuss it with the owners and set up an exhibit where photography is allowed. This kind of thing also falls under the management umbrella.”

I took my notebook out of my pocket and wrote down what Kurishiro was saying.

“Oh, remember what I said about renting out Meiji Kotokan Hall?” she asked.

I gave a silent nod. Apparently it was going to take around ten years to finish the repairs and earthquake-proofing. In the meantime, it was being used as a unique venue that could be booked for events.

“The government’s been cutting budgets lately, even for national institutions, so we have to increase our own income. Renting out event space is a valuable source of revenue,” she explained. “By the way, if you were renting out Meiji Kotokan Hall, who would you market it to?”

Sensing that I was being tested, I straightened my back. “I think I’d market it to foreign companies first, not domestic ones.”

“Why?”

“I think foreign companies would consider Meiji Kotokan Hall’s rental fee very cheap.”

Sadly, there was a widening disparity in prices between Japan and foreign countries. Japanese companies were reducing their budgets, but that wasn’t the case in other developed nations. Meiji Kotokan Hall’s rental fee would probably seem reasonable to them.

“I’m just fantasizing here, but I think it’d be great if we could get Hollywood movies or web dramas to use it as a filming location,” I continued. “If the Egyptian hall were to appear in a popular foreign movie or show, it’d draw attention from all over the world. That would make it easier to do business in the future too.”

“True. That hall has been used in Japanese dramas, but not anything foreign. It’d be great if that could happen.” Kurishiro looked at me curiously. “You sure know how to think of profitable ideas, Mashiro. It was the same with the ancient Egypt exhibit. I’m surprised—most students don’t take that into account.”

“It’s nothing special,” I said shyly.

“Well, there are also times when you do have to disregard profitability. But from a management perspective, I think your mindset is a strength.”

“Thank you. I think I got it from my b— I mean, my mentor.” I was about to say “boyfriend,” but I switched to “mentor” at the last second.

I had the feeling that Holmes had been drilling business sense into me ever since I started working at Kura. Even when he was helping me study for tests, he would say things like, “This won’t do. When you have an exam coming up, rather than trying to overcome your weaknesses, you need to determine how to reliably secure more marks while losing as few as possible. Tests work the same way as doing business. It’s all about how to secure the greatest profit, be it in the market or on paper!” He’d taught me business acumen in addition to course material.

Also, the idea of marketing overseas had come from my involvement with Azusa, the rich young lady from Hong Kong. Meeting more people gave one a broader perspective.

“Your mentor?” Kurishiro asked. “As in Sally Barrymore? I’ve met her before. She has quite the sharp personality, huh?”

“Oh, um, Sally is one of my mentors, but I was talking about someone else. I’ve been working at an antique store named Kura since high school.”

“Seiji Yagashira’s store?”

“Yes,” I said, surprised. “You’ve heard of it?”

“When our museum is purchasing cultural properties, we have a committee of antique dealers who offer prices. That’s where I know Seiji from.”

I’d had no idea the owner was connected to KNM.

“So you’ve been working part-time at his store, huh?” Kurishiro clapped her hands as if she’d just remembered something. “Oh, that’s right. There’s going to be a piano recital at the Egyptian hall during your internship. It’s just a rental, so we aren’t going to help with the work, but we might be called in to answer questions.”

“That sounds wonderful. Is it classical music?”

“Jazz. It’s a young pianist coming from New York. I think she’s around thirty? Her name is...” She turned around to reach for a flyer on her desk. “Toko Kuroki,” she continued, placing it on the table between us.

The flyer had a photo of a woman in a black evening dress. She had long, straight hair in a one-length cut, and despite her delicate frame, she had a powerful presence.

“She’s so pretty,” I murmured.

“Yep.” Kurishiro nodded. “Perfect for that space, right? If you’re interested, I can appoint you to the staff that day.”

“I’d love to. May I have this flyer too?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” I took the flyer.

After work, I headed to Kura again despite my original intention of not doing so during my internship. I wanted to let Holmes know about the piano recital.

There are still seats available, and he’d probably be interested, I thought, entering the store with a spring in my step.

Rikyu and the manager were at the counter.

“Huh?” Rikyu looked at me in confusion. “Kiyo said he’d be gone for a while.”

The manager glanced around, concerned. “Did he not tell you, Aoi?”

“No, he didn’t,” I said. “But...” I thought back to the other day and recalled the sight of Holmes standing still with an envelope in his hand. That must have been... “I can guess where he went.” I also knew why he hadn’t wished to tell me.

Rikyu pouted. “Anyway, what kind of trick did you pull, Aoi?”

“Huh?”

“I applied for the internship at KNM too. How come you got in and I didn’t? I honestly can’t accept it.”

That was news to me. “What field did you apply for?”

“Ceramics,” he said proudly.

“Ahhh...”

“Wait, why’re you giving me that look of pity?!”

“I meant no such thing. Oh, I should try to contact Holmes.”

“Yeah, go do that.”

“Thanks.” I smiled and turned to leave.

“Are you going home already? I can at least make you tea. I wanna hear about KNM anyway.” Rikyu was incredibly skilled at brewing tea.

“Okay, I’ll take you up on that.”

“We got some good tea in. It’s called Champagne Party, and it’s Darjeeling with a mix of rose and marigold petals. It’s got a really glamorous taste.” He hummed as he went into the kitchenette.

I gazed absentmindedly out the window and murmured, “Holmes must’ve gone to Hong Kong.” I wasn’t upset. In fact, I thought it was a good thing. Since he’d gone without telling me, it was probably best that I pretended not to know. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

Rikyu returned from the kitchenette with a tray and placed a teapot wrapped in a tea cozy on the counter, followed by a cup and saucer. He then put down an hourglass and held up his index finger. “Three minutes. Wait until all of the sand has fallen.”

“Roger.” I looked up at him. “Oh, right. I can help at Kura on the weekend, so let me know if you need me.”

“Huh?” He blinked. “Isn’t KNM only closed on Mondays?”

“I thought so too, but employees have weekends off.”

Naturally, the museum was open on weekends, so staff had an on-call rotation in case of emergency. The receptionists, guides, and attendants handling visitors were outsourced. They submitted a daily log and contacted KNM staff immediately in the event of visitor inquiries or accidents. Of course, there were also events, lectures, business trips, and whatnot held on weekends. In those cases, employees received weekdays off instead.

Therefore, we interns also had weekends off. However, since Saturday and Sunday were the busiest days at KNM, I was thinking of going there on the weekend too for learning purposes. I could stop by Kura on my way back.

“Well, sure, but you should focus on your internship,” said Rikyu. “Getting proper rest on days off is part of your job.”

“Okay,” I said, shrinking back. He was completely right.

“With me here, you won’t have to worry about Kura at all.” He laughed mischievously.

“Thanks,” I said sheepishly. After checking the hourglass, I picked up the teapot and slowly poured tea into my cup.

5

A flight from Kansai International Airport (KIX) to Hong Kong International Airport took about four hours. If one departed in the afternoon, they would arrive in the evening.

Hong Kong International Airport was one of the top travel hubs in Asia. It was used by about fifty million travelers per year, often as a layover on the way to Europe or the U.S. It was large and spacious with many stores.

“People my age have the impression that Hong Kong’s a messy place, but it’s actually really clean and nice, huh?” Katsuya Komatsu remarked as he looked around the airport.

“Indeed,” said the tall, slim, and handsome young man next to him, Kiyotaka Yagashira. “I hear it’s been voted best airport in the world on multiple occasions.”

Komatsu hummed, then stopped in his tracks and looked down at his feet.

Kiyotaka turned around. “What’s the matter?”

“Sorry.” Komatsu gave a strained smile. “It just feels weird being in Hong Kong all of a sudden.” The other night, he had been taking a break after completing a programming job when Kiyotaka had called him out of the blue.

“Yilin just informed me that Ensho has a painting on display at a museum in Hong Kong. Have you heard anything about this, Komatsu?”

Naturally, the detective had not.

Kiyotaka sighed. “Did you receive the letter, then?”

Komatsu immediately went to check the mailbox, but it was empty.

“I received one from Ensho,” Kiyotaka said.

“A letter?”

“Yes. There was a poem written in it.”

“A poem?” Komatsu squeaked. He couldn’t link Ensho to poetry.

“He’s sent me several in the past.”

It was hard to believe, but Komatsu figured Ensho must’ve done it to match Kiyotaka’s style.

“His incredibly beautiful handwriting also annoys me to no end,” the young man added.

“What was the poem?”

“Let the mountain cherries dictate our farewell; the flowers shall decide our fate,” Kiyotaka recited in a whisper.

“Uh...”

Kiyotaka explained the meaning of the poem, then said, “I wasn’t planning on getting involved this time, but I have no choice now. I’m going to Hong Kong to see for myself.”

“I’m going too!” Komatsu exclaimed right away.

That brought them to today. Komatsu had been surprised to see Kiyotaka arrive at KIX alone.

“I thought Aoi would be coming with us,” he said.

Kiyotaka shook his head. “She’s interning at KNM right now.”

“Oh. Yeah, she should definitely be focusing on that.”

“Exactly. I’m concerned about the cool deputy director, though. Well, surely he wouldn’t make a move on an intern. It should be fine for now.”

“Uh, yeah...” Komatsu’s face stiffened. “Anyway, where should we go first? The museum?”

“No,” said Kiyotaka, walking away at a brisk pace. “I’d like to speak with Yilin first. I set up a dinner meeting for tonight.”

“Hey, wait up!” Komatsu hurried after the young man.

6

Today, I had lunch with my fellow interns, Eri Kimura and Koki Segawa. We ate our packed meals in the museum’s break room.

Eri sighed. “How do I put this? She’s so high-level. It’s kind of overwhelming.”

“Are you talking about Akiyama?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

Our instructors—Kurishiro, Akiyama, and Hayashida—were chatting a short distance away, so we kept our voices down.

“The researchers at KNM are really impressive, huh?” Eri murmured.

“I know what you mean,” I said. “Kurishiro is amazing too.”

“Well, she’s the deputy director, after all,” Segawa said with a laugh.

“I’m only keeping up because she explains everything really clearly and concisely,” I said. “If she speeds up even a little bit, I’ll instantly fall behind.”

“Oh, I’m in the same boat,” said Segawa.

Eri giggled. “You know, people always told me that history is about memorization, so that’s how I learned it. In university, my professor taught us that our program is about studying history, and I thought I understood what that meant, but I was still thinking that memorization was the biggest part of it. Well, it is important, but after coming here, I realized that studying history is about digging deeper into past events so that we can predict the future. I feel like I finally understand how valuable the field is.”

Human history repeats itself. Knowing the past gives us a look into the future, I thought as I listened in silence.

“Oh, but more importantly...” Eri looked at me as if remembering something. “I saw you talking to a hot guy in the museum the other day, Mashiro. Was he your boyfriend?”

Who could that have been? I furrowed my brow. Holmes hadn’t visited KNM during my internship.

Seeing my confusion, Eri added, “You were talking in the exhibit room.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “That was Shinoda. He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just in the same club.”

“So he goes to KPU?”

“No, we go to different universities. He was originally from Kanto and came to Kyoto for grad school.”

Eri hummed. “He’s cool and good-looking, so I couldn’t help but check him out. He must like you if he came here just to see you.”

“Well, he knows I already have a boyfriend. Besides, I don’t think he likes me that way.”

“Huh?” Segawa looked at me, surprised. “What makes you think that?”

It was hard to explain. Shinoda certainly did things that could easily be misinterpreted, like talking to me constantly at club meetings and visiting me at Kura and KNM. But when I looked into his eyes, I could tell that he wasn’t attracted to me, and when we talked, it felt like I was being investigated. It seemed like he was approaching me for a specific purpose...even though there was hardly anything to be gained from being close to me.

Unsure how to respond, I gave a vague smile and changed the subject. “Um, Eri, you said that you like to draw, right? Did you consider choosing the paintings category when you applied for this internship?”

Eri blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s really just a hobby. But...I’m actually holding a shared exhibition right now with a friend who likes painting animals. Here,” she said, taking out a postcard-sized ad.

The venue was located between Gojo Street and Shichijo Street. It was within walking distance.

Segawa hummed, impressed. “An exhibition? You must be really good.”

“It’s mainly my friend’s,” said Eri. “She’s just letting me display three of my pieces there. It’s close by, so feel free to take a look if you want. Oh, and admission is free, so I’m not saying this because I want your money.”

“Is your friend a professional artist?” Segawa asked.

“Well...she’s still in school, but she holds solo exhibitions and has sold her art before, so I guess that makes her a pro? Oh, right.” Eri turned the ad over, revealing an illustration of a light-blue elephant floating in the sky. “This is her work. Doesn’t it have a gentle atmosphere?”

“Ooh, I love this aesthetic,” I said. “Since the gallery is nearby, I might stop by on my way home.”

“Oh, I’ll go with you,” said Eri.

“If you two are going, I’ll go too,” said Segawa, raising his hand.

“Thanks,” Eri said shyly. “My friend’s name is Ikumi. She’s been depressed lately, so I think she’ll be happy if you go.”

“What’s got her depressed?” Segawa asked.

“Is it because people aren’t going to her exhibition?” I added.

Eri grimaced. “No, the problem is that a devoted fan has gotten a bit demanding.”

“Demanding?”

Just then, Kurishiro came up to us. “Mind if I go to that gallery with you?” Apparently we had raised our voices without realizing it, allowing her to hear our conversation.

Eri stood up, eyes wide. “Huh? Are you sure you want to?”

“Yes. It’s close by, isn’t it? I like seeing the work of young artists.” Kurishiro smiled.

7

After leaving the airport, Kiyotaka and Komatsu first took a taxi to Kowloon in central Hong Kong, where they would be meeting with Yilin at a hotel. When the cab stopped at the entrance, hotel staff immediately came to greet them and take them to the top floor.

“Going places with you messes with my values,” Komatsu muttered as the elevator ascended.

The elevator had glass walls that provided a view of the Hong Kong cityscape. The buildings were glowing orange from the setting sun, and the dense sea of neon signs was already lit up. It was a strange sight—chaotic yet beautiful, new yet nostalgic.

Ding! The elevator doors opened.

“Oh!” a young lady exclaimed, running up to them.

Komatsu had been expecting Yilin, but it was someone else. This woman had straight hair trimmed neatly at the jawline, a small, egg-shaped face, and a headstrong look in her eyes. Her outfit consisted of a simple tank top and jeans, but she also wore a luxury wristwatch and expensive jewelry. Her name was Zixuan Zhou, and she was the only daughter of Hua Ya Corporation representative Haoyu Zhou. It was a Hong Kong-based company that did business worldwide. In other words, she was a rich lady like Yilin. She had a Japanese mother, so she was fluent in the language and went by “Azusa” in Japan.

“It’s been so long, Kiyotaka!” she said, hugging the young man.

Komatsu was taken aback, but Kiyotaka merely smiled down at her and said, “Yes, it has. I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting this reaction. I thought you despised me.”

“I was furious at the time, but after a while, I started missing your callous yet flawless handling.” When Azusa had last visited Kyoto, the Komatsu Detective Agency—mainly Kiyotaka—had been in charge of showing her around the city.

Standing right behind her was her attendant and lover, Eiji Kimishima. He bowed to Kiyotaka and Komatsu, who returned the gesture.

“Hey, where’s Aoi?” Azusa asked, looking around excitedly.

“She isn’t with us,” said Kiyotaka.

“Oh.” She grimaced and stepped back. “I shouldn’t have bothered coming all this way, then. I was thinking that if I hugged you first, I could see her jealous face and say, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll return your darling’s warmth right now.’ It’d be an excuse to hug her,” she muttered, annoyed.

“Ah, so that was your scheme. Well, even if she was here, I would have stopped you from hugging her.”

“Your personality is as horrible as ever.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you...”

As the two of them were bantering, Yilin appeared. “Thank you for coming, Kiyotaka and Komatsu.”

“There’s no need for thanks.” Kiyotaka shook his head. “I merely showed up uninvited.”

“What he said,” Komatsu agreed.

“For now, let’s talk over dinner,” Yilin said, leading them to a room in the back.

“I looked into it, but I haven’t the slightest idea who Ensho’s agent is,” Yilin said, slumping her shoulders as she sipped from her glass of white wine.

Kiyotaka, Komatsu, Yilin, Azusa, and Kimishima were sitting around a circular table of French-Chinese fusion cuisine. The fancy dishes included roasted duck breast, prawns and abalone stir-fried in shrimp sauce, and dim sum.

“An ordinary restaurant would’ve been fine,” Komatsu grumbled as he took a bite of the stir-fry. “Whoa, this is good.”

Azusa widened her eyes at Yilin. “There are things even you can’t find?”

“It’s because of the project’s emphasis on anonymity,” Yilin explained. “They want to keep the artists’ identities secret at all costs until the deals are made, so even the agents’ names are being concealed. I was surprised by how thorough they’ve been.”

Kiyotaka hummed and folded his arms. “‘Until a deal is made’... In other words, when a painting is purchased, the artist’s identity will be made public?”

“Correct. Naturally, I plan on buying that painting.”

“Is the business meeting different from an auction?” Azusa asked.

“Yes. It’s a negotiation system where the sale only goes through if the artist agrees to the prospective buyer’s terms. Even if someone offers an extremely high price, the artist doesn’t have to sell it to them if they don’t want to.”

“But there’s still bidding involved, huh?” Komatsu took a swig of his beer.

“By the way...” Kiyotaka looked at Yilin. “Do you have any predictions about the agent’s identity?”

Yilin furrowed her brow. “Countless people come to mind, but I’m really not sure. It’s no secret that my father is fond of Ensho’s work. There are many who would wish to get in his good graces, but I can’t imagine Ensho liking any of them.”

Komatsu concurred. There were probably tons of people who wanted Ensho on their side, but Ensho wouldn’t agree to that. What kind of sweet words had the agent used to persuade him?

“How can you be sure that the anonymous painting really was by that Ensho guy?” Azusa asked.

Yilin frowned. “I...think it has to be.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I’m not a professional, so I can’t say for sure. That’s why I’m glad Kiyotaka is here.”

“So Kiyotaka would be able to tell?” Azusa gave the young man a skeptical look.

“Yes, leave it to me,” Kiyotaka said with absolute confidence, startling the lady.

“I’ll take you to M+ tomorrow,” said Yilin. “Oh, right. Where’s your hotel, Kiyotaka?”

“It’s about a ten-minute walk from here.”

“I was planning on reserving a room for you, but...”

“I came on a whim, so don’t worry about it.”

It seemed that Kiyotaka had booked a hotel himself instead of leaving it to Yilin. Komatsu felt relieved yet disappointed as he ate his dim sum.

“Hey, why don’t you come to our hotel, then?” Azusa asked with open arms. “I’ll let you use our amazing suite.”

“Thank you for the offer,” said Kiyotaka. “I’ll take you up on that next time, when I come with Aoi.”

“That works too. Actually, I want to stay with Aoi! Then I can take a bath with her.”

“I’d drown you in Victoria Harbor.” Kiyotaka chuckled and sipped his red wine.

“Hey, could you not make malicious jokes like that?”

“You’re the malicious one here.”

“How am I malicious?!”

Yilin widened her eyes and looked at Komatsu. “Are those two friends? Or enemies?”

“None of the above, I guess,” the detective replied with a laugh.

8

KNM’s workday ended at 5:30 p.m. Eri, Segawa, Kurishiro, and I left on time and were at the gallery by 6 p.m. I’d already known it was close by when I’d seen the address on the ad, but chatting about this and that on the way made it feel as if we’d arrived in no time at all.

The building stood out with its pure-white walls. At first glance, it looked like a café. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the sign that said “Animal Art Exhibition.”

Just as Eri was about to open the door, she turned around and said, “Um, I want to surprise my friend, so is it okay if we don’t mention Kurishiro’s position for a while?”

“Got it.” Kurishiro smiled.

We stepped into the gallery. As Eri had explained, all of the works were of animals. Some were realistic, some had a fairy-tale look, and some depicted only the patterns of giraffes or zebras. I gazed at them, fascinated.

Kurishiro hummed in amusement. “Animal paintings are quite popular. Like Rosetsu Nagasawa’s Puppies and Chrysanthemums or Kocho Ueda’s Puppy.”

“Torarin was based on a cute animal painting too, right?” I asked. “Korin Ogata’s Tiger and Bamboo.”

“That’s right.” Kurishiro chuckled.

Torarin was KNM’s official mascot and PR ambassador. It was based on Tiger and Bamboo, a painting of a tiger by Korin Ogata. Its official name was Rinnojo Kogata.

Eri’s paintings used translucent watercolors and mainly depicted animals from the Kyoto City Zoo. One had four elephants playing together, while another had sleeping tigers.

“Kimura’s gentle and earnest nature comes through in her work,” Kurishiro remarked.

I felt the same way. Eri’s paintings had a very soft and careful touch. She was serious about the animals and tried to depict them with sincerity.

As we were browsing the artwork, a bespectacled man in a suit entered the gallery without hesitation. He looked as if he had just left work. As soon as he saw the exhibition, he groaned and facepalmed.

“Hey, Ikumi!” he called out.

“Coming!” A gentle-looking young woman with a bob cut came out from the back of the gallery. Presumably, she was the friend Eri had been talking about. “Oh, welcome, Suzuki. Thank you as always.” She bowed to the man.

“Don’t give me that. Didn’t I tell you to change how the paintings are arranged? They’re the same as before. You can’t just hang them up next to each other. You have to create a visual flow for the eye to follow. I’m saying this because I recognize your talent, you know?” He sighed, exasperated.

“Oh...yes, your opinion was very helpful. But personally, I felt that they should be arranged this way.” As an artist, Ikumi must have had her own beliefs about how to display her work.

“You felt that way?” The man scratched his head. “Don’t you want to be more famous? You can’t keep thinking like an amateur forever.”

Who does this person think he is? I was lost for words.

Eri came up to us and whispered, “That’s Suzuki, my friend’s devoted fan. He’s been buying her paintings and helping her find galleries, but at some point, he started meddling with her work and displays.”

“Huh? Is he in the art industry?” Segawa asked.

“He says he is.”

“Do you understand?” Suzuki asked, crossing his arms. “You’re a talented artist, but you don’t know how to do business. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Um...” Ikumi murmured, looking down. Her hands were slightly trembling.

“I’m an art manager. Everyone in the art industry knows me. I’m saying these things for your own sake, you know? Just leave everything to me and focus on creating the pieces I tell you to.”

As I was frowning at the situation, Kurishiro gallantly walked up to the man.

“Hello, my name is Kurishiro. Did I hear correctly that you’re in art management?”

“Oh, yes,” Suzuki replied, surprised by the sudden interruption. He straightened his glasses. “Are you a painter too? I’m afraid I only supervise works that I personally enjoy. It may be my job, but art is about aesthetics. If you’d like my advice, please show me—”

“No.” Kurishiro shook her head. “I’m not an artist. I’m an appreciator of art, just like you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t lump us in the same category,” Suzuki muttered with a sneer.

Kurishiro’s smile didn’t falter. “You said ‘art is about aesthetics,’ right?”

“Yes, and?”

“I would think that Ikumi feels the same way. Even if your ideas are good from a business perspective, she wants to follow her own aesthetic.”

“You just don’t get it,” Suzuki said in an exaggerated tone. “The reason Japanese painters can’t make a living is that they lack the ability to represent themselves. They have low self-esteem and can’t even price their own art properly. That’s why they need agents.”

Despite his disagreeable attitude, he was correct in what he was saying. Japanese people were too humble, so they tended to undervalue their own work.

Hearing the word “agents” reminded me of a conversation I’d had with Holmes on Christmas night. He’d mentioned starting a new job, and when I’d asked what it was, he’d said, “I’m going to be an agent.” Did he mean Ensho’s agent? That would explain why he’d said the other day that he’d been rejected. Ensho hadn’t taken his offer.

“Yes,” Kurishiro said, her voice bringing me back to the present. “I agree. Artists, especially Japanese creators, may need the help of agents. However, it isn’t good to force your ideas on an artist just because you’re their fan or have knowledge. The artist must want to work with the agent and vice versa.”

Hearing those words, I felt bitter. What kind of person had Ensho chosen as his partner?

“Most of all, artists are sensitive,” she continued in a firm tone. “There are cases where they quit due to external pressure.”

“What?” Suzuki’s eyes widened. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m evil. Do you know how much I care about her? How much I’ve supported her?”

“Asking those questions only proves that you’re imposing your will on her.”

“You don’t know anything, so stop acting like you do! You’re just a casual art fan, aren’t you? One of those girls who treats museums as a trend to follow? I’m an authority in the art world. Everyone knows me. So shut your mouth.”

Kurishiro frowned and stared at him.

“Wh-What?” he asked.

“Sorry, you say you’re an authority in the art world, but I don’t remember seeing you. Where do you work?” she asked with a serious expression.

Suzuki looked around in a panic. “I-I’m the president of the Japan Association for Arts Management.”

“I know the current president and you’re not him,” Kurishiro replied immediately.

The man’s eyes widened for a second before he laughed and said, “Oh, I misspoke. I meant the Japan Museum Management Academy.”

“The JMMA is also headed by someone else.”

“Huh?” Suzuki froze.

Kurishiro took her business card out of her pocket and showed it to him. “My name is Yuki Kurishiro, and I’m the deputy director of the Kyoto National Museum. I’m on the board of directors at the Japan Museum Management Academy and the Japanese Association of Museums. I’m also a member of the Japanese Council of Art Museums and the International Association of Art Critics, among others. But I’m afraid I don’t recall seeing you before.”

Upon taking her business card, Suzuki’s face went pale.

“Going back to what I was saying earlier, I do agree that artists need management,” Kurishiro continued. “However, if they themselves are not asking for it, the only thing we can do is support them without getting in their way. If, one day, she asks for your opinion, that’s when you reach out to her for the first time. Isn’t that how a true fan should be?”

Suzuki turned around without a word and left the gallery. Ikumi fell to her knees as if all her strength had left her body.

“Are you all right?” Kurishiro asked.

“Sorry,” Ikumi said, placing a hand on her chest. “He was a good person at first, but then he started laying on the pressure, and he’s been really scary lately. Thank you so much, Kurishiro. I can’t fight back when he’s demanding things from me like that. Thank goodness he left.”

The deputy director sighed and looked out the window to watch Suzuki speed-walk away. “It’s been an issue in the industry recently. An increasing number of people are approaching young artists and giving them unwanted advice, bullying them, or even sexually harassing them. Some call them ‘gallery stalkers.’ And there really are artists who quit because of them.” She held out her hand for Ikumi, who took it and stood up. “Contact me if you need help again.” She offered the painter her business card.

“Thank you,” Ikumi said with tears in her eyes.

“She’s so cool,” Eri, Segawa, and I said, clenching our fists.

I didn’t realize it yet, but this event would later become a major influence on my life.

9

The next day, Kiyotaka and Komatsu went with Yilin to the West Kowloon Cultural District. M+ was located there, on the Victoria Harbor waterfront. The building was very simple, with a wide lower section and a slender tower. Its facade was in the shape of a stone plaque, or rather...

“It kinda looks like a huge screen,” Komatsu murmured as he looked up at the building.

“That’s because it is one,” Kiyotaka replied. “The enormous facade facing Victoria Harbor is a functioning digital screen.”

“Oh. It really is a museum for digital art, huh?” Komatsu said as he followed the others to the front side.

“This entrance reminds me of ROHM Theater Kyoto.”

“C’mon, kiddo, stop comparing everything to Kyoto.”

They stepped inside. Tickets needed to be reserved in advance, but Yilin had taken care of that for them. From the entrance, they could see a wide-open space, unpainted concrete, and wooden counters. The interior design was simple yet sophisticated.

“This way,” Yilin said, leading them in.

The entrance to the special exhibit had a white sign that said “equality” in black letters with a “no photography” icon. Komatsu gulped as they went inside.

The first thing they saw was a large painting of a young girl, likely Middle Eastern. It was a close-up of her face, and her eyes reflected armed soldiers at war. The girl wasn’t crying or despondent; she was simply watching the scene. Just looking at the painting made Komatsu’s heart ache. Art truly was powerful.

Other works in the exhibit included a colorful chameleon objet d’art, a poster that looked like the artist had merely splattered paint on canvas, a cartoonish illustration, and an elaborate painting that looked exactly like a photograph. Some were indisputably amazing, while others left Komatsu tilting his head and wondering what the point of them was. None of them displayed the name of their creator.

Kiyotaka hummed. “There are quite a few well-known artists participating.”

“I was surprised too,” said Yilin.

The two of them seemed to be able to identify the anonymous artists.

“So where’s En— I mean, the painting we’re looking for?” Komatsu asked, glancing around.

Yilin looked nervous for a moment. “It’s farther inside.”

They continued through the exhibit until they arrived at the painting. It was titled Present City, likely paralleling Kyoto’s nickname, “Ancient City.”

Kiyotaka stopped in front of it and stood perfectly still. The piece was an overhead view of Gion at sunset. It depicted Shijo Bridge spanning the Kamo River, Minamiza Theater, and Yasaka Shrine at the end of the street to the east. It wasn’t as detailed and accurate as a photo, but it was beautiful and meticulously painted. Most of all, the pedestrians looked lively and cheerful.

It brought a tear to Komatsu’s eye. “He...had fun living in Gion, huh?” He’d never seen anything but a dour, uninterested expression on Ensho’s face, but this painting radiated happiness and joy.

“It’s well done,” Kiyotaka murmured to himself. “His paintings have a mysterious pull that makes you think, ‘I want to be in there.’ You can’t help but stop and stare at them for as long as you can. It’s like you can even sense the smells and sounds inside them. There’s something in Ensho’s paintings that goes beyond technique, and it’s probably not something that can be learned.”

Komatsu agreed. There had been paintings that had caught his eye in the past, but none had gripped him as strongly as Ensho’s.

Kiyotaka slowly turned his gaze to Yilin, who looked at him nervously. “The painting is undoubtedly his work.”

“Thank you, Kiyotaka,” she said with a serious expression. “I’ve made up my mind now.”

“You’re going to buy it, I assume.”

“Yes, though I don’t know if I’ll be able to.” Offering a high price wouldn’t be enough this time. She had to outbid the other buyers. “By the way, I’m not going to tell you my bid.” She seemed wary of Kiyotaka too. It was clear how desperate she was to obtain the painting.

“Are you doing this for your father?”

“Yes...but also for myself. Sorry, I have to get ready now, so I’ll be taking my leave.” She bowed, turned on her heel, and walked away at a quick pace.

Komatsu stared blankly at Yilin’s receding figure. “She seemed kinda tense.”

“It must be because she has confirmation that the painting is by Ensho,” said Kiyotaka.

“What are you gonna do, kiddo? Are you gonna bid on it?”

“Of course not.” Kiyotaka laughed. “I think it’s good that he can choose the buyer rather than not knowing who they are or where it’s going. Now then, shall we go?” He began to walk.

“Wait, are you already going back to Japan?”

“Yes. I only came to see the painting.”

“Can we at least get lunch first? I wanna try some local eats.”

“That’s a good point. It’s not every day you go to Hong Kong,” Kiyotaka said with a smile.

Kiyotaka and Komatsu left M+ and returned to Kowloon. They walked around looking at the restaurant signs, trying to decide which one to go to.

“I was surprised it really was a normal business hotel this time,” said Komatsu. “And we even shared a twin room.” It had obviously been the economical choice, but he had assumed that Kiyotaka would put them in separate rooms.

“I would’ve preferred separate rooms, of course. But I did it this way just in case.” Kiyotaka shrugged.

“Just in case?”

“Yes, so I can keep you in sight.”

“You’re treating me like a kid?”

As they talked, they turned their attention to the bustling streets of Kowloon. The neon signs jutting out into the road truly felt like Hong Kong, and the diversity of the people coming and going made it clear that they were in one of the top international financial centers in the world.

“It really is lively, huh?” Komatsu remarked. “And the atmosphere is different from Shanghai. By the way, how safe is Hong Kong these days?”

“I’d say it’s fine. It’s not as safe as Japan, though, so be careful. I have a bit of a bad feeling right now.”

“A bad feeling?”

“It feels like we’re being watched. Oh, make sure you wear your sling bag across your body instead of letting it hang off your shoulder.”

“Got it.”

Suddenly, someone walking behind them stepped on the heel of Komatsu’s shoe. Komatsu slipped and fell behind Kiyotaka, giving the person an opportunity to reach out and grab his sling. Before Komatsu could even say anything, the thief was gone.

“Whoa! My bag!” The detective looked around in a panic.

“Just as I was warning you...” Kiyotaka immediately rushed after the bag snatcher.

“Kiddo!” Komatsu gave chase.

The bag snatcher weaved through the crowd as he ran. He was surprisingly fast, but so was Kiyotaka, who quickly gained on him. Komatsu was also running with all his might.

The thief glanced back before entering an alley. Kiyotaka followed him, as did Komatsu several seconds later. The alley was barely wide enough for two adult men to walk side by side and dimly lit even in the middle of the day. The sides were lined with air conditioning units, cardboard boxes, trash bins, and oil cans.

Spotting Kiyotaka, Komatsu walked up to him, relieved. “Kid—”

He was interrupted by the sight of two other young men accompanying the thief. All three were grinning in Kiyotaka’s direction.

“Forget the bag, kiddo. We gotta get out of here!” His phone, wallet, and passport were in the bag, along with cigarettes and a lighter. But at this point, they had no choice but to give up. Kiyotaka was strong, but this wasn’t Japan. It wasn’t worth dying over.

The moment Komatsu shouted that, the men lunged at Kiyotaka. Komatsu squealed and stepped back. His legs nearly gave out, but this wasn’t the time for that.

When faced with a shocking situation, one sometimes experiences a strange phenomenon where time appears to slow down. This was one such case. Komatsu watched as one of the reinforcements swung his fist at Kiyotaka, only for Kiyotaka to bend back, place one hand on the ground, and kick him in the abdomen with his left foot.

The second man clicked his tongue and pulled out a knife. Kiyotaka quickly grabbed his right hand, twisted it behind him, and slammed him onto the ground. The man screamed in pain.

The thief, realizing he was in danger, decided to abandon his friends. But as he turned to run away, Kiyotaka swiftly grabbed him by the arm and delivered a powerful one-arm shoulder throw. He held the thief’s head down and retrieved the bag.

“You did it, kiddo!” Before he realized it, Komatsu was clenching both fists. That’s Kiyotaka for you.

Still pinning the man down, Kiyotaka asked coldly in English, “You were watching us ever since we left the museum, weren’t you? Who told you to do that?”

The man gritted his teeth and said nothing.

Kiyotaka turned to the detective and asked, “Komatsu, could you get that large can for me?”

“Oh, this?” Wondering what it would be used for, Komatsu grabbed the can and put it down next to the young appraiser.

Kiyotaka opened the can, poured oil all over the thief’s head, and took Komatsu’s Zippo out of his bag.

“Wh-What’re you doing, kiddo?!”

“You be quiet!” Kiyotaka shouted angrily.

Komatsu flinched. The oil was seeping into the asphalt. The thief’s face turned pale as a ghost.

“You don’t want to go up in flames, do you?” Kiyotaka continued in English. “Who told you to do this, and what were their orders?” He lit the lighter and held it up to the man’s face.

“Eek! It was my part-time job!” the man shrieked.

“Your part-time job?”

“I don’t know who the client was! They just showed me your picture and said to attack you. They said I’d get paid a lot for it. I really don’t know anything. Have mercy!”

“Is that so?” Kiyotaka dropped the lit lighter onto the pooling oil on the ground.

“Don’t do it, kiddo!” Komatsu shouted, but it was too late. The lighter hit the asphalt.

The thief screamed and frantically pushed Kiyotaka off him before running out of the alley with his wounded companions.

Komatsu wanted to cover his eyes, but before he could, he realized there was no blazing fire to be seen. “Huh?” He blinked and looked down at the lighter. It had fallen into the oil, but the flame had been extinguished.

“Good grief,” said Kiyotaka. “Komatsu, this isn’t gasoline or kerosene. It’s cooking oil.” He pointed at the label on the can. Needless to say, holding a flame near cooking oil for a few seconds wasn’t enough to make it catch fire.

“Huh? Really?”

“Yes. I was just teaching them a lesson.”

Despite his words, Kiyotaka’s aura had been nothing short of demonic.

“I apologize for getting oil all over your lighter, though,” he added, picking the Zippo up with two fingers and wrapping it in a handkerchief.

“It’s fine,” said Komatsu, taking his bag and lighter. “You got my things back for me, after all. Thanks.”

“There’s no need to thank me. It seems he only stole your bag to lure me here in the first place.”

“Which means...someone’s targeting you.”

“Indeed.”

“Who could it be?”

“I can only think of one person who would do this to me.” Kiyotaka stood up, sighed, and looked into the distance.

Komatsu had the same individual in mind, but he didn’t name him aloud.

“I’m afraid this leaves me no choice.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to join the bidding.”

“What?” Komatsu’s eyes widened.

10

Ensho sat at a table on the top floor of a building overlooking Kowloon. The neon lights hadn’t come on yet, so the messiness of the city was clear as day. He drank his Shaoxing wine and turned his attention to the Chinese delicacies on the table, like Peking duck and shark fin soup.

“Dumplings and fried rice would’ve been fine,” he muttered.

There were two other men at the table, one in a suit and one in a T-shirt.

“Huh? Did you say something?” the man in the suit asked.

“I told you luxury ain’t my thing.”

“Hey, don’t be like that. You’re gonna become a billionaire star soon, you know?”

“A star?” Ensho snorted.

“Since Yilin’s gone to M+ so many times, collectors are starting to take notice. They’ve probably figured out the artist’s identity. We’re already getting bids, and they’re all pretty high,” the man in the suit said, looking at his phone.

“Oh yeah?” The man in the T-shirt craned his neck to look at the phone screen. “Oh, those guys. They’re more interested in the investment than the painting itself.”

“That’s fine. It’s proof that his paintings have brand-name value. Don’t you agree, Ensho?”

Ensho sipped his wine in silence.

“Anyway, the kid really did show up, huh?” the man in the suit continued. “Will we be getting the call soon?”

The T-shirt man looked at his wristwatch. “It should’ve come ages ago. I wonder if our guy lost the fight.”

“It’s possible. Despite his looks, that kid is like a demon. How can he be so strong?”

“Ha ha! Kiyotaka’s been doing martial arts for a long time. At first, it was ’cause his grandpa forced him to, but then he got attacked in elementary school...”

“Attacked?” Ensho asked.

“He didn’t get hurt. A guy went up to him pretending to ask for directions and took him to a deserted place—dunno if he mistook him for a girl or if he was into boys in the first place. But apparently Kiyotaka just shoved him and ran away.”

“That’s news to me,” Ensho muttered to himself.

“Probably, yeah. He said he never told his dad or grandpa about it, so I might be the only one who knows.”

“Did he tell you back when he was in middle school?” the man in the suit asked.

“Yeah.” T-shirt man sipped his wine. “He talked about it calmly, but he was seething with anger. He was honestly terrifying. Anyway, that was what got him to take his training seriously.”

“Hm, I guess it was traumatizing. Is that why you told our guy to take him to a deserted place and attack him?”

The man in the T-shirt merely laughed. He didn’t say anything, but the implication was there.

Ensho looked at the two men. The one wearing the suit was Shiro Kikukawa, who had formerly gone by the surname Amamiya. Needless to say, his plans had been foiled by Kiyotaka on many occasions. He had been arrested once but was now free.

The one in the T-shirt was Futa Hiramasa, a former painter who had gone by the pseudonym of Fuga. At first glance, he seemed handsome, harmless, and kind. He and Kiyotaka went way back. The two had met when Fuga was an art university student and Kiyotaka was in middle school. Kiyotaka had already possessed a keen eye at that age, and he had sensed Fuga’s potential upon seeing his work in an exhibition. He had introduced Fuga to Seiji Yagashira, and the renowned appraiser had acknowledged the painter’s talent. Before long, Fuga’s paintings had caught the attention of influential people in the art world. At the time, Fuga had been grateful to Kiyotaka, while Kiyotaka had admired him as an older brother figure and often visited his studio.

One day, through Seiji’s connections, Fuga had received an invitation to enter a major international competition. Overjoyed, he had been determined to make the most of the opportunity. However, his enthusiasm hadn’t borne fruit. Instead, he had found that he had lost the ability to paint. That was when his university friend had recommended an illegal drug, saying, “You’ll be able to free yourself from the pressure and paint something good. A small dose won’t get you addicted.”

Enticed by those words, Fuga had given it a try and became completely addicted. Instead of painting, he now spent his days indulging in alcohol, drugs, and women with his bad friend. His older brother had tried to stop him only to be dragged into their group.

Fuga had been hosting a drug party when the police had raided them and arrested him and his friends. The tip-off had come from Kiyotaka. During the arrest, Fuga had shouted, “It’s all your fault! I wish I’d never met you!” From then on, his life had been in a downward spiral.

As Ensho drank his Shaoxing wine, he thought back on what had happened outside his Adashi Moor apartment.

It was around half a year ago, on February 14th. After seeing Aoi and her friends’ Valentine’s Day exhibition, Ensho went home in a good mood. Upon arriving at the apartment, he spotted a white Benz with a Kobe license plate stealthily parked at a distance. He’d been seeing it often as of late.

He approached the car and asked, “Why the hell are you following me? Are you a stalker?”

The backseat door opened and a man in his mid-thirties came out. “Hello,” he said with a cheerful smile. It was Fuga, who had once said some unpleasant words to Ensho.

Ensho grimaced.

Fuga gave a placating smile. “Sorry for making you uncomfortable. You looked like you were working on something, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Ensho said nothing.

“I wanted to discuss something with you again,” Fuga continued. “Do you have time?”

The man got out of the car. Ensho could tell that someone else was sitting inside, but he couldn’t see their face.

“I ain’t got nothing to discuss with you,” said Ensho. “You’re just gonna ask me to forge something again, right? I won’t do it.”

“No, I wanted to apologize. I was very rude to you.”

Ensho glared coldly at him. Fuga had once come to him and said, “You’re only a copycat. Don’t get your hopes up.” Ensho had nearly quit painting because of those words.

“I didn’t mean it,” Fuga continued. “Takashi and the others asked me to say something that would make you give up.” Takashi was Ensho’s former colleague from his counterfeiting days. In other words, he was bad company.

Ensho looked at Fuga in silence.

“When I saw your work, I was astonished. It made my heart flutter even though I’d already given up painting. Honestly, I was jealous.”

Come to think of it, Kiyotaka had said, “I think that person’s criticism was probably eighty percent jealousy.” It seemed he’d been right.

“I don’t care,” Ensho said, turning to the side.

“Shinya—or Ensho, I guess—why don’t you try standing on the world stage for real? Don’t you want to get back at Kiyotaka?”

“What?” Ensho’s eyes widened.

The other person in the car came out. It was Shiro Kikukawa. “You must have a grudge against that Holmes guy too, right? Why don’t we settle our scores together?”

Shiro Kikukawa and Fuga were both quite capable. Shiro still had connections to wealthy Asian families as an art broker. Fuga was officially an employee at his brother’s company, but in reality, he was something like an entertainer for rich women, and there were several who had taken a liking to him. He was tall, handsome, and sweet on the outside, but most of all, he had the ability to worm his way into people’s hearts. After all, even Kiyotaka had once opened up to him. Telling people the words they wanted to hear came as naturally to Fuga as breathing. That was why he could also say things to cause deep emotional pain.

The offer to display Ensho’s work at the M+ exhibition had come from one of Fuga’s customers. “We’d like to gather young up-and-coming creators for an exhibition,” the woman on the organizing committee had said. “Can you find some art brokers for us?”

Fuga had done as requested, and Shiro Kikukawa had been among the enlisted art brokers. The two men had immediately colluded because both had a grudge against Kiyotaka. The decision to display Ensho’s work at M+ had come naturally from that.

Also, the theme of “equality” had been Shiro’s suggestion. “We’ve got Taisei Ashiya, so the organizers had no objections. They agreed instantly,” Shiro had revealed. Taisei Ashiya was the alias Ensho had inherited from his father.

“Everyone knows that even Mr. Jing couldn’t buy his painting with money, after all,” Fuga had replied in amusement.

It was well-known in the industry that not only had Mr. Jing taken a liking to Taisei Ashiya, but he had also been unable to purchase the mysterious painter’s work.

Suddenly, Shiro’s phone rang. “Oh!” He cheerfully answered the call, only to frown and hang up a few seconds later. “As we suspected, he didn’t succeed.”

“Too bad,” said Fuga, not actually sounding disappointed. “How’s it looking on your end?”

“I began preparations quite a while ago, but it seems like it’ll be difficult.” Just as Shiro shrugged, his phone beeped. “Looks like we got another bid.” He eagerly tapped the screen. “It’s from the kid—Kiyotaka Yagashira,” he said, surprised.

“Huh?” Ensho’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“But what’s with this price and comment?” Shiro asked, baffled.

Ensho stood up and peered at the phone. The moment he read the comment, he took out his own phone, went to the corner of the room, and called Kiyotaka.

“Hello?” came Kiyotaka’s voice.

“What the hell was that?” Ensho asked immediately.

Kiyotaka chuckled. “I assumed I’d get a reaction, but that was faster than expected.” His relaxed tone annoyed Ensho to no end. “What are you referring to by ‘that’?”

“The sentence and the price.”

In the bid’s comment field, Kiyotaka had written, “For I lacked time to prepare a staff and paper streamers, please accept a brocade of Mount Tamuke’s autumn leaves instead at your mercy.” It was a poem by Sugawara no Michizane that meant, “This trip was sudden and I have come without preparing an offering for the gods. Instead, I offer the beauty of the autumn leaves of Mount Tamuke. Please accept them at your mercy.”

“You sent me a poem, so I sent you one back,” said Kiyotaka.

“Fine, but what about the price? A hundred thousand yen? Is that all my painting is worth to you?”

“That’s the cost of the plane ticket.”

Ensho was lost for words.

“For now, just come back,” Kiyotaka continued calmly. “You may be able to earn a lot of money by partnering with Shiro Kikukawa, but you’ll lose something important in the process.”

“What makes you think that? As long as I’m making money, who cares?”

“Shiro doesn’t understand what makes your paintings good. He only latched on to you because Mr. Jing likes your work. He probably thinks of this exhibition as the starting point to getting back into Mr. Jing’s good graces. In other words, he only sees your paintings as tools. Partnering with someone like him will impoverish your heart as a creator.”

“And you’re different?”

“I...know how wonderful your work is.”

“That’s—” Ensho’s response was interrupted by Shiro standing up and beckoning to him. He returned to the table and switched his phone to speaker mode.

“Hey there, Kiyotaka,” Shiro said cheerfully.

“Ah, it’s been a while,” Kiyotaka replied in the same tone.

“It’s not just me and Ensho right now. Do you know who else is here?” Shiro glanced at Fuga.

“I haven’t the slightest clue. Who is it?”

“Futa Hiramasa, aka Fuga. Your beloved big brother.”

“Ah, it might’ve been even longer in his case.” Kiyotaka’s voice didn’t sound perturbed, at least not over the phone.

Fuga shrugged and said nothing.

“I see. So it’s a gathering of people who hate me?”

“Yeah. We’ve formed the Kiyotaka Yagashira Victims Association.”

“A victims association?” He laughed. “That must be why you hired someone to attack me.”

“Hmm?” Shiro tilted his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re welcome to stage more attacks against me if you’d like.”

“Oh? You’re giving us permission?”

“People call me a snake because I normally behave myself in my cave. I don’t go out of my way to attack people. That is why I left you alone until now. However, if someone attacks me, that changes everything. I won’t show any mercy.” Kiyotaka’s tone was as calm as always, but there was power behind it, and Ensho could tell that Shiro felt the pressure.

“Yeah, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Shiro said, feigning a laugh. “That’s why I couldn’t do anything to you despite being pissed off. But there’s only so much I can take, you know? I really wanted to make you suffer, so I asked Ensho, ‘What would hit Kiyotaka Yagashira the hardest?’ and his answer made me laugh.”

Kiyotaka silently awaited his next words.

“He said, ‘Aoi Mashiro falling in love with someone else.’”

“What?”

“If we took her away from you by force, you’d do anything to eliminate us. It’d ruin our careers in the art world. But there’s nothing you can do if she changes her mind on her own, is there?”

“How would you manage that?” Kiyotaka asked, exasperated.

“That’s the thing. I figured she was into good-looking grad students, so I found one and bribed him to seduce her, but it seems it was a waste of effort.”

“Oh, him,” Kiyotaka muttered in annoyance.

“That plan isn’t going to succeed, so I came up with another one. Aoi’s interning at KNM right now, isn’t she? I heard she started preparing her application in February.”

Kiyotaka remained silent.

“As an art broker, I get all sorts of requests from all sorts of people. For example, ‘This pianist wants to hold a recital in Japan. What would be a good venue?’ I recommended KNM’s Meiji Kotokan Hall. Aoi was still preparing her application at the time, but I knew that with you supporting her, she would probably get selected.”

What is he going on about? Ensho frowned, unsure what the purpose of this story was.

Kiyotaka again remained silent.

“The pianist’s name is Toko Kuroki. Your former friend with benefits, right?”

“Huh?” Ensho looked up and heard Kiyotaka gulp.

“You never stuck with any woman for long, but she was an exception. She had a boyfriend, so neither of you got attached. But as soon as she asked, ‘Why don’t we become real lovers?’ you rejected her. You seem like you’d be loyal, nice, and sincere, but you’re actually the worst kind of guy, huh? Aha ha ha! She’s funny because she speaks candidly about everything when she’s drunk. She said she could never forget you. You’re such a bad guy. In a way, she’s a member of the victims association too. Anyway, I told her your current girlfriend was at KNM, and she said, ‘I’ll have to say hello, then.’”

“So that’s where this was going,” said Ensho.

“A girl might forgive her boyfriend when he tells her about his past, but she won’t be able to stay calm if the ex-girlfriend actually shows up. Is it because the story suddenly becomes real? What’ll happen if that honest Aoi meets your former hookup? She could definitely end up hating—”

Kiyotaka ended the call.

“Huh?” Shiro looked at the phone. “Did he hang up?”

“Yeah.” Fuga nodded. “I didn’t think it’d actually work.”

“Hah! Who would’ve expected something this stupid would affect him?”

Ensho sighed. “By the way, Fuga, you didn’t get a single word in. Are you all right with that?”

“Eh, it’s not like I had anything to say.” Fuga sipped his wine.

Ensho hummed, picked up his phone, and left the room.

*

As soon as he ended the call, Kiyotaka flopped onto his bed, his face pale.

“What’s gotten into you, kiddo?” Komatsu asked. “What happened?” He shook the young man’s body.

“Sorry,” Kiyotaka murmured. “Please leave me alone for the time being.”

“What?”

Kiyotaka’s phone buzzed again. He tapped the answer button without getting up.

“We were in the middle of a conversation.”

The call was from Ensho. Kiyotaka had his phone on speaker, so Komatsu could hear his voice too.

“You aren’t done yet?”

“I wanna ask you something.”

Kiyotaka slowly sat up. “What is it?”

“Why’d you come all the way to Hong Kong in the first place?”

“Because you sent me that letter.”

The letter had contained a poem: “Let the mountain cherries dictate our farewell; the flowers shall decide our fate.” Kiyotaka had explained it to Komatsu the night he’d received it. Written by Yusen Hoshi, it meant, “Let the scattering of the mountain cherry blossoms determine how this farewell will go. The flowers shall decide whether I hold you back or not.” It was said that he had recited it when parting ways with people.

“Aoi said that you quoted part of that poem to her when we met at Mount Hiei,” Kiyotaka continued. “At the time, I assumed that you were saying farewell to her.”

Ensho chuckled. “Then why didn’t you think I was saying farewell to you too?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Huh?”

“If you say farewell to me, that means ‘Come see me,’ doesn’t it?” Kiyotaka replied bluntly.

Ensho fell silent for a while before bursting out laughing. “Ha ha ha! What an idiot. You’re reading too much into it.”

Komatsu didn’t know Ensho’s true intention. Perhaps it had been a genuine farewell letter. Still, his voice sounded happy.

“There’s something you gotta know.”

“Yes?”

“When this exhibition is over...I’m gonna tell Aoi.” He didn’t need to elaborate. He was obviously planning on confessing the feelings he’d been harboring all this time.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

“Fair?” Kiyotaka smiled cynically. “You say that while teaming up with...” He fell silent as if he’d just realized something. Then he facepalmed and sighed. “I understand. Well, I’m going back to Kyoto now.”

“I’d like to say take care, but can it wait until tomorrow? Gimme some of your time.”

“All right.” Kiyotaka nodded.

Komatsu had no idea what Ensho was thinking, but it seemed that all had been made clear in Kiyotaka’s mind.

11

Yilin had been visiting M+ every day to look at Ensho’s painting, Present City. The bidding deadline was in two days, but she was still struggling to choose a price.

After staring at it for a while, she sighed and left the museum. As she was heading to the parking lot, a tall man suddenly appeared before her. She looked up, startled. The man was dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans, and he wore his hat low over his face. For a second, she didn’t know who he was, but then the realization set in.

“Ensho...”

“I hear you’ve been coming every day,” he said with an amused laugh.

“Yes, well...”

The two of them walked to the sea together.

“Kinda feels like Shanghai all over again,” Ensho said in a nostalgic tone as he looked out at the water.

Yilin glanced at him quickly before returning her gaze to the sea. “You give a very different impression now,” she remarked. “I always thought you were handsome, but you’re even on par with Kiyotaka now.”

“I was never inferior to him to begin with.” Ensho chuckled. “Which version of me is better?”

“Neither is better or worse than the other. Most people would probably say your current self, but I really liked how you looked before.”

“Well, thanks.” He laughed mischievously. “The theme of the exhibition was equality, but once it began, it got messy quick.”

“Messy?”

“Even with the names withheld, anyone who knows their stuff can tell right away who painted what. They’ll ask the artist directly, ‘Did you paint that?’ and the artist’ll give a vague reply that hints at the truth. Even the organizers have silently accepted that’s how it’s gonna be.”

“That’s true,” Yilin said with a strained smile. “If I asked you right now if you painted that piece and you said yes, it would ruin the concept.”

“Yeah, it’s a pain.”

“But the project created a lot of buzz, so I don’t think it was a bad idea. There’ll be a lot of points to address for the next installment, though.” Yilin gave him a sideways glance. “Did people ask you about it too?”

“Yeah. A certain old man called me and said, ‘You don’t have to answer me, but that painting is yours, right?’”

“I think I know who that might have been.” Yilin giggled.

“Are you hesitating over the bid?” Ensho asked with a serious expression.

Yilin gulped and lowered her gaze. “I’m going to bid on it. What I can’t decide is...”

“Oh, the price.”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“But you’re filthy rich. Can’t you put up whatever you want?”

“Of course not. The amount of money I can use freely is less than you think. And I can’t help but worry about what my father would think if I spent that much...”

“Moron.” Ensho snorted. “If you want it for yourself, then bid on it. If you’re trying to stay on daddy’s good side, you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just go with him to see it. Why’re you trying to handle this all by yourself?”

“But...” Tears welled up in Yilin’s eyes. “My father is your fan and wanted to support you. Now that things have turned out this way, he must be really angry that someone else struck a deal with you first...and disappointed in me for not obtaining that information.”

“You really are dumb. I don’t know how other families work, but when you make a mistake, the best thing you can do is apologize right away. Not whatever trick you’re trying to pull off.”

Yilin fell silent for a moment. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I’ll tell him the truth—that this happened without my knowledge—and invite him to see the painting. That’s the best choice, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Her eyes widened. “Huh? Why are you suddenly distancing yourself?”

Ensho chuckled. “It’s a Kansai thing.”

“Taking back what you say with ‘I wouldn’t know’?”

“Yeah. It means, ‘I said all that, but in the end, you gotta make the decision yourself.’”

“Oh...” Yilin placed a hand over her mouth. Her expression relaxed. “It sounds like a good thing when you put it that way.”

“See? Anyway, I wanna ask you something.” Their eyes met. “Why’d you come to my atelier just to cry and apologize? Am I right in thinking it meant ‘Forgive me for not being able to step into this dirty place’?”

Yilin glanced around uncomfortably. “An atelier is like an artist’s sanctuary, isn’t it? I wanted to know what yours was like, and I was over the moon when you said I could visit. And I thought...something special might happen.”

“Something special?” Ensho asked blankly.

Yilin felt her cheeks flush and looked down. “I wore new underwear when I went to your place that day.”

“Oh, I see.” Ensho nodded. “Of course you wouldn’t wanna do it in such a run-down apartment.” He chuckled.

“The building’s condition did make me hesitate, but more importantly, hadn’t someone else been there before I came? When you opened the front door, I saw lots of beer cans and food packaging on the table. It meant you must’ve spent Christmas Eve with someone, so I...” That was why Yilin had run away, unable to enter the apartment.

“Uh...” Can’t say I was expecting that. “Holmes said there might’ve been ‘various sentiments’ behind your actions, and I guess he was right. I had no idea.”

Yilin looked at Ensho and covered her face in shame.

“You said you wanted to see my atelier, and I really didn’t think it was anything more than that.”

“That’s because you aren’t interested in me,” Yilin said self-deprecatingly, lowering her hands from her face.

“Hmm...” Ensho looked out at the sea. “I probably like Aoi.”

“I know.” Yilin shrugged. “But why do you say ‘probably’?”

“’Cause that’s how it is. I probably like her. I like her, but the word ‘probably’ is always there. So I’m thinking of telling her for the sake of clearing up this vague feeling.”

“Even though she has Kiyotaka?”

“Eh, it’s my way of settling things. But if I’m gonna do it, I gotta be better than him.”

Yilin examined Ensho again. “Is that why you changed your appearance?”

“First looks, then money. Trust me, I know Aoi ain’t swayed by those things. It’s a me problem—my mind can’t help but think, ‘In the end, I lost to his looks and money.’”

“So you secretly signed a contract with another agent because you wanted to make a fortune?”

“Not exactly. Like I said, the goal is to settle things. Call it a fresh start.” Ensho grinned and looked at Yilin. “I like you too. Most rich people repulse me, but not you. You’re a fine woman in your own right.” He ruffled her hair and turned to leave.

Yilin stood still for a while as she watched him go. But once he was out of sight, her legs caved, and she crouched down on the spot.

12

It was the final day of bidding, and the deadline was 7 p.m., one hour after M+’s closing time.

“Damn,” Fuga murmured as he looked at the computer screen. “Three bids over a hundred million, and the others are in the tens of millions. The people who offered nine digits are Jing, an Indian investor, and Takamiya from Japan. That old man’s a real fan of yours, huh?”

They were in Fuga’s guest room in the museum, which had been prepared for him by the exhibition organizers. Fuga was sitting at the desk by the window while Ensho had plopped himself down on the sofa. Shiro Kikukawa had left not too long ago.

Fuga turned around to face Ensho. “So who’re you gonna pick?”

“Oh, you’re letting me choose? I thought I wouldn’t get a say.”

“That was the deal. But if Shiro was here, he might force you to go along with his opinion.”

“Probably.” Ensho shrugged.

It had been about an hour and a half since Shiro had left the room after a phone call.

*

“We’ve got quite a few bids,” Shiro said cheerily as he looked over the data. “Two of them are over a hundred million!” He looked at the names of the bidders and frowned. “I don’t see Yilin, even though I was sure she’d participate. Is she hesitating? There’s no point if she doesn’t bid,” he grumbled.

He called management and received confirmation that Mr. Jing had visited M+ today with his daughter, Yilin.

“Yes!” He clenched his fist. “I thought Yilin would try to handle it herself, but she brought her dad. Now we’re guaranteed to get a bid from Jing!”

Ensho and Fuga sat in individual armchairs, watching Shiro celebrate. Shiro’s primary goal was to bait the wealthy businessman. He was still working with the rich and powerful, but what he really wanted was to go back to Mr. Jing. If either Yilin or Mr. Jing bid on Ensho’s painting, he was going to say, “This exhibition was all for you” and put forward his offer.

It seemed that Yilin had succeeded in inviting her father. But what Shiro didn’t know was that after parting ways with Yilin the other day, Ensho had sent Mr. Jing an email. Of course, he hadn’t told him that his work was on display. Instead, he had made two requests. One was that if Yilin asked him to go to M+ with her, he would agree without questioning it. As for the other...

Suddenly, Shiro’s phone rang. “Oh! He’s already calling me.” Naturally, he was nervous. Mr. Jing had stopped contacting him after the incident he’d caused.

“I wanna hear too,” said Ensho. “Can you put it on speaker?”

“Sure.” Shiro cleared his throat and set the phone to speaker. “Hello?”

“Is that you, Kikukawa?” came Mr. Jing’s low voice. He was speaking in English.

“Yes, it’s been a while,” Shiro replied, also in English.

“I went to M+ today and saw the trending exhibition.”

“Is that so?” Shiro gulped.

“That was your doing, right?”

He proudly placed a hand on his chest. “Yes, in fact.”

“How much more will you insult me before you’re satisfied?!”

He flinched. “I would never do such a thing.”

“What is it, then? Are you harassing me?”

“No, um...” Shiro looked around, panicking. “I am involved in the project but only as an advisor. The agent is a man named Fuga. He knows one of the organizers and is helping them find painters.”

“Do I have your word that you won’t take any cut whatsoever from Taisei Ashiya’s sales, then? And I do mean Ensho.”

“I do receive a bit as a management fee...”

“I see. So you’re trying to lure me and make a bit of change while you’re at it. Do you think I’d place a bid knowing that?”

“I’m doing no such thing. I just wanted to please you again...”

“I knew you wanted to come back to me, and I would have allowed it if you’d come clean and made a sincere effort to apologize for your crime. But all you do is sneak around, casting glances at me as you enact your underhanded schemes! How can I trust someone like that?”

Shiro gulped.

“For now, I’m willing to meet with you again, but only if you remove yourself from this project.”

“I will, right away. I won’t take any management fee at all.”

“Then come to me now.”

“Yes, sir!” Shiro ended the call and hurried to gather his belongings. “As you just heard, I’m leaving. Sorry. Until next time.” He sped out of the room.

*

“Shiro seemed happy, huh?” Fuga remarked, looking at Ensho. “It’s a shame he won’t get the management fee, but he achieved his goal.”

Though Shiro had withdrawn from the project, there was still another intermediary: Fuga’s employer. Fuga himself was merely following orders.

“This was your doing, wasn’t it?” he continued. “I bet you hinted to Jing that Shiro was with you.”

“Who knows?” Ensho replied curtly.

“There was that call the other day too. You do some funny stuff.” Fuga laughed, amused. “So who’re you gonna pick? Jing, Takamiya, the Indian investor, or Kiyotaka?”

Ensho snorted. “That guy only offered a hundred thousand yen. What the hell was he thinking?”

“It’s probably supposed to be the airfare for the return flight.”

“That’s exactly what he said. You sure know him well, eh?”

“We did spend a lot of time together.”

“He must’ve been really attached to you back then.”

Fuga said nothing.

“You’re the kinda guy who doesn’t arouse suspicion. You have a way of worming into people’s hearts, and that ability was probably natural at first, but not anymore. When’d you start using it intentionally?”

“Intentionally?”

“You were already doing it by the time you first met Holmes, weren’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Fuga smiled in amusement. Not wanting to continue this line of conversation, he asked, “So who’s it gonna be?”

Ensho stood up and looked at the screen. “I already decided from the beginning.” He scanned the data and pointed at one name.

Fuga hummed and smirked.

13

The piano recital at Meiji Kotokan Hall was held on a Friday evening. As Kurishiro had said, KNM was merely renting out the venue, so the staff members on our side weren’t assisting with anything in particular. We did need someone to serve as a point of contact in case any issues arose, though, and I had been assigned to that role.

That day, I stood in a corner of Meiji Kotokan’s Egyptian-style hall and watched as the venue was set up. I was tempted to help, but since it needed to be clear where the onus of responsibility lay, KNM employees were generally only supposed to observe facility users, not assist them.

The pianist, Toko Kuroki, sat at the piano and played notes while shouting at her staff. “A little more fine-tuning on the sound, please! And turn up the air conditioning!”

All of her staff were American, so everything was being said in English. I wasn’t proficient enough to understand most of it, so I was using my trusty translating device.

“Take a break until the A/C kicks in! It’s so hot in here,” Kuroki complained, fanning herself with one hand as she drank a bottle of mineral water.

I walked up to her and bowed. From my understanding, she had been raised in New York, but her father was Japanese, so she was fluent in our language. “Kuroki, thank you for choosing our venue today. My name is Aoi Mashiro, and I am representing the Kyoto National Museum.”

“Oh, you’re Aoi Mashiro?” She looked at me curiously. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“I’m honored. Um, please accept this small token of appreciation from us.” I presented her with the package that Kurishiro had entrusted to me. It contained popular items from KNM’s gift shop, such as a folding fan, handkerchief, clear file folder, and masking tape.

“Thanks.” Kuroki tried to pull the fan open by force. Apparently, she’d never used one before.

“Oh, it opens like this,” I said, unfolding the fan and showing her the design. “This is one of the Scrolls of Frolicking Animals, which is said to be Japan’s oldest manga.” The ink drawing depicted rabbits and frogs playing tag and sumo wrestling.

Kuroki peered closely at the fan and hummed.

“Isn’t it cute?” I asked.

“It is.” She nodded and looked at me. “Oh, right, Mashiro. I heard that you’re Kiyotaka’s girlfriend.”

“Yes. He told me that the two of you used to be close.”

“Huh?” Her eyes widened.

“He also said that if you were to remember him and mention his name, he would love to speak with you on the phone.”

Kuroki hurriedly shook her head and hands. “No, I don’t remember him that well. I wouldn’t know what to talk about, so I won’t call him. Tell him I said hi.”

“I will. I’ll be leaving for a bit now, but if something happens, you can call me at any time.” I bowed and left Meiji Kotokan Hall.

Now it was break time. I took out my phone and messaged Holmes, “I spoke with Kuroki. She said she wouldn’t call you.”

His reply came immediately. “Can I call you right now?”

“I’m on break, so it’s fine.”

He called me right away. When I picked up, he asked, “Er...did she say anything to make you feel uncomfortable?”

“No... After I said what you told me to, she ended the conversation.”

The other day, Holmes had returned from Hong Kong and come straight to my house. It had been a long time since he’d last visited, so my family was overjoyed to see him. He’d said he had something important to tell me, though, so we had decided to talk in my room.

As soon as we were alone, he prostrated himself before me, his forehead touching the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Did something happen with Ensho?” I asked, concerned by the sudden apology.

“No, it has nothing to do with him. It’s about us...”

Something concerning the two of us and Holmes was prostrating himself? I had a bad feeling. “Did you...cheat on me?”

He whipped his head up. “What?! I would never. You’re the only one I can do such things with now.”

He was so loud that I frantically held my index finger up to my mouth to shush him. “What is it, then?”

“It seems that you’re going to have an uncomfortable experience because of my past.”

“What do you mean?”

“A pianist is going to hold a recital at KNM...”

“Toko Kuroki?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “We weren’t dating, but we used to be close.”

“Oh.”

Holmes had told me a lot about his past, so I knew he meant that they had been intimately involved. After Izumi betrayed him, he had lost trust in women and intentionally seduced those who already had boyfriends. Looking back at it again, it really was terrible.

“I already know about that stuff, though,” I said. “Unless there’s still something you haven’t told me?”

“No, I told you everything. It was exactly as bad as I explained to you.”

“Why are you apologizing, then?”

“It’s one thing to hear it from me but another to meet one of the people in question. After all, you told me about your ex-boyfriend, but when I actually saw him, my body shook with anger and jealousy.”

“Oh.” I gave a strained smile. “Can I just ask you one thing?”

“Of course.” He sat up straight and looked at me.

“You said you didn’t date Kuroki, but I assume you...had that relationship...because you were attracted to her. Was her appearance your type or something?”

Holmes looked up at the ceiling as if trying to remember. “At the time, I only had relations with people who met certain conditions.”

“Conditions?” I looked at him, startled.

“The most important was that they were unmarried. I absolutely refused to commit adultery. Second, they had to be from a different industry. And third, I couldn’t be the most important person in their life.”

“Which means?”

“They had someone else they were serious about but were left unsatisfied for whatever reason, be it a long-distance relationship or a one-sided crush. That way, they would think of me as a convenience. I, too, faked the role of someone who was in love with a woman who already had a boyfriend, so we would comfort each other.”

“A fake role?” I murmured.

“So if they told me, ‘I’m thinking of giving up on him and going with you,’ I would end our relationship, saying, ‘Sorry, but I still love that woman. If you feel this way about me, it’ll only cause you pain, so let’s not see each other anymore.’”

“Oh...”

“As for whether they were my type... Looking back on it now, they were all people I respected in some way. In Kuroki’s case, it was her musical talent. I liked her piano playing.”

Hearing his honest words, I nodded. “I understand. Thank you for telling me.” Holmes had probably been in love—he just hadn’t been aware of it at the time. Perhaps the lingering scar of a past betrayal had prevented him from opening up his heart.

His shoulders slumped. “When you thank me for something like this, it makes me want to dig a hole and bury myself in it. Please ruthlessly pour dirt on me.”

“There’s no need for that. It happened before we started going out anyway.”

He was right, though. If I hadn’t known about Kuroki and she had told me about her past with Holmes, it would definitely have been upsetting. But since he was telling me in advance with this overblown apology, it didn’t seem like a big deal anymore.

“Um...” Holmes said hesitantly. “Ever since the summer of the year I first met you, I’ve been refusing such relationships.”

“Huh? But we didn’t start going out that quickly.”

“Yes, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you after the night of the Gion Festival. Remembering it, that must’ve been when I fell in love with you.”

Seeing him as he said that made me choke up. “Come here, Kiyotaka.”

He hugged me tightly like a big dog and whispered in my ear, “Um, if she mentions my name, please tell her this...”

Just as Holmes had predicted, Kuroki had backed down. In other words, she was probably aware of how terrifying he could be.

“That aside, will you be coming to the recital, Holmes?” I asked.

“No, I’ll refrain.”

“All right. See you another time, then.”

I ended the call and looked up at the sky. Cicadas were buzzing around me. There were only a few days left in my internship.

After taking my lunch break, I returned to Meiji Kotokan, where Kuroki was playing piano in the Egyptian hall. It was a famous jazz piece: “Waltz for Debby” by Bill Evans. The notes were gentle at first, then grew sprightly. It was beautiful, and just listening to it filled me with delight. I could understand why Holmes had said he liked her music.

When the performance ended, I clapped quietly in a corner of the hall. Tonight’s recital was bound to be exciting.

14

My three-week internship went by in the blink of an eye. During the first week, I had been given special permission to sit in on the regularly scheduled management meeting. I had also been allowed to join the audit afterwards, which was where decisions were made regarding the purchasing, depositing, and repairing of cultural properties. All full-time members of the curatorial department were allowed to participate. It was a rare opportunity to see cultural properties directly rather than through the glass in the front room of the museum’s vault. Normally, interns wouldn’t attend, but Kurishiro had specially allowed it for the three of us.

“Depositing” was when a temple, shrine, or individual entrusted an item to the museum. Such loaned items were not considered part of the museum’s collection. Common situations were when an item was designated as an Important Cultural Property or had deteriorated to the point that it was difficult for the owner to handle maintenance on their own. The advantage for the museum was that they could exhibit or conduct research on items outside of their possession, expanding the scope of their activities. Also, when an item changed owners or its owner grew old, it was sometimes donated or preferentially sold to the museum, so having a large number of deposited items was ideal in terms of future potential.

That said, the system was based on trust. Kyoto National Museum was a reputable place for people to deposit their cultural properties. Naturally, if the deposited items were to suffer damage or deterioration, they would be withdrawn by their owners. It was a serious responsibility. I also learned that some of the cultural properties had been deposited by antique dealers, which made me wonder if any of them were from Kura.

At any rate, the agenda that day had consisted of three purchases, eight deposits, and two repairs. Each was explained by the researcher in charge, and all were approved. I was excited about the idea of these pieces one day being displayed at the museum.

That week, we had also been given a tour of the conservation center, which specialized in the preservation and restoration of cultural properties. The second week had consisted of exhibit evaluations, visitor surveys, accessibility analyses, and helping KNM’s navigators and cultural property experts as they worked with volunteers.

The most difficult challenge had been Kurishiro’s special lectures. As someone who hadn’t studied law, I had barely been able to keep up with the legal side of museum management, like the Museum Act and the Act on General Rules for Incorporated Administrative Agencies. After that had been a lecture on financial accounting as it related to museum management, where I’d found myself having to ask her to slow down a bit. Her lectures had reminded me that running a museum required both legal and accounting knowledge. Until this internship, I had only been seeing a very small part of the museum.

The third week had provided even more hands-on experience. I’d taken part in simulating the work required for crowdfunding extra income, assisting with exhibition-related events, helping to produce videos and social media posts for publicity, and creating flyers for our supporting organizations. The museum’s operations were more diverse than I’d thought.

And so, the three-week frenzy came to an end. On the final day, we interns presented our reports on what we had learned. Then, we gave our closing remarks.

Eri Kimura went first. She stood in front of everyone and bowed nervously. “Thank you for these past three weeks. The program was so high-tier that I nearly wanted to quit at one point, but it was truly an eye-opening experience. I’m very grateful. It’s now my dream and goal to work here for real one day. Thank you very much.”

Everyone clapped. I nodded in agreement.

Next was Segawa, who was scratching his head shyly. “Um, as I mentioned before, my family runs a dyeing business in Nishijin. Ever since I was little, I assumed I’d be taking that over when I grew up. I wasn’t against it, but I wasn’t particularly proud of it either. It was just the natural outcome. But studying at KNM made me realize how amazing our work is. I’d like to apply what I learned and turn our family business into one of the cornerstones linking Kyoto’s culture to future generations. Thank you very much.”

Everyone clapped again.

Last, it was my turn. Kurishiro and the other staff who had worked with me were all looking in my direction. I took a deep breath and said, “I grew up in Saitama Prefecture and moved to Kyoto when I was in high school. In an unexpected turn of events, I started working part-time at an antique store and became fascinated by antique art. I wanted to become an appraiser like the people I admired, so I decided to aim for a curator certification first. I chose a prefectural university because I didn’t want to burden my parents with private school tuition. After starting my third year, I realized I didn’t have a plan for what to do after getting the certification. I wanted to be involved with art, but I didn’t know what I could do.”

I wanted to become an appraiser like Holmes, but that didn’t mean I wanted to keep working at Kura. One day, we would probably get married and run the store together. But before that, I wanted to do something by myself.

“I chose the management internship because my respected mentor advised me to, and I thought I could leverage my experience with exhibitions,” I continued. “If it hadn’t been for his suggestion, I would’ve chosen ceramics, in which case I likely wouldn’t be here right now.”

The staff members laughed awkwardly at that.

“But I’m really glad that I was able to experience the field of management. I know what I want to become now. I want to study management more and put it into practice. My biggest aspiration is to be involved with a museum or gallery in the future, but even if that isn’t possible, I want to help artists by becoming a manager who can nurture their creativity and convey the appeal of their art. I never would’ve found this dream if I hadn’t come here. I’m very grateful to have had this precious experience. It has been an amazing help. Thank you so much.”

I bowed deeply, and everyone clapped.

“Just between you and me,” said Kurishiro, “when the prefectural government asked me to hire interns, I honestly thought, ‘We don’t have time for that!’ But after seeing the three of you working your hardest, learning as much as you can, and even discovering your future career goals, I now feel that we should continue offering this program.”

The staff all nodded in agreement.

“Thank you for your hard work over the past three weeks,” she said, handing each of us a souvenir.

We thanked her again, thus marking the end of our internship.

Since it was the final day, Holmes had said that he would pick me up from the west side of KNM. When I told Eri and Segawa this, they covered their mouths and said, “Wow.”

“Like a boyfriend bringing you a bouquet at your graduation ceremony?” Eri asked.

“Dang, that’s pretentious,” said Segawa.

“No, we were just going to have a wrap-up party,” I said, shaking my head.

“The three of us should have another one too,” said Eri. The museum staff had already held a farewell party for us.

“Yeah,” said Segawa.

As we were chatting about how fast time had gone by, we walked out of the east gate.

“Ooh!” Eri exclaimed. “I knew Mashiro’s boyfriend would be hot, but I didn’t think he’d be this hot!”

“Yeah, he’s seriously good-looking,” said Segawa.

At a loss for words, I turned to look at Holmes, surprised that he had come all the way to the gate to pick me up. But what I saw shocked me even more. The handsome young man with shiny black hair was wearing a casual outfit consisting of a summer jacket, T-shirt, and chino pants. It wasn’t Holmes. It was...

“Evening, Aoi.”

I looked up at him, my eyes and mouth wide open. “En...sho?”

“Having hair makes me look like a different person, eh?”

“Is it a wig?”

“No, I grew it out normally.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Can we talk?”

“Oh, um, Holmes is supposed to be picking me up.”

“He’s over on the street to the west. We can talk at Toyokuni Shrine.”

I took out my phone and saw a message from Holmes.

“I ran into Ensho. He wants to talk to you, so I’ll park my car nearby and wait. Please let me know when you’re done.”

“It’s true...” I murmured, then looked up at Ensho and said, “All right.”

*

Thirty minutes before Ensho appeared in front of Aoi, Kiyotaka was waiting in his car parked on the street west of KNM. He knew that Aoi finished work at 5:30 p.m., so he figured she would arrive around 6 p.m. As he was checking the time, a man approached his car and knocked on the window.

Kiyotaka recognized him immediately. He opened the window, smiled, and said, “Good evening.”

“What’s with that smile? You’re creeping me out.”

“You’re the creepy one, dressing up like that.”

“I’m copying you.”

“I suspected as much. Well, what do you want?”

“I wanna talk to Aoi. Can you lend her to me?”

“Lend her? Aoi is not an object.”

“Yeah, but she has plans with you, right?”

“Yes, in fact. But you are free to speak with her. I’ll wait as long as I need to.”

“How generous.”

“I...do owe you. Not that I think this would make up for it.” Kiyotaka got out of his car and stood in front of Ensho. “Anyway, congratulations. Your painting sold for a high price.”

“Thanks. Didn’t win the show, though.”

The highest-valued painting at the M+ exhibition had been the close-up of a young girl’s face with a winning bid of six hundred million yen. It had been purchased by a wealthy buyer from Beijing. Because of that huge sum, Ensho’s painting hadn’t received as much attention in the news. The only mention was a single sentence at the end of the article: “A Japanese artist’s work was purchased for 160 million yen.”

“I’ve been rejected again,” Kiyotaka mused.

“You only offered the damn airfare.”

“It was a declaration of intent. ‘Bring it to me and I’ll treat it well.’”

“I know. But I’d already decided from the beginning.”

“That you would choose the highest bidder regardless of who they were?”

Ensho laughed. “Hah, you sure know me.”

“I didn’t realize your intent until that moment, though.”

“When I tried to get you to meet with Fuga?”

“A little before that. When you said, ‘Wouldn’t be fair otherwise.’”

After that, Ensho had said, “I’d like to say take care, but can it wait until tomorrow? Gimme some of your time. Heck, are there even any flights left today?”

“All right.” Kiyotaka nodded. He knew exactly what the man was thinking. Ensho intended to make him meet with Fuga.

Kiyotaka immediately headed for the specified hotel, leaving Komatsu behind. He braced himself before entering the room, but Fuga wasn’t present. Only Ensho was there.

“Forgive me,” Ensho said, heaving a sigh. “He got suspicious and left. Guy really doesn’t wanna see you.”

Kiyotaka looked at the armchair that Fuga had probably been sitting in not so long ago. “I imagine so,” he said with a weak smile. His hunch was proven right. During the phone call with Shiro, Fuga had not uttered a single word despite having been present. In fact, Fuga had never once appeared before Kiyotaka ever since their conflict.

Fuga was avoiding him, and Kiyotaka had similarly avoided involving himself with him again. That was why the thorn embedded in his heart continued to sting to this day.

“When I made up my mind to meet with him, I realized just how long I had been running away,” said Kiyotaka. “I felt ashamed that I needed you to set this up for me. So I will face him properly, and I thank you for making me come to this decision.” He bowed.

“Stop that.” Ensho shrugged. “Anyway, I’m heading out for a bit.” He turned his back to Kiyotaka and left the room.

15

Toyokuni Shrine was dedicated to Hideyoshi Toyotomi, the great warrior who had risen from peasantry to become the ruler of Japan. As such, it was said to bring good luck and success in one’s career. It was a lesser-known shrine that didn’t get as much traffic as others.

After climbing the stairs and entering the grounds, Ensho and Aoi first prayed at the main building before stepping away to continue their conversation.

“Oh, right,” said Aoi. “Congratulations, Ensho. You’ve made an amazing debut on the world stage.”

“Thanks.” Ensho smiled.

“Did you grow out your hair because of the media attention you’ll be getting in the future?”

“Well, I thought I’d look more handsome this way.” He fiddled with his hair.

“That may be true.” Aoi giggled. “It feels strange since I’m used to you being bald, but this look really suits you too.”

“Which do you like more?”

Aoi hummed. “My vote goes to bald,” she said shyly.

“Really?” Ensho asked, surprised.

“Not everyone can pull it off, so I think it’s great that you can.”

Yilin said the same thing, he thought.

As the sun began its westward descent, the evening cicadas chirped around them.

“Oh, cicadas,” Aoi murmured. “I don’t normally like hearing them, but these evening ones that go ‘kanakana’ are kind of nice.” She looked at Ensho. “Come to think of it, I had something to tell you too.”

“What?”

“Holmes told me you were working with Shiro Kikukawa and Fuga.”

“Ah, yeah.” Is she gonna lecture me since she’s a Goody Two-shoes?

“Thank you.” Aoi bowed deeply.

“Huh? For what?”

“You must’ve chosen to work with them in order to settle things, right?” She looked up. “For Holmes’s sake,” she said firmly, looking into his eyes.

Ensho laughed and scratched his head. “Your husband said the same thing.”

“Huh?” Aoi blinked.

Indeed, Kiyotaka had thanked him, bowed, and said, “You chose to work with those two to settle things, didn’t you? It was for my sake.”

“There’s no way I’d do something like that for him,” said Ensho, though in reality, he had grown sick of the men’s persistent antics and told them, “You’re so damn annoying. Can you settle your scores already? I’ll help you get revenge, but after that, you gotta move the hell on.”

Ensho had needed to call Kiyotaka to Hong Kong, because that way, he could make him face Shiro Kikukawa’s and Fuga’s revenge without putting Aoi in danger. However, if Kiyotaka had been wary of the situation, he wouldn’t have come, so Ensho had sent him a farewell poem, knowing the contrarian wouldn’t be able to resist doing the opposite of what he was told.

The plan had been more of a desperate measure than anything. There had been no guarantee that Kiyotaka would escape unscathed or that Aoi wouldn’t have a change of heart. And yet Aoi was still looking at him with appreciation.

Stop that, Ensho thought. He was about to settle the score for real by confessing his feelings. What would she say if he told her that he loved her? He now had a similar hairstyle and outfit to Kiyotaka’s, and on top of that, he had money. Yet there was no doubt that Aoi would bow and apologize. But what if she instead looked shaken and said, “Please let me think about it”? If she blushed and said, “My heart will waver if you say something like that”? It would never happen in a million years. And after imagining it, Ensho realized that an Aoi like that wouldn’t be attractive to him in the first place.

Rikyu had once told him, “You’re attracted to Aoi because Kiyo loves her,” and perhaps that had been the case at first. But now that time had passed, he found that he liked Aoi’s undying devotion to Kiyotaka. That was why he was unsure of his own feelings. When he was a child, his mother had left him and his father, instilling in him the belief that women were not loyal. Perhaps he had secretly been admiring Kiyotaka and Aoi’s relationship because they stuck together through thick and thin.

“Um, Ensho...” Aoi’s hesitant words brought him back to the present. “You wanted to talk to me about something, right?”

“Yeah,” Ensho said, averting his eyes.

“Um...you can say it. I’m ready.”

“Huh?” His heart pounded. “You already know what I’m gonna say?”

Aoi nodded and clenched her hands in front of her chest. “You’re in love too, aren’t you?”

Her phrasing gave him pause. “Hmm?” He furrowed his brow.

“With Holmes,” she said decisively.

“What?” Ensho’s eyes widened.

“For a long time, I’ve sensed an untouchable bond between you two. I think if you were really in danger, Holmes would rush anywhere in the world to save you—and vice versa, since you did all of this for Holmes just now...”

“Wait, no,” he interjected. “I won’t deny there’s some weird connection between us”—as Aoi said, he probably would rush to save him if he was in danger—“but it ain’t like that. I’m not into malicious people like him.”

Aoi’s expression relaxed and she giggled.

“Honestly, I did it partly ’cause I owed him,” Ensho continued.

When Fuga and Shiro had appeared before him, he had originally intended to reject their proposal. However, Shiro’s words had changed his mind. “You must have a grudge against that Holmes guy too, right? Why don’t we settle our scores together?” It had been an opportunity to settle everything at once. Shiro had achieved his goal of returning to Mr. Jing, who would be keeping him out of trouble from now on. Society was better off with him working out in the open rather than scheming in the underworld.

“I’ve done a lot of immoral stuff, but now I’m walking the high road, and that’s thanks to Holmes,” he said.

Somewhere in their hearts, his former colleagues probably also wanted to walk in the light. That was why they harbored grudges against those who cut ties with the underworld. But once you were in the shadows, it was hard to climb out by yourself. You needed help from someone. Just as Kiyotaka had saved him, Ensho wanted to rehabilitate his old friends, and to do that, he needed money—a lot of it. That was why he had decided from the beginning that he would sell his painting to the highest bidder, no matter who it was. The buyer had turned out to be Takamiya, a wealthy man who lived in Kyoto’s Okazaki district. It was fortunate that the painting had gone to someone who had supported Ensho’s father’s work in the past.

“All I wanted to tell you was that Shiro won’t be bothering you anymore,” he said, staring at Aoi.

She blushed, tears welling up in her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

“You really don’t gotta thank me like that.”

“Um, Holmes and I are going to have dinner now. Would you like to join us?”

“Uh, isn’t that a date? I don’t—”

“It’s fine,” Aoi insisted. “We can invite Komatsu and Rikyu too! Let’s celebrate your success. Come,” she said, beckoning him with a broad smile on her face.

Ensho stared at her blankly and shrugged. “Guess I have no choice.” It’d be fun to see the look on Kiyotaka’s face when they went up to him together. He chuckled to himself as he descended the shrine steps with Aoi.

As expected, when Kiyotaka saw the pair of them walking together and smiling, his expression was indescribable. Ensho would be laughing about it for the rest of his life.

What happens now? he wondered. I guess it’s all... “At the mercy of the gods,” he muttered with a smirk.

Epilogue

“Thank god it all worked out. Seriously, thank god,” Komatsu repeated for the umpteenth time, red-faced and misty-eyed as he held his beer mug.

“Wait, Komatsu, are you okay?” Rikyu asked, startled.

“Already drunk, old man?” Ensho gave an exasperated shrug.

Holmes chuckled. “He was fraught with worry over you.”

We were at a Chinese restaurant on Kiyamachi Street, and the table in our private room was adorned with dumplings, xiaolongbao, fried rice, and mapo tofu.

After talking to Ensho at Toyokuni Shrine, I had gone with him to find Holmes, who had immediately smiled and agreed to my suggestion. Honestly, that had surprised me because I had been expecting him to say, “Why should we have to cancel our date to celebrate with Ensho?”

Meanwhile, Ensho had chuckled and said, “He was expecting the worst when he saw us come back together. Didn’t you see the look on his face? And now he’s overjoyed ’cause it ain’t what he was thinking.”

I didn’t know what he meant by “the worst,” but thinking about it, Holmes’s jaw had dropped when he saw us walking toward him. Had he been imagining a hostile mood between me and Ensho?

Anyway, that was what led to us toasting Ensho’s accomplishment and my completion of the internship. We’d chosen a Chinese restaurant because Komatsu was lamenting not getting a chance to eat casual Chinese food in Hong Kong.

“But still,” Komatsu said, putting down his mug and looking at Ensho, “a hundred and sixty million yen?! What does it feel like to have that much money?”

Ensho frowned in annoyance. “It’s not like I’m getting all of it.”

Holmes chuckled. “If you aren’t careful, most of it will go to taxes. You should consult an accountant.”

“Oh!” Komatsu’s eyes lit up. “Kiddo, you’re gonna become a tax accountant, right? Why don’t you help Ensho?”

“I’m not certified yet, so I’m not allowed to,” Holmes said nonchalantly, sipping his beer.

Ensho grinned. “But it’s fine if there’s no money involved, yeah?”

Holmes narrowed his eyes coldly, then sighed. “I suppose so. I can provide advice free of charge for now if you promise to enlist my services when I become a tax accountant.”

“Hell yeah.” Ensho clenched his fist.

They do get along after all, I thought.

“Oh, right, Aoi,” said Rikyu. “How was the internship?”

“I learned a lot,” I said. “The deputy director is such an amazing person.”

Holmes flinched. “When the internship ended, did you receive the deputy director’s personal contact information or anything like that?”

“No,” I replied. “But if possible, I’d like to have another chat next time I visit KNM.”

“I imagine the deputy director will be very busy, though.”

“I think so too. Plus, the job involves a lot of business trips. But I can’t help but admire that wealth of knowledge, sense of humor, and childlike spirit...”

“A childlike spirit, you say?”

“Something you ain’t got,” Ensho said bluntly.

“Actually, I’ve always said that I have the body of an adult but the mind of a child,” Holmes replied, placing a hand on his chest.

“Huh?” Rikyu blurted. “What’re you talking about, Kiyo?”

“That’s, like, the worst thing you can say,” Ensho retorted.

Are they all drunk? I wondered. “Anyway, meeting her made me wish I could become a wonderful woman like her.”

Holmes froze. “Oh, is that so? I hope you’ll be able to see her when you go to KNM.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what you were just saying, kiddo?” Komatsu asked.

“Can you be quiet?”

I guess they really are drunk.

“Oh, right.” Komatsu looked up. “Ensho, where are you living now? You moved out of that apartment, didn’t you?”

“Ah, yeah,” said Ensho. “They’re demolishing it ’cause it’s falling apart.”

“I see,” I said.

“I’m staying at a business hotel for now,” Ensho continued.

“I guess I shouldn’t be saying this to a rich person, but it kinda feels like a waste,” said Komatsu, averting his gaze. “My second floor’s still open, so you can come back whenever you want.”

“Thanks,” Ensho replied with a shy and awkward look on his face.

After that, we had a lot of fun chatting and drinking before calling it a night. Komatsu and Ensho went to the Komatsu Detective Agency, while Rikyu headed for the Hankyu line station. Holmes and I strolled north along the Takase River.

“Today was supposed to be a wrap-up party for you, Aoi,” Holmes muttered, sounding mildly dissatisfied.

I giggled. “But it was, wasn’t it? Everyone congratulated me.”

“You really never change. Well, once again, congratulations on completing your internship,” he said, peering into my face.

“Thank you,” I said shyly.

“Did it make you want to get a job at KNM?”

“That would be amazing, but even if that opportunity doesn’t come, I’ve found what I want to do as a career.”

I wanted to become an art manager, and to achieve that, I wanted to see the world. Meeting Holmes had provided me with a blessed environment, and for a long time, I’d felt guilty that I had come so far through luck alone, not knowledge or ability. But I still wanted to move forward, even if I had to carry that guilty conscience while doing so. I couldn’t expect doors to open if I hesitated to seize any opportunity I could get. By being proactive, I hoped to one day be able to help people make their dreams come true.

I looked at Holmes and took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of taking Sally up on her offer after I graduate.”

“By all means, please do.” He smiled and nodded. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Thank you.”

My heart felt like it was on fire. As tears welled up in my eyes, Holmes gently wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

“Um, H— Kiyotaka.”

He looked down at me, confused by my sudden correction.

“If it’s okay...”

“Yes?” he replied with uncertainty in his eyes.

“After I graduate, will you marry me?”

“Huh?” His eyes widened.

“Kurishiro is married. Her husband works in the same field, but they don’t live together.”

Kurishiro had told me that she hadn’t originally been interested in marriage as a system. But after meeting her current partner, she had decided that she wanted to form a family with him. Her words had struck a chord with me: “Most of all, it’s reassuring to have someone whom society recognizes as your partner. It stops people from making advances on you for fun, like an invisible but firm barrier. It feels like he’s protecting me even when we’re apart.”

“So before going to Sally, I want to be united with you in a public, socially recognized way,” I continued. “I want to have a firm bond with you before setting off on my journey.”

Holmes pulled me into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Aoi. I’m so happy.”

I felt his body tremble slightly. Perhaps he was crying. I looked up and cupped his cheeks in my hands. His tearful smile moved my heart.

Marriage will turn our invisible connection into a firm bond recognized by all. “Let’s get married when I graduate,” I whispered before we shared a kiss.

“I’ll always be waiting for you at Teramachi-Sanjo,” he said. “And if anything should happen to you, I will come running to your rescue no matter where in the world you are.”

“Thank you.” I smiled.

That late summer night, we vowed to spend our entire lives together. A bright future awaited us.

Afterword

Thank you, as always. I’m Mai Mochizuki.

This series has already reached its twentieth volume! It couldn’t have continued for so long without your support. Thank you all so much.

With this being the twentieth volume, I wanted to give my readers an even more enjoyable experience! I always put a lot of effort into my work, but doubly so for this book.

In this volume, there were three characters modeled after real people. First, Aoi’s fellow interns, Eri Kimura and Koki Segawa: These two won the right to appear in the book as a raffle prize for participating in the stamp rally held by Kyoto’s Kita-ku ward. They were asked for their names, appearance, and hobbies (Kimura’s was drawing, while Segawa’s was communicating with aliens). Everything about the characters was written based on their survey responses except for their ages, the universities they attended, and Segawa’s family business. Thank you so much, Eri Kimura and Koki Segawa.

The other person was KNM deputy director Yuki Kurishiro. She was modeled after Yuji Kurihara, who was deputy director of the Kyoto National Museum until the spring of 2023. He is currently the deputy director of Tokyo’s National Museum of Nature and Science. Kurihara is actually a man, but I received his permission to make him a woman in the book.

I first met Kurihara two years ago when he contacted me saying that—much to my surprise—he was reading this series. He even made a wonderful proposal: “We’d love to have Aoi intern at KNM!” However, at the time, Aoi was still in her first two years of university. It was too soon for her to have an internship. So I replied, “Please let her intern at your museum when she becomes a third-year.” After two years, Aoi was finally old enough to go.

Kurihara was so kind as to create the internship program for me and allow full cooperation with KNM for the research involved in composing this book. Still, it is a national museum, so there were quite a few restrictions. “We can’t have any crimes happening at the museum,” he said. “Ghosts might be okay, but that would be a repeat of volume 19.”

Well, if I can’t have any incidents at KNM, then I’ll just have to have them elsewhere! That was the thought that led to combining Aoi’s intern arc with this installment of Ensho’s journey, which were originally separate stories. Thank you so much to Kurihara and everyone at the Kyoto National Museum.

This volume had the Shiga story I’d been meaning to write for a long time, Akihito’s stage play at Minamiza Theater that was postponed from the previous volume, Aoi’s internship at KNM, and Ensho’s story. I was able to pack everything in and write it all in one go. When I finished, I was filled with a sense of accomplishment. Now, I just pray that those who pick up this book will enjoy it.

Finally, let me thank all of you once again. It’s because of your support that I was able to publish twenty volumes of Holmes of Kyoto—twenty-two if you include the extras!

I’m grateful for all of the connections surrounding this series. Thank you all so much.

Mai Mochizuki

References

Nakajima, Seinosuke. Nisemono wa Naze, Hito wo Damasu no ka? (Kadokawa Shoten)

Nakajima, Seinosuke. Nakajima Seinosuke no Yakimono Kantei. (Futabasha)

Miller, Judith. Seiyo Kotto Kantei no Kyokasho. (PIE International)

Degawa, Naoki. Kojiki Shingan Kantei to Kansho. (Kodansha)

Kurihara, Yuji. Kyoyo to shite Shitteokitai Hakubutsukan no Sekai: Manabinaoshi ni Ikaseru Atarashii Kanshojutsu to Gensen 20-kan. (Seibundo Shinkosha)

Kurihara, Yuji. Museum Freak in America: Enjoy! Museum no Miryoku. (Yuzankaku)

Ohori, Satoshi (editing); Hata, Nobuyuki (editing); Kobayashi, Tatsuo (editing) & Morooka, Hirokuma (editing). Museum Management: Hakubutsukan Un’ei no Hoho to Jissen. (Tokyodo Shuppan)

Cooperation

Kyoto National Museum

*The KNM program featured in this book is fictional. Please do not inquire with KNM regarding it.

Mai Mochizuki

Born in Hokkaido and currently resides in Kyoto. Debuted in 2013 upon winning the first prize in the second installment of EVERYSTAR’s e-publication awards. Won the Kyoto Book Award in 2016. Other works include Wagaya wa Machi no Ogamiya-san (Kadokawa Bunko), Mangetsu Coffee-ten no Hoshiyomi (Bunshun Bunko), and Kyoto Funaokayama Astrology (Kodansha Bunko). (As of October 2023)

Translator’s Corner

Thank you for reading volume 20 of Holmes of Kyoto! What a milestone! As usual, it’s time for some translation notes.

In chapter 1, at Hiyoshi Taisha, Aoi mentions reading a novel:

“They call them ‘masaru,’ as in ‘divine monkeys,’ right? I remember that from a novel I read that talked about Hiyoshi Taisha.”

“Was it set in Shiga?”

“No, it mainly took place in Kyoto. It was about a division of the Kyoto Prefectural Police that exterminated evil spirits.”

“Similar to what Reito does, then.”

“They were a bit different from Reito. In the story, they used special katanas and naginata to battle demons.”

The novel being referenced is never specified, but based on her description, it’s likely Kyoto Fukei Ayakashi-ka no Jikenbo (The Case Files of the Kyoto Prefectural Police’s Ayakashi Division), in which the characters visit Hiyoshi Taisha in volume 4. This series won the Kyoto Book Award in 2019, while Holmes of Kyoto won the same award in 2016.

Also in chapter 1, Aoi and Holmes have salad rolls, which, contrary to the name, don’t appear to involve any salad. The reason for the naming is that they originally contained mayonnaise and shredded lettuce, but since the lettuce made the bread soggy, it was replaced with pickled daikon. The name was kept because daikon is a vegetable and thus could be considered salad too. Additionally, one of the ingredients in mayonnaise is salad oil (vegetable oil suited for salad dressing).