Prologue: A New Year

Red and white “flowers” adorned the willow trees. These cute New Year’s decorations are actually rice cakes, and they’re called “drooping mochibana.” There are a lot of types of New Year’s decorations, but these are my favorite. I, Aoi Mashiro, smiled as I gazed out the window, swaying from the movement of the packed bus.

It was January 3rd, and Kyoto was abuzz with joy and excitement for the new year. The city was decorated with shrine ropes, pine branches, drooping mochibana, and golden folding fans. The streets were crowded with men and women of all ages dressed in kimono. It was like a city-wide festival.

Tourists probably made up most of the crowd. A lot of people come here from other prefectures, wanting to spend New Year’s in a place brimming with traditional Japanese culture and visit the shrines and temples. I might look like a tourist right now too. I looked at myself and slumped my shoulders in embarrassment.

I hurried off the bus when I saw that we’d arrived at City Hall. Pushing through the crowd, I made my way from Oike Street to the Teramachi shopping district. The streets were even busier than usual. Most of the shopping streets opened for business on January 2nd, selling lucky grab bags and serving New Year’s spiced sake. I found myself engulfed in the festive air. It’d been just as crowded at the end of the year, but back then, there was a feeling of restlessness. Then again, that was only a few days ago. I’d been working here up until the 31st, but for some reason, it felt like a long time had passed since I’d come here, even though the only thing that happened was the turn of the year. The spring in my step was probably because the New Year’s atmosphere was making me excited. I’m not here to play, though. Kura, the antique store where I work part-time, is reopening today.

Seiji Yagashira, the store’s owner, had suggested that we all show up for the first day back at work. So, I was invited too, even though I’m just a part-timer. I’m not particularly useful, and I’m only there to watch the store while they’re gone. Still, I was delighted that they’d invite me to the New Year’s meeting. It felt like they acknowledged me as a proper member of their staff. I’ll have to work harder. I looked straight ahead and quickened my pace. Before long, I saw Kura’s sign. As always, it looked more like an old-fashioned cafe than an antique shop. Our storefront had switched to New Year’s mode too, sporting pine decorations, shrine ropes, and drooping mochibana.

“Good morning,” I said as I opened the door and the usual chime rang out.

“Oh, Aoi!” called the owner in a firm voice as he turned around. The seventy-seven-year-old Seiji Yagashira is a renowned, nationally certified appraiser who’s pretty famous in the Kansai region. He normally only wears a casual kimono, but since it was a special occasion, today he was also wearing a coat called a haori and pants called hakama. The formal attire gave him a more dignified appearance.

Next to him was his son, Takeshi, who we call Manager. Despite that nickname, his main profession is writing historical novels, so he generally writes while watching the store. Today he was wearing an indigo kimono.

On the other side of the owner was a tall, handsome young man with a gentle smile. He’s the owner’s grandson and apprentice, a grad student named Kiyotaka. He has an exceptional observing eye and a knack for appraisal, and since his surname has the character for “home” in it, he’s nicknamed Holmes. He’s very capable. Today he was wearing a kimono too, in an inky-black color.

Behind them was a beautiful woman named Yoshie Takiyama. She manages an event consulting company in the art industry. She’s also the owner’s girlfriend. Despite looking to be in her early thirties, she’s actually a witch in her forties. Today she was looking stunning in her bright lime-green semi-formal kimono.

As you can probably tell by now, everyone’s wearing kimono today for the first workday of the new year.

“Happy New Year, Aoi!” they all greeted me.

Awed, I bowed and said, “H-Happy New Year. It’s a bit overwhelming to see you all in kimono, even though I knew you would be.” Wearing a kimono for New Year’s was a very Kura thing to do.

“I’m the only one dressed casually, though,” Holmes remarked. In terms of men’s kimono, dressing casually means only wearing a long kimono and a sash, omitting the haori and the hakama.

“It looks good on you,” I said. I think the informal look suits him more than the full ensemble would. His pale skin shone against his black hair and inky black kimono.

“Thank you very much. Your patterned kimono looks good on you too,” Holmes said with a smile.

“Yes, it’s adorable,” Yoshie continued.

“I like it too,” said the manager.

“Th-Thanks...” I said sheepishly. I was wearing a kimono too, but it wasn’t a long-sleeved one. It was a casual kimono called a komon, meaning that it was covered in small patterns. It had a cream-colored base with light pink flowers all over it. The sash was light pink too, and looked like a big flower. I liked it because it was casual enough to walk around normally in.

“Is that the komon you bought at Kobo?” Holmes asked.

I nodded and said, “Yes.”

“Kobo” is the nickname for the fair held at To-ji Temple on the 21st of every month. It’s a large flea market and festival with stalls set up in the temple grounds. They sell a wide variety of things, including antiques, used clothing, kimono, food, and miscellaneous goods. It’s bigger than the handicraft market at Hyakumanben Chion-ji Temple that I went to with Holmes before.

By the way, Kyoto has three major monthly temple fairs. Hyakumanben Chion-ji’s handicraft market on the 15th, To-ji’s “Kobo” on the 21st, and Kitano Tenmangu’s “Tenjin” on the 25th.

I found this kimono when I went to my first Kobo with my friend, Kaori Miyashita. She looked at a cart and said the ones there were good bargains. Since her family owns a kimono fabrics store, I trusted her judgment. I’d thought that kimono were expensive—unobtainable for someone like me—but the ones sold at temple fairs were surprisingly cheap. I could even afford them with my part-time earnings. Now that I think about it, I never even considered buying a kimono with my own money until I moved to Kyoto. The sash was from home, though, and I had to ask my grandmother to help me put it on. I want to be able to put it on myself one day, I thought, touching it.

“Now that we’re all here, let’s liven things up with a toast,” said the owner.

“You can have amazake, Aoi,” Holmes said. Amazake is a traditional drink made from fermented rice that contains only trace amounts of alcohol. He filled our sake cups and handed them to us in order from youngest to oldest: me, then Yoshie, then the manager, and finally the owner. I didn’t know if it was because of the kimono, but each of his motions seemed more sensual than usual, and I couldn’t look directly at him.

“Th-Thank you.” I accepted the cup and quickly looked down.

As we were about to toast, the door chime rang. Akihito burst into the store, shouting, “Sorry I’m late! Happy New Year, guys!” He was wearing a blueish formal ensemble. His bright-colored hair seemed mismatched at first glance, but it actually did fit quite well. Akihito was an attractive, popular actor. He often wore a kimono for his TV show, A Fine Day in Kyoto, so perhaps I’d gotten used to it.

“What do you mean, ‘sorry’? No one invited you,” Holmes said, looking at him coldly.

“Hey now,” Akihito shook his head, “at the New Year’s Eve party, the owner told me, ‘We’re opening back up on the third, so come show up if you have time. It’ll be more fun with you around.’ How could I not show up after all he’s done for me?” He laughed, smacking Holmes on the shoulder. Holmes seemed considerably less enthusiastic, rubbing his shoulder and glaring at Akihito. It looks like this year will be the same for those two.

“And that’s why he’s here!” the owner said, pouring another cup of sake and offering it to Akihito, who gratefully accepted it. “Once again, here’s to another year, Takeshi, Kiyotaka, Yoshie, Aoi, and Akihito!”

“Cheers!” we all shouted, raising our cups and gulping down the contents. Perhaps because I was tired from coming all the way here in clothes I wasn’t used to wearing, the chilled amazake tasted extremely delicious.

“Huh? Are you drinking sake too, Aoi?” Akihito asked.

“No, mine is amazake.”

“Oh yeah, you’re still underage, after all. Second year, was it?”

“Yes. I’m going to be a third-year in the spring.”

“Oh right, Aoi,” Yoshie said. “My son will be returning from his exchange program this spring. Do be friends with him, okay?”

“O-Okay.” I nodded, surprised. I’d forgotten that Yoshie had a son. If I recall correctly, he’s a high school first-year—one year younger than me. With Yoshie for a mother, he’s bound to be good-looking.

While we were all chatting happily, the owner checked the time and slowly stood up. “All right, I gotta get going.”

“Me too,” said the manager.

“Wait,” Holmes called to them as they were about to leave. “Sorry, could you stay here a bit longer? Since it’s the first day back, I want to visit the Yata Jizo with Aoi.”

I tilted my head. “Yata Jizo?”

“It’s a temple very close to here. I think we should pay our respects for the new year.”

“Oh, the one next to the police box!” I clapped my hands. I occasionally saw it on my way to work, but I didn’t pay enough attention to it to know its name. I feel kind of bad for not respecting it.

“Fine, but make it quick,” the owner said. “I ain’t waiting long.” He turned away in a huff.

“This is your store to begin with,” Holmes replied. “How can you be so arrogant when you’re always skipping work to go play?”

“I’ve got important greetings to make, unless you wanna do ’em for me.”

Holmes paused before saying, “No, we’ll be right back. Let’s go, Aoi.” He put his scarf on and opened the door.

“Okay.” I nodded.

“I’m coming too!” Akihito said immediately, springing up from his seat.

The owner put his hand on Akihito’s shoulder to stop him. “Akihito, let ’em go. That kid just wants to walk around town a bit with Aoi in her kimono.”

Their conversation reached me just as I was about to go through the door. “Huh?” I blinked. Holmes wanted to walk around town with me in a kimono? ...Yeah right, there’s no way. What is he talking about? I inadvertently looked at Holmes. From his side profile, I could see a bit of a troubled expression. He wouldn’t look towards me at all. He’s probably annoyed by the owner’s assumption.

The Yata Jizo was only a stone’s throw away. You can’t really call this “walking around town.” The temple’s entrance was decorated with red lanterns spelling out its name. Many little Jizo statues encircled the small grounds.

“All of these little Jizos are so cute,” I said.

“The Jizo statues here are called ‘Hardship Surrogates.’ They’ll take on your suffering in your stead.”

Jizos that take on your suffering... “I kind of feel bad for them.”

“What?”

“I think it’d be better if we all split the suffering between us.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Oh, not at all. I guess it might be fine for the Jizos, since they feel things differently from us humans.” What was I saying? I shook my head furiously in embarrassment.

“I agree, though. Taking on all of the burden by yourself seems like a beautiful thing, but it’s a self-inflicted curse. I think that you can only sincerely be kind to others when you yourself are happy.”

“That’s pretty deep.”

“Really?”

“It is.” Self-sacrifice is a self-inflicted curse. In order to sympathize with others, you need to cherish yourself—which is different from being self-centered. I nodded slightly as we gave our offerings. I closed my eyes, put my hands together, and prayed, Please take care of me this year.

When I opened my eyes, Holmes was looking gently at me. We made eye contact, and I averted my gaze in embarrassment.

“That kimono really does look good on you, Aoi.”

“Th-Thank you.” I flushed at the repeated compliment.

“I look forward to working with you this year.”

“Same here. Please continue to teach me various things.”

“Various things...? Is there anything in particular that you want to be taught?” He gave me a sidelong glance, and I couldn’t help but sense something suggestive in it. My heart skipped a beat.

“Wh-What?” The kimono is making his wickedness even more unfair. How am I supposed to answer that? “U-Umm, I want to learn more about Raku tea bowls.”

“Raku tea bowls?” His eyes went wide in surprise.

“At the New Year’s Eve party, I had no idea whether Ensho’s Raku tea bowls were real or fake. It was frustrating...” I sighed. At the Yagashira family’s party, Ensho suddenly showed up and challenged Holmes to a match. The first items he presented were counterfeit Raku tea bowls. Holmes instantly identified them as fake, but I couldn’t tell at all... “Even though I’ve seen a Raku tea bowl before...” I mumbled.

Holmes nodded in understanding. “However, you wouldn’t have seen the Keinyu tea bowl that Ensho forged. You’re still inexperienced, so sniffing out a counterfeit of something you haven’t seen before is too difficult. I understand your frustration, though, so I’ll give you a thorough lesson on Raku tea bowls before winter break is over.”

“Th-Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Oh yes, before we go back to the store, would you like to drink some coffee while we’re here?” He left the small temple and pointed at a cafe across the street that looked like something from the early Showa era. The manager often ran there when he had writer’s block or had to meet with his editor.

“Huh? Shouldn’t we go back right away?”

“A quick break won’t hurt,” he said with a grin. He started walking.

This Teramachi Street cafe was very traditional. Sometimes there was a line to get in, but since it was still morning, we were able to go right inside. The soft lighting added a warm tinge to the dark brown leather sofas and wooden chairs. I walked past this cafe all the time, but this was my first time coming inside. Actually, I can probably count on my hands the number of times I’ve been to a traditional coffee shop like this.

“Are you ready to order?” asked the waitress who came to take our orders.

“Coffee, please,” Holmes said without hesitation. He looked at me and asked, “What will you have, Aoi?”

“Oh, I’ll have coffee too,” I said shyly.

Holmes smiled. “Come to think of it, you said you were going to start drinking coffee black, right?”

“Yes.” I nodded firmly. On New Year’s Eve, after we visited Yasaka Shrine, we took embers of the traditional okera fire, made with special herbs, to Holmes’s apartment and he made coffee for us. Drinking his black coffee for the first time, it was definitely bitter, and I couldn’t honestly say that it tasted good. But it had a hint of sweetness, and I had a feeling that I’d be able to acquire the taste for it eventually.

As Holmes had said, the apartment where he and the manager lived was extremely normal on the inside. That said, the windows had an incredible sweeping view of Gion and Yasaka Tower. Holmes, Akihito, and I chatted until morning. When I saw Yasaka Tower in the sunrise, I was almost moved to tears...

While I was lost in thought, the waitress came back and placed our coffee on the table. As I expected of the old-fashioned coffee shop, it looked really delicious. I narrowed my eyes, taking in its fragrant aroma.

“Do you need Fresh?” the waitress asked with a smile.

Fresh? I stared at her blankly.

“No, I’m fine,” Holmes said.

“And you?” the waitress asked me.

I shook my head, not knowing what she meant. What’s “Fresh”? Is that some kind of fresh fruit special? Maybe I shouldn’t have declined, then.

“Please relax and enjoy your coffee, then.” The waitress bowed. I stared vacantly at her back as she left.

Holmes peered into my face. “Shouldn’t you have asked for it, Aoi?”

“Huh? D-Did you think I needed ‘Fresh’?”

“Yes, since you’re not used to it yet.” Holmes picked up his cup.

I’m not used to it yet? “U-Um, do you not need it, Holmes?”

“I generally don’t, no,” he said smoothly.

He generally doesn’t need it. “Fresh” is something that people who are used to it don’t need, but people who aren’t used to it do need? ...Used to what, exactly? I looked down as I brooded over it.

Holmes tilted his head in confusion. “Is something wrong, Aoi? You don’t have to worry about the store. If they really need us to come back, they’ll call me.”

“No, um, it’s about ‘Fresh’...”

“Oh, you do need it after all?”

“No, um...” I made up my mind to ask. “What is ‘Fresh’?”

Holmes’s eyes widened. He looked genuinely surprised. “Huh? You don’t know what ‘Fresh’ is?”

I blushed hard. No matter what silly questions I asked before, Holmes never looked surprised or appalled. He always politely told me the answer. I couldn’t believe he was making this face now. It must be so common sense that even a child would know. “I-I’m sorry for not knowing. People who aren’t used to it need ‘Fresh,’ and people who are used to it don’t, right? That means it’s not referring to fruit, right?” I asked quickly, feeling incredibly awkward.

Holmes chuckled as if he couldn’t hold in his laughter any longer. “Indeed. I’ve already been worn out, so there’s nothing fresh about me anymore. I don’t need Fresh. But, you’re still fresh.”

“Wh-What?”

“Actually, maybe I do need Fresh after all. I feel like it’ll make me remember something I’d forgotten.”

“U-Um, is it that important of a thing?”

“Yes...I suppose. If you drink that coffee, I think I’ll know whether or not you need it.”

Holmes’s prompt made me realize that I hadn’t taken a single sip yet. I picked up the cup and drank. As the aroma suggested, this coffee was more bitter than the coffee Holmes brewed. I grimaced on instinct.

“I-It’s a bit too bitter for me.”

“I see.” Holmes nodded and called to the waitress, “Sorry, could we get some Fresh after all?”

Huh? Before I could question it, creamer was placed on the table.

“Th-This is creamer, right?”

“Ah, is that what they call it in Kanto?”

“Y-Yes.” Creamer or coffee milk.

“In Kansai, it’s called ‘Fresh.’ Go ahead and use it, since you’re still ‘fresh,’ Aoi.” He grinned.

I blushed. S-So it’s local lingo. My cheeks felt so hot that I thought my head was going to give off steam. I poured the “Fresh” that they couldn’t have just called “cream” or “milk” into my coffee and took another sip.

“Did you have to phrase it like that? You really are a wicked Kyoto guy.”

“My apologies. You were just too cute.” He smiled, his eyes narrowing into arcs. My cheeks grew even hotter.

This little incident in the traditional coffee house was a sign that I wasn’t going to be able to avoid the rollercoaster of emotions this year either.