Chapter 1: Let Me Die in Spring, Under the Cherry Blossoms

1

“Aoi, would you like to work here?”

It’s been three weeks since Kiyotaka “Holmes” Yagashira, a mysterious young man at the antique store Kura in Kyoto’s Teramachi-Sanjo district, invited me to work part-time at his place. It is now early April, on a Saturday, to be precise.

“I’m leaving now!”

After meticulously arranging my hair, I noisily ran down the stairs towards the front door.

“Hey, don’t run down the stairs, Aoi!” my mother shouted as she came out from the living room. I said simply, “Okay!” in response and slipped my sneakers on.

“Do you have work today?”

“Yep.”

My mother looked at the clock and asked, “Isn’t it still early?”

“I’m going to bike around a bit first. Anyway, bye.”

I sprang out the door and got on the bicycle waiting for me outside. The moment I pushed down on the pedal, a gentle breeze caressed my cheeks. The air was warm, carrying the spring scent of fresh leaves. This is nice, I thought. Summer is too blisteringly hot for me, so this is my favorite time of year.

I biked along at a quick pace, heading south down Shimogamo Main Street. When you pass Imadegawa Street, which goes east-west, Shimogamo Main Street turns into Kawaramachi Street. In order to get to Teramachi-Sanjo, where my workplace is, all I have to do is keep going south down Kawaramachi. Normally I just go straight down the whole way, but today I decided to turn left at Imadegawa, heading east towards the Kamo River.

Imadegawa Street overlooks the junction where the Takano River joins with the north part of the Kamo River, which is named after the ancient Kamo clan. The resulting river is also called the Kamo River, but the kanji changes to one that means “wild duck.” And apparently, there’s a so-called energy vortex at this junction.

Now, the reason why I chose to take a detour before work...was not because I wanted to see this mystical river junction. What I wanted to see were the rows of cherry blossom trees in full bloom along the riverside.

“Wow, they’re so pretty!” I exclaimed as I pedaled my bike.

It was peak cherry blossom season in Kyoto, and bright sun rays shone upon the sparkling Kamo River and the countless petals drifting in the air. It was truly a sight to behold. I’m sure many people travel here from afar to see this scenery, and perhaps I’m very fortunate to be able to bike here on a whim.

I descended to the riverside and headed south, the cherry blossoms over my head as I gazed sideways at the Kamo River. It was amazing, and it would’ve been even better if it weren’t for the couples flirting on the riverbank. Seeing them made me remember my ex, and I felt a throbbing pain in my chest. The pain got worse when I imagined him getting closer to my best friend.

This isn’t going to work. The painful thoughts are looping in my head. The breakup, finding out he was going out with my friend, and questioning “Why?” just kept going round and round in my mind.

Then again, I only found out they were dating through someone else. It could’ve been a false rumor. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. I really wanted to go to Saitama and find out.

But thinking about it now won’t change anything. I need to stop.

I shook my head and looked back up in front of me. Cherry blossom petals fluttered in the gentle breeze. Their beauty was soothing to my torn heart. For now, I needed to focus on earning money at work. I’ll think about the next step when the time comes.

I gripped the handlebars tighter and pedaled on. After around fifteen minutes, I saw that I’d reached Oike Street, and climbed back up the riverbank to the street. A little further west was Kyoto City Hall, which is, perhaps surprisingly, a Western-style building made of stone. It was supposedly built during the onset of the Showa era, but had a lovely old-fashioned aesthetic and imposing presence that were reminiscent of the Meiji and Taisho periods. When I first saw this city hall, I was so surprised, thinking, “Kyoto really is full of wonders.”

I parked my bicycle in a designated area on Oike Street and continued towards the Sanjo shopping district on foot. It was 10:50 a.m., and my shift was at 11:00 a.m. It looked like I wasn’t going to be late.

2

As always, I calmed my breathing outside the shop before opening the antique door. As the door chime rang out, I spotted two men sitting at the counter.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Aoi,” said the first one, Kiyotaka Yagashira, also known as Holmes. He was the one who had offered me this job.

“Good morning, Aoi.” The second one was Holmes’s father, Takeshi Yagashira. He had a slim build and wore glasses and a vest. His gentle smile was similar to Holmes’s.

“I’ll do my best today,” I said with a bow.

It’d been a while since I started working here, and I’d finally gotten the hang of it. Back when Holmes offered me the job, I’d assumed he was a young shopkeeper, but it turned out that the real owner of the shop was his grandfather. Apparently that grandfather of his is known as a legendary appraiser, and being a nationally certified expert, he travels all over the country and even around the world performing his services. While the real owner is away, Holmes and his father take turns managing the shop in addition to working hard in their main professions.

Holmes’s father’s main profession is—I glanced at the counter in front of him. His right hand held a fountain pen, which he was using to write prose on Japanese grid-style writing paper. That’s right: his father is an author. He writes things like historical novels and columns, and he’s always writing while tending to the store.

Oh, and by the way, Holmes’s main profession is being a student, as you’d expect.

Perhaps having noticed I was looking at him, the father looked up from his work and smiled warmly at me, saying, “Your presence brightens up the shop, since we didn’t have any girls around before.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I said shyly, hastily putting on my apron.

According to what the regular customers have told me, there are no women in the Yagashira family. The owner was a free spirit and he had divorced his wife long ago, while the father’s wife—in other words, Holmes’s mother—passed away due to illness when Holmes was two years old. So, the Yagashira family only consists of men. Since the three of them have the same surname, the grandfather is called “Owner,” the father is called “Manager,” and Holmes is called either his nickname or “Kiyotaka.”

It’s rare to see father and son together, though. Usually only one of them was at the shop.

“Oh, I’ll be heading out soon. My father will be in charge today,” said Holmes, looking my way with a smile. I choked on my breath in shock.

“C-Can you please stop reading my mind already?”

“Ah, my apologies. You seemed curious because you were looking back and forth between us.”

Holmes possesses an extraordinarily keen eye. He doesn’t actually read people’s minds, but he can infer things that are unspoken from their words, actions, and behavior.

“Reading minds? You’re ever the exaggerator, Aoi,” he continued with an amused chuckle.

My face stiffened. His constant, unexpected guesses about my thoughts sure seemed like mind reading to me. I definitely wasn’t exaggerating. The way he responds to my inner thoughts is seriously bad for my heart.

“Oh right. Aoi. Come to the second floor with me,” said Holmes, getting up from his seat.

“Ah, okay,” I replied, slightly startled.

When Holmes calls me to the second floor, it’s always to show me something. I climbed the stairs feeling somewhat anxious. When we reached the top, he removed the keyring at his waist and unlocked the door there with a click, revealing a plain room with a small window and a ventilation fan. Products and boxes were stacked on the shelves. As its appearance would suggest, this room was called the “storeroom.”

Holmes cut straight through the storeroom and stopped in front of a door on the opposite wall. The first thing that caught my eye was the padlock. There was nothing else special about the door, but it was locked. On the wall next to the door was a cover pretending to be a power outlet, and opening that cover revealed a number pad. It was a digital lock with a numerical password.

Holmes deftly entered the password and then unlocked the padlock. At a glance, it was simply a small room at the back of the storeroom, but that wasn’t all. It had a high level of security.

The door finally opened. Holmes turned on the light, revealing a small, clean, windowless room that was kept cool with an air conditioner. In the middle was a table, and something lay on top, completely covered by a sheet.

“My grandfather brought this home with him last night,” Holmes said, swiftly putting on his white gloves and removing the sheet. Underneath was a box around fifty centimeters tall, wrapped in cloth. Holmes skillfully unwrapped the cloth, revealing a simple wooden box. He opened the lid. Inside was a vase, around forty centimeters tall. The vase was painted with broad, smooth curves, and it had a wide body that gradually narrowed towards the bottom. The cobalt blue pattern on its white body was breathtakingly elaborate.

“Wow!”

Was the pattern a grapevine? It was drawn beautifully and cleanly, all the way to the tips of the leaves.

“It’s...amazing.” Curse my limited vocabulary. But that was all I could say.

“It’s Chinese porcelain known as ‘blue and white pottery.’ This one hails from the Yuan dynasty.”

“How is porcelain different from earthenware?”

“They’re similar, and there isn’t a strict boundary between them, but when unglazed, porcelain is white and translucent, and it makes a metallic sound when you tap it.”

“I see. Is this genuine?”

“Yes, a Kyoto department store will be having an exhibition soon, and this piece is being borrowed from overseas. They asked my grandfather to appraise it beforehand.”

“So the department store requested for the owner to appraise it?”

“Yes, even though they’re borrowing pieces from other countries, it’d still affect their reputation if they were to display a counterfeit.”

Since the owner was a nationally certified appraiser, he’d sometimes receive requests like this and bring rare antiques here, the likes of which a commoner like me would normally never be able to see up close. And whenever such an amazing piece was here, Holmes would always show it to me.

“This cobalt was brought over from the Islamic world. It’s a beautiful, deep indigo, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it really is lovely.”

“The shape is very uniform and feels balanced. It has a beautiful form, developed to perfection all the way to the brim. And most of all, this pattern. Isn’t it stunning?” Holmes gazed fondly at the vase, describing it passionately as if it were his own pride and joy. I was charmed by his genuine love for antiques, but I could also understand where his passion came from. Even an amateur could tell that this vase was amazing. But, as a lowly commoner, what I wanted to know was...

“Around how much is this worth?”

“Let’s see... In the past, I saw in the news that a piece of Yuan blue and white pottery went for 3.2 billion at an overseas auction.”

“Th-Three billion? For this?”

“Not for this specific piece, but it means that there’s someone out there who would value it that highly,” Holmes answered happily.

“I-I see.”

This world was so foreign to me that I couldn’t keep up. Some people have their hearts stolen by money or jewels, but others are charmed by antiques. As an antique collector, my grandpa must’ve been one of them.

“Holmes, if you were rich, would you want this vase badly enough to pay a large sum for it?”

“No.”

I looked up in surprise at his swift response.

“Oh, really? But you love antiques, right?”

“Yes, I do. However, I don’t have the desire to own them. I’m happy being able to see such wonderful pieces, and I want to see as many as I can during my life. To that end, I’m willing to go anywhere in the world. But I don’t want to own them. I’m satisfied as long as I can look at them like this and store them in my heart and memory,” Holmes replied, placing his hand to his chest with a gentle smile on his face.

“I...see.” I nodded hesitantly. His answer was unexpected, yet appropriate.

“In my case, it’s not just pottery and scrolls that appeal to me. I also love temples, shrines, and foreign castles and towers. Those are things I’ll never be able to own, let alone decorate my house with, right?”

Holmes grinned mischievously. I smiled too, saying, “You’re right.”

“The staff will be coming to retrieve this soon, so I’m glad I was able to show it to you first.”

Holmes put the lid back on the box and wrapped it securely in the cloth. We left the room together, and I watched him absentmindedly as he locked up.

I knew he was being careful, but was it really okay to put something worth 3.2 billion here? Perhaps it wasn’t my place to judge, but I couldn’t help but worry.

“Don’t worry. Our security is tighter than you think,” Holmes said, key in hand.

I choked on my breath again. “I-It’s seriously bad for my heart when you read my mind.”

Holmes laughed cheerfully at my stiff expression.

We descended the stairs, and I spotted Ueda, one of the regulars, lounging on the sofa in the cafe area.

“Hey there, Holmes and Aoi!” The instant he saw us, Ueda waved with a big grin on his face.

“Welcome, Ueda. Did you come to see my father?”

Apparently Ueda was college friends with the manager, making him a Kyoto University alumnus as well. He works as a management consultant in Osaka, and developed an interest in antiques due to the Yagashira family’s influence. When he finds something that might be good, he comes to Kura to have it appraised.

“Uh huh. I bought his new book today and I wanna get it signed.”

Ueda took out a book from his bag titled Women’s Quarters. I instinctively leaned in. “Wow, is that the manager’s book? I keep asking him what kind of books he writes, but he always refuses to answer.”

I looked at the cover and got excited when I saw the author listed as “Takeshi Ijuin.”

“Your pen name is Takeshi Ijuin, huh? It’s very nice.”

The manager brought his hand to his forehead as if troubled. “Uh, Aoi, feel free to forget what you just saw.”

“Huh? Why?”

“This guy’s shy, Aoi,” said Ueda. “Here, I’ll even give it to you, so read it thoroughly.”

“Thank you, Ueda! I’m so happy.” I accepted the book and held it tightly to my chest.

The manager averted his gaze and said, “It’s extremely difficult to read, so I can’t recommend it.” His cheeks were faintly tinged with red. It was kind of cute.

“C’mon man, you’re a veteran author now. Hurry up and get used to it!” Ueda slumped his shoulders, exasperated, and the manager looked away.

“An insensitive Osakan man wouldn’t understand.”

“Pfft, I don’t wanna hear that from a guy who brags about being raised in Tokyo. You’ve got Kansai blood flowing through your veins, but you sold your soul to Tokyo.”

Right, Ueda had told me that the manager was born in Kyoto, but raised in Tokyo. The owner got divorced when the manager was still young, and he was too busy to raise a child by himself, so he sent his son to his relatives in Tokyo. The manager didn’t come back to Kyoto until he started university, and that’s why he usually speaks in standard Japanese. Maybe that’s why Holmes uses standard Japanese, too.

“I’ll make coffee,” said Holmes, heading towards the kitchenette in the back.

“Thanks, pal. There’s something I wanted you to take a look at too, when you’re done with the coffee.”

“Certainly. I had a feeling that was the case.” Holmes chuckled and went into the kitchenette.

“Saw right through me, huh? That’s Holmes for you.” Ueda shrugged and then looked at me with a grin. “Didja know, Aoi? It was me who nicknamed him ‘Holmes.’”

“Huh? Wasn’t it because his last name has the character for ‘home’ in it?”

“That’s what he tells other people, but the truth’s something else.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was back when he was in early primary school, I think? He came to my place to play and said he wanted to solve riddles.”

“Ahh yeah, young children like that kind of thing.” My relatives’ kids always want to do quizzes or play word games too. It never ends.

“I know, right? So, I gave him some problems, but he was a smart kid and solved ’em right away. No matter how many questions I gave him, he kept asking for more, and it got really annoying, so I went, ‘All right then, how many stairs does my staircase have?’ and he instantly answered ‘Fifteen.’ I was surprised and accused him of making up an answer, but he said, ‘I didn’t make it up. I know because I climbed them once.’ And then when I counted, there really were fifteen. Aoi, do you know how many stairs your house has?”

I was at a loss for words. Thinking about it, even though I go up and down those stairs every day...I don’t know how many steps there are.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Right? Don’t look so glum. It’s normal not to know. Anyway, when that happened, I thought ‘This kid is Holmes.’”

I tilted my head. “But why?”

The manager chuckled, saying, “That’s the kind of person Sherlock Holmes was made out to be. When he sees a staircase, his brain even observes the exact number of stairs it has.”

“I-Is that so? Wow.” I was impressed from the bottom of my heart.

“It’s something you have to be born with,” he continued. “If everyone is looking at the same thing, most people will overlook part of the information, but Kiyotaka takes everything in and processes it.”

“That’s why he can do appraisals, right? Is the owner like that too?”

“No, my father... It’s a bit different. He has the unique ability to determine authenticity.”

“And you’re hopeless at it,” Ueda piped in immediately.

The manager grinned snidely and said, “Well I’m sorry for not being able to help.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Ueda replied, with a similarly snide grin.

As I was anxiously looking between the two of them, Holmes appeared, accompanied by the scent of coffee.

“I’m glad you’re getting along, but you’re making Aoi uncomfortable.”

There were four porcelain coffee cups, one of which was café au lait. That one was mine.

“Thank you.”

It was delicious, as usual. I really love Holmes’s café au lait.

“Thanks. So, this is what I wanted you to look at.” Ueda gulped down his coffee and hurriedly took a box out of a paper bag. “One of our clients, their director had this in his house. Caught my eye, so I borrowed it to show you.”

“Understood. Allow me to examine it.” Holmes donned his white gloves again and gently opened the box. Inside was a small vase made of white porcelain with a blue pattern.

“...Well then.”

“It’s blue and white pottery, right? From the Yuan dynasty?”

“This is...quite the coincidence.” Holmes smiled in amusement and glanced at me. “What do you think, Aoi?”

“Huh?” Bewildered by the sudden question, I looked at the vase. This is the same type as the one I just saw upstairs, right? I gulped and took a closer look. If it’s worth the same as the one upstairs... No, this blue wasn’t as beautiful. The one I’d seen before was a very beautiful cobalt blue, but this one was obviously just “blue.” And what’s more, the pattern—the one upstairs was extremely elaborate, drawn as though there were nerves reaching all the way to the pointed tips of the leaves. This one didn’t have the same tension. The same went for the shape: the curve around the upper brim was a bit concerning.

I could tell that this vase was trying to imitate the other one, but there was no hiding its faults. The one upstairs had a mysterious, overwhelming something to it. Compared to that, I didn’t feel anything from looking at this one. To be honest, it was really shabby.

“Umm, I think it’s a fake,” I mumbled, and Holmes nodded in response.

“Correct.”

Ueda’s eyes opened wide. “Whoa now, does Aoi have an eye for this too?”

“Indeed. Aoi has good eyesight, and most importantly, as long as she’s seen the genuine article beforehand, she can identify forgeries well.” Holmes looked towards me as though seeking my agreement.

“Y-Yes, just a little while ago, he showed me one that’s going to be used in an exhibition.”

That’s why it felt so different. If I’d only seen the one that Ueda brought, then I might’ve thought it was amazing.

“My grandfather always said, ‘Try to only look at genuine articles whenever possible.’ That way, when you see a fake, you’ll sense its low quality.”

I see; I can totally relate.

“Everyone is blessed with the opportunity to see the real thing, because wonderful works of art are always on display at museums and galleries. I want people to make use of those facilities. It feels like such a waste that they pass up the chance to see beautiful works,” Holmes sighed.

Ueda laughed. “What are you, a secret agent?”

“I might be.”

Everyone giggled at Holmes’s shameless admission.

“But man, this is a fake? Well, I guess Yuan blue and whites aren’t something you see every day. Shouldn’t have gotten the guy’s hopes up.” Ueda looked disappointed as he put the box with the vase back into the paper bag.

“It’s not a bad piece, though.”

“How much, then?”

“About fifty thousand, perhaps. How much did he pay for it?”

“Don’t ask,” Ueda said, slumping his shoulders. I felt my expression stiffen too, assuming that the price must’ve been missing a digit or two.

“As long as he likes it enough to keep it in his collection, that’s what matters most. In cases like this, the value is up to the owner to decide.” Holmes smiled merrily, then looked at the shop’s grandfather clock. “Ah, it’s time. I’ll be leaving now, Dad.”

“All right.” The manager nodded, then looked at me. “Oh right, why don’t you go with him, Aoi? You might learn something.”

I looked back at him blankly. “Um, where is he going?”

“I’m going to Ninna Temple. It’s the best time to see the cherry blossoms. Since my father suggested it, shall we go together?” Holmes answered with a smile.

I nodded eagerly. “Yes!”

3

A long time ago, I heard someone say that Kyoto’s springs and autumns were “special.” When I told that to my late grandfather, he patted my head and said, “It’s not just spring and autumn. In Kyoto, all four seasons have their charms, and each season has its own scenic places.”

“What’s the best place to see cherry blossoms, then?” I asked, and his answer was, “Hmm, there’re quite a few, but the top one’s gotta be Ninna Temple.”

Ever since then, I had it in my mind that the best place for cherry blossoms in Kyoto was Ninna Temple...but I’d never gone there.

“Is that so? You still haven’t been to Ninna Temple, Aoi?” Holmes asked, and I nodded a “Yes” while peeking at the logo visible through the windshield of the Jaguar he was driving.

“Ninna Temple does come to mind when I think of cherry blossoms, but there are plenty of other noteworthy locations, like the Heian Shrine and the Hirano Shrine. The Philosopher’s Walk is a good one too.”

I vaguely nodded along to Holmes’s excited explanation, unable to stop focusing on the Jaguar logo. I mean, this isn’t the kind of car a student would ride in, right?

“Umm, Holmes, this is a really expensive car, right?”

“Ah, it’s the owner’s car.”

“Y-Your grandfather’s?”

“Yes, he likes Jaguars. Apparently, he was very impressed by the ideology of the company’s founder, Lyons: ‘Beauty sells.’”

“I-I see.”

“But he rarely gets the chance to drive it, so it’s become Kura’s company car.”

“It’s an amazing company car.”

Holmes laughed in amusement at my strained expression.

After driving for around half an hour, we arrived at Ninna Temple. Since it was a Saturday during cherry blossom season, the parking lot was packed full, but because we were invited guests, we were directed to a separate area.

At the entrance to the grounds was the giant, imposing Nio Gate.

“It’s huge, like, really grand. I can feel its history.” My lousy vocabulary strikes again.

Holmes smiled in response, and said, “Indeed, the Ninna Temple has a long history. It was built in the Heian period and remained a top-class monzeki temple—meaning that its head priest was a member of the imperial family or an aristocrat—until the Kamakura period. Unfortunately, most of the temples on this mountain burned down during the Onin War. The Ninna Temple wasn’t rebuilt until the Edo period.

“The Nio Gate you see in front of us was built then, but the cylindrical columns, the interlocking wooden brackets above them, and the bargeboards are all in the traditional style of the Heian period.”

Holmes’s extensive knowledge flowed from his mouth like water, and all I could do was make vague sounds of admiration.

Upon passing through the Nio Gate, a spacious road came into view. Because of the season, the place was bustling with people. The next gate we passed through was a bright vermillion, and there was a row of cherry blossom trees immediately to the left.

Now this was a spectacle. What caught my attention was that all of the trees were short. Around two or three meters tall, maybe?

“The cherry blossom trees here are all small, huh?”

“Yes, the ones here are called ‘Omuro’ cherry blossoms, and strangely enough, they’re all short in height. It’s said that their roots are restrained as though in flowerpots, preventing them from growing any bigger, but the truth isn’t fully known yet, so providing a scientific explanation would likely require research.”

“Huh? Scientific research? It’s not just a species?”

“Right, it’s not a unique species. By the way, some people in Kyoto jokingly call people with low noses ‘Omuro blossoms,’ since the word for ‘nose’ is pronounced the same way as ‘flower.’”

“Low noses are Omuro blossoms? Even Kyoto’s teasing is elegant,” I said with a shrug, and Holmes chuckled, “Indeed.”

A lone priest approached us with a smile, wearing the black kimono called a ‘sky vestment.’

“Welcome, Mr. Yagashira. The monzeki is waiting for you.” He bowed, and we bowed back.

“Please, right this way,” the priest said as he began to walk.

“Um, what is the monzeki?” I asked feebly.

“This temple’s head priest,” answered Holmes.

We entered the temple and were led to a Japanese-style room, where we were instructed to wait. Tea and sweets had already been prepared for us on the table. The two of us sat down next to each other and looked outside. The paper sliding door had been left open, and the comfortable spring breeze gently blew in. The cherry blossoms were gorgeous under the dazzling blue sky.

After we had gazed at the cherry blossoms for a short while, the screen door slid open and the monzeki came in.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

“Long time no see.” Holmes bowed, and the monzeki narrowed his eyes fondly.

“My, you’ve grown, dear Kiyotaka.”

I guess they know each other.

“I’m sorry it’s me here today and not my grandfather.”

“It’s quite all right—Seiji said that you’d be able to handle this case.”

Seiji is the owner’s name. Now I understood; this was originally supposed to be the owner’s job, but he sent Holmes in his place.

Holmes and the monzeki made lively small talk for a bit before moving on to the real topic.

“So, today I’d first like you to take a look at this.” The monzeki gently placed a wooden box on the table.

“As you wish.” Holmes put on his white gloves as usual and pulled the box towards him. He opened it carefully, revealing a matcha tea bowl that he picked up and examined closely. It was beautiful, with cherry blossoms painted on the side.

“It’s Kyoto ware, I see. The lines are soft and full. It’s undeniably the work of Ninsei Nonomura. A splendid piece.” Holmes smiled, and the monzeki smiled back. “Is that so?”

Ninsei Nonomura... Who’s that? Just as I was wondering...

“Ninsei Nonomura was a potter from the first half of the Edo period. His real name was Seiemon. Nonomura was the name of the place where he was born, and the ‘nin’ in Ninsei is the one used in Ninna Temple’s name. The ‘sei’ was taken from his name, Seiemon.”

As usual, Holmes readily answered my unspoken thoughts.

“So basically, he became Ninsei Nonomura because he was Seiemon of Ninna Temple, born in Nonomura?” I asked. But why did his name include Ninna Temple’s ‘Nin’ in the first place?

“He was an exceptional potter, considered the founder of the style of Kyoto ware that uses overglaze enamels. He was granted the art name ‘Nin’ by the monzeki of Ninna Temple at the time and thus became Ninsei.”

He answered before I even had a chance to ask. Truly terrifying.

So in other words, this piece is the work of someone who had ties to this temple. That’s why they wanted to have this tea bowl appraised, right? Does this mean the job is done?

“But you wanted more than an appraisal, right?” Holmes looked up from the tea bowl.

The monzeki looked mildly surprised and responded, “That’s correct. There’s actually someone else who wanted a consultation regarding this tea bowl. Please wait a minute.”

He exchanged looks with the priest waiting in the hallway. The priest hurried away and soon returned with another man. The man entered the room and sat formally before us, bowing his head.

“My name is Kishitani. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He looked like an ordinary middle-aged man, although a bit on the tired side.

“This tea bowl belongs to him. Kishitani, he says it’s authentic,” relayed the monzeki.

Kishitani scratched his head. “I see.” For some reason, he didn’t look very happy.

“Is there something you don’t understand?” inquired Holmes, not missing a beat.

Kishitani lifted his face in surprise and replied, “Ah, yes. I received this from my old man. He departed the other day, and in his will he wrote, ‘That Ninsei tea bowl contains all of my feelings.’ I heard that Ninsei Nonomura was connected to Ninna Temple, so I came to consult with the monzeki.”

I was momentarily confused at his usage of “departed” to mean “passed away.” I was still not entirely comfortable with the local dialect.

“I couldn’t tell if the piece was authentic, so I asked Seiji for help,” continued the monzeki, and Holmes nodded in acknowledgment. “However, Kishitani, could it be that its authenticity itself represents your father’s feelings? Perhaps he thought that it would benefit you to sell it to a suitable buyer. How much would it fetch, Kiyotaka?”

“Hmm, it’s in good condition and the cherry blossoms are beautiful, so someone might be willing to pay five for it.”

Five. Obviously he didn’t mean five yen, but five million yen. The world of antiques is literally orders of magnitudes beyond mine.

“No, that’s not it. While he was alive, he told me not to sell this tea bowl, no matter what.”

“Is that so?” The monzeki crossed his arms, perplexed.

“Excuse me for the impudent question, but do you draw, Kishitani?”

Kishitani looked surprised by Holmes’s sudden question, but nodded. “Ah, yes. Kind of. How did you know?”

“You have a callus on your middle finger, and there’s something like ink on your nails... I suppose you’re not a painter, because that wouldn’t result in that kind of callus. You also said ‘kind of’ instead of naming your profession. Are you perhaps...a manga artist?”

Kishitani’s eyes opened wide as though he’d been caught off-guard, and the monzeki also looked surprised.

Well, I was surprised too.

“The fact that you didn’t name your profession right away implied that you weren’t in an environment where you could say it proudly. Was your father opposed to your career?”

Kishitani’s hands trembled in response to Holmes’s question. His face was pale, implying that it was spot-on.

I know how you feel, Kishitani. I totally do. It’s scary how he reads you.

After a moment of silence, Kishitani nodded. “Yes...he was. He was always against it, telling me that manga was worthless. But I didn’t give up on my dream. I fled the house and went to Tokyo, and it paid off because I managed to debut.

“I had a belief: through manga, I could express my thoughts to anyone, regardless of age or gender, without having to put on a bold front. I didn’t care about social standing; I just wanted everyone to enjoy my work and get something out of it.

“But...I didn’t gain the slightest bit of popularity, and my work didn’t sell. I struggled the whole time, so I couldn’t even return home in that state.” Kishitani smiled in self-deprecation.

“However, after that, you drew a popular manga, right?” Holmes continued.

Kishitani looked up at Holmes in shock again. “Y-Yes. I wouldn’t be able to stay alive at the rate I was going, so I listened to my editor and began drawing a genre that was popular at the time. Once I did that, it sold an unbelievable number of copies, and my lifestyle became much richer.”

“Was that when your father sent you this tea bowl?”

Kishitani flinched again. Apparently so.

“Y-Yes. My old man loved Kyoto ware and was especially attached to Ninsei Nonomura’s work. When I received it, I thought that I’d finally been acknowledged—that he was congratulating me. I wanted to return home right away, but couldn’t because I was busy with work. Then he passed away from illness, and I was finally able to come back for the funeral.

“When I read his letter, I thought that this tea bowl was meant to send a different message. What feelings are contained in this cherry blossom-patterned tea bowl? What did he want to tell me?” Kishitani looked at the tea bowl on the table, wondering to himself.

Holmes gently picked up the tea bowl and turned it over to the bottom. “Kishitani, have you seen the ‘Ninsei’ seal that was stamped here?”

“Y-Yes. That means it’s genuine, right?”

“Not necessarily. There are counterfeit Ninsei works running rampant that do bear the seal. What your father wanted to tell you has to do with Ninsei Nonomura’s seal,” declared Holmes.

Kishitani looked confused. Holmes continued, “Ninsei Nonomura was considered a pioneer because he stamped his own works. What had been a tea bowl created by an ordinary potter was now Ninsei’s work; in other words, he was asserting his brand. It was a mark of pride, proving that his work was unlike anyone else’s.”

Kishitani silently opened his eyes wide.

“Kishitani, could it be that your father wanted you to create works that contained your own feelings, rather than imitations of others? Did he want you to have pride in your brand like Ninsei Nonomura did, and draw your own work? And did he entrust his feelings to this tea bowl because he couldn’t say them out loud after being opposed to your career?” Holmes asked, holding the bowl in his hand.

Kishitani trembled, and the monzeki nodded with a warm smile.

“That must be true,” the monzeki said. “Being a manga artist is a tough job. As a parent, he wouldn’t agree to it so easily, because he wouldn’t want you to tackle it half-heartedly. He wanted you to be so fervent that you wouldn’t even care if your family cut you off over it. I’m sure that he was always reading your work, and he felt disappointed when you gave in to the current trends.”

“Ahhhhhh!” Kishitani broke down into tears at the monzeki’s kind explanation. It was clear how much suffering he’d endured, and I felt like I was going to cry too.

He’d set his sights on becoming a manga artist, defied his father and ran away from home, but had nothing to show for it. He then panicked, thinking that his father would never acknowledge him at that rate, and ended up drawing something different from what he’d intended. Still, he thought his father would be happy about his success...but he was wrong. His father was sad that his son had abandoned his goal. Kishitani’s feelings now after finding that out must be indescribable.

Kishitani wiped his tears with the cuff of his sleeve and slowly looked back up.

“To be honest, I’ve always struggled with the fact that what I want to draw doesn’t align with what sells. I forgot about my goal because of the hardship I was going through. But I’ll listen to my old man’s dying wish and stop trying to appeal to the public. I’ll draw what I want to express, and it’s okay if I’m not popular.”

Kishitani clenched his fists in his lap. Dreams, reality, ideals... I’m still a high schooler so I don’t understand it that well yet, but it must be difficult for these things to coexist.

As the bitter feelings lingered, Holmes added, “I think there’s one more message in this tea bowl. Please look at the design.” He turned the bowl back to its original orientation.

“Cherry blossoms...right?” Kishitani said in confusion.

“Yes, cherry blossoms. In my opinion, cherry blossoms are popular with everyone. In other words, this tea bowl depicts something that’s popular with everyone, but it’s undeniably Ninsei Nonomura’s brand.”

Kishitani looked like he had a sudden realization.

Holmes continued while holding the tea bowl affectionately, “I think it’s fine to draw things that’ll sell. After all, I don’t think someone who only draws what they like can be considered a professional. What’s important is that it includes your brand—your soul, don’t you think? That’s different from imitating others.”

Kishitani looked down. After a period of silence, he slowly looked back up, and a single tear streaked down his face.

“Mr. Yagashira, I may have been searching for those words all along. Thank you so much.”

He bowed so deeply that his forehead must’ve touched the tatami floor, and Holmes hastily shook his head, insisting that he did nothing.

“You really are Seiji’s grandson,” the monzeki sighed, impressed.

As I sat there, I realized that I may have witnessed the birth of an amazing manga artist. I got goosebumps thinking about it.

4

“You were amazing again, Holmes!” I exclaimed excitedly after we left the temple.

Holmes gave a strained smile and said, “You exaggerate, Aoi.”

“It’s not an exaggeration! The first thing that surprised me was when you figured out he was a manga artist by the callus on his finger.”

“Ah...that was actually something else.”

“Huh?”

“I knew he was a manga artist because of the screentone traces in his hair and on his forehead, but it was awkward to tell him that. When I looked at his hands, I saw a writing callus and made use of that,” Holmes said with a shrug.

So it was traces of screentone. That would make it easy to identify a manga artist. He really does have a keen eye though; I didn’t notice them at all.

“But how did you know that his father was against his career, or that he’s selling well now?”

“As I said before, it was because he didn’t seem to want to admit his profession. People who are like that often have parents who are opposed to it. From his accent, I sensed that he’d lived in Kanto for a long time. And the fact that he had screentone on him despite returning to his hometown meant that he was still drawing manuscripts even in these circumstances. In other words, he was in demand.”

“I-I see.”

That’s Teramachi-Sanjo’s Holmes for you.

“Also, the facts regarding Ninsei Nonomura’s seal are something that everyone in this industry would know, so it came to mind immediately,” Holmes said as though it were nothing.

“I thought the part after that was great too, though. About cherry blossoms being popular with everyone. You read so deeply into Kishitani’s and his father’s hearts.”

“However, I have no conclusive proof.”

“It was convincing, though.”

“It could’ve been that that really was what his father wanted to convey, but it also could’ve just been my wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking?”

“Yes. As I said before, if you only create the things you like, you can’t call it professional work. It’s only a hobby. I believe that being a professional means creating what the public wants while trying to express yourself as much as possible.

“Even Beethoven and Chopin were frantically trying to compose songs that would please the aristocrats that sponsored them. In any era, professional creators are fated to create what people are looking for. This is because art has to catch the eye,” Holmes said, looking at the five-storied pagoda towering over the grounds. It was an elegant, imposing work of art. Together with the cherry blossoms, it looked like something out of a painting. This tower must’ve also been built with the intent of catching the eye of renowned people and pleasing them.

The spring breeze gently blew between us.

“Isn’t it a nice scene? The five-storied pagoda towering beyond the cherry blossoms. I’m truly happy to be able to see something so beautiful,” Holmes said with a serious expression.

Even though I had gotten used to it, it still felt strange hearing such refined words come from the mouth of a young, attractive guy, and I almost laughed. He was right, though. It was beautiful.

“Oh yeah, there was a poem like this, right? Let me die in spring, under the cherry blossoms, during the full moon of the second month. It reminds me of you, Holmes. I can imagine you saying it under the beautiful cherry blossoms and the moon,” I said with a giggle.

Holmes looked me in the eye. “That’s incorrect, Aoi. The poem goes ‘under the flowers,’ not ‘under the cherry blossoms.’”

“Wuh?” I accidentally made a weird sound.

“Let me die in spring, under the flowers, during the full moon of the second month. The poem is by Saigyo Hoshi. He admired the Buddha so much that he wanted to die during the full moon of the second month—in other words, February fifteenth, the same day that the Buddha died. Unfortunately, he passed away on the sixteenth of that month. He missed it by a hair.”

I was lost for words.

Wait, I’d gotten it completely wrong.

“O-Oh, so it wasn’t about cherry blossoms and the moon. It was about yearning for the Buddha.”

That was embarrassing. It’s time to stop showing off my lack of knowledge in front of actual scholars.

“However, in the world of poetry, the word ‘flower’ indicates cherry blossoms, so I don’t think you were wrong. The second month also refers to the lunar calendar, which would set the poem in spring now.”

“S-Sure.”

“And your version of the poem was nice, too. It’s dreamlike.

“Let me die in spring, under the cherry blossoms, during the full moon of the fourth month. A modern form would sound like this, I suppose? It’d certainly be fulfilling to breathe your last under the cherry blossoms in full bloom and the light of the full moon, after burning many beautiful sights into your memory.”

Holmes smiled warmly, and I felt my cheeks grow hot. He’d said that immediately, knowing that I felt awkward.

How do I put this? He seems kind, but the way he does these things so easily makes it feel like I’m being teased.

“Holmes, you’re kind of mean, huh?” I said with a pout.

Holmes looked surprised. “Mean?”

I couldn’t say anything in response. How was I supposed to answer if he asked why? He’s actually being really nice, after all.

Holmes chuckled. “Forgive me, Aoi.”

“Huh?”

“...Kyoto men are wicked, you see.”

It was the first time I’d heard him speak in Kyoto dialect.

He lifted his index finger and grinned mischievously, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

“Shall we get going?”

With his usual smile, Holmes began to walk, and as I looked at him from behind, I murmured, “Kyoto men... I might be a fan.” But don’t tell anyone I said that.