Prologue

It was mid-January. The Teramachi-Sanjo shopping street was bustling as usual, but inside the small antique shop Kura, there was only quiet jazz music, the ticking of the grandfather clock, and the soft sound of me opening a book. Since I’d been given permission to peruse any of the books and materials in the store, I, Aoi Mashiro, was sitting at the counter, reading a book about art. I’d been doing this a lot as of late, whenever there wasn’t any work to be done.

It had been nearly ten months since Kiyotaka “Holmes” Yagashira, who taught me about antiques, had left for training. His absence meant that I had fewer opportunities to see antiques, which brought on feelings of impatience rather than sadness. Wanting to see as much art as possible, I started visiting museums more than I used to, both in the city and around Kansai.

“This one is in the National Museum of Art in Tokyo...”

I was frustrated to learn that the art in the book was on display in the Kanto region. Why didn’t I go to this museum when I lived in Saitama? I knew it was to be expected since I hadn’t been interested in art and antiques at the time. I’d only developed this interest after working here—after meeting Holmes, the young apprentice appraiser with an exceptional eye for observation and appraisal. His sharpness had earned him the nickname “Holmes of Kyoto,” and he was currently away for training to broaden his horizons.

Holmes had returned to work at Kura in December, but as soon as the New Year holidays were over, he’d left for his new placement. This one was nearby, so I didn’t think I’d miss him, but he was so busy that I hadn’t been able to see him at all.

“I guess there’s nothing we can do,” I said, lowering my eyes.

Suddenly, the door chime rang. I closed the book and looked up, but I didn’t say my usual “Welcome.” A well-built man wearing a kimono, hat, and scarf was standing there holding something wrapped in cloth.

“Hello, Aoi,” he said, bowing and taking off his hat, revealing a familiar bald head.

Being in his presence always made me nervous.

“Ensho...” I murmured with a gulp.

“Thanks for coming on New Year’s,” he said, grinning and taking off his scarf.

I awkwardly shook my head. “You don’t need to thank me.”

After a series of events, this former counterfeiter had become the apprentice of Shigetoshi Yanagihara, a famous appraiser. At the beginning of the year, I had attended his unveiling party in Gion. It was still hard to believe that Ensho of all people was now an apprentice appraiser, just like Holmes. I felt like I was having a weird dream.

“Is Holmes in?” he asked, looking around the store.

I shook my head. “He’s away for the time being.”

“Oh, he’s already off to the next place.” He sighed, disappointed.

Ensho used to be prickly and intimidating, but he had become much softer as of late. Perhaps that was why he didn’t strike fear into my heart anymore.

“You knew that Holmes was undergoing training?” I asked.

“Yeah, I heard about it at the party. Where is he now? Is it really far again?”

“No, he’s in the city this time. It’s a sake brewery in Fushimi.”

“A sake brewery? Never would’ve guessed.”

“I heard that the owner knows the people there.”

It was a small brewery that was mainly family-run. They had started a new line of business and had requested Holmes’s help.

“Oh, please have a seat,” I added. “I’ll make coffee.” I gestured at the seats and went into the kitchenette.

“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” Ensho sat down and placed the cloth-wrapped object on the counter. “Well, it’s good that he’s getting all that experience. He’s a sheltered boy, after all. Being exposed to the harshness of the world will do him good.”

I chuckled in the kitchenette. “I don’t think the world is very harsh to him, though.” I finished preparing the coffee and served it to Ensho.

“No matter where he goes, everyone ends up deferring to him ’cause he does everything perfectly, eh? Figures,” the man murmured cynically as he sipped the coffee, immediately realizing what I was getting at. That perceptiveness of his was similar to Holmes’s, even if their appearances and auras were completely different.

“Do you need Holmes for something?” I asked.

“I don’t need him. I just wanted him to take a look at something I bought at a flea market earlier.”

In other words, something had caught his eye among the many miscellaneous antiques, and he’d come here to have his hunch confirmed. I found myself curious as to what it was.

“Um, would you mind showing it to me?”

“Right, you’re a high school girl appraiser.”

“I’m not in high school anymore, and I’m only an apprentice of an apprentice.”

I had begun university last April, and almost a year had passed since then. Even though others told me that I’d become more mature, apparently, Ensho still thought I was a high school girl. I couldn’t help but be disappointed.

“Oh, so you’re in university now. Kids grow up so darn fast.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Sure, but you haven’t changed at your core. How can that guy be such a wuss when it comes to you?” He rested his chin in his hand, seeming slightly amused.

“What?!”

My cheeks burned at the fact that he could see through our relationship. I wanted to object angrily, but if I said the wrong thing, he’d surely make my life even harder.

“Or maybe there’s another reason... Yeah, it has to be that,” he said to himself.

I tilted my head. “Another reason?”

“It’s nothing. Aren’t you frustrated that Holmes won’t do anything to you?”

“No!”

Suddenly, I recalled something that had happened a few days before Holmes had left for his next work placement. The two of us had been alone in the store that day, and I had been helping him prepare the tax return.

* * *

“Holmes, I sorted out the receipts by month,” I said, placing a stack of clear folders on the counter.

It was the first day of work after the New Year.

“Thank you. My father really doesn’t know how to handle these things, so it turned into a mess while I was gone. I expected it, though,” Holmes said, sighing as he looked at the computer screen.

The receipts had been neatly organized up until March, when Holmes had still been managing the store. Everything after that, though, had just been tossed into a box—which looked more like a recycling bin at this point. It was a sad state of affairs.

“But he’s an author, so he has to do his own tax return, doesn’t he?”

“I do that for him too. I’m basically his secretary.”

“You really can do everything, huh?”

“This kind of work is tedious but not difficult. Some people are more suited to it than others, and I don’t mind it.”

“More suited to it...” I looked down at the account book and grimaced as soon as I saw all the numbers.

Maybe I’m not suited for this.

Naturally, all of the receipts were from the previous year.

“A year goes by fast, huh?” I muttered.

He made a pained face. “Last year was one full of regrets.”

That came as a surprise. Holmes had begun his training last year. At the beginning of spring, he’d worked as a curator at Shokado Garden Art Museum in Yawata City, and after that, as Ueda’s secretary in Umeda. From fall until winter, he’d been an assistant in New York, at one of the most influential museums in the world of art. In my eyes, it looked like he had been actively working and enjoying himself at all of those jobs. Was I mistaken?

“Working at Shokado Garden Art Museum and being Ueda and Hopkins’s secretary were all amazing experiences, and I enjoyed my time there. What I regret is my personal life.”

“Huh?” I tilted my head.

“First of all, there was your nineteenth birthday. I was working, so I was only able to have dinner with you.”

Right, Holmes had been working at the museum at the time. My birthday was in the middle of Golden Week, which is a profitable time of year for museums. Since he couldn’t take the day off, he’d rushed over from Yawata City after work to have dinner with me. The restaurant was Fortune Garden Kyoto on the north side of city hall. It was a five-minute walk from Teramachi-Sanjo, making it so that I could go there right after work. It had a modern stone exterior designed by Goichi Takeda, who was known for his work on the city hall’s architecture, and the interior was sophisticated.

“But I was really happy,” I insisted. “Even though you were busy, you made time to celebrate my birthday at a fancy restaurant.”

I had told him that I didn’t want an expensive present, so he’d given me a type of casual kimono called a tsumugi. It had a cute design—light yellow with brightly colored small flowers—and he had smiled and said, “Since you’ve gotten used to wearing kimono, I’d like you to wear them more often. This is for everyday use.” I had been so moved by the unexpected gift that I had barely been able to form words.

As I was fondly remembering my last birthday, Holmes grumbled, “And I regret not being able to go to your school festival.”

“You mean the Nakaragi Festival?” I asked, clapping my hands together. It was a school festival held in November at Kyoto Prefectural University. Since I wasn’t in any clubs myself, I had ended up helping Kaori at the flower arrangement club. Holmes had been in New York at the time, so I had told him about the festival over a video call. Even though it hadn’t been long ago, it already made me nostalgic.

“I was too busy last year, even by training standards. I can’t believe I couldn’t make time for the things that mattered most.”

“It’s not your fault.”

From my perspective, Holmes had always been busy working, even before his training began. As a university student, he had helped with the shop and supported the manager and owner on top of his studies. It seemed like a large workload. That said, he had done everything at his own pace. It must have been easy for him to secure time for himself. So going out into the world and working at the pace of others may have been harder for him than it looked.

“Anyway, I arranged my schedule for this year so that I won’t have any regrets,” he said, folding his arms.

He suddenly fell silent. Did he remember something, or is he pondering something in particular? The abrupt silence puzzled me, but I ignored it and gathered the documents on the counter.

After some time, Holmes spoke again. “Um...”

“Yes?” I looked up.

“I’m arranging it so that I can take Golden Week off this year.”

“Golden Week?”

“This coming May 3rd is your twentieth birthday, which we ought to celebrate.”

“Oh, right.” I nodded shyly. “I can’t believe I’m already turning twenty. Time goes by so fast...”

“It felt long to me. I’ve been waiting impatiently for that day.”

“Really?!”

I didn’t know he was looking forward to my coming-of-age so much. Was he that eager to be able to drink alcohol with me?

“If it’s all right with you,”—he breathed in—“would you like to go on a trip together?” His cheeks were slightly red.

My heart skipped a beat. “Huh?”

Go on a trip together...

I understood what that meant. From the day our relationship began until now, so many things had happened that it all felt like a blur. But the only thing that had progressed was time. Our relationship had remained stagnant. I wasn’t particularly dissatisfied, but I did wonder if it was about time for us to move to the next stage. And now that time had come—the time to progress beyond holding hands and kissing...

He was thoughtful enough to make it my twentieth birthday, I thought, embarrassed and strangely impressed.

“Yes,” I said softly, my heart pounding.

He let out a long sigh and flopped onto the counter.

“Holmes?!”

“Oh, thank goodness. I didn’t know what I’d do if you said no,” he said, his forehead still planted on the hard surface.

“Holmes...”

“Sorry, even though I’m a grown man, I’m always like this.”

“No, it’s okay.”

Despite my nervousness, I couldn’t help but relax into a grin when I saw that his ears were flushed red.

“I’m going to live my life in anticipation of that day.” He lifted his head and smiled happily.

“What?!” I looked down in embarrassment, holding my hands against my burning cheeks.

* * *

“It’s not something to blush that hard over,” Ensho said with a shrug, as if convinced that I really was still a child.

“I’m not blushing...” I averted my gaze, afraid that he’d read my mind if we made eye contact. “So, what did you buy at the flea market?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He reached for the object and unwrapped it while I took my appraisal gloves out of my apron pocket and put them on. Unlike Holmes, his hands were rough, but his careful motions reminded me of Holmes’s nonetheless. Holmes’s appearance and mannerisms matched perfectly, however, while Ensho’s didn’t. They really were like two sides of the same coin.

Inside the cloth wrapping was a wooden box from which he took a tea bowl. It was Bizen ware with a round, simple form, reddish-brown with some ocher blotches.

“Don’t you think it’s nice? I bought it for five thousand yen,” he said with a confident grin.

I continued to stare at the tea bowl. “Sorry, do you mind if I touch it?” I took off my gloves without waiting for an answer.

“I learned about that from Yanagihara,” he commented. “When appraising ceramics, you’re supposed to take off your gloves, yeah?”

“Yes, but some people don’t like the idea of their art being touched directly, so we usually wear non-slip gloves when examining them.”

“You take them off for ‘serious’ appraisals, don’t you? So that’s why Holmes took his gloves off that time...” he murmured nostalgically.

Back when Ensho had brought his white porcelain incense container here, Holmes had taken off his gloves. Now, I too took off my gloves and wrapped my hands around the tea bowl. I had touched one by the same potter before.

“It really is nice,” I said, looking down at the tea bowl. “I think it’s the work of Yu Fujiwara.”

“Yu Fujiwara...”

“Yes. The white round marks in the inner view are ‘botamochi.’” The pattern was named that because it resembled marks left behind by small rice cakes. “The faint yellow sesame seed marks on the exterior and the ‘Bizen red’ color that comes from high-temperature firing are beautiful too, and above all, the shape and form make me think that it’s authentic.”

“What’s ‘the inner view’?”

“Oh, I’m referring to the bottom of the tea bowl. It’s called ‘the inner view’ because you look into the tea bowl to see it.”

Did Yanagihara not teach him this?

“Yanagihara’s just using me as an errand boy while telling me to ‘look at the real thing.’ He hasn’t taught me that kind of knowledge yet,” Ensho said, reading my mind. He looked away, seeming slightly unhappy. “If only he’d teach me everything in detail like your teacher does,” he remarked with a bit of a sneer.

“Holmes’s lectures are detailed, but I learned about things like ‘the inner view’ from books. Rather than being taught everything, I also do my own research.”

I often heard unfamiliar words when listening to Holmes and the owner’s conversations. At first, I asked them what everything meant, but now I looked up the words on my own.

“You’re a hard worker, eh?”

“No, it’s not that. I do it because I enjoy it.”

Sometimes people imply that I’m a great person, and it makes me feel bad. It’s the same conflicted feeling I got when I was making sweets solely because I wanted to eat them, and my mother praised me for putting so much effort into it. I had put a lot of effort into it but only because I was absorbed in making what I wanted to eat.

“I guess that’s how it is for people who really like this stuff,” Ensho murmured in a mildly ashamed tone. Then he looked at me and asked, “Who’s Yu Fujiwara, anyway? Someone famous?”

“Yes,” I said, taking a reference book from the shelf and opening it. “He was a potter active from the Showa period until recently, and he was designated a living national treasure. His father, Kei Fujiwara, was a living national treasure too.”

“He’s got pedigree, eh? There seem to be a lot of people like that in the antiques world, like Holmes.” He sighed with a fed-up look on his face.

Like he said, the world of antiques was very traditional. Craftsmanship and appraising often ran in the family. As Yanagihara’s apprentice, Ensho was probably tired of encountering such customs. It also seemed like he felt inferior because of it.

I looked up at him and said, “But I don’t think that people with pedigrees have it easy either.”

“What?” He shot me a glance.

“The owner’s son couldn’t follow in his footsteps, after all. Holmes studied hard under his brilliant grandfather to refine his perception, but even though he became a great appraiser at such a young age, he’s still treated as an apprentice. No matter how hard he works, people assume he’s only skilled because he’s Seiji Yagashira’s grandson. I think that if you reached Holmes’s level as an appraiser, everyone would openly praise your talent. It would’ve been the same for Yu Fujiwara.”

I looked down at the tea bowl.

“Yu Fujiwara was completely blind in his left eye, and his right eye couldn’t see very well either. He had a huge handicap, but he turned it into a strength, creating his works with his ‘mind’s eye’ and becoming a living national treasure. You chalked it up to pedigree, but it’s actually incredible for a parent and child to both be selected as living national treasures. On the other hand, there are also people who are only ever acknowledged for their pedigrees and nothing else. Thinking about it that way, it’s pretty sad for them.”

“I guess.”

“By the way, Yu Fujiwara was actually famous for his jars, to the point where he was called ‘the man of jars.’” I flipped to the next page in the reference book and showed Ensho a picture of one of Yu Fujiwara’s jars. It was large and bulky with a bit of a bold aura, yet its form was beautiful.

“Huh, that’s a nice jar.”

“Right? Apparently, he also went abroad to promote Bizen ware.”

“Is that why he was recognized as a national treasure?”

“Maybe. I think it was the result of using his weakness as a strength and continuing to do what he truly loved. I can feel that passion in his work, and it really is great. That said, I can’t believe that this was being sold at a flea market. You said you got it for five thousand yen? If you get it properly appraised, I think you can add two zeros onto that.” I looked down at the tea bowl and giggled. Noticing Ensho’s stare, I hurriedly shook my head and said, “Oh, but I’m only an amateur. You should get Yanagihara to look at it.” I facepalmed, realizing that I’d said all of that without considering that the tea bowl could be a fake.

“You’re similar to Holmes, you know that?”

“Huh? I am?” I blinked.

“Yeah, you’re just like him.” He laughed. “I’ll ask Yanagihara to look at it, but you’re probably right. Yu Fujiwara... I like him. He’s a good potter.”

“I’m glad,” I said with a smile.

Ensho put the tea bowl back into the box and wrapped the cloth around it, seeming satisfied. “Which means the same goes for you.”

“Huh?”

“You’re like dried squid too.” He stood up and put his hat and scarf on. “All right, thanks for the appraisal and the coffee.” He waved goodbye and left the store, not looking back.

“I’m like dried squid?” I pointed at myself and stared blankly at his receding figure as I listened to the echoes of the door chime.