Chapter 2: A Vessel for Wealth and the Nature of Desire — The Day Kiyotaka Turned Thirteen

1

In February, having finished his term at the brewery, Kiyotaka returned to the Yagashira residence near Ginkaku-ji Temple. He was only making a quick visit since the owner had ordered him not to come back while he was in training—though he had been allowed temporary stays during the New Year holidays and to organize his things and clean the house.

He hadn’t been home in about a month. He was worried that the house might’ve become a mess, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. It was actually rather clean, perhaps because the owner liked to keep things tidy and Yoshie came by often.

It’s a stark contrast to my father’s apartment in Yasaka, he thought with a strained laugh. The man lived by himself, so his place had been a disaster.

After sorting out his things and cleaning the living areas, Kiyotaka unlocked the door to the exhibition room and looked inside. It was a Renaissance-style parlor decorated with numerous works of art. This was where the Yagashira family’s treasures were kept, and it hadn’t been opened to the public since the owner’s birthday.

He looked around, confirmed that nothing was out of the ordinary, and sighed in relief. He stopped in front of a painting on the wall.

“You really like that one, eh?” came the owner’s voice from behind him.

“Yes.” He nodded, not taking his eyes off it.

The owner stood beside him and grinned. “You must be attached to it since it was the first painting you ever bought.”

“Yes...” In many ways, he thought.

* * *

It was his thirteenth birthday. It happened to be a weekend, so Kiyotaka was in his room at the Yagashira residence, lying in bed with a book. At around 11 a.m., the light on the intercom phone came on. He reached over to the cabinet where the phone was and pressed the button without looking away from his book.

“Kiyotaka, the owner is calling for you,” came his father’s voice.

No one in this house called Seiji Yagashira “grandpa.” For as long as Kiyotaka could remember, his grandfather had been “the owner.” That said, his father—it gets confusing here, so he’ll be referred to as the manager—the manager addressed his own father, the owner, by “dad.”

“Okay,” Kiyotaka replied, getting out of bed.

He put the book on top of the pile of his other unfinished books and left the room, tidying his hair with his hands, then entered the living room to find the owner and manager sitting there along with the manager’s close friend, Ueda, who was practically considered a relative at this point.

“Happy birthday, Kiyotaka,” said the manager with a smile.

“Holmes is thirteen now, eh? Happy birthday,” Ueda added, grinning.

The boy bowed to them and said, “Thank you,” before turning to the owner, who was sitting on the sofa with his eyes closed and arms crossed.

“Kiyotaka, sit there,” the owner instructed.

Since it’s my birthday, is he going to lecture me about how I should behave in the future?

Feeling a little annoyed, Kiyotaka sat down in front of the owner as told. There was a silk wrapping cloth on the table between them.

Once he was sitting, the owner’s eyes snapped open. “You’re thirteen now.”

“Yes.”

“A long time ago, this age would’ve been considered an adult.”

Kiyotaka nodded. “You’re referring to the original coming-of-age ceremony, right?”

“There’s 1.1 million yen in here. It’s a birthday present for you since you’ve taken the first step on the road to adulthood.”

“What?!” exclaimed Ueda and the manager.

“Dad, he’s still a child.”

“Yeah, Owner. I don’t think you should be making this kid even weirder.”

Kiyotaka glanced at the two upset men and simply bowed to the owner. “Thank you,” he said nonchalantly.

“Aren’t you surprised?” the owner asked. “What do you think that money is?”

“Well, if it were a million yen, I’d think it was a coming-of-age gift and accept it as such, but 1.1 million is the maximum value that can be gifted without being taxed. That being the case, I assume that you see me as a fellow adult now and are giving me this to reduce inheritance tax. You might be planning on doing this every year. Don’t worry. I’ll save it for the future and use it to run the store. Again, thank you.” He bowed deeply.

“Ugh, you’re always like this,” the owner said with a shrug.

Ueda and the manager’s jaws dropped.

“That’s not it,” the owner continued. “It’s true that the number was because of the gift tax but use the money!”

“Even if you tell me to use it... Oh, do you want me to invest in stocks and increase my capital?”

“No. There’s only one way to use it. You’re gonna buy art, and I’m only giving you this weekend to do it.”

Kiyotaka frowned, surprised by his words. “Only two days, and only 1.1 million?”

“Only 1.1 million?”

Ueda and the manager laughed awkwardly.

“It’s a ridiculous amount of money for a middle school student’s allowance, but it’s not that much when it comes to buying art,” the boy said flatly.

Ueda shrugged and the manager’s face stiffened. “Well, the owner does bring him along for his purchases,” said the latter with a chuckle.

“Buying art with 1.1 million...” Kiyotaka folded his arms. “Oh! Ueda, was it the owner who called you here? Not my father?”

“Yeah, he told me it was your birthday. I even brought a present.” Ueda cheerfully took out a large wrapped box. “Happy birthday, Kiyotaka. It’s a teddy bear from England.”

“Thank you...” The owner is treating me like an adult, but Ueda still thinks I’m a child, he thought, slightly slumping his shoulders as he bowed.

“Seems like Kiyotaka has figured it out,” said the owner. “I called Ueda here to supervise his shopping. Kiyotaka’s still a kid in the eyes of society, so he can’t buy expensive pieces of art himself. Ueda’s used to that stuff, so he can handle it.”

“I’ll be glad to,” said Ueda.

If Ueda is with me, I can even go abroad. Kiyotaka stroked his chin.

“Oh, and you’re not allowed to take a plane or the shinkansen,” said the owner, reading his mind and putting a quick stop to his plan. “Don’t make Ueda accompany you that far. Here, let’s add a restriction: you have to stay within the city.”

“Within the city?” Kiyotaka facepalmed. Another absurd requirement.

* * *

“Man, what’s going on in the owner’s head?” Ueda wondered aloud as he drove the car. “You’re only thirteen, but he’s giving you all this money and telling you to go buy art.” He sighed.

“He’s probably testing me,” replied Kiyotaka.

“Testing you?”

“Yes, it’s a test to see what I can buy with this money in a short amount of time. He wants to see if I have what it takes to become an appraiser and inherit the store,” the boy in the passenger seat said calmly, perusing a list of antique stores and art galleries.

“Oh,” Ueda murmured. He glanced at Kiyotaka, who had his legs crossed. “When did your legs get so long? How tall are you now?”

“One hundred and seventy-two centimeters.”

“And you turned thirteen today. You’re big for a first-year middle schooler.”

“Not really.”

Kiyotaka looked out the window and saw Tohka Saikan’s flagship building on Shijo Street. It was a long-time Chinese restaurant located along the Kamo River and designed by William Merrell Vories. The building was reminiscent of Italian architecture, and he narrowed his eyes as he looked at it.

“A little while ago, I went to Europe with my grandfather. If he was going to test me, I wish he would’ve done it there.”

“Yeah,” said Ueda. He knew that the owner had gone to Florence and Paris during the winter break to buy things for a client. “Florence and Paris have great stuff.”

“Yes, and there was something there that I wanted.”

“An antique?”

“A painting of the city of Paris. It’s sold in an antique store we often go to and I’ve always wanted it.”

“If it’s a Paris cityscape, was it painted by Maurice Utrillo?”

“No, it was a modern Japanese painter, although he passed away already.”

“Oh,” Ueda muttered as if he’d suddenly lost interest. “If you wanted it so badly, you should’ve just begged the owner for it.”

“He’s the kind of person who only buys things when necessary. He saw the painting and chose not to buy it, so there’s nothing I can say to that,” Kiyotaka said smoothly, looking down at the list.

Ueda shrugged in an “I don’t know about that” manner. “You’d think getting that much money for your birthday would turn you into someone really selfish, but you’re actually reasonable. I guess the owner’s way is right.”

“I don’t know if it’s right or not, but I’ve seen large transactions occur in front of me ever since I was little, so I can stay calm when it comes to money. That’s why I didn’t get excited about receiving so much, and I wouldn’t panic if it were confiscated either.”

“I see. You need to be immune to money or else you’ll let it sway you. It’s the owner’s style of gifted education,” said Ueda, muttering the last part under his breath. “Oh, we’re here.” He turned the steering wheel, pulling into the parking lot of the first antique store that Kiyotaka had specified.

* * *

That day, they went to antique shops and art galleries around the city and looked at all sorts of tea bowls, cups, saucers, jugs, vases, and paintings, but none of them were worth using the 1.1 million yen on. To make up for the disappointment, Ueda and the manager took Kiyotaka to Tohka Saikan to celebrate his birthday that night. Bird’s nest soup, braised shark fin, Peking duck, fried chili lobster, and other delicacies adorned the rotating tray on the table.

“What on earth is my father thinking, giving so much money to a child like Kiyotaka? I can’t believe this,” muttered the manager—a man of common sense—as he sipped his beer.

“It was bound to happen,” Ueda said as he ate his Peking duck.

“Why?”

“I thought it was crazy at first too, but I changed my mind after hearing Kiyotaka’s explanation. Now that he’s thirteen, the owner’s probably starting to train him as a real heir, turning him into a ‘vessel’ for receiving money.”

“A vessel?” The manager stared at Ueda, interested.

Meanwhile, Kiyotaka nonchalantly sipped his jasmine tea as if their conversation had nothing to do with him.

“Yeah, I’m a businessman so I get it. After I started this line of work, I learned that money needs a vessel. It’s like water—no matter how much money you have, if you don’t have a vessel, it’ll just flow away.”

Kiyotaka nodded in agreement.

“Without a vessel, water spills away, returns to the ground, rises to the sky as vapor, and then falls again on someone in the form of rain. In that sense, you might be right that money is similar,” said the manager.

“Right. Rain falls evenly on everyone, and it’s the size of your vessel that determines how much water you can secure from it. If you have a big one, you can get a lot of water and catch the occasional bout of heavy rain. But if you only have a small glass, you can only store that much. It’s the same with money. The amount of money someone can get depends on the size of their vessel.”

“That’s an easy-to-understand comparison,” the manager said with a smile.

“To make it even more obvious, think about the lottery. For someone with a small vessel, winning the lottery is like a dam bursting. When a large amount of water you’ve never experienced before comes pouring down on you, a small vessel will break and the water will be gone before you know it. The owner’s trying to make Kiyotaka into a big vessel that can hold any amount of water without panicking, and this is part of his education. In order to receive money, you gotta have a big vessel for wealth.”

“I see. That’s a very interesting description, and it makes sense to me. Now that you put it that way, you might be right. My father must be testing Kiyotaka to see how he’ll spend the money.”

“Yes,” Kiyotaka agreed. “I think so too. So if I don’t find a good piece of art within the time limit, I’m not going to force myself to buy something. Instead of wasting the money on something subpar, I’ll return it right away and say, ‘I didn’t find anything good.’”

“Don’t you think it’d be a wasted opportunity?” the manager asked with a serious expression.

Kiyotaka tilted his head. “Why would it be? Spending money on something that doesn’t fascinate me would be the real waste. I don’t want to pay a single penny for something mediocre. On the other hand, I’d be willing to pay any amount for something that moves my heart,” he said without hesitation, taking a bite out of a dumpling. “This is so delicious.”

Ueda and the manager looked at each other and said, “I think he’s already educated enough.”

* * *

The next day, they headed out at the time when antique shops in the city generally opened and looked around at various stores. Kyoto had many small streets that could barely fit a single car, and it was while making their way through these maze-like streets that Kiyotaka shouted, “Oh!”

“What’s up?” Ueda asked, still focused on driving.

“There was an antique store around the corner on the street we just passed.”

“Really? In a place like that?”

“I think it’s probably new.”

“Gotcha.”

Ueda made a series of left turns to return to that street, and as Kiyotaka had said, there was a brand-new Scandinavian-style antique shop with striking white walls. It was called Kazamidori—“weather vane”—and true to its name, there was a black weather vane spinning around on the roof. They parked in the small lot and went inside.

The store had a stylish atmosphere that would appeal to modern youth. There were sofas, a clock, a chest of drawers, and some small ornaments. The walls were lined with paintings by modern artists.

Ueda looked around and wondered, Would a place like this have anything the owner would approve of?

Meanwhile, Kiyotaka walked straight to the wall and stopped in front of a certain painting without looking at anything else.

“So you found this painting and wanted to come in, eh?” said Ueda, standing next to Kiyotaka and gazing at it. It was an oil painting of the Paris cityscape. The colors were vivid and the whole painting felt full of life.

Kiyotaka didn’t move from that spot.

“You like this painting?” Ueda asked.

“Yes.” The boy nodded, not taking his eyes off of it. “I’m surprised to see it here. This is the one I saw in the antique store in Paris.” He had a calm expression on his face, but the passion in his voice made it clear that he was excited.

Ueda smirked slightly and said, “The owner of this store must’ve bought it.” He then looked at the name of the artist: “Yukio Kodama (1916 — 1992).”

How much is it? he wondered.

“Welcome,” came a man’s voice from behind them. “Do you like it?”

Kiyotaka and Ueda turned around and exclaimed, “Oh!” at the same time. It was Kazami, the man who had tried to sell Ueda a forged Léonard Foujita painting at his divorce party.

“Oh, Ueda,” the man said, flustered.

“Kazami, don’t tell me you’re—” Selling counterfeits again, Ueda was about to say.

“All of the paintings here are very nice,” Kiyotaka said, swiftly interrupting him.

Ueda shut his mouth. Based on those words, the paintings must have been legitimate.

“So your name is Kazami,” the boy continued, turning around with a grin. “Long time no see.”

“Oh...you’re that kid? You’ve grown a lot in such a short amount of time.” Kazami eyed Kiyotaka from head to toe, his face tense. Then he looked at Ueda and bowed with a bitter expression. “Ueda, I’m really sorry for what I did. I lost the trust of a lot of friends because of that, and I’ve reflected on my actions. I’m running an honest business now...”

“If you’re not doing that stuff anymore, then that’s fine. I still like that painting I bought from you for thirty thousand, enough to keep it hanging in my office.”

“I see,” said Kazami, smiling in relief.

“Excuse me,” said Kiyotaka after confirming that their conversation had ended. “Would you be willing to sell this painting for eight hundred thousand yen?”

Kazami’s eyes widened. “You must be joking, little Yagashira. This painting is worth 1.5 million.”

“You bought this from an antique store in Paris, didn’t you? It was sold there for six hundred thousand.”

The store owner shrugged. “Well, I thought it was worth 1.5 million. That’s why I bought it.”

“You have a good eye, so it’s really such a shame...” Kiyotaka chuckled.

Kazami’s eyebrow twitched. “What do you mean by that?”

The boy turned around to look at an inconspicuous painting in the corner of the store. “Kazami, how much are you selling that piece for?”

“That one’s fifty thousand. It’s by an up-and-coming artist who isn’t well-known yet, but I bought it because I thought it was pretty good.”

“Amazing. You really do have a good eye. I think you could display it more prominently and add a zero to the price.”

“What?” Kazami laughed.

“This artist held a solo exhibition in New York just the other day. There, a world-famous soccer player liked one of his paintings and bought it. I heard that the artist was overjoyed and promised to make a better frame for it and deliver it to him. It should arrive soon, so it’s only a matter of time before the news spreads.”

“What did you say?” Kazami and Ueda’s eyes widened.

“As I’m sure you already know, in this industry, no matter how talented someone is, they need to be noticed or else they’ll get buried. But once they get noticed and become popular, the price of their work soars. This artist was already incredibly talented, so if a world-famous person takes a liking to him, he’ll quickly become a big name.”

Kazami’s face instantly went pale and he put his hand on his forehead.

“In exchange for this information, could you sell Yukio Kodama’s painting to me for eight hundred thousand?” Kiyotaka pressed him.

“I don’t think the information is worth that much. But the art industry is a small world, and I suppose the better we get along, the faster I’ll be able to get good information.” He glanced at Ueda and furrowed his brow, thinking it might be in his best interest to concede this time. “How about 1.3 million?”

“I’ll offer you a nice one million, on the condition that I give you good information as soon as it reaches me for the next five years,” the boy responded immediately.

Kazami sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “What are you so drawn to in this painting? I mean, I thought it was good too, otherwise I wouldn’t have bought it, but you’re from the Yagashira family. You must’ve seen a lot of art in your life, right?”

Ueda nodded in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing. It’s a beautiful Paris cityscape with vivid colors and it’d make a great interior piece, but what’s got you charmed to the point where you’d go this far?”

Kiyotaka gazed at the painting and squinted as if he was looking at something dazzling. “It’s about emotional agreement.”

“Huh?” Ueda frowned.

“The first time I went to Paris was three years ago, when I was ten. That was when I came across this painting at the antique store. At the time, I was moved and excited by the city of Paris, and this painting synchronized perfectly with my heart. I can’t stop my heart from beating faster when I see it. I fell in love with this artist’s depiction of the city.”

Kazami crossed his arms. “You fell in love, huh? That’s nice. By the way, I hear that as the grandson of nationally certified appraiser Seiji Yagashira, you’re going to be his heir. Are you going to become an appraiser in the future?”

“That’s the plan.”

“In that case, I have a question for the future renowned appraiser. There’s a mystery in my heart that I haven’t been able to solve for years. Depending on your answer, I’ll let you have the painting for one million.”

Kiyotaka nodded with a serious look in his eyes. “Okay. What’s your unsolvable mystery?”

“Well, it’s a mystery to humankind, not just me. Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa... Who do you think it depicts?” Kazami asked, looking straight at the boy.

It was said that the Mona Lisa contained many mysteries. One theory stated that it was a commissioned painting of Francesco del Giocondo’s wife, Lisa. Others believed the subject could be the Virgin Mary or Mary Magdalene.

“I think the people around the world have the right answer.”

“What?” Kazami frowned skeptically.

“I think da Vinci painted a mystery.”

“A mystery?”

“Yes. On the surface, it’s definitely a portrait of Giocondo’s wife, Lisa. But it was purposely created in a way that would make people think, ‘Is this really Lisa?’”

“What do you mean?”

“Da Vinci became an apprentice at Andrea del Verrocchio’s workshop at the age of fourteen. It’s speculated that Sandro Botticelli, who would’ve been a young man at the time, was also there. Da Vinci, who was about as young as I am, probably couldn’t help but be conscious of the incredibly talented Botticelli. Botticelli’s works were deep. For example, his Story of Susanna combines scenes that take place at different times in a single painting, from the time when she is threatened up until the time when she escapes execution. As you can see in that painting, Botticelli has a way of depicting multiple stories and mysteries in a single piece. His works are difficult to understand at first glance, and some of them may even contain mysteries that go unnoticed by normal people like me. However, I believe that da Vinci, who had the same senses as him, would’ve been fascinated and inspired by Botticelli’s mysteries, to the point of jealousy.”

“Da Vinci was jealous?” Kazami laughed as if the thought were preposterous.

“If you think of da Vinci as a god, then you won’t be able to see certain things. Even though he was extraordinarily talented, he was still human,” Kiyotaka replied before continuing his story. “One of the unique characteristics of da Vinci’s paintings is the fingers, which will be pointing towards something—for example, the heavens. There’s a theory that they point to God or Jesus. If we assume this is true, where do you think the Mona Lisa’s fingers are pointing?”

“They aren’t pointing anywhere in that paint—” Kazami’s eyes widened as he recalled the Mona Lisa, whose hands were wrapped protectively around her abdomen.

“On the surface, it’s a painting of Giocondo’s wife, but he added a mystery to it by hiding an image of the Virgin Mary carrying the Son of God in her womb behind her. That way, the painting could be interpreted in two different ways. In short, my opinion is that he purposely painted a mystery,” Kiyotaka said with a smile.

Kazami folded his arms. “Let me ask you one more thing. I’m sure you know the story that there were three paintings da Vinci never handed over in his life: the Mona Lisa, The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne, and Saint John the Baptist. What’s your take on that?”

“I think it’s because they were unfinished.”

“Unfinished?”

“My guess is that da Vinci wanted to use those three paintings to create a large-scale mystery, like the ones he noticed in Botticelli’s paintings. He wanted other people with the same senses to notice his mystery and admire him the same way. He was trying to use those paintings to create an amazing enigma, but he couldn’t complete it. If he had, then perhaps he would’ve let go of the paintings. I think he continued to hold on to them because they were unfinished.”

Kazami nodded. “Interesting. If da Vinci was painting a mystery itself, then of course we wouldn’t be able to solve it. Because the mystery is unsolvable, mankind continues to be fascinated by that painting. And because it was unfinished, he didn’t let go of it...” he muttered to himself.

Ueda nudged him with his elbow. “Hey, Kazami. This is just a thirteen-year-old boy’s theory.”

“I know that.” He looked at Kiyotaka. “Only thirteen, huh? I’m scared for the future,” he murmured quietly. “All right. I’ll sell the painting for one million.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, so you caved in too,” quipped Ueda. “The Little Holmes of Kyoto is amazing, eh?” He cheerfully put a hand on Kiyotaka’s shoulder.

“Holmes?” Kazami tilted his head.

Kiyotaka shrugged. “He gave me that nickname because my last name is Yagashira...”

“I see. But I don’t think you’re a ‘little’ Holmes. You’re almost an adult. I conceded this time because I thought it’d be much more advantageous for me to have your gratitude, Holmes of Kyoto.”

After a pause, Kiyotaka said, “Thank you,” bowed deeply, and accepted the painting.

2

Kiyotaka gazed at the Yukio Kodama painting hanging on the wall of the Yagashira exhibition room, fondly remembering the story behind it. That day, when he had taken the painting home and showed it to the owner, the appraiser had simply smiled and nodded, saying, “I see.” The fact that he had smiled meant that it hadn’t been a bad choice. Kiyotaka had explained that he had purchased it for one million and would be saving the remaining hundred thousand, to which the owner had laughed and said, “Of course you will.”

The owner had probably known that an antique shop in Kyoto had purchased this painting. Having seen his grandson’s eyes light up in front of it every time they went to Paris, he must have wanted to let the boy buy it for himself. And of course, he wasn’t going to make it easy.

“I heard when you bought this painting, you gave Kazami your opinion on the Mona Lisa,” said the owner. “Why didn’t you do that last time?”

“Last time?” Kiyotaka tilted his head and looked at him.

“At Aoi’s birthday party, when Ueda brought the Mona Lisa poster. Didn’t he want you to tell her that story?”

“Oh. Yes, probably. I didn’t want to share my personal opinion, though. Fortunately, Ueda was perceptive enough to realize that immediately, so he backed down without forcing me to say it.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell her?”

“I don’t want my personal theory to be thought of as the truth. How someone feels when they look at da Vinci’s paintings is up to them. I want people to value what they feel, and I think that’s da Vinci’s gift to each and every person who views his work.”

The owner nodded, impressed, and looked back at the painting. “Despite that, you enticed Kazami with your theory. You must’ve really wanted this painting, eh?”

“It’s not like Kazami thinks my theory is right to begin with. I’m sure he only accepted it because he thought it was interesting coming from a thirteen-year-old.”

“I guess.” The owner shrugged. “I was surprised when you put this painting here instead of in your room,” he said with a nostalgic air.

“It...looks better here.” Kiyotaka didn’t explain further.

In truth, there was more to the story. Having acquired the painting, Kiyotaka had eagerly taken it to his room and unpackaged it. But the moment he laid eyes on it, he was shocked. Even though the painting’s brilliance had not changed, his excitement had vanished. It was an inexplicable feeling of loss. By obtaining the painting, he had lost his special feeling of love for it.

Bewildered by the change within himself, he thought, Maybe it’s only this painting. He tested it several more times, obtaining things he truly wanted—but the result was always the same. The moment he obtained something, his passion for it disappeared. He realized it would be better for things to stay in his grandfather’s or Kura’s possession so that he could keep that “special feeling” forever. He began to think, “I don’t want to own what I truly want.” He no longer wanted to experience the feeling of something that seemed so bright fading away in an instant, of the excitement in his heart vanishing into thin air.

Indeed, on that day when he was thirteen, he had realized his true nature. Until now, nobody had been able to see through that side of him—except for one person.

Kiyotaka gritted his teeth, the image of Ensho flashing through his mind. As the detestable man had said, this was the reason he couldn’t progress his relationship with Aoi.

“The concept of losing one’s fixation upon obtaining something only applies to material things.”

He had argued that it didn’t apply to people, but in all honesty, he didn’t know. Even though he had had relationships with women before, he had never felt strongly about them. Aoi was the first person he had ever been deeply in love with to the point of swinging between joy and anxiety. What would happen to him if he made her his? If his feelings grew stronger, that would be the happiest thing. But what if those feelings vanished too? The thought gave him chills.

“Kiyotaka, where are you going next?” asked the owner, bringing him back to reality.

“I’m going to Tokyo tomorrow to start working as a cram school instructor.”

The owner laughed. “That’s perfect.”

“I hope so. Anyway, I’ll be leaving now. Please lock the door when you’re done here.”

Kiyotaka bowed to the owner and left. The painting of the Paris cityscape, when hung in the exhibition room, shone just as brightly as it had back then.