Prologue
1
Kyoto, being the world-famous tourist destination that it is, sees several tourist seasons each year. The cherry blossoms in spring, Gozan no Okuribi in summer, and the autumn foliage all bring in crowds of people, but the busiest times are New Year’s, the Gion Festival, and Golden Week. Those are when you see long lines at the bus terminal in front of Kyoto Station, and the number of people walking from Shijo Street to Yasaka Shrine is twice as high as usual. Dealing with the crowds is a hassle, so I hole myself up at home during tourist season. Maybe that means I’ve truly become a Kyoto resident.
It was now mid-May, and Golden Week was over. The crowds were much smaller, but there were still quite a lot of tourists—probably ones who shifted their time off to not align with the Golden Week rush. At times like this, I always groaned and thought, “That’s Kyoto for you.”
I—third-year high schooler Aoi Mashiro—was marveling over the number of tourists in the shopping district as I walked from Oike Street to Teramachi Street. I soon spotted my workplace: the small antique shop, Kura. I stopped in front of it and opened the door, saying “Good morning” as the chime rang.
“Ah, good morning, Aoi,” said Kiyotaka “Holmes” Yagashira...or not. It was his father, Takeshi Yagashira, who we call Manager. They looked completely different but had the same gentle a