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,