A/N: So, yes, it's another one of "these" I'm well aware that the premise isn't untrod ground; I've read a few stories like this, and if you feel that my version of events follows your own story's too closely, I'm more than willing to discuss it over PM.
Clack. Clack.
So, if I attach here—
No, are you blind? You need to move here!
Clack. Clack.
Evening, May fifth. The go salon was filled with the clatter of stones and chatter of people playing games. Smoke wafted through the air; the proprietor argued with a would-be repeat patron at the bar over the proper number of drinks that ought to be consumed in succession at the establishment. While the patrons were mostly a sea of white hair and glasses—there was a general consensus that go was a "geezer's game"—the occasional pops of shiny black (among other colors) infiltrated the silver. Indeed, there was a boy of nine or ten playing under the watchful eye of his grandfather and a fair number of would-be competitors, interested in seeing just what the child could do.
Clack. Clack.
Toward the center of the room, under one of the fluorescent lamps, sat an elderly woman and a younger, effeminate man. The stones lay arranged in intricate patterns across the board; the game was done, as was all discussion of said. All that remained to be dispensed were minor pleasantries.
"Again, thank you for the game, Miss Kawasaki. I really learned a great deal." The effeminate man looked across the table at the older woman, gentle.
"Of course. It's always nice to help someone learn. Especially someone like yourself. For someone who claims he's merely an amateur, you have an eye for it. How old are you?" She looked back, warm-eyed, then coughed and turned, glowering at a man at a nearby board who was blowing a cloud of smoke in her direction.
"Twenty-five." The man laughed. He suspected that he knew where this was going.
"Twenty-five? With devoted study, I'd say you could have a fighting chance in the pro test before you turn thirty, young man! Why not try?" She smiled back at the man, beginning to clear off the board. The man shook his head.
"Perhaps I could; I do enjoy the game. Yet I already have a calling, if you remember, and I would prefer to leave professional play to those who are willing to devote their lives to it. It wouldn't be fair any other way."
The woman laughed and rolled her eyes, "Ah, yes, how could any of us here forget your "calling", Mr. Fujiwara?" Most of the regulars laughed; they'd seen this routine before.
Sai grumbled. "You may laugh, Miss Kawasaki, but…it is to be my life's work, history. My one true love! As if I could adore anything else but the rich tapestry of the ancient past! The intricacies and intrigue of the Classical Imperial Court! The fierce naval battles of the World Wars! Everything we know and love today has its roots in history!" He rose from his seat, face tilted toward the ceiling, lost in his righteous furor.
Sai looked around. He seemed to deflate. "Of course, maybe it would be too much to ask for agreement…" He thought for a moment, then looked around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "After all, given your age, I'm sure our fine company remembers what I call history quite well!" The group chuckled. Sai, satisfied for the time being, turned back to Miss Kawasaki. He seemed about to say something, but—
Ring! Ring!
The sound was a tinny, thin replica of the drawl of a rotary phone; Sai frowned and felt his pockets. He withdrew a cell phone, vaguely annoyed—most people knew not to bother him during his go time—and answered, holding the phone to his ear after checking the number.
"Greetings, Dr. Asano." Sai furrowed his brow even more deeply. The number…Why was Dr. Asano calling him now? The man would have normally long since left the university; something extraordinary must be afoot.
"Fujiwara? You may want to sit down for this." Dr. Asano's voice rasped through the receiver; normally, Sai would attribute this to one too many cigarettes, but the man seemed even more out of breath than usual, compounding his suspicions. Sai complied.
"Yes? What happened, sir?" Sai listened carefully, drinking in every word.
"I assume you're aware of the recent death of Miss Hiroko Satome?"
"Yes, sir," Sai replied, somber. Miss Satome had been one of the university's most distinguished alumni; Sai had seen much of the woman during his undergraduate and (current) postgraduate work, and had even sought out her help regarding topics related to classical Japan. She was a fixture in the History department, and would be missed dearly, not least by him.
"She left it all to us. Her private collection, I mean."
Sitting had been an excellent suggestion; even having braced himself, it was all Sai could do to not drop the phone. His jaw dropped.
"WH-WHAT?!" The yelp was a little louder than Sai probably would have liked; nearby players jumped in their seats and turned to watch, wondering what exactly Fujiwara was up to now.
"Yes! She left her private collection of artifacts to the university! As soon as I heard the news, I simply had to tell you; I knew you would be just as excited as I was! Isn't it wonderful?"
"It is! Er, I mean, not that Miss Satome is dead, obviously, but…Oh, heavens!" As much as he tried to compose himself and remember that the only reason this glorious thing had happened was because of someone's death, it was hard to extinguish the fluttery feeling in his chest. "Are you…"
"No, but that's where I'm headed. You know where the Satome mansion is, correct? Where are you, if it isn't prying? At that Go salon?"
Sai nodded, then vaguely recalled that he was, in fact, on the phone. "Er. Yes. I've been to dinner there once before. And yes, I am."
"Good! I expect a prompt arrival! I could think of no better person to survey Miss Satome's gracious gift with! Good day to you!"
Click.
Just like that, the man had hung up. Sai slid the phone back in his pocket, lips twitching into a guilty smile. Dead woman, dead woman, dead woman…oh, but so much potential! He gave Miss Kawasaki a soft smile and aided her in putting away the last of the Go stones, fingers tripping over themselves. He then nodded, breathed a curt goodbye, and flew out the door, long hair and windbreaker flapping behind him.
Miss Kawasaki grinned after him, shaking her head. "Youth. Always charging off somewhere." Another errant puff of smoke from the table next door. A sour grimace. "Now, to deal with you…"
Miss Satome's private collection was, to put it bluntly, massive. Both she and her father had frequented auctions for most of their lives, using the income from a highly successful family business venture to purchase whatever artifacts caught their eye. They had a good eye, too—they had sold several pieces to museums that were hundreds, even more than a thousand years old and worth copious amounts of money. Who knew what other treasures father and daughter had decided to keep for themselves, hidden in the neatly ordered boxes that lined shelves and floors in the room? Well, there was only one way to find out.
"Mr. Fujiwara? You wouldn't mind getting that box down from the shelf, would you? I'm afraid my arms don't quite reach, and I'd hate to pull out the ladder quite so soon! Oh, I'm just not built for this!" Dr. Asano chuckled, motioning to the offending box.
"Of course, sir," Sai nodded, swiping the box off the top shelf. It was long and thin, and a rare breed for this room in that it was completely unlabeled. Sai, against all professional instinct, was gladdened by the unlabeled boxes; they were like wrapped presents, unknown entities until torn open. Sai speculated as to what could be inside this one. Scrolls? An instrument? Jewelry? No matter. They'd find out soon enough.
Dr. Asano waddled over to a large, metal table that the pair had set up nearby and placed the case on it. He tried the lid; the box was unlocked. A gasp. "Mr. Fujiwara, look!"
Sai scurried over, obeying, and gasped himself. So it was an instrument. "Shakuhachi. How old, do you think?"
Dr. Asano procured a magnifying glass from his breast pocket and looked the flute over, frowning. "…Hard to say. I'll look it over more closely when it's brought to the university." He returned the flute to its case, closing the lid. A sudden look of mischief crossed his face, and he turned to Sai. "Mr. Fujiwara?"
"Yes, sir?" Sai tilted his head to one side slightly, gazing down upon his mentor and one of his closest friends.
"Hold your hand out." A wink. Dr. Asano's arm darted into his back pocket and began to fish for something.
Sai tossed him a suspicious glance. "This wouldn't happen to be another joy buzzer, would it be, sir?"
"What? Oh, oh no. Even if it were, you're wearing gloves, Fujiwara! How could I shock you then?" A laugh. A shake of the head. "You make no sense!"
"I trust that you'd find a way. Tell me what it is before I hold it. Or better yet, show me." Sai crossed his arms, refusing to hold out his hand.
"Fine, fine. Do you see that door over there?" Dr. Asano motioned gently.
Sai turned. The door in question would have been at home in any modern home. Of course, doors were not so important as the things they hid, and he listened.
"That door…when I arrived here, the butler told me that Miss Satome hadn't even let the maids in there for years. He wasn't even sure himself what was behind it—only that his employer had told the help that it was a special part of her collection. Well, now it belongs to our employer—er, well, my employer, your school—and as such, we have the full run of it." He withdrew his hand from his pocket, offering Sai a small key. "Why don't you go in first and see whatever it was that had Miss Satome so guarded, hm?"
"R-really? You'd let me go first…?" Sai blinked, eyes widening. His face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he leaned over slightly, hugging the older man. "Th-thank you for the honor of—"
"Oh, Fujiwara, you stop that. You're making me blush." Dr. Asano chortled, extricating himself from the grip of his student with a wheeze. Oops. Maybe that had been a little too much. Sai darted back.
"S-sorry, sir. I'll go have a look." Sai turned, striding forward, sliding the key into the lock and opening the door. Dr. Asano waited, poised at the ready to go charging in if his student found anything amazing.
The room was mostly bare—a box here, a shelf there, but nothing like the viewing rooms upstairs or the private collection in the room before. No windows graced the walls—a good thing; the sun could bleach precious artifacts—and a thermostat on the wall kept the room at a constant temperature. The humidity seemed under control as well—all good, very good. Whatever was in here was likely free of water damage, at least.
In the center of the room what appeared to be an old goban stood, as if waiting for its next set of players. The goke sat on top of the goban, shut. Sai kneeled in front of the board in awe, giving it a gentle, experimental rap. Woah. Kaya wood, to be certain. And…
Oh. Oh, no…
In the upper-right corner of the board, a sickly brown stain resided, spread over almost to the middle of the board. Sai felt almost physically ill. Who'd done this to the poor, innocent goban? Slowly, gently, he ran his fingers over the spot, taking out a small rag from a shoulder bag and wiping at the stains. He sighed, shook himself, and gulped. No, no use. The stains would always be there. He attempted to return to the mindset of his profession—this might be a particularly special Go board, witness to a heinous crime. Yes, that could be it! He felt infinitely better about it n—
You can see them?
"Hm? Dr. Asano?" Sai whipped around, hitting himself in the face with his own hair.
…You hear? You hear! I pray of you, listen!
"What?" Dr. Asano called after Sai. "What did you find?"
"I…" Sai turned slightly, then gasped.
Sitting in front of the goban in seiza was a slightly translucent boy of around eleven or twelve. His hair hung in ponytails, though they didn't appear to be particularly long. His robes—one of which, Sai could recall, was a hanjiri—Heian period—accompanied by a few layers of other garments—dangled past his hands and feet, to the point where Sai couldn't quite tell where exactly boy ended and garment began. A similarly translucent fan sat on top of the goke, resting against them.
Listen! The boy pouted, sighing.
"Fujiwara? FUJIWARA!" Dr. Asano stormed his way into the room as Sai's world grew dark, and he hit the ground with a thud.
The boy groaned. Oh, zounds, this again!