When things were quiet at the Kuwabara Detective Agency, Kumitada Ichiyusai had learned to distrust it. Not in the grand, cosmic sense - no thunderheads were gathering over the city, nor was the trembling of fate’s gears on his mind - but in the much more immediate way of someone who had, on multiple occasions, answered the phone only to discover reality clearing its throat.
On this particular morning, the quiet had an uncomfortable texture about it that made it impossible for him to sit still. The fan rattled in the corner, pushing warm air around without conviction. Sunlight slanted through the blinds in neat, optimistic lines. Papers were stacked where papers were supposed to be stacked. Hanae Ikina’s keyboard clicked at a steady, professional cadence that suggested the world was, for once, behaving itself.
Yukiko Kuwabara was humming to herself. That was the part Kumitada found most alarming. She sat at her desk with her chin propped in her hands, elbows planted, blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail that had already begun to escape its bounds. The tune was cheerful, tuneless, and entirely unconcerned with the sanctity of investigative focus.
Kumitada kept his eyes on his notepad. "You’re in a good mood, boss."
Yukiko beamed at him. "Aren’t you?"
He considered the question carefully. "I am… not actively distressed."
"See?" She pointed at him, triumphant and energetic as ever. "That’s basically happiness."
Hanae adjusted her glasses without looking up. Pretending to focus on her work, while in truth, she was most likely already planning her next seduction tactic. "By that metric, most appliances are joyful."
Yukiko laughed, unbothered. "Oh, Hanae, you always know just what to say."
The bell above the agency door chimed. All three of them looked up to see who had arrived. The man who stepped inside was ordinary in the way only deeply worried people ever were. Mid-forties, rumpled jacket, tie loosened like it had lost an argument. He hesitated just past the threshold, as though expecting to be told he’d wandered into the wrong place.
Yukiko was on her feet instantly. "Welcome to the Kuwabara Detective Agency!" she said, crossing the room with the unstoppable momentum of someone who had never once doubted anything in their entire life. "I’m Yukiko Kuwabara. How can we help you?"
The man blinked, visibly recalibrating to her smile. "Ah - yes. Right. I was told you handle… unusual matters."
Kumitada’s pen paused. Alright. Here it comes. The quiet time was ending now.
"We handle matters," Yukiko said brightly. "Unusual is complimentary."
Hanae slid a clipboard across the counter with practiced ease. "Name, contact information, and a brief description of the issue. As brief as you can make it," she added, glancing up at the man with cold indifference. "You can expand afterward."
He nodded, grateful for the structure to start the conversation off. It seemed like he was having trouble gathering his thoughts. "Of course. My name is Taro Nishimura. And, well…" He swallowed. "Something’s been stolen."
Yukiko leaned forward, hands clasped behind her back. "What kind of something?"
"My umbrella."
There it was. Kumitada waited for the punchline. It did not arrive. A stolen umbrella? Really? He'd come to a detective's agency over a stolen umbrella? More to the point, he'd come to this detective agency over a stolen umbrella? Already, he had bad feelings crawling up and down his spine.
"My umbrella," Nishimura repeated, defensively. "It’s not expensive, but it’s… Well, let me explain. It was taken from outside my shop three days ago. I thought it was a mistake at first, but it hasn’t turned up, and - " He hesitated. "Things have been… odd since then."
Yukiko straightened. "Odd how?"
Nishimura glanced at the window, then back at her. "It hasn’t rained."
Hanae stopped typing and curled an eyebrow, looking up at their prospective client, then outside. Indeed, it had not rained for the last few days, now that he mentioned it...
Kumitada frowned despite himself. "It’s been sunny all week."
"Yes," Nishimura said, relief flickering across his face at being understood. "Exactly. In this part of the city, in this season, that’s not normal. My shop specializes in traditional umbrellas. Wagasa. The kind meant for rain." His hands twisted together. "Since it vanished, the sky’s been clear. Not just over my street - over the whole district."
Yukiko’s eyes sparkled. "So," she said slowly, "your umbrella was stolen… and the weather pattern mysteriously changed."
"I know how it sounds," Nishimura said quickly. "I’m not saying the umbrella controls the weather or anything so absurd. I’m just saying - ever since it disappeared, clouds gather and then… leave. Like they’re being shooed away."
Kumitada felt a familiar sensation settle between his shoulders. Some might mistake it for dread. Others might mistake it for anticipation or perhaps fear. No, he knew what this was. He knew all too well. This was recognition of a pattern. They were about to get dragged into something ridiculous, weren't they?
"How many umbrellas do you keep outside?" he asked.
"Only one," Nishimura replied. "That one. It was old. A family piece."
Yukiko clapped her hands once. "This is perfect!"
Kumitada looked at her. "Boss - "
"A straightforward theft," she continued, undeterred. Honestly, he didn't even have an idea of how that sentence would end. "Clear timeline. Singular missing object. Local area effects that may or may not be related. This is exactly the sort of case that benefits from a fresh perspective!"
Hanae arched an eyebrow yet again. "You mean ours."
"I mean teamwork," Yukiko said cheerfully, already steering Nishimura toward the seating area. "Mr. Nishimura, please don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this."
Kumitada sighed, closing his notebook so he didn't have to read the notes, not right now. If he did, then a wicked portent of his immediate future might well leap out at him. "Do we have a budget for meteorological anomalies?"
Hanae smiled thinly. "We’ll invoice the sky."
As Nishimura sat, visibly calmer, Kumitada glanced out the window. The sky was blue. Perfectly, aggressively blue. Somewhere far above, a single cloud drifted into view… then thinned, stretched, and vanished, as though reconsidering its life choices. Kumitada rubbed his temples.
Yes, he decided. This was definitely one of those so-called quiet days.
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