Tokyo is being hollowed out deeper and deeper every day. If this were Minecraft, we would have hit the unbreakable bedrock long ago. I wandered through concrete dungeons, climbing endless escalators and stairs, only to emerge into a desolate corner of the city center. It was a landscape of eatureless skyscrapers, looking like generic game assets. Though the traffic was heavy, there were no tourists, no flirting young couples—only people drifting past like NPCs, stripped of their individuality.
The sun glared off the asphalt, which had been dug up and patched so many times by public works that it was a bumpy mess. I felt a heavy dampness in the air—perhaps the proximity to the sea, or just the oppressive humidity of spring. I gently dabbed the sweat from my face with gauze to keep my makeup intact, flicking open the purple folding fan my mother had given me. Relying on Google Maps, I stepped into the back alleys.
A white van, devoid of any company name or logo, loomed ahead, nearly blocking the path. A “kuroko” dressed entirely in black on a bicycle zipped past me, grazing my shoulder. A delivery rickshaw piled high with Amazon cardboard boxes wove through the crowd, dodging pensioners and utility poles. Pedestrians, assuming others would move for them, marched forward with blind confidence, eyes glued to their smartphones.
I saw coin-operated parking lots filling the voids of demolished buildings. Next to them, houses with exposed, dirty mortar walls. A chic new build stood beside a home that had been patched and repaired so many times its roof looked like a quilt, its porch crowded with potted plants and plastic bottles to ward off cats. And next to that, a concrete monolith—a luxury condo from the Bubble era, now faded and exhausted.
I recalled the word “flora” from a class. What was the subject? I couldn’t quite remember. General Biology, perhaps? The way native and invasive species intertwine, creating a complex plant system of trees, flowers, and bacteria. This doesn’t happen in dying towns. Once a town reaches its climax, it decays quietly along with its people. But here, dead houses serve as nutrients for mini-homes and parking lots, cycling through a relentless metabolism of generation and replacement. The new absorbs the old, creating a chimeric ecosystem. So this is what became of Edo, I thought, the city founded by Ota Dokan.
There stood a particular apartment building, its concrete exterior painted a faded, chalky white. A relic of the era called the “High Economic Growth Period.” Air conditioning units clung to the walls like barnacles. “Shabby”
was the only word for it. I’d heard that buildings from the Bubble era look like this when the owners pinch every penny of the maintenance and repair funds. It didn’t look like a place where people lived; it looked like a hive for small offices. A motley crew of people drifted in and out of the entrance, which was completely exposed to the street. There was a security booth, but it was empty. The only guardian was a security camera on the ceiling—most likely a dummy.
I entered a cramped elevator that smelled of a desperate attempt to mask mold and stale cigarettes with a dusty, minty fragrance. I ascended to the eleventh floor and followed the directory to a room with no nameplate, where an electric meter spun slowly above the door.
“Is this really the place?”
Standing before a rugged iron door, dented in places and plastered with old stickers from the NHK and the water bureau, I hesitated to ring the bell. There was no name, only a room number on a small plate. It matched the address in the printout of the email. I was sure of it.
But then I remembered I had just sat in someone else’s reserved seat on the Shinkansen. After double-checking the number once more, I tentatively pressed the intercom button.
A chime echoed inside. The camera-equipped intercom crackled to life.
“Yes. Who is it?”
Inside, Kudo peered at the monitor mounted on the office wall. The screen showed a young woman with sharp, somewhat nervous eyes. Navy jacket, tight suit. Black hair tied back neatly. A plain white shirt and low-heeled pumps. She was wiping her neck and the tip of her nose with a wet wipe. By all accounts, she looked exactly like a fresh graduate in the middle of a job hunt. She certainly wasn’t an assassin posing as a pizza delivery driver.
Kudo already knew who she was. Keiko Yamashita. He had been sent her photo just in case, but he preferred to let her identify herself. By profession, he made it a point to let the other person speak first.
“Um, is this the Kudo Detective Agency? I’m Yamashita. I was referred by Professor Nakayama.”
She had a distinct accent, typical of M-Prefecture.
“Ah, the Ms. Yamashita who emailed me for an appointment this morning? I’ll let you in.”
The sound of a security chain sliding and two locks clicking followed, and the door swung open.
Ah, as I thought, no shoes inside, Keiko realized. Resigned, she slipped off her pumps and slid her toes into a pair of pile-fabric guest slippers that looked like they would show dirt easily.
However, the interior was more spacious and deeper than she expected. It had been renovated into a proper office.
Solid wood floors with a varnished finish. A professional-grade all-in-one copier/fax. A reception table and
sofa. A steel desk holding a tape dispenser and a laptop. Steel cabinets and document boxes lined the walls. And the wonderful, cool breeze of the air conditioner. A well-tended Monstera plant sat in a pot.
Keiko felt a wave of relief. It was a normal office. She had been worried she’d walk into a bachelor’s den overflowing with the clutter of daily life.
Keiko was instinctively drawn to the balcony. “What a beautiful view.”
“Not bad, right? This building is a hidden gem,” he said, standing beside her and looking out. To her, he looked like a perfectly ordinary middle-aged man. That was her first impression, anyway.
Despite the building’s exterior, the view was exceptional. The Tokyo Skytree stood directly ahead. To the left was the Asakusa pier, where water buses drifted in and out. She imagined that one could watch the Sumida River fireworks display right from this room.
“The night view must be stunning when the Skytree is lit up.”
“Yeah. But because that thing was built, the landlord hiked the rent. What a nuisance. If I owned the place instead of renting, I would’ve sold it at a premium by now. You know, condo prices in the city center are skyrocketing. Rumor has it the Chinese are buying them up in droves. True, I wonder? If I’d bought back when it was cheap, I’d be living in a sprawling estate with a garden in the suburbs by now.”
“Do you want to move to the suburbs?”
“I suppose. Maybe around Nagareyama Otakanomori.”
“Eh? Where is that?”
“Doesn’t matter. Plenty of my acquaintances live there, but a loner like me would probably get bored in three days.”
“Which is it then?”
“I don’t even know myself. Actually, living in a city condo is the way to go.”
“I guess so.”
“Yep.”
With nothing else to react to, they both shared a meaningless laugh.
“Have you lived here long?”
“Not exactly. I bounced around for a while after moving to Tokyo, then I settled here.”
“I imagine detectives like this kind of place. It feels like a… hideout.”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘this kind of place,'” Kudo replied with a wry smile. “What exactly is your image of my profession?”
“I don’t know… I imagined someone like Yusaku Matsuda. Sleeping and waking up in some dusty, old office in the old quarters.”
“Haha, that’s exactly the public image. Hasn’t changed in decades. Jeans and a trench coat, right? Matsuda and I have absolutely nothing in common.”
“Everything here is old, though,” he continued. “Especially the plumbing. The kitchen, the bath, the toilet. The pipes, the faucets, the gaskets. Forget the grime and rust—it’s the way water just seeps out from nowhere that creeps me out. The toilet lever gets stuck at a weird angle, and the water just keeps running. It’s way past its useful life, but the landlord is stingy with replacements. And the humidity is brutal being so close to the Sumida River. I want a new AC, but I’m enduring it because I don’t want the landlord to use it as an excuse to raise the rent. I could complain forever, but there’s no guarantee the next place would be better. So, I’ve just lazily renewed the lease for eight years now.”
“I see.” Having never lived alone, Keiko couldn’t quite relate. At the same time, she realized she would probably face similar struggles in her future. “But isn’t this a very convenient spot? You can take walks to Asakusa or Ueno. I bet it’s too popular to get into now.”
“Maybe. But properties are everywhere. It just depends on the rent, the view, the layout. The conditions.”
Seeing Keiko lingering on the balcony, Kudo spoke up.
“Well, have a seat. Want a drink? It was hot outside. Cold green tea okay? Or coffee?”
“Tea, please.”
Kudo opened the fridge and pulled out a cold-brew pitcher with tea bags, placing it on the table with a glass. He poured himself some chilled coffee in a mug. Oh, homemade, not bottled? I wonder if he washes the pitcher every day, Keiko thought, finding herself staring at the cleanliness of the container.
The sofas were arranged in a U-shape; Keiko sat at one end. Kudo sat diagonally opposite her.
“So, your grandfather was a martial artist?” Kudo recalled the “Self-PR/Hobbies/Skills” section of the resume she had sent via PDF. She had written that her father had followed in her grandfather’s footsteps. A third generation
of martial artists—and the current one being a woman—was somewhat rare.
“Yes. He passed away some time ago, but he used to compete in the All Japan Kendo Federation championships. He told me often that he made it to the semifinals. We have a large, framed photo of him in his kendo gear in front
of the Kokugikan in our living room.”
He must have been incredibly proud, Kudo thought, sipping his coffee. “I see. Was your grandfather a Renshi or a Hanshi?”
Keiko looked surprised. Among fighters, you can tell at a glance if someone knows their way around a dojo—it’s in the aura. To her, Kudo didn’t look like that kind of man at all.
“You know a lot about kendo.”
“Well, I was once a student at the bottom of Professor Nakayama’s circle.”
“Right. I forgot.”
“Besides, when you have a lot of acquaintances in the police, you naturally become familiar with these things.”
That made sense. Keiko nodded.
“My grandfather was a Renshi during the championships, and he was a 7th-dan Hanshi when he passed.”
“Impressive. Was your family a police dynasty?”
“No. My grandfather was a high school teacher, but my father was an officer with the M-Prefecture Police, and he practiced kendo as well.”
“Hmm. A daughter of a distinguished house, then.” Kudo wondered vaguely if her father had wanted a son to train in martial arts but ended up with a daughter instead.
“No, nothing like that.”
“Where in M-Prefecture?”
“I was born in Town N.”
“Ah, that area. Near the side roads. It’s a nice place—rural landscapes, quiet, a castle town with history. It used to be a samurai district in the Edo period.”
“I suppose. But my family isn’t ‘distinguished’ or ‘samurai.’ I heard there were samurai residences and post towns, but now there’s nothing left but a tea-sweet shop, a temple, and a local museum.”
“Haha. I bet you have an ancestral sword or two. You are the house of a Kendo Hanshi, after all.”
“We do, we do. My grandfather’s hobby. Even though we weren’t that kind of family, he collected a lot of them. I used to swing them around as a kid and put holes in the sliding doors and plaques.”
“You must have been scolded severely.”
“No. Surprisingly, I got away with it. Our house always had guests—kendo people and the like. The holes in the plaques were repaired before I knew it.”
“Heh. Like a gathering place for swordsmen. Sounds dangerous—or rather, lively.”
“Maybe. Compared to a normal house.”
“I used to think Kuramae was the town of sumo wrestlers. But it’s just condos now. The Kokugikan isn’t even on the map.”
“You’re talking about some very old things. What era are you living in? The Kokugikan moved to Ryogoku ages ago.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. Your grandfather’s photo must have been taken back when the Kokugikan was still here in Kuramae.”
“Yes, maybe.”
“Definitely. Otherwise, you’d never think of Kuramae as a sumo town.”
“I don’t remember clearly, but it’s probably from my grandfather’s stories.”
“Even I don’t know Kuramae from that far back.”
“It’s a strange place, isn’t it?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s right next to Asakusa, but the town feels… desolate.”
“Not desolate, just lacking vitality. No shops, no foot traffic. But this place used to be the most prosperous district in Edo, a single line stretching from Edo Castle’s Otemachi to Nihonbashi, Denmachō, Bakurochō, Asakusabashi, Ningyōchō, Kuramae, and finally Asakusa.”
“Denmachō? Bakurochō? It sounds like a period drama.”
“Haha. True. Both relate to horses. They were transport hubs, like today’s stations or bus terminals. Since the times of Ota Dokan and the Late Hojo clan—even before Ieyasu—this was a town of communication, transport, logistics, trade, dining, and lodging. This was the heart of Edo. Wholesalers, inns, townhouses, and temples were most concentrated here. Ginza, along the Tokaido road? In the Edo period, that was nothing more than a street of blacksmiths. It only started prospering in the Taisho era. Kuramae, as the name suggests, was the Shogunate’s warehouse town, where rice was unloaded and stored from the Sumida River.
But now, it’s become a clean, yet lonely office district. A town completely forgotten by the tourism industry, the media, and the advertising world. Still, it’s a great place to live if you want comfort and anonymity.”
“Including starting a detective agency?”
“Hmm, I wonder. You could say that, but maybe it doesn’t matter much.”
Kudo continued, “Actually, I recently saw footage of the old Kuramae Kokugikan in You Only Live Twice. Compared to the current Ryogoku Kokugikan, it’s shockingly small. It was a poor era, right after the war. I don’t think it was a set; I think they filmed at the real Kuramae Kokugikan. But once you start doubting, there’s no end to it. The more you research, the less you know. There are hardly any records from the immediate post-war period.”
“You’re very knowledgeable.”
“Not really. I just live here by choice, so I naturally get curious.”
“You’re a perfectionist, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“The pre-war Kokugikan was in Ryogoku, but the GHQ took it over, so it moved to Kuramae for a while. In the old Ryogoku Kokugikan, before the Great Tokyo Air Raid, there were still four pillars supporting the roof over the ring. But when they moved to Kuramae, they tore the pillars down because they interfered with the TV cameras, and instead hung the roof from the ceiling.”
Keiko giggled. Kudo really was a perfectionist. “I love 007 too. I read the Ian Fleming originals. I thought reading them in English would be good practice. James Bond has a weird fondness for women’s pistols. His boss takes away his Beretta, telling him it’s too weak to be useful and to switch to a Walther. Sean Connery looks like he’s about to cry.
If it’s Mine Fujiko, it’s a Browning. Small, sleek, a concealed automatic that doesn’t snag on clothes. You tuck it into a garter belt, hide it with a skirt, and then—shink—draw it like a samurai. Bang!“
As she crossed her legs, Keiko pretended to pull a gun from her inner thigh and shoot Kudo right through the heart.
“Heh.”
“What?”
“Well, you see, when a female client wearing a skirt sits deep in the sofa, you can sometimes see… under the skirt. I often look down instead of at the person’s eyes when I talk. People might think I’m peeking. So, to avoid the awkwardness, I deliberately arranged the sofas in this U-shape. I’m glad I’m not sitting directly across from you.”
“Oh, really?”
If you see something, just pretend you didn’t, Keiko thought. Don’t make it awkward by mentioning it. While thinking this, she took a sip of the green tea, checking for that sour smell of tea that has gone bad. She drained the glass in two gulps. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, likely due to the tension.
Kudo, too, had almost forgotten why she had visited.
“Looks like you want a refill. Did you come here directly?”
“No, um, this morning I was at a joint job fair at Big Sight in Ariake.”
“Ah, those. They had those back when I was a student too.”
“My professor told me to visit at least ten companies. By the time I hit twenty, I was exhausted and just gave up.”
“Find any you liked?”
“Not at all. None of them matched my goals. Architecture, manufacturing, department stores, credit companies, publishers… I did the whole circuit. Professor Nakayama told me to get some experience under my belt. He said
it’s important to get a feel for different industries before facing your top choice—that it’s a social education, a way to hear insider stories. Once you get a job, you only know your own company and industry. He said this is the only time in your life you can do this. So I stuck my nose into booths I had zero interest in.
Man, I’m tired.”
“By ‘Professor,’ you mean Professor Nakayama?”
“Ah, sorry. Yes. Professor Nakayama.”
“Is he doing well?”
“He’s retiring next March.”
“Right. I thought he’d have retired ages ago. I didn’t realize he was still at the university. I only found out when I heard from you.”
“His assistants, seminar students, and disciples are all exhausted preparing for his final lecture and retirement party.”
“I’ve been out of touch for far too long.”
“You’re an alumnus, Mr. Kudo. You should at least attend the final lecture.”
“Are you from M-Prefecture?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not. I have no connection to M-Prefecture. I can’t just drop by the seminar with a gift like my former classmates do when they visit their hometowns.”
“Then why did you bother going to a regional national university like M University, which isn’t even an Imperial one?”
Indeed, during his student days, everyone around Kudo had been local.
“Just chance. That year, there was a reorganization of national and public universities in M-Prefecture, and a new integrated faculty was created. Being part of the first cohort seemed appealing. That’s all. You know about Faculty X, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in Nakayama’s seminar too?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why the referral through Professor Nakayama?”
“Well, Professor Nakayama is the advisor for the Aikido club.”
“Right, I forgot. So you do Aikido?”
“Yes. The basics, at least.”
“So you’re a martial artist of the Nakayama-style Aikijutsu.”
“I have a debt of gratitude to Professor Nakayama from when I studied abroad. He’s asked me before to introduce his students and disciples to companies I know. I’ve always been happy to help. But you’re the first one to come to my place. Wanting to see my office… you’re quite an eccentric, aren’t you? I thought I told Professor Nakayama that it’s pointless for a job-seeker to see this place.”
“There’s no nameplate or sign.”
“I never intended to make a living as a detective. But while I was playing detective for people, I ended up making connections with lawyers, police, and members of Parliament. Public Security told me I should at least decide on a business name and operate properly. Then a judicial scrivener I know helped me set up the company without me even asking, and my tax accountant told me it would be a waste to have a paper company, suggesting I get a home-office for tax reasons.”
“You’re quite popular, Mr. Kudo. You have the kind of character people want to look after.”
“As if. Do I really look like that? Everything just happened to fall into place. I felt awkward not having a business card, and since I knew someone at a design firm, I had these printed. You can have one if you want.”
“I see.”
“Did you imagine a colorful card with a catchphrase like ‘I solve all your problems’?”
“No email address, no URL. It’s a very plain, unimaginative card. Rare for this day and age.”
“You see those ads for private investigators—infidelity checks, finding runaways, background checks on fiancés, right?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have a sign, let alone ads. I’m not even in the Yellow Pages.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve heard cheating cases are profitable, but I don’t do them. I have no interest in what strangers in bed are up to. I don’t take the kind of work others do. I’m full up with work coming from law firms and notary offices. I don’t do sales. In fact, I hate sales. If I had to sell my services, I wouldn’t be in this business. Only my family knows I’m a private detective.”
“That’s a very different image from the general idea of a private eye. Can you really survive as a freelancer without marketing?”
“Who knows. Actually, true freelance detectives are rare, aren’t they? I’m sort of free, sort of not. The kind of detective you see in TV dramas is probably the rarest of all.”
“What kind of work comes from lawyers and notaries?”
Keiko’s eyes sparkled.
Kudo scratched his head.
“Well, it’s not really something to discuss the first time we meet. It’s not exactly a corporate secret or a legal confidentiality issue, but it’s the core of my work. I can’t tell you just yet. So, let’s start with you.
Besides that job fair, do you have any other plans today?”
“No. Tomorrow and the day after, I’m visiting alumni from an ad agency, a city bank, and a trading company. Just to keep up with my friends. And next week is the second exam for the Metropolitan Police Department.”
“You sound quite busy.”
“But I’m free for the rest of today.”
“Me too. Unless a walk-in client drops by. So, what’s your first choice? You don’t actually want to be a detective’s assistant, do you?”
“My first choice, bluntly, is the MPD.”
“Ho. You want to be a fukei ( policewoman)?”
“Mr. Kudo, for someone who works with the police, you still use the term fukei. Since the 1985 revision of the Equal Employment Opportunity Law, we don’t use that term anymore. Please say ‘female police officer.'”
“My bad, my bad. So? The MPD is highly competitive, isn’t it?”
“Yes. My second choice is the local police agency.”
“M-Prefecture Police?”
“Yes.”
“Not bad. You can commute from your parents’ home. As long as you meet the requirements, it shouldn’t be too hard to get in. A stable government job.”
“Yes. Professor Nakayama said the same. ‘Your father is in the M-Prefecture Police, you’re a high-dan in Aikido, a first-dan in Kendo, and your grades are excellent. You’ll surely pass.’ But…”
“But what?”
“I want to be a detective. If that’s the case, a rural police agency isn’t enough. It has to be the MPD.”
“Haha! Why are you so dead set on being an MPD detective?”
“Don’t laugh. If you’re going to laugh, I won’t tell you.”
“I won’t laugh. Go on.”
“As I said, I’ve loved mystery novels since I was a child. I’ve always dreamed of being a detective or a police officer.”
“First Investigation Division?”
“Ding ding!”
“I’m not laughing, but listen—even the girls driving the mini-patrol cars all start out dreaming of the First Division. But most of them end up in Traffic, writing tickets for illegal parking or breaking up fights between drunks.”
“I’m not talking about mini-patrols. I want a gun.”
“You really want a gun that badly?”
“Carrying a firearm is a must.”
“If you say that in the interview, they’ll fail you. They’ll think you’re a gun nut or a military otaku.”
“I won’t say it there.”
“So you want to tail a suspect, catch them in the act, flash the cherry blossom badge and a gun, and say, ‘You’re the culprit! You’re under arrest!’?”
“Exactly. And listen, I’ve already given up on the ‘career track.’ Since the police are a man’s world, I plan to go independent at the right time and start my own law firm or detective agency—or ideally, a security company— run entirely by women.”
“You’ve got high ambitions. I’ve heard of women’s detective agencies, but a women-only security company? That’s new.”
“I think there’s a high demand for personal security requested specifically by women. There are places only women can enter. In this industry, the people in the office, the phone operators, the counselors—they’re almost all men. My goal is to break that mold.”
“Security companies have female staff, but all female? That’s tough. There’s night shifts, heavy lifting, and dirty work.”
“Women can handle that. I’m sure there’s a market for it—my gut tells me so. You don’t have to do everything.
There’s no need to enter fields where men already excel. You just need to specialize in services that utilize
sensibilities only women have. If male staff are absolutely necessary, we can hire contractors or second out female staff. Half the world is female; women understand the needs of women better. That’s the kind of company I
want to build. A pioneer.”
“Hmm. Maybe. But it’s easier to be a lifelong civil servant than a business owner.”
“With my personality, I’d probably suffocate.”
“You can’t carry a gun in a private company.”
“Well, by then I’ll probably be retired from fieldwork anyway.”
“There are Private Military Companies, at least overseas.”
Keiko tried to steer the conversation back.
“Anyway, I consulted Professor Nakayama, and he mentioned an alumnus who is a detective and suggested I meet you.”
“Like I said, my office won’t be of any help to you. I don’t think I’m the kind of person anyone should use as a reference.”
The smartphone on the steel desk vibrated violently.
Kudo picked it up and glanced at the screen.
“Sorry. A job from the boss. I think I’ve heard enough for today.”
“The boss?”
“My senior, a ward council member.”
“A council member?”
“A ward councilor. Not a big deal.”
“You get work from politicians as well as lawyers?”
“Call him a politician if you want, but he’s just a humble ward councilor. Not much different from an average citizen.”
“What kind of person is he? What’s the request?”
“Ms. Yamashita, I’d rather not discuss the details with a complete stranger.”
“You’re very secretive.”
Keiko pouted slightly. Kudo looked annoyed.
“Sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to leave for today,” he said, his voice turning cold.
“I’ll be going then.”
As she left the room, Kudo closed the door and called out to her.
“If you ever actually get assigned to the First Investigation Division, I’ll let you help me out.”
While Keiko stood there blinking in confusion, she heard the lock click and the security chain slide into place.