A few days ago.
Antique store Sonohara Hall.
The shop existed some distance from the heart of Ikebukuro.
The first floor of a house had been renovated into this store, and the display window facing the street exhibited objects with an aura of agedness to them.
Whether a well-worned flower vase, a calligraphy scroll of unknown origin, a vacuum tube radio—the impression was that these items, collectively regarded as ‘antiques’ regardless of their original time period or genre, were laid out here without discrimination.
Despite the store’s antique feel, the shopkeeper inside was a woman who still had the air of a young girl.
Yet it was not the same air of the modern youth; she radiated a vintage sense of calm, and from a more occult perspective it was as if she was the anthropomorphised spirit of the shop itself.