Kamen no Shita de - Beneath the Mask Solo

"You should play some games." Hayato's sudden declaration drew Hikari's attention from his drawing to his younger brother, who was sitting cross-legged on his bed. "What?" The boy sat up straighter, clearly gearing up for a lecture, "I mean, you're always holed up in your room all day long, sketching only God knows what. You need more physical exercise. You should improve your..." He gave his body a once-over, "physique."

Hikari stared for a while, pencil hovering above his page. He debated whether or not he should retort or he should save his energy. Deciding against it, he lifted his book back into his lap and picked up his pencil once more, "No thank you. My body is fine. I am fit. I am not sick. Living outside is your thing."

"I do NOT live outside." Hayato protested. He shifted closer until he was nearly on top of Hikari's legs, "But seriously, you totally should— are you listening?"

"No."

Without warning, Hayato leaned forward and plucked the pencil out of Hikari's hand and Hikari's fingers twitched after it, eyes narrowing, "Hey!"

"You should try duelling." Hayato cut through his words smoothly like he hadn't just committed a major crime.

"Give me that."

"Duelling can be fun."

"Hayato—"

"Think about it. You can practice your spells—"

"I can practice spells in my dorm too—"

"Yes but where's the fun in that—"

"I don't do people Hayato!" Hikari snapped, finally recovering his pencil, "And I'm not really interested in throwing about spells at strangers, thank you very much."

"Brooms are nice." A tiny voice came from the doorway, drawing both brothers' attention towards their youngest sister, who stood wide-eyed, peeking around the doorway, "You could try Quidditch...?"

"Tomoe!" Hayato beckoned her inside, "come help me bully our brother into having a life."

"Get out of my room."

Hayato ignored him. "See! Even Tomoe agrees that you should move more!" He said triumphantly. Hikari shook his head, reaching out to lift the little girl into his arms as Hayato continued, "You could try Quidditch!" "Quidditch is loud." Hikari muttered, "And often involves getting hit by stray metal balls."

"Alright then, not Quidditch. Then broom racing! You just need to fly!"

"Fly..?" Hikari repeated thoughtfully. That specific thought did hold more appeal than tossing about hexes or midair sports violence. "I guess I can try."

Hayato leaned back into the pillows, a satisfied smile on his face. Tomoe buried her head into his shoulder and Hikari set his pencil down.

Just for a while.

Hikari had spent many nights tucked into his bed wondering what his family business actually was. His father left before breakfast some mornings and returned long after sunset on others. Sometimes people came to the house carrying long wooden crates. Sometimes they left carrying different ones. Adults spoke in words Hikari had never heard before, then stopped speaking altogether when he entered the room. He had never been able to ask his father about it, and so, turned to his mother, who would only smile and promise that he'd understand when he was older.

Hikari came to several conclusions. His father worked with old things.

Very old things.

Beyond that, he wasn't entirely sure.

Eventually, he found that his family owned six auction houses.

The information answered absolutely nothing but raised multiple questions in its stead.

Hikari did not know what an auction house was.

Nor what happened inside one.

Whenever he asked, the answer was always the same.

"You'll understand when you're older."

Hikari disliked answers that answered nothing.

It was many months later that his father finally decided Hikari was old enough to see one for himself.

On an unusually cool autumn morning, he found a neatly folded kimono waiting on his bed, along with a simple instruction.

"Be ready by eight."

Hikari stared at it for a moment before looking up as his father passed the doorway, "Where... where are we going...?"

"You're coming with me today."

It took him a second to understand. "...To work?"

His father answered with a single nod.

Hikari had never gotten dressed so quickly.

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The auction house was... considerably less mysterious than Hikari had anticipated.

That, admittedly, came as something of a disappointment.

His father was called away the second they arrived there, and he left him with only two instructions, "Do not touch anything. Do not engage anyone in conversation."

Hikari nodded. His father left him in the care of one of his employees, who would bring him back to his father when it was time for the auction.

Whatever that was.

Until then, Hikari was free to look around.

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By the time the employee returned for him, Hikari had read nearly every card in the exhibition hall.

"There you are," the man said with a smile. "It's about to begin."

Hikari followed him through a pair of polished wooden doors and into a large room lined with chairs and glass windows.

Wizards and witches dressed in fine robes spoke quietly amongst themselves, while others studied small catalogues resting on their laps.

His father was seated at the very back of the room. Unlike everyone else, he held no catalogue.

Without a word, Hikari slipped into the empty chair beside him.

The room gradually fell silent.

At the front stood a raised platform. A tall man walked onto it, a leather-bound catalogue tucked neatly beneath one arm. Hikari leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better look.

The man greeted the room with a polite bow before opening the catalogue.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen."

"Welcome."

One by one, objects were wheeled onto the platform.

"Lot Twenty-Seven." The man raised his hand at an ornate black and golden rectangular box, "An early Edo-period suzuribako- a lacquer writing box."

"Opening at one hundred thousand yen."

Before Hikari had a chance to wonder who, exactly, would pay one hundred thousand yen for a box, a small wooden paddle rose from somewhere on the floor in front of him.

"One hundred thousand," the auctioneer acknowledged.

Another paddle.

"One hundred and twenty."

Then another.

The numbers climbed steadily, each bidder waiting just long enough for the room to wonder if they had finished before quietly raising their paddle once more.

"...They're competing."

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His father inclined his head ever so slightly.

"For the box?"

"For the right to own it."

Hikari looked back at the writing box. One hundred thousand yen seemed an excessive amount of money for something that fit comfortably beneath one arm.

"...But it's a box..."

His father looked towards the platform.

"Tell me what you see."

Hikari looked again.

"...A box."

"What else?"

Hikari frowned. It was still a box.

"...It's old."

"How old?"

"...Edo period," Hikari remembered.

"Continue."

Continue? Hikari blinked. "Because it's old, it's... precious?"

"Look closer."

Hikari did. The black lacquer reflected the light without a blemish. Gold branches spread carefully across the lid.

He couldn't find so much as a chip in the corners.

"...Someone looked after it."

"What else?"

Hikari looked, really looked at the box. "I... I don't know."

His father turned to look at him, then looked away, "Someone made it by hand over three hundred years ago." He gestured towards the gold decoration. "Someone else cared for it long enough that it reached this room."

Another paddle rose.

"Sold at one hundred and eighty thousand."

"And today," Takeshi continued, "someone believes it deserves another home."