Before the magistrate's lacquered staff can strike the flagstones to officially close the administrative gate for the evening, a breathless tea-house proprietor pushes through the courtyard guards, carrying an elaborate, unfamiliar silk kimono draped over his arms. The magistrate fixes Ryan with a piercing, bureaucratic glare, demanding an immediate provenance verification for the garment—allegedly left behind in a private tatami booth as an unregistered luxury asset subject to provincial tariffs. To Ryan, standing in the damp Meiji-era twilight, it feels less like a solemn feudal inquiry and more like dealing with an unaccounted-for corporate promotional banner left behind after an expensive client activation event.
Shifting his heavy canvas messenger bag on his aching shoulder, Ryan lets out a quiet, dust-dry sigh that tasted faintly of morning green tea. With the practiced patience of an events coordinator accustomed to sorting out misplaced vendor swag or unassigned catering leftovers, he steps closer to inspect the intricate embroidery of the garment. Treating the imperial demand with the same deadpan diplomacy he brought to every late-Friday inventory discrepancy at the office, he reaches for his spare plastic pen and politely suggests they simply log the kimono under a general miscellaneous holding code so he can finally clear the checkpoint and catch his evening transit connection home.