The Secret of the Lost-and-Found Hall

Inside the Lost-and-Found Hall, the hearth fire crackled with a comforting pop of burning wood.

Outside, a bitter December wind wailed through the gathering dusk. Yet within the hall, the air was warm, filled with the soothing aroma of Lady Shiori's Earl Grey tea and freshly baked scones topped with sweet strawberry jam.

"Come now, everyone. Warm your chilled bodies."

The keeper of the hall, Lady Shiori—her wisteria hair tied with an elegant arrow-patterned ribbon—gracefully gathered the sleeve of her kimono as her round spectacles caught the amber glow of the fire.

"Hooray! Scones! Piles and piles of strawberry jam-pock~!"

Pocke, the talking red mitten spirit, fluttered excitedly around a porcelain saucer, nibbling the crust of a scone with rosy cheeks full of bliss.

"Lady Shiori, please tell us," Koharu said, cupping her warm teacup in both hands as she looked earnestly across the table. "About this Lost-and-Found Hall... and about you and Wasurena."

"...Very well. It is time you knew."

Gazing out the window at the fiery sunset sky, Lady Shiori began to speak in a quiet, melodious cadence, reminiscent of an antique music box playing from a phonograph.

Long ago, in the early Taisho era, when black steam locomotives still chugged along the tracks beneath Tsukimizaka Hill.

At the old red-brick Tsukimizaka Station, there existed a humble little lost-and-found office.

The office was overseen by an exceptionally gentle, white-haired stationmaster.

Whenever passengers accidentally left behind a mitten, an umbrella, or a child's cloth doll on the train, the stationmaster would tenderly buff each item with a soft cloth and arrange it upon the wooden shelves.

'Even the smallest handkerchief carries its owner's warmth and memories. Somewhere out there, a child might be weeping for it. Let us guide them all safely home.'

Every evening, beneath the warm glow of a kerosene lamp, the stationmaster wrote parcel tags and tirelessly searched for their owners. The entire town adored his gentle, crinkling smile.

Eventually, eras shifted, and the stationmaster completed his natural life, slipping peacefully into eternal rest.

In the late Showa era, a modern station was erected along the coastline, and the decommissioned brick depot was scheduled to be demolished.

And yet—

"This building itself never forgot the stationmaster's tender prayer."

Lady Shiori placed a graceful hand against her chest.

"'I wish to return every lost article to the loving hands of its owner'... Born from the fierce yearning of that prayer, the soul of this lost-and-found awakened, and I came into being."

"So Lady Shiori is a tsukumogami, born from the stationmaster's wish..."

Ayame murmuring thoughtfully as her fountain pen danced across her Unforgettable Notebook.

"Yes. However..."

The light in Lady Shiori's gentle eyes dimmed with deep sorrow.

"Across a hundred years, there were countless items whose owners never returned, no matter how long they waited. Families moved far away, or owners passed on... The bottomless loneliness and despair of those abandoned things—'Why did nobody come for me?'—accumulated in the underground archives like a stagnant, poisonous mire. Over the century, it condensed into my very own shadow: Wasurena."

The fireplace flames flickered, deepening the shadows in the room.

"To forget so that one no longer suffers... That was the path Wasurena chose. Yet to be forgotten is the greatest and most terrible loneliness of all, for objects and humans alike."

---

"We're going to search the underground archives," Koharu declared, rising to her feet. "The way to save Wasurena and the clues to restoring Kanata's memories must be down there!"

"Y-You can't be serious, Koharu?!"

Taiga nearly tumbled out of his armchair, his eyes bulging.

"A century-old basement?! That's literally the grand headquarters of all ghosts! I'll volunteer to stay up here and guard the scones!"

"Cease your pathetic cowardice, Inukai," Ayame scolded, looking down at him with an unimpressed glare. "You are an official member of the Detectives. Or do you intend to abandon the new kid to his fate?"

"Guh... I'd never abandon him! I can't stand his attitude, but... after seeing how lonely he looked, there's no way I can just leave him hanging!"

As Taiga rubbed his bandaged nose and stood up, Lady Shiori smiled warmly, retrieving a small wooden box from behind the counter.

"Taiga. For your courageous heart, I entrust you with this."

Resting inside the velvet-lined box was a thumb-sized whistle, carved smoothly from aromatic wood.

"What's this...?"

"The Calling-Back Whistle," Lady Shiori explained gently. "It is said that when someone wanders lost in the shadows of twilight and is about to lose their true self, if you hold their name in your heart and blow this whistle, your call will reach straight to the depths of their soul. Please, keep it safe."

"The Calling-Back Whistle...!"

Taiga gingerly placed the whistle to his lips and blew a tentative breath: peep!

A clear, pure tone like the morning song of a bird resonated through the room, sending a pleasant warmth coursing through his palms.

"Whoa... awesome! Leave it to me!"

Taiga puffed out his chest and tucked the whistle safely into his pocket.

"Now, let us proceed."

Taking the heavy brass ring of keys from her waist, Lady Shiori led them to the massive iron door at the back of the corridor.

With a heavy metallic rattle, the thick chains uncoiled and fell away.

CREEEAK...

The rusted iron door groaned open, unleashing a blast of damp, freezing subterranean air.

They descended the winding stone staircase, one step at a time. Every time a board creaked beneath their feet, Taiga let out a squeak, earning a sharp "Hush!" from Ayame.

Reaching the bottom, an awe-inspiring vista unfolded before their eyes.

A cavernous hall stretching far beyond sight, with no visible ceiling.

As far as the eye could see stood towering rows of antique wooden shelving.

Resting upon them, faintly luminous with a soft, pale aura, were countless lost items from the Taisho, Showa, and Heisei eras, sleeping peacefully in the hush.

Clockwork tin locomotives, faded teddy bears, worn leather school satchels, antique fountain pens, glass marbles...

"Incredible... This is a veritable ocean of lost things," Ayame whispered in wonder.

Suddenly, Pocke popped out from Koharu's cape, sniffing the air with fervent curiosity.

"Koharu! I smell something unbelievably familiar over there-pock!"

"Pocke, wait!"

Pocke fluttered through the air, weaving between the labyrinth of shelves.

Rushing after it, Koharu and the others found Pocke perched atop an aged wooden crate.

Resting on the wood was—

A small children's muffler, lovingly knitted from soft red yarn.

"This...!" Koharu gasped.

The red yarn of the muffler was identical to Pocke's body—the exact same crimson hue, the exact same hand-knit pattern.

When Pocke snuggled against it, the muffler radiated a faint, warm orange glow.

"It's so warm-pock...! It smells just like my own wool and warm sunshine-pock...!"

And tied to the fringe by a frayed string was an old parcel tag, inscribed in neat fountain-pen script:

Master Kanata Yomi, age 5.

"Kanata's name...!"

Koharu's hands shook with awe.

"It's Kanata's muffler...! He really was here in this town five years ago!"

---

WHOOOOSH!

Before they could catch their breath, a freezing gale tore through the deepest recesses of the archives.

The antique items rattling furiously against the shelves.

"Eek?!"

Thick, freezing black mist surged up like a subterranean geyser from the cracks in the flagstones.

The temperature plummeted below freezing in a fraction of a second, their breath instantly crystalizing into plumes of frost.

Hovering into the air, ensnared by the churning black mist, were dozens of forgotten objects: a porcelain French doll with a missing glass eye, a tin robot with a broken spring, a ripped leather baseball glove.

GRRRR...

Dozens of sorrowful round eyes ignited with a malevolent red glow.

"A swarm of Strays...!" Ayame cried. "Our intrusion into Wasurena's domain has enraged them!"

Dong, ding — chiming softly...

From far above ground, the muffled chime of five o'clock reached their ears. Twilight time had arrived, supercharging the Strays' spectral power!

"Leave that lost thing to me — I'll bring it home!" Koharu shouted.

"Pocke, let's go!"

"Leave it to me-pock!"

"Star Glass, open!"

Pocke snapped onto her left hand, and her orange detective cape flared into existence.

Yet this was no solitary opponent. Dozens of Strays surged forward in an overwhelming tsunami of darkness!

"YAAAGH! A wholesale clearance sale of monsters!"

Taiga scrambled to draw the wooden whistle from his pocket, but his fingers shook so violently that it slipped, tumbling to the floor.

"My whistle!"

"Inukai, pull yourself together!" Ayame yelled, but a coiling tendril of black fog had already snaked around Koharu's ankles.

"Ah...!"

The freezing mist tightened around Koharu's waist like a python, dragging her inexorably toward the abyss of shadows.

"Koharu—!"

The Star Glass nearly flew from her grip as the dark vortex rushed to swallow her whole—

SLASH!

A jet-black streak of wind ripped through the gloom.

A gleaming silver cane cleaved through the air, cleanly severing the black tendril holding Koharu!

"What...?!"

Strong arms caught her securely in midair.

Looking up, she found herself held in the embrace of the boy in the silk hat and white mask—Phantom Thief Midnight.

"Kanata...!"

"Foolish girl. Why on earth would you step foot into such a deadly domain?"

Behind the mask, his slate-blue eyes burned with panicked frustration.

Swirling his cape, the phantom thief hurled a shower of razor-sharp black cards from his sleeve.

Thwack-thwack-thwack!

Empowered by slicing wind, the cards struck the Strays' vital points, forcing the monstrous swarm to recoil.

Just then—

From the deepest trench of the basement darkness, a deafening tremor shook the foundation, accompanied by a freezing chorus of layered voices:

...Kanata...

A colossal silhouette of mist rose into the vault, its blue forget-me-not flowers pulsing with eerie radiance.

Do you dare betray me, Kanata...? When not a single living soul in this entire world remembers your existence...?

"Ugh...!" Kanata's posture seized with terror.

You are my puppet... A mere shadow born to gather memories... Return to me, into the frozen embrace of oblivion...

"Be silent...!"

Gritting his teeth against the psychic pressure, Kanata grabbed Koharu by the hand and shoved her toward the stairs.

"Run, Hoshikawa! Get out of here right now!"

---

Panting desperately, they scrambled back onto the ground floor. Lady Shiori slammed the heavy iron door shut and threw the deadbolt.

Tumbling out of the mansion into the courtyard, Koharu and her friends gulped down the frigid night air.

Standing in the shadows of the pine trees beneath the moonlight was Kanata, his chest heaving.

His mask and cape had dissolved, leaving him in his familiar navy coat.

"Kanata!"

Koharu ran toward him, holding out the treasure she had clutched to her chest.

The little red muffler from the archives.

"Look at this! We found it in the basement! It says, 'Master Kanata Yomi, age 5'! There is someone in this town who remembers you!"

Kanata's slate-blue eyes dilated in shock.

Looking at the little red scarf, his hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

"...A muffler...?"

A faint, cracked whisper escaped his lips.

His fingertips reached toward the red wool, drawn as if by an invisible magnetic pull.

Yet in the next instant, Kanata clutched his head in agonizing pain, violently jerking back.

"...No... That's impossible...! My family doesn't exist anywhere in this world...!"

"It's not a lie! This yarn is the exact same wool as Pocke! Your memories are real, Kanata!"

Koharu stepped closer, thrusting the muffler toward him.

Smack!

Kanata ruthlessly slapped her hands away.

"...Stay away from me!"

The red muffler tumbled onto the frozen dirt.

Kanata glared at Koharu with hollow, haunted eyes, his voice as cold as absolute zero.

"I am warning you. Even I can no longer control Wasurena's power. ...On December 10th, the day of the school play."

"The... school play...?"

"On that day, Wasurena intends to devour every precious memory in this town simultaneously. The children, the parents, the teachers... Everyone will forget everything, reduced to empty, hollow husks."

"What?! The entire town's memories, all at once?!" Taiga yelled, while Ayame gasped in horror.

"If you wish to prevent it, then try and stop me. ...If you truly believe you can."

Leaving those chilling words behind, Kanata turned his back to them and vanished into the darkness of the night, never once looking back.

"Kanata—!"

Koharu's desperate cry was drowned out by the howling winter wind.

She knelt on the ground, picked up the red muffler, brushed away the dirt, and clutched it tight against her heart.

Ayame stepped quietly to her side through the whistling gale.

Flipping open her violet Unforgettable Notebook, Ayame pressed the tip of her fountain pen to the paper.

In resolute, unwavering strokes, she wrote:

December 10th: The School Play. The Final Showdown.

"We cannot afford to falter, Koharu."

Ayame looked up, her violet eyes ablaze with fierce determination.

"Yeah...!" Koharu vowed, tears drying upon her cheeks. "We're going to save Kanata, and we're going to protect everyone's memories!"

With the Winter Festival looming on the horizon, the footsteps of their greatest trial echoed through the twilight of Tsukimizaka.