Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Awakening the Ability (6)
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"Confirmed. Head to dock 12. It'll take about 30 minutes."
I leisurely watched the unloading process.
As the forklift bustled about, the warehouse worker approached.
"Must've been a long haul. Good work."
"No problem. It's just the job."
I signed the paperwork and completed the delivery. I snapped a photo of the POD—Proof of Delivery—and sent it to the company.
With a light heart, I drove the empty truck out of the logistics center.
Now it was time to head home.
I left the industrial area south of Phoenix and made for the gas station.
But as I passed through a residential neighborhood, a sign caught my eye.
'Huge Yard Sale! Everything Must Go!'
A large red 'Yard Sale' sign hung on a utility pole, with an arrow pointing down a side street to the right.
In America, yard sales like this were an everyday occurrence—a kind of flea market where people set out used goods in their front yards or driveways to sell.
I glanced at my watch.
9 a.m. No need to rush.
'Might as well take a quick look.'
Curiosity drew me into the alley. It was a quiet suburban neighborhood.
Spanish-style houses lined the street, with cacti and palm trees in the front yards.
After a couple of blocks, I spotted a house with people gathered around.
The garage door was wide open, and the front yard and driveway were covered with all sorts of items.
I parked the truck on the roadside.
Several other cars were already there.
As I got closer, even more came into view.
Furniture, dishes, clothes, books, electronics, paintings, knickknacks... It really was like a little flea market.
"Welcome!"
A white-haired old lady greeted me from a folding chair.
A middle-aged woman sat beside her, calculator in hand.
"Hello. Moving out?"
"Yes, my husband passed away last year... I'm heading to Oregon to live with my daughter. It's tough sorting through 50 years' worth of stuff from this house."
A flicker of loneliness crossed the old lady's eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's fine. These are all items full of memories, so I just hope they find good homes. Take your time looking around."
I nodded and started browsing the items.
First, I headed to the table stacked with books. Lots of old hardcovers.
I picked one up. It looked like a first edition novel from the early 1960s.
The moment my finger touched the cover—
Something brushed by briefly, but nothing special. Just an ordinary book.
Next was the dishware corner.
Porcelain and glassware lined up neatly.
I kept wandering until I stepped into the back of the garage. Older items were there.
Dusty boxes, worn picture frames, things that looked like antiques.
A wooden box in the corner caught my eye.
Faint lettering was carved on the surface.
"How much for this?"
"Oh, that? It's from my husband's grandfather, I think. Not sure what it is. Five dollars."
I lifted the box. It had some weight to it.
Opening the lid revealed old tools inside. Hammer, chisel, plane, saw... Woodworking tools.
The instant I gripped the hammer handle—
My vision went white.
A flash of a scene: internment camp. Barbed wire. A young East Asian man wielding this hammer, pounding wood.
His face wasn't visible. Just sweat-soaked work clothes.
And... darkness.
"Gasp!"
I let go, and reality snapped back.
'What was that just now... some kind of camp?'
My heart pounded.
But it wasn't clear. Too short a glimpse.
'Japanese internment camp? From World War II?'
I examined the box again.
A faint stamping in the corner.
Looked like Japanese kanji, but I couldn't read it clearly.
"What was your grandfather-in-law like?"
The old lady's daughter answered.
"Not sure about the details. I know he was Japanese-American. On my husband's mother's side..."
The pieces fit, but still not certain.
'Japanese-American, camp, woodworking...'
I thought for a moment, then nodded.
Whatever the case, since the ability had triggered, it had to have some story attached.
"I'll take these tools."
I checked out the picture frames leaning against one wall.
Landscapes, portraits, photos... One stood out.
A small oil painting.
Desert landscape, with a signature in the corner.
'M. Dixon'
I picked up the frame. That instant—
Desert. Canvas.
Someone's hand holding a brush. No face visible.
Then darkness again.
"M. Dixon..."
The name rang a bell. I'd heard it somewhere...
I tilted my head and asked the daughter.
"How much for this painting?"
"That one? Twenty dollars. The frame's nice..."
"Great. I'll take it."
Buy it first and research later.
Wandering more, I found a small jewelry box.
An old velvet-lined case.
Inside: cufflinks, a brooch, a few rings.
One was unusual—a silver bracelet with turquoise inlay.
The moment I picked it up—
Sparks flew repeatedly.
Relentless hammering, crafting silver.
A dark-faced man, but too brief and blurry.
"Hmm."
But one thing was clear...
'This isn't some ordinary bauble.'
'Handcrafted artisan piece, traditional style.'
I inspected the bracelet closely.
The silverwork was unique. The turquoise setting too.
"How much for the whole jewelry box?"
"Hmm... Thirty dollars?"
"I'll take it."
Finally, deep in the garage, a dusty trunk.
"What's that?"
"Oh, from the attic... Probably the previous owner's. It was here when we moved in."
"Mind if I open it?"
"Go ahead."
Moldy smell wafted out as I opened the trunk.
Inside: clothes, papers, photos.
A leather case caught my eye.
Opening it revealed an old camera.
The instant I picked it up—
A flash of light burst.
Devastated battlefield scene.
Through the smoke, someone's hand pressed this camera's shutter.
Then explosions and screams...
Darkness returned.
'War... camera... war correspondent?'
Too short this time.
But intensely vivid.
I examined the camera closely.
German Leica, 1940s model.
Something inside the case: a small film canister.
'No way... undeveloped film?'
My heart raced.
If it held images from an old battlefield, it'd be valuable for sure.
"I'll take the whole trunk. How much?"
"Uh... Fifty dollars?"
"Yes, perfect."
Total: 105 dollars.
Tool box, painting, jewelry box, trunk.
The old lady wrote me a receipt.
"Thank you for buying so much."
"I'm the one who's grateful."
I loaded the items into the truck and climbed into the driver's seat.
'Alright, time to investigate.'
I pulled out my phone and searched the painting first.
'M. Dixon painter'
Results popped up.
Maynard Dixon (1875-1946) - American painter, noted for his landscapes and depictions of the American West... (Renowned for his landscape paintings and works of the American West...)
"Maynard Dixon!"
A master of the California School.
His works sold for tens of thousands now.
'If it's authentic...'
But no certainty. Signature alone wasn't enough. Needed expert authentication.
Next, the bracelet.
'turquoise silver bracelet Native American'
Examining it again while searching: silverwork, turquoise setting...
'Navajo style...?'
19th century? Early 20th?
Couldn't pinpoint the age.
Internet had limits for precise info.
'Need to show an expert.'
Japanese tool box.
'Japanese internment camp woodworking'
Reading results built my confidence.
During WWII, Japanese-Americans were interned.
Some made furniture in the camps.
'If these tools were used back then...'
Definite historical value.
I checked the kanji in the box corner again.
'魂'
Meant 'soul' or 'spirit'.
But that alone didn't reveal the owner or era.
'Need more digging. Bill can help if I bring it to him.'
Finally, the Leica camera.
I carefully extracted the film canister. Dusty.
'If these are WWII photos...'
Couldn't know until developed.
But the possibility alone thrilled me.
I started the engine. Time to head to Austin.
I merged onto Interstate 10, pointed east.
Turned on the CB radio.
"Eastbound, anyone out there?"
[This is Desert Eagle. Headed to Texas?]
"Yeah, that's right."
As I drove, my mind kept turning.
The items I'd found today. Just fragments of scenes.
Nothing certain, might be worthless.
But... that made it more intriguing.
Researching the objects, uncovering their stories...
After a few tries, the process felt familiar.
Maybe this was the fun of collecting antiques.
'Is it really a Maynard Dixon?'
'Is the Navajo bracelet truly 19th century?'
'Takahashi... how to track down that name?'
'What's on that film?'
Questions piled up.
And the process of finding answers... I was looking forward to it.
The sun climbed high.
Desert heat shimmered off the asphalt.
I kept driving east, toward Texas.
Tonight at home, I'd dive into serious research online.
Art databases, museum records, historical docs...
'Gotta ask Bill for help. He can introduce experts too.'
And the film... Need a darkroom or pro developer.
Willie Nelson's song came on the radio.
"On the road again..."
I found myself singing along as I pressed the accelerator.
If luck was with me, one of today's buys could be a real treasure.
That anticipation added a spark to my life. I hummed cheerfully.
Something felt good about this.