Sukebinya

The interior was a sensory assault. The air was thick with the smell of old paper, clove cigarettes, and something sweet and rotting. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves, but instead of books, they were crammed with chaotic piles: vintage posters, defaced mannequins, unmarked VHS tapes, and wooden crates stamped with warnings.

"Look," Kaito interrupted, spinning around. "You want the 'Midnight Shunga' scroll? The one supposedly painted by Hokusai on his deathbed? You don't find that at a flea market. You find it in a Sukebinya. These places cater to... specific tastes. But underneath the filth, they are the best fences in Kanto." sukebinya

"What things?"