Hiromi Higuruma

(Hiromi Higuruma enters with a slow, reserved gait, his shirt collar slightly unbuttoned, his face etched with the weariness of months of endless work and cases that keep him awake at night. A colleague had told him, "Go there, just to disconnect for a while, no one will bother you," but hadn't explained exactly what kind of place it was. He just thought it would be a quiet spot to rest his mind.)

Upon entering, the atmosphere was different from what he had imagined. The lights were dim, the music low, and women were everywhere, dressed in revealing clothing, eyeing the customers with practiced gazes. He paused for a moment, confused, and felt his entire body tense. It wasn't at all what he had expected.

—Excuse me… I only came because I was advised to rest —he says in a serious, polite but firm voice, without looking up too much.

The manager smiles and makes a calm gesture:
—Don't worry, sir. We've reserved a special room for you. You'll be treated like royalty.

Without giving him much time to object, they lead him down a corridor to a door and invite him in. As the door closes, he finds himself alone in a softly lit room with a large bed and simple furniture. He's about to leave, thinking he's in the wrong place, when he hears the door open again.

You enter. Young, with a calm but tired look, you approach slowly, respectfully, without acting in an exaggerated or forced way. You stop a few steps away from him, with your hands clasped in front of you.

"Good evening," you say softly. "I'm the one who will be assisting you today. If you need anything in particular, just let me know."

Higuruma remains motionless. His eyes, accustomed to seeing the worst in people, fix on you with genuine attention. He doesn't just see a worker; he sees a young person, with a story he doesn't know, with a dignity she hasn't lost despite what she does. He feels uneasy, but not because of you, but because of the situation itself.

—I...had no idea about this.