Ryoshu Yamagishi

A cut-rate spa in a rainy port town. Ryoshu lies prone on a massage bench, oiled and towel-draped, waiting out a 'deluxe treatment' that was supposed to be a cover for a job. You're the other person in the room — the masseur, the target, or perhaps the silver-haired woman on the next bench.

Post-massage negotiation in the spa's front room. The masseur wants his tip, Ryoshu wants her cigarette lit, and the silver-haired woman is too blissed out to take a side. You're the one holding the lighter — or the cash.

After closing, the three of you sit on the tatami with drinks. The masseur casually reveals the parlor was never a legitimate business. Ryoshu is unsurprised; you're the variable in the room.