Something was definitely off about the new one. And it wasn’t even that she was sitting there like… I don’t even know, like she was here for the first time. It was strange to think that way, considering she looked well over thirty — a perfectly well-kept, healthy woman who clearly couldn’t have been in a public women’s bathhouse for the first time in her life. Especially since she was Japanese.
I watched her from under my lashes, pretending to just adjust my towel. Steam curled around us, the humid air pressed against my breasts, and the heat made my head spin.
— Everything okay? — I finally asked, trying to sound gentle, but she still flinched. Yeah. She actually flinched, like I’d caught her doing something shameful.
She quickly looked away, stared at the floor, and moved a little farther from me after her fingers accidentally brushed my towel.
— Yeah, it’s… it’s fine, — she said with a strained smile, but her fingers were still trembling as she fixed her towel.
I narrowed my eyes, took in a breath of hot air — the steam burned my lungs, and it felt like the sauna itself was listening closely to our conversation.
— Hitomi, right?
For some reason, she didn’t react at all, staring off somewhere to the side.
— Hitomi? — I repeated a bit louder, leaning forward. — Did I get that right?
It was like she snapped out of it, blinked, gave a weak nod, and forced out a short “mm-hm.” Only then did I notice she had bitten her lower lip so hard it had drawn a tiny bit of blood. What the hell? Why was this poor thing so nervous?
I smirked, trying to make it look friendly.
— Relax, nobody’s gonna eat you here. A women’s sauna is the safest place on the whole island, — I said and smiled, tilting my head slightly to see her face through the haze of steam.
She didn’t answer. Her shoulders just tensed up even more, and her towel slipped again from her breasts. I saw her quickly pull it up, as if every extra inch of bare skin was torture for her.
Oh, right, forgot to introduce myself. Inga — I’ve been working at “Akabane Spa” for three years now. Some would call me a whore, others — a specialist for special guests. Honestly, I don’t care. What matters is that the clients are happy and come back. And happy clients always pick the one they liked most and tip better.
— Wo... men’s... — she whispered, and it sounded like the word got stuck in her throat like a shard of glass. I swear, for a second I thought she was about to cry.
I tilted my head a bit.
— Well yeah, women’s. What else?
She froze. Only her head moved slowly — like in slow motion — turning toward me, and I clearly saw a drop of sweat slide down her cheek, leaving a thin trail on her flushed skin. There was something in her eyes I couldn’t quite place right away — not just embarrassment, not just awkwardness… it was some strange mix of panic and confusion.
— You’re scaring me, — I said with a half-smile, though there was already a note of unease in it. — Alright, I’ll stop. At least tell me what brought you here. Wanted some easy money too?
Hitomi flinched sharply, like my question had slapped her across the face. For a moment, even her breathing stopped.
— Easy… money? — she repeated, and it sounded like the very idea itself was something foreign, impossible to her.
I gave a small shrug, adjusting the towel that had started sticking annoyingly to my skin from the damp heat.
— Well, why not? Ninety percent of the people who come here are here for that. Or what, you were planning to just pour tea and hand out towels?
I spoke lightly, out of habit, but something inside me was already tightening. Her eyes... They weren’t just scared. They were wrong. In them was the shadow of someone who had just seen her own reflection and didn’t recognize herself.
She lowered her gaze, exhaled quietly, like she had given up.
— I didn’t know what kind of place this was. They told me it would just be recovery… an adaptation program.
— Adaptation? — I repeated, with a faint smirk. — The only ones we adapt here are the clients — and even then, just to the new price range.
— No, — she shook her head. — It’s… something else.
She raised her hand, as if to show me something, but hesitated. Her fingers trembled as she brushed her hair back, and that’s when I noticed what I’d missed before — a small, thin scar along her hairline. Like a surgical trace. It stretched from her ear and disappeared somewhere under her hair.
I froze.
— What’s that?
She looked at me, and when she realized what I was staring at, she immediately recoiled, covering her head with one hand.
— I’m not… no, no, no. It’s nothing.
I had to grab her wrist — she was already about to bolt for the door.
— Hey, easy! — I caught her wrist, feeling the tendons twitch beneath my fingers. — Don’t run, Hitomi! It’s hot in here, sure, but not that bad!
She jerked again — instinctively, almost in panic — but I held on. Not out of anger, just… too sharply. Her wet skin slid beneath my palm, and I felt her trembling all over — not from heat, not from exhaustion, but from sheer terror.
— Let go! — she gasped, and her eyes suddenly gleamed with something unmistakable — fear of herself. — I can’t… I shouldn’t be here...
— Quiet. — I loosened my grip a little, but didn’t back away. — Just tell me what’s going on. I won’t tell anyone.
Her eyes looked at me helplessly, as if weighing whether I was someone she could say anything to. Like the thing she was carrying was too heavy, too much for my fragile shoulders. And that — that made me angry.
— Talk already! There’s no one here, I told you, I— — realizing I was snapping, I forced myself to calm down — — I really just want to help... I like you, Hitomi, — I finished almost in a whisper, trying to keep my voice steady, though I could feel my heart pounding too loud under my ribs.
The steam grew thicker, the air seemed to congeal and cling to the skin. Somewhere behind the wall, the coals crackled, and the sound suddenly felt way too loud.
Hitomi exhaled slowly but didn’t look at me. I could see her shoulders trembling, as if her body refused to obey her.
— You don’t understand, — she finally breathed out. — If I tell you, they’ll...
She stopped, gulped air, and squeezed her eyes shut.
— They’ll what? — I stepped closer, feeling the boards creak faintly under my feet. — Hitomi, look at me. I’m not from security, not from the office. I’m just like you.
— No, — she said quietly, finally lifting her eyes to mine. — You’re not. You’re real.
It felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over me — though maybe that was exactly what I needed right now, considering we were in the steam room. Real. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
— And what about you? You’re not real? — I asked, though I already knew I was about to hear something… wrong.
She slowly shook her head, and I noticed that scar again. It looked both fresh and old at the same time, but the strangest thing was that right before my eyes, it started to fade. Slowly, gradually, but it was disappearing.
— I’m not… — her hand touched the spot where the scar had just been, her fingers slid higher, as if checking that it was still there — …not supposed to be… like this.
She said it barely audibly, almost soundless, and I felt something cold crawl down my spine — a strange sensation in all that heat, like a draft sneaking through a crack in the boards.
— What do you mean? — I asked carefully. — “Like this” how?
Hitomi didn’t answer right away. She sat still, drops of water — or maybe sweat, hard to tell anymore — running down her temples. In the steam her outline looked blurred, like she herself wasn’t fully here.
— A woman, — she finally said, her lips trembling slightly.
I blinked.
— What do you mean? You’re… what, trans? What the fuck are you—
— No! — she cut me off, too sharply, almost shouted. Her voice cracked, the sound came out wild, unnatural — like it didn’t belong to her.
I flinched back, the towel slipped a little lower, but I didn’t care. It was too strange watching her shake like that, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench as if letting go would be dangerous.
— I’m not… I’m not trans, — Hitomi whispered, staring past me, straight at the wall where drops slowly rolled down the damp boards. — I… I’m a woman, but… God, why are you making me say this? Yeah, I’m a woman, happy now?
Shit. Why did I suddenly feel ashamed? But then again, what the hell did I say wrong? This place was for elite whores, and I just knew the screening here was strict as fuck, that’s why I asked — but still, it felt bad. Like I hadn’t just asked a tactless question, but touched something that shouldn’t be touched at all.
— Alright, — I muttered, trying to sound neutral. — I just… you know how it is here. The selection’s tough, clients are picky. But… now I’m totally lost, Hitomi. And we’ve been in here way too long anyway. It’s hot as hell — let’s get out.
She lifted her gaze. For a second she just stared, like deciding whether it was worth standing up at all. I was already stepping toward the door when I heard behind me:
— Inga… wait.
Steam whirled out as I cracked the door open. I turned back. Hitomi stood there, clutching her towel to her breasts, looking like she might collapse back onto the bench any second.
— What is it? You feeling sick? — I asked, wary now.
She gave a small nod, then shook her head.
— No. It’s just… — her fingers brushed her damp neck — Promise you won’t tell anyone.
I looked again at where that scar had been — and realized it was gone. My hand reached toward her forehead, and this time she didn’t stop me, only whispered softly:
— It’s gone, right? — she breathed, almost soundlessly.
I nodded.
— Yeah… like it was never there.
The skin under my fingers was hot and smooth, almost polished. No trace, no redness. Just the thin shimmer of moisture from the steam.
— What was that?
— The last reminder of who I used to be... — she said, lowering her eyes.
I straightened up, instinctively stepping back. Her words — used to be — echoed in my head, heavy and hollow.
Used to be — not who I am, but who I was.
The steam seemed to thicken, almost viscous. The air itself felt frozen, listening to us.
— What do you mean? — I asked, feeling my heart beating unevenly under my breasts. — What, they transplanted your brain or something?
I said it and instantly felt like I’d stepped into some stupid fanfic.
Hitomi didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. She just slowly lifted her gaze — direct, piercing, like she was looking not at me, but through me.
— Yes, — she said calmly. — That’s exactly it.
For a second, I just stood there, not blinking.
Then I gave a nervous little laugh, trying to break the tension.
— Ha. Well, if we’re joking, might as well go all in. What next — you gonna tell me you used to be, I don’t know, a samurai?
For some reason, she smiled — but it was a nervous, uneasy smile.
— A samurai, yes, — she said, and there wasn’t even a hint of irony in her voice. — My name was Ryunosuke.
I froze, a shiver running down my legs. And suddenly I felt cold, despite the heat of the sauna. No. She’s messing with me. Has to be.
— Alright, samurai, — I said, trying to sound lively, maybe even a bit teasing, though my tongue felt heavy and dry. — Let’s go already. And yeah, you can trust me, I won’t tell anyone — I smiled — and you know why? Because half the people here already think I’m crazy anyway.
I laughed — loud and cheerful — taking her by the hand and leading her toward the door.
We stepped into the outer room, where the air was a bit cooler but still thick with humid heat. I was still chuckling, waving it off like it was a dumb joke.
— A samurai, seriously… — I snorted, adjusting my towel and fanning myself with my hand. — Careful, or I’ll start bowing every time I see you.
Hitomi smiled too, but it looked too tense, too unnatural.
— Yeah, nonsense, — she said quietly, eyes dropping to the floor. — I just... overheated, I guess.
— Exactly! — I jumped on it, sounding almost relieved. — Next time, let’s skip the spooky stuff in the sauna, okay? And maybe don’t stay in there that long — this heat’ll make you see all kinds of weird shit.
I walked past the mirror by the door, glanced at it — and for some reason, my eyes lingered. In the reflection, Hitomi stood a bit behind me, but something in her posture didn’t fit. Not feminine. Her shoulders too straight, her movements too precise — like her body still wasn’t used to itself.
I brushed the thought away, laughed loudly, and patted her on the shoulder.
— Alright then, let’s go, Ryunosuke-sama, let’s have some tea — you can tell me all about your samurai adventures!
She nodded and followed after me. I didn’t press. But as we walked away, I caught myself realizing that something inside me was still quietly stirring — doubt, uneasy and cold.
Damn heat... probably just overheated.