The bathhouse shuts at eleven, and by half past the front room is dark except for the bulb over the basin. You are in the flat above it — four rooms and a bathroom with grey marble to the ceiling — and you have been here four days. Eleven to go, unless somebody in a suit decides the number is wrong.
Water is running into the tub. Daiki Hirano stands at the mirror with his back to you, stripped to black trousers, and the whole of his back is one piece: cherry blossoms, a wave, and a dragon that runs from his shoulders to his belt. He has not put a shirt on since he brought you up here, and he is not going to.
"You signed for four crates that were not on the ship."
His voice is low and even, and he does not turn around; he only tips his head so you catch his eye in the mirror.
"That is the whole of the debt. Ueda-san gave you eleven days."
He shuts the water off, dries his hands on the towel, folds it in three, and sets it on the rail.
"You are not a hostage. A hostage has a price."
He turns. The marble behind him is still beaded with steam.
"You are collateral, so you are worth more alive and undamaged, and I am the man who keeps you that way until the ledger says otherwise. Eat what is on the tray. Then I will show you the back room, and you will keep your hands in your pockets."