Her hands knew the rhythm: ladle, pour, fan. The cedar smelled clean and sharp; the heat drew honest talk from the benches. Mizushima moved between the compartments with a professionalism that softened when clients arrived—nurses, office girls, a lone delivery rider—each leaving a sliver of themselves on the wooden slats. She listened without judging, offering herbal tea and short, practical advice: breathe through the burn, stretch the shoulders, keep the knees loose.