>>32908958mmagine this:
You are a middle-aged mahjong parlor manager. After having your dreams and ambitions crushed by cruel reality and economic stagnation when you were still young, you agreed to take over the place from your aging aunt. You sigh as you try to figure out the accounting details for the past month.
Your assistant bursts through the door, tells you that there is a foreign player that would wish to have a place at one of the tables, so you leave the office...
To find a 2-meters tall, fair-skinned, blonde aryan of a man who politely asks to play in perfect keigo. You stumble backwards, the sheer presence of the gaijin intimidating you into submission, and so you decide to stall for time and order your assistant to get him something 'european' to drink. You retreat back into your office as your assistant decides that since Europeans tolerate lactose, he'd surely drink milk. You mull over your decision, weighting all the possibilities: his good Japanese and German accent makes you consider if he's a foreign hitman, but you dismiss the thought, rationalising your primal fear by thinking that the 2-meter giant would surely intimidate your guests and thus reduce your profits. Yes, that's it! You tell your assistant to politely turn him down, but only after she shuts the door and locks it in case he tries to barge in. After hearing that threre was no brawl in the hallway after delivering the news, you sigh with relief.
You let him keep the milk though.
