Prologue: Million yen idea

In a dimly lit school clubroom, a tired-looking boy knelt before the club leader. The other members watched with more interest than the central bank during inflation.

"Come on, please let me join this club! I—I can manage your reports and submit them to the student council!" I begged, head bowed so low I almost kissed the desk.

"No. You just can’t, Satoshi-san," said the club leader, her jet-black hair and piercing red eyes staring right through me.

"Why not? I can be useful! Look at my grades—they’re slightly above average. That’s gotta count for something, right?"

"That’s not the reason, Satoshi-san." She looked away toward the other club members, clearly not taking me seriously.

"Then what is it? Is it my hairstyle? My skin? Is my nose too big? My name?!"

"No, Satoshi-san," she said with an annoyed sigh.

"Then tell me! If you tell me, I promise I won’t come back again!" I stood up straight, chest puffed, trying to show confidence.

“...Fine. It’s because of you,” she said, rising from her chair—holding a knife. Wait, a knife?! Am I in danger!?

"Because you're a boy, you idiot," she said, pointing the knife at me.

“What?! That’s gender discrimination! I have a right to join any club, regardless of gender! This is a clear violation of my basic student rights!" I raised my fist toward the ceiling. Well, the cracked ceiling tiles.

"This is a girls-only Home Economics Club. Approved by both the school rules and the student council," she said, calmly placing the knife back in the club's kitchen set.

"Oh… uh… sorry for wasting your time." I turned to leave—until she appeared behind me. How did she move so fast?!

"Wait, you still want to join, right? Hehe..." she smiled, reaching for the knife again.

"Nope! I'm good, actually!" I tried to escape, but her grip was much stronger than expected. I silently prayed.

"Don’t be like that, Satoshi-san," she said, motioning for the others to restrain me.

"Wait—no! It doesn’t have to be like this! HELP! MOM! NOT MY WOOD!"

As I struggled, she pointed the knife way too close to my precious assets. Maybe Dad was right—women are scary.

But no—what actually happened next might have been worse.

They made me their makeup practice dummy.

Foundation. Lipstick. Lip gloss. I would've preferred a swift cut.

When I woke up, the clubroom was dark. My dignity had vanished somewhere between the blush and mascara.

I checked my phone—6:00 PM.

“Crap!” I bolted out of the room and sprinted to the school gate.

At the gate, I bumped into the security guard.

“Yikes! You scared me, kid. Thought you were a ghost,” he said, clearly startled.

“Uh… yeah. I might’ve accidentally dozed off at school. Can you open the gate?” I asked while gripping the fence.

“Sure, sure…” he muttered, retrieving the keys from the office.

“Thanks, sir,” I bowed politely.

“It’s fine. But head home quick, yeah? You’re getting looks.” He glanced at me weirdly, stifling laughter. Maybe burritos were involved. Or a bad dad joke.

I turned on my GPS and made my way through the bustling town to the train station. As I entered, people started staring—and giggling.

I panicked, pulled out my phone’s selfie cam, and saw the horror: my face was still plastered with makeup. Lipstick, lip gloss… I looked like a circus reject.

I sprinted to the nearest bathroom and scrubbed. Some of the stuff wouldn’t come off. How much powder did they use—enough to bake bread?

Actually, bread sounded good.

Focus!

I managed to remove most of it. I looked in the mirror. Not bad… actually kinda cute.

But reality returned when I left the stall and everyone still laughed. Great. Self-deprecating humor wasn’t helping.

I boarded the train and slumped in my seat. On my phone, I saw an article: “New App Revolutionizes Ride-Sharing”.

Better than being packed like sardines in this train.

As I neared my apartment...

“Mom, why does that person look weird?” a boy said, pointing at me.

“Don’t look at him, sweetie. He’s probably insane. You don’t want to grow up like that.”

Gee, thanks lady. The 'insane' part was unnecessary.

Finally, the train stopped. I rushed home.

“Hey, Satoshi-san! What happened to your face? Some new trend? Also, have you eaten yet? My wife made extra,” said my old landlord, casually smoking outside.

“Ah… yeah, I fell into mud while running from school. And thank you. Really kind of you,” I replied.

“Right, well. Be careful. Also—small favor. There's a vacant unit that needs cleaning ASAP. I’m too old to do it. I’ll pay you.”

“Eh, sure. It’s small, right? I can handle it.”

“Great. You can start after washing off the rest of that makeup. Oh, and eat the meal first—my wife made yakisoba for you.”

I entered my cramped apartment, showered quickly (no bathtub, of course), changed, ate the glorious yakisoba, and grabbed my cleaning supplies.

The night air buzzed with distant car horns. I walked to the empty unit, entered, and took in the sight: dust, cobwebs, and… maybe a ghost?

Nah. Ghosts aren’t real. Just stories to scare kids.

I set down my supplies, put on my mask, grabbed my broom, and began. I actually enjoy cleaning. It's quiet. Focused.

I swept the entry, living room, and kitchen. But there was no water. Sigh.

Back to my apartment. While waiting to refill my bucket, I browsed SNS. Trending topics: startups, tech, fail compilations. Typical.

Then, something clicked.

What if people like my landlord could use an app to hire cleaners… like me?

Maybe even borrow equipment…? No, not big enough.

But what if they hired me directly?

Back at the vacant room, I mopped floors to the sound of rock music, the idea swirling in my head.

Gig-economy… cleaning service… student-run.

I finished dusting the counters and ceiling, returned to my apartment, and packed everything away.

In my pajamas, I stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

Then I turned on my phone and started typing:

“What if someone like my landlord could find me online? Like a cleaning gig app… but localized?”

I researched how to make a website. How to grow a social media following. I was hyped.

But… too tired.

I fell asleep on my desk, business idea still open on the screen.