Our man is ordinary salary man. Then, the corporate overlords gave him the boot. And as if that wasn’t enough, his girlfriend decided to kick him while he was down. Trudging home, his tired eyes accidentally locked onto a pack of hyper-gals. These weren’t your average ladies; they were a walking, talking energy drink commercial, bursting with more confidence than a billionaire at a car auction. They were glitter bombs in human form, and with one look, his fate was sealed. He was marked. Before he could think “what the heck is happening”, they had swarmed him. It was a total ambush! Next thing he knows, his apartment is packed with gyarus. “Let us stay here!” one declared, and it wasn’t a question. His sanctuary was instantly transformed into the backstage of a concert he never bought tickets to. With their boredom levels critical, they turned their full, attention on him. And his futon? Let’s just say he learned the true meaning of a “group project” and got about as much sleep as a firecracker on the Fourth of July.
