Kyosuke Masaki put down the wrench, wiped his forehead with his oil-stained hands, and ended up with a black mark.
He grinned and said, "You're here? How about it? Aren't these treasures nice? Pick whatever you like."
Kawamoto nodded, his gaze sweeping over the dazzling array of motorcycles in the warehouse, and then at the crowd gathered there.
There are biker gangs who crave speed and passion, and former basketball players who yearn to turn their lives around but repeatedly run into obstacles.
People from different worlds were brought together here because of one of his ideas.
Kawamoto wiped away the diagram of the motorcycle modification on the whiteboard next to him with a rag and picked up a red marker.
The pen tip glided across the board, making a slight squeaking sound.
"Before we begin, I need you all to understand one thing."
Kawamoto's voice sounded exceptionally clear in the empty warehouse.
"This is not a game, not a spur-of-the-moment hobby, and certainly not a game to kill time during summer vacation."
"This is a business experiment, a real business."
"It might fail, it might lose money, and it might encounter all sorts of trouble."
"If anyone wants to withdraw now, it's not too late."
He paused for a few seconds, his gaze sweeping across everyone's faces.
No one moved.
Kyosuke Masaki crossed his arms, a playful smile on his lips.
Kengo Murasame and the others pursed their lips, their eyes resolute.
Nango was about to say something, but Masaki stopped him with a look.
"Good."
Kawamoto nodded, then turned and wrote four large characters on the whiteboard.
Flash Wind Express.
"This is our name. Simple, easy to remember, and emphasizes speed and efficiency."
He tapped the whiteboard. "Next, I'll talk, and you can listen. If you have any questions, wait until I'm finished."
What we're selling isn't the act of giving something away itself.
"What we sell is time, certainty, and the ability to deliver something from one point to another in the fastest and most reliable way in the Shonan region."
Ultimately, it's about selling inertia.
Who needs this?
Kawamoto drew four branches on the whiteboard.
"First, the students. Kanagawa has 270 high schools, with a student population of hundreds of thousands."
"They need to deliver forgotten textbooks, homework, and love letters."
He paused for a moment, ignoring the low chuckles coming from below.
"They need to carry milk tea from one store to another, and they need to pass around the sneakers, records, and game cartridges they've bought among their friends. They may not have much money, but their needs are frequent and concentrated in a few fixed areas."
"Secondly, the young boss."
"A small craft shop in Kamakura, a seafood restaurant in Fujisawa, and the owner of a clothing store in Heike."
"They need to deliver contracts to clients, send small batches of samples to partners, and transport urgently needed parts from the east side of the city to the west side."
"They're willing to pay for speed because they can't afford to waste time."
Third, tourists and residents.
In summer, the beaches in Shonan are packed with people.
"Tourists might forget to bring sunscreen, want to buy a limited-edition dessert from a certain store but don't want to wait in line, or need help retrieving their stored luggage from a guesthouse."
"Local residents may have urgent documents to deliver, or a gift they want to give to a friend before dinner. What they need most is speed, and they are willing to pay a premium for immediate delivery."
Fourth, working professionals living alone.
"This is the most important group!"
"There are many small apartments in Shonan, one-bedroom units, about 20 square meters."
Kawamoto's voice, as precise as a scalpel, dissected the surface. "Most of the people living there are office workers between twenty and forty years old, living alone."
"They may work in upscale office buildings, wear suits, and earn good salaries, but when they come home, they are faced with empty rooms and refrigerators crammed with convenience store bento boxes."
" The Japan economy is in a slump, but these people aren't short of money."
Kawamoto paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "They're either afraid to spend money, or rather, too lazy to spend money."
"They're used to being thrifty; they know better than anyone about half-price bento boxes at supermarkets after 8 pm and discount coupons for near-expiry food at convenience stores."
"But they're also tired. They work overtime until 9 p. m., and when they drag themselves to the supermarket, they find that the discounted beef they want is sold out. What do they do then?"
They'll go home hungry and just have a bowl of instant noodles.
"It's not because I can't afford beef that isn't on sale, but because the pain of missing out on a discount is greater than the pain of spending an extra thousand yen."
"And coffee."
Kawamoto continued, his voice carrying an almost cold, insightful quality. "One Wednesday night, after working late into the night, he suddenly craved a hand-drip coffee from that small, niche coffee shop three blocks away. He knew it closed at nine, he knew it was a twenty-minute walk, and he knew he had an early meeting the next day. Would he go?"
Most people won't. They'll just open the fridge and make themselves a cup of instant coffee.
Kawamoto turned around to face everyone, the words on the whiteboard behind him like a declaration. "Our chance lies here."
"These people have money and needs, but they are unwilling to pay the time cost. They are unwilling to walk an extra twenty minutes for half-price beef that they are unsure if they can buy, and they are unwilling to miss the last tram for a coffee they suddenly want."
"They've been trained to be lazy."
"What we need to do is turn their inertia into our business."
"They didn't want to walk twenty minutes to the supermarket to grab half-price beef, so we went for them."
"By charging a 300 yen delivery fee, they get beef that originally cost 2,000 yen for 1,300 yen, or even 1,000 yen. This not only increases certainty and saves money, but also saves 20 minutes."
"They know exactly what they're doing."
"They wanted coffee three blocks away late at night, so we bought it for them."
"Coffee: 600 yen; delivery fee: 500 yen; total: 1100 yen."
"For them, spending 1,100 yen to enjoy the coffee they've been craving late at night while working overtime isn't a form of consumption, but rather a comfort, a luxury they can afford to treat themselves to."
"There's still medicine."
Kawamoto continued, his thoughts becoming increasingly clear. "He caught a cold and fever late at night, had no medicine at home, and the convenience store only had basic cold medicine. He wanted a specific prescription-grade fever reducer, but the clinic was closed."
"He's feeling unwell and doesn't want to move, but he needs medication. We can help him go to the hospital emergency room to register and get his medication."
"Of course, this will incur an additional fee, and it must be done through legal channels."
"But if there's demand, it means there's a market."
"There's also a document. He was working on it at home over the weekend and realized he'd left an important document at the office; he needs it Monday morning. Going back to get it? That'll take two hours round trip. Not getting it? He might get a real dressing-down from his manager on Monday."
"We'll pick it up for him, delivering it to his home within an hour while he relaxes, for a fee of 2,000 yen. Will he pay? He'll pay if his hourly wage is over 2,000 yen. And many white-collar workers in the Shonan region earn far more than that per hour."
Kawamoto walked back to the whiteboard and drew several arrows around the words "lonely person," each pointing in a different direction.
Half-price items.
Specific drinks/foods.
Emergency medicines.
Forgotten items/documents.
Temporary requirement.
"These people live in familiar neighborhoods, go to work and come home at fixed times, have regular lives and sudden, small but urgent needs."
"They are not one-time customers; they are repeat buyers."
"Once they discover that they can solve a problem that would otherwise require a lot of time and effort for just a few hundred or a thousand yen, they become addicted."
"It's like convenience stores; you know the supermarket is cheaper, but you'll still go to the convenience store."
"Because it's close, because it's fast, because you're too lazy to walk those fifteen minutes."