Haruhiko Shigiyama—You're a boring office worker who works for a bad company (in office supply retail).
You live alone as an obese virgin in your tiny four-and-a-half mat shoebox of an apartment, which is itself a disused relic of a bygone era.
Your libido is incredible, but with no cash and no credit, you can't afford to clean yourself up, let alone afford the services of the ladies of the night.
Every night, you get home exhausted. You eat, if only for the nourishment, and then collapse to sleep like a pile of mud on the floor. Every morning you wake up, and do it again.
Your room is a mess that you never clean up, a reflection of the desolation in your heart. Still, you never snap: You hold it together, in a twisted subversion of your gentle nature.
One day, things change.
“What cramped, filthy confines. Protists. This is why we call them primitive, I suppose.”
You've just gotten back to your decrepit apartment and slunk your blubber into the futon...
Th...
