We're already losing 2,000,000 yen a week. The kind blue alien I hired expresses his concerns about our operating costs. I invest doubly in ingredients. Burger production is up 20% but nobody is buying. The regional manager of McDonald's is threatening to sue for copyright infringement. Our logo is a capital M on a red background. My alien employee checks the ledgers. We realize we never opened our first location. Where is all the money going? We build our flagship restaurant in a residential district.
The month passes. My employee appears to be doubting my management abilities and so I commit to investing 50% of our profits into employee education. We make no profits. We open another location. We hire no one. Every valuable plot in town is being bought up by rival burger chains. They all flounder. Townsfolk flood the streets on Saturday nights and yet none of them stop to buy burgers. Production costs spike as we introduce twelve new menu items simultaneously.
Another month passes. We start a juggling campaign to attract customers. Miraculously, we earn our first profit. I give my sole employee a 50k yen bonus. It cancels out the profit. The novelty of our jugglers wears thin. Faces stream past our windows but nobody walks through our doors. We inexplicably receive an invitation to the Hamburger Awards. Competition is so poor that nobody wins anything. The MC spends the entire night talking about his niece. We close the week having gone through 80% of our initial funding.
Yet another month goes by. I consider replacing our entire menu with burger-themed merchandise. A local wholesaler stops in to offer us his product. He senses our desperation. As a result we invent a burger made entirely of ketchup. It costs us 1,000,000 yen in R&D. Nobody buys it. We spiral deeper into the red. Our reserves near empty. My employee stops showing up to work. I receive a postcard. He is vacationing in Thailand. He encourages me to give up the business before it is too late. I conduct a survey. I am told our brand is unappealing to the youth. Nobody wants to buy burgers anymore. Someone suggests we sell salads instead.
The last month passes and our funds hit zero. No one remains to give me the monthly summary. Instead, I find myself in an empty office, staring out at crowded streets full of people with no love for burgers. Two men knock on my door, here to inform me of the foreclosure of our last location. They hand me a letter on burger-watermarked paper and I sign my name. I understand. This is life. This is Burger Burger.
The month passes. My employee appears to be doubting my management abilities and so I commit to investing 50% of our profits into employee education. We make no profits. We open another location. We hire no one. Every valuable plot in town is being bought up by rival burger chains. They all flounder. Townsfolk flood the streets on Saturday nights and yet none of them stop to buy burgers. Production costs spike as we introduce twelve new menu items simultaneously.
Another month passes. We start a juggling campaign to attract customers. Miraculously, we earn our first profit. I give my sole employee a 50k yen bonus. It cancels out the profit. The novelty of our jugglers wears thin. Faces stream past our windows but nobody walks through our doors. We inexplicably receive an invitation to the Hamburger Awards. Competition is so poor that nobody wins anything. The MC spends the entire night talking about his niece. We close the week having gone through 80% of our initial funding.
Yet another month goes by. I consider replacing our entire menu with burger-themed merchandise. A local wholesaler stops in to offer us his product. He senses our desperation. As a result we invent a burger made entirely of ketchup. It costs us 1,000,000 yen in R&D. Nobody buys it. We spiral deeper into the red. Our reserves near empty. My employee stops showing up to work. I receive a postcard. He is vacationing in Thailand. He encourages me to give up the business before it is too late. I conduct a survey. I am told our brand is unappealing to the youth. Nobody wants to buy burgers anymore. Someone suggests we sell salads instead.
The last month passes and our funds hit zero. No one remains to give me the monthly summary. Instead, I find myself in an empty office, staring out at crowded streets full of people with no love for burgers. Two men knock on my door, here to inform me of the foreclosure of our last location. They hand me a letter on burger-watermarked paper and I sign my name. I understand. This is life. This is Burger Burger.
It's so charming!!!!