My company died once during the Noto Peninsula Earthquake. Zero sales, inventory turned to rubble. The complete record of a trader who crawled back from the depths of despair.

Prologue: When daily life ends, there is no sound

This may be sudden, but have you ever heard the "sound" of daily life ending?

Many people might imagine a roar like Godzilla destroying a city, the impact of a meteorite falling, or the sound of blaring sirens. I was the same, until that day, until the New Year of 2024 arrived.

To put it bluntly, when daily life ends, there is no flashy sound at all.

It is often a "silence" where the sounds you took for granted suddenly vanish. Or perhaps it is the "awkward silence" that flows between the peaceful New Year's program on TV and the family sitting right next to you. And above all, it is that unpleasant bass sound of your own heartbeat echoing loudly in your skull.

This is the story of me, and of us, that began with such a "sound".

Prelude before the collapse

January 1, 2024.

That day, I was visiting my parents' home with my wife.

Iwase, a port town in Toyama Prefecture. My hometown. It was a somewhat cloudy day, typical weather for winter in Toyama. Yet, the crisp, somewhat relaxed atmosphere unique to New Year's Day enveloped the entire town.

At my parents' house, the sound of my mother bustling about since the morning and the lively voices of my family, reunited after a long time, echoed through the house.

“Big brother, you’re taking too many of those black beans!”

My younger sister, whose visit happened to overlap with mine, scolded me with an exasperated look.

“It’s fine, isn’t it? It’s New Year’s.”

When I replied like that, my wife giggled beside me.

On the dining table, the Osechi dishes my mother had put her heart into were lined up, and the sweet scent of simmered beans mixed with the aroma of the Zoni broth, filling the room.

Beside that, my grandmother was squinting happily, saying, “Oh my, what a feast we have today.” For my grandmother, whose dementia was progressing slightly, every day was a series of new discoveries.

My mother gently called out to her, “It’s New Year’s, Grandma.” It was just such a common, ordinary New Year’s scene.

As a trader, I live my days watching numbers, deadlines, and the expressions of invisible people across the sea.

Honestly, I hardly ever have a moment to rest.

But on this New Year's morning, I could forget everything and just be a 'son,' a 'brother,' and a 'husband.' It was a peaceful time, the only one in the year when I felt allowed to take off my armor.

I sipped hot tea while bathed in the soft winter sunlight streaming through the window. Ah, it's peaceful. Last year had its share of things, too. I had spectacular failures and nights where I thought my stomach would ulcerate from cash flow worries.

But we were able to welcome the new year together as a family like this. Isn't that enough?

I hope this year will be a good one.

I remember whispering that to no one in particular.

Deep down, I believed without a doubt that this happiness, this boringly peaceful daily life, would last forever. I had no idea that just a few hours later, it would all crumble away as fragilely as a sandcastle.

At 4:10 PM, the world distorted.

That moment came truly, abruptly.

It was when I was dozing off on the sofa while drinking coffee after a meal.

Rattle, rattle, rattle...

At first, I thought a truck had passed in front of the house. A common, everyday vibration. However, the shaking didn't subside; instead, its frequency gradually shortened and its amplitude grew larger.

Creak, creak...

The house began to scream. The sound of my wooden family home bending and creaking like a giant living creature. It was a sound that made me feel a bottomless terror, clearly different in quality from any earthquake I had experienced before.

'Hey, isn't this strange?'

Before I could even finish saying that, it arrived.

BOOM!!

A vertical impact, as if punched from directly below by a giant fist.

I think my body lifted 10 centimeters off the sofa. Immediately after, I was violently shaken horizontally. To the right, to the left, like a leaf in the wind.

Crash!

The high-pitched sound of my mother's cherished plates avalanching from the cupboard, hitting the floor and shattering.

THUD!

A bookshelf falls with a roar. The dull sound of hundreds of books slamming into the floor all at once.

"AAAH!"

My sister's scream. I saw my mother covering my grandmother, who was standing there in a daze, not understanding what was happening.

My wife and I scrambled to get under the table, but I could no longer control my own body. I couldn't stand, nor could I crawl. I was just slammed against the floor, left at the mercy of the shaking.

My thoughts had completely stopped.

Words like "I'm scared" or "I might die" didn't even cross my mind.

My brain had completely lost its processing power due to the surreal scene unfolding before my eyes, the ear-splitting sounds of destruction, and the violent shaking that felt like my internal organs were being rattled.

How long did it last? A minute, or perhaps two? The shaking, which felt like an eternity, gradually began to lose its intensity. And then, as if nothing had happened, silence suddenly descended.

The inside of the house was a mess. Broken dishes were scattered everywhere, and fallen furniture blocked the way. But what struck me even more was that "silence."

The television, which had been so noisy just moments ago, was off, and from outside the house, I couldn't hear a thing—no car sounds, no human voices.

Only the ragged breathing of my family and the thumping of my own heart echoed unnaturally loud.

"...Is everyone okay?"

When I asked in a raspy voice, faint replies came back from each of them.

"...Yeah, I'm okay."

"...That was scary..."

"...What was that just now..."

Only my grandmother was looking around the cluttered room with a blank expression.

We're okay. We're alive.

Along with the relief of confirming that fact, another siren began to wail in my head.

The port. What about the warehouse? What about the goods?

And above all, this is the port town of Iwase.

With this shaking, a tsunami is coming.

Sirens and decisions

That thought was confirmed by the sounds of reality.

Wooooooo!

From far away and nearby, the town's disaster prevention radio began to echo with an eerie siren. It was an ominous tone that seemed to stir up the anxiety of anyone who heard it.

Major Tsunami Warning, Major Tsunami Warning. Evacuate to high ground immediately.

The television was repeating the same words in the announcer's desperate voice. In the corner of the screen, a red, violently simple command was displayed: 'Run away now!'

Run!

With that one word from me, my family began to move as if pushed. However, a new difficulty awaited us. It was my grandmother.

Where are you going? I'm staying here.

My grandmother, unable to understand what was happening, would not move from the spot. My mother tried desperately to persuade her, but time was ticking away. I suppose this is what panic is.

There was not a moment to lose. I cast aside my hesitation.

Grandma, I'm sorry!

As I said that, I hoisted my resisting grandmother onto my back. She was surprisingly light. That lightness, conversely, tightened my chest.

Climbing over fallen furniture and being careful not to step on broken glass, I headed for the entrance. Those few meters felt incredibly long.

I carried her straight to the entrance and forced her into the back seat of my mother's car.

At that moment, I was forced to make a decision.

The evacuation center closest to my parents' house and the one closest to my own home were in different directions.Above all, it is difficult to fit five people in the car with my grandmother. It would take too much time.

Take Mom and Grandma and run to that elementary school over there! I'm counting on you!

I grabbed my younger sister's shoulders and shouted that. She looked startled for a moment, but then nodded firmly and said, "Got it!"

We're going up to the evacuation site on the high ground!

Fortunately, the evacuation site on the high ground was close to our house, so I told my wife that, and we decided to split up.

Behind me, I could hear Mom trying to persuade Grandma and my sister encouraging them. I desperately fought the urge to look back.

The moment I opened the front door, I was speechless at the sight that met my eyes.

The peaceful New Year's residential street from just a moment ago was gone.People were rushing out of their homes, looking up at the sky with anxious faces. Children were crying and screaming. And everyone was walking or running in the same direction, toward the high ground.

Hurry!

I pulled my wife's hand, got into our car, and started the engine.

The first ten minutes after we started driving were miraculously smooth.We made it through the back streets, and I thought we might be able to reach the high ground smoothly. But the moment we hit the main road, that hope was shattered.

It was a traffic jam.

Every road was completely packed with cars trying to evacuate. Since everyone was heading toward the high ground and the mountains, the flow had come to a complete standstill. Car horns were blaring everywhere. But there was nothing anyone could do.

This is a main road that never gets congested like this, even on a normal day...

Those words escaped my lips before I could stop them.It was a surreal scene.I let my guard down...I didn't think it would get this congested. Should we have evacuated on foot? No, in the case of a tsunami, we definitely wouldn't have survived on foot in that location. But this traffic jam......Are my sister and the others okay in this traffic?....

When I turned on the car radio, I could tell that the DJ's calm voice was gradually becoming tinged with panic.

Information is coming in that a tsunami has reached Suzu City! Wajima City, fire reported!

The fragmented, desperate information made the air inside the car even heavier.

This place, Iwase in Toyama, is right by the sea. The terror of a tsunami is ingrained in my body, not just as knowledge.

The line of cars that wouldn't move. The invisible, giant wall of water that might be closing in from behind.

And the safety of my mother and the others who headed in a different direction.

I didn't feel like I was alive.

"...I wonder if Mom and the others are okay."

My wife said, as if squeezing the words out.

"They'll be fine. She'll handle it properly."

I knew my voice as I answered was trembling so much that I felt pathetic myself.

That was when it happened.

The smartphone in my pocket started to vibrate violently. When I looked, it was a call from a business partner. It was probably to check on our safety. Or perhaps they were worried about the products.

But I had neither the energy nor the capacity to answer that call at all.

Business? Damage to products? I didn't care about any of that. Now was not the time to be thinking about such things.

My wife, pale beside me. And my mother and sister, who were likely rushing to an evacuation center, pulling my grandmother by the hand at this very moment. I had to protect this family, no matter what. I just wanted to live. I wanted them to live.

My mind was completely filled with that, a primal, instinctual desire that could only be called animalistic.

How much time had passed? Several cars turned off onto side roads, and the line of traffic began to move little by little. Like I was in a race, I found the slightest gap, wedged my car in, and desperately aimed for higher ground.

And when I finally reached a small hill on the outskirts of town, I stopped the car and pulled the parking brake with trembling hands.

Looking back, I could see the townscape, unchanged, under a sky beginning to be dyed by the sunset. Fortunately, there were no signs that the tsunami had reached this place.

"...We made it..."

The words escaped from someone, I don't know who.

I could feel the strength leaving my entire body from a sense of relief.

However, that relief did not last long.

What would happen from here on?

What about the house? The warehouse? And my job?

Above all, I wondered if my mother and the others had managed to evacuate safely.

Looking down at the city as dusk approached, I quietly sensed the beginning of a long and grueling battle that was about to unfold. In a world where daily life had ended, what on earth was I supposed to do? The answer was still hidden in deep darkness.

Chapter 1: The Night of Despair and the Morning of Rubble

To a City Ruled by Silence

The road leading to the high ground was overflowing with people. The buildings that were supposed to be evacuation centers were already full.

We couldn't even find a space to park the car, and in the end, we had no choice but to pull over to the side of the road and wait there, holding our breath.

How much time had passed? As night fell and the cold became severe, the cars around us began to move little by little, and I sensed that people were heading home.

"Is it okay now...?" When I turned on the car radio, the announcer was reporting that the tsunami warning had been downgraded to an advisory.

There had been no official announcement from the town hall. People had started moving based on their own judgment. Taking that as a signal, we also got moving.

I had miraculously managed to connect with my mother and the others via mobile signal and confirmed they were safe. When my younger sister bravely told me, "We're okay here! Grandma is calm too!", I felt the strength drain from my entire body.

First of all, that was a relief. The worst-case scenario had been avoided.

However, relief was also the beginning of a new anxiety.

Only one thing occupied my mind.

"What happened to the warehouse?"

The heart of my work, no, my life. I had to know what had become of that place.

My wife looked into my face and said, "Let's stop for today. It's dangerous," but I shook my head.

"No, I have to go. If I don't see it, I won't be able to sleep."

Perhaps it wasn't so much a sense of responsibility as a business owner, but a more primitive instinct to go and check on my own territory.

I dropped my wife off at home, and without even glancing at the devastation of our house, I got back into the car alone. My destination was my warehouse on the mountain side.

The city at night was eerily silent.

Perhaps due to power outages in some areas, the lights in the houses are out, and the road is lit only by car headlights. Occasionally, the beam of a flashlight sways, illuminating the anxious faces of residents who have come out of their homes.

I could feel my heart beating faster as I approached the warehouse.

Please. Let it be safe.

No, there is no way it could be safe. But at least, I hope the damage isn't beyond repair.

As I turned the corner with a prayer in my heart, the familiar silhouette of the warehouse emerged in the darkness.

There are no large cracks in the outer walls. The shutter doesn't look distorted either.

"...Okay."

For a moment, a ray of hope shone through.

However, I knew that the real battlefield lay on the other side of this thick iron door.

I turned off the car engine and stepped outside. The keys on my keychain made an unusually loud clinking sound. I inserted the key into the shutter and turned it. A heavy metallic creak echoed. Then, I placed my hands on the shutter and pushed it up with all my might.

Clatter, clatter, clatter, clatter!!!

The roar, cutting through the silence, echoed across the empty port.

And I gasped at the sight illuminated by the headlights.

The true nature of the silent battlefield

What was there was not the dramatic scene I had imagined, such as a collapsed building or flooding.

Rather, it was the exact opposite.

The steel frame, which is the skeleton of the warehouse, is standing firmly. There are no signs of leaks.

However, the interior was filled with a quiet yet thorough chaos, as if it had been put through a giant mixer.

Products had avalanched from every shelf, completely burying the aisles. The cardboard boxes had their corners crushed, exposing their miserable state.

The imported miscellaneous goods, leather products, and USB cables and card readers with built-in precision semiconductors that I handle. They were mercilessly jumbled together, forming a mountain of rubble.

This was the true face of what is called 'indirect damage'.

What is reported on TV every day are images of 'direct damage'—houses collapsing, being swept away by tsunamis, or burning down in fires. Of course, that is tragic, and rescue is needed as soon as possible.

However, what lies here is a silent despair that the news reports will never convey.

Since the building itself is not broken, it is unlikely that earthquake insurance will certify it as 'totally destroyed' or 'partially destroyed'.

However, most of the products inside have lost their commercial value. Some might have intact contents even if the outer box is crushed. But who is going to check that? Picking up these thousands, tens of thousands of items, one by one?

Metaphor Creation ①: A person who looks beautiful on the outside but has shattered bones on the inside

If I were to compare the state of the warehouse at this time, it was exactly this.

Looking from the outside, they appear to have all their limbs and are standing normally. However, inside, every invisible bone is complexly fractured, and the internal organs are on the verge of bursting. They cannot move a single step, suffering from mortal wounds.

Even if the 'body' of the warehouse was safe, the 'products' and 'cash flow'—the blood and nerves flowing through it—were completely destroyed.

This is another face of disaster that small and medium-sized enterprises, especially businesses like ours that hold inventory, face.

I slumped down on the spot, staring blankly at the mountain of rubble.

The light of my flashlight dimly illuminated the logo of a crushed product. That was a leather wallet I had finally managed to import after repeated negotiations.

This one here was the latest gadget I had bought with my last remaining money, dreaming of a hit.

Each and every product had a story. The face of the negotiator, the smell of the factory, and the excitement of that day when I imagined the happy faces of the customers who would receive them.

All of them had turned into a pile of worthless trash.

'...I don't think this is possible.'

Those words naturally leaked from my mouth.

The sound of a calculator clicking echoed in my head. How much would the damage be? One million? Two million? No, it wouldn't end with just that.

The labor costs for re-inspection and replacing boxes, disposal costs, and the profit that should have been earned if they had been sold... The more I thought about it, the more my consciousness seemed to fade away.

A single light seen in the rubble

I wonder how long I had been like that.

On the cold concrete, I was simply staring at the despair before my eyes. I didn't care about anything anymore. I even thought about just staying here until morning and giving up on everything. Such thoughts crossed my mind.

That was when it happened.

The faces of various people flashed through my mind like a revolving lantern.

The first to appear was the face of my overseas business contact who always met my impossible deadlines. Next was the worried face of my bank representative who had been helping me with loan consultations.

Do I have to go to a public consultation office now? No, should I contact the insurance company first? That's right, if I don't contact my tax accountant first thing in the morning, I won't even be able to forecast my future cash flow.

There was a mountain of things to think about.

However, in front of the pile of rubble before me, all of them felt so distant, like someone else's problems. Procedures, negotiations, piles of paperwork...I didn't have the energy left to handle any of that.

Maybe it's over.

It was the very moment I truly thought that.

Suddenly, another face floated into my mind.

It was the faces of the 'work-from-home moms' who had worked as my staff until now.

At my company, I ask mothers living in the neighborhood to handle light tasks such as inspection and packaging.

Many of them are mothers raising children with disabilities. They find it difficult to work outside the home, but they want to stay connected to society and support their household finances even a little with their own efforts.

For them, the work I provided had a meaning beyond just a side job.

'President, because of this work, I can participate in my child's school events without hesitation.'

'Working here is my only way to take a breather.'

The smiles they had when they told me that happily.

Those serious gazes as they worked silently, yet more carefully than anyone else, for their children's medical expenses.

What will happen to them?

If this warehouse doesn't function, I cannot ask them for work. Their income would be cut off. Their connection to society would be severed.

My losses were not just my own problem.

This pile of rubble was not just my own despair.

The moment I realized that, I felt a small but certain heat rising from the depths of my body.

“...I have no choice.”

I shove a crushed cardboard box aside with all my might.

“If it’s going to end, I’ll do it after giving it my all until the very end.”

I pick up another product.

If it were only for myself, my heart would have broken long ago. If it were only for myself, I might have collapsed in tears in front of that warehouse, blamed everything on society, the government, and the insurance company, and just ended it all.

But I had a promise I had to keep.

It wasn't a business promise written in a contract.

It was a warmer, heavier promise made as human beings during those daily conversations where I smiled and said, “Please, rely on me anytime.”

This pile of rubble is not a symbol of despair.

This is the “starting line” for us to stand up once again.

I look at my palms in the light of a flashlight. They were covered in cuts and dirt. But strangely, I knew that strength was welling up inside me.

The night has not yet broken.

The darkness of despair is closing in right there.

However, inside my heart, a single small light was certainly burning.

It was the naive, yet stronger-than-anything light of “for my companions.”

Chapter 2: Am I a Hypocrite? ~The Meaning of “Selling” in a Disaster Area~

Finding value in a mountain of rubble

Without even knowing if the sun had risen, I began working in the warehouse. First, I had to secure a place to stand. I sorted the scattered products by type and checked the extent of the damage. It was an overwhelming, endless task.

Every time I picked up a box, my heart tightened. The corners were crushed. The sides were torn. The contents might be safe, but in this state, I could never sell them at the regular price.

This one... is no good.

How about this one... can it barely pass?

Repeating these monologues, I sorted the products into "life" and "death." The work was like triage in a field hospital. Things with a chance of being saved, things needing intensive care, and things beyond help.

Despite it being the middle of the night, I continued the work in silence alongside the staff who had rushed to help.

Among them were the mothers who do piecework for us. Even though they were also victims of the disaster, they looked at me with strong eyes and said, "President, is there anything we can do?"

How much those words saved me.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

Vowing this, we spent a day or two dedicated to inspection and sorting. Finally, two piles stood before us. One was a "mountain of trash" that had completely lost its commercial value. And the other was a pile of "imperfect goods" that were safe inside but had damaged outer boxes.

The problem was what to do with these "imperfect goods."

There were several options.

1. Discard everything.

2. Donate them to some organization.

3. Sell them at a discount as "imperfect goods."

Option 1 is the easiest, but it wouldn't earn a single yen. On the contrary, it would cost a huge amount in disposal fees.

Option 2 sounds good at first glance. But would people in a disaster area really be happy to receive miscellaneous goods or leather products just because the outer boxes are crushed?

What is needed now is water, food, and blankets. Self-satisfying donations might even end up being a nuisance.

That left only one path.

The decision to "sell"

"I'm thinking of selling these."

I remember the tension that washed over everyone's faces when I said that.

"The products with crushed boxes?"

"Won't we get complaints?"

Anxious voices were raised. It was a natural reaction.

I looked around at everyone's faces slowly, then spoke quietly but clearly.

Of course, we won't sell them at the regular price. We will tell the truth about the situation and ask, "The boxes are crushed, but the contents are brand new. Please, only buy them if you are okay with that." And the profit remaining after deducting expenses from those sales will go toward everyone's salaries and donations to Noto."

My mind was spinning calmly as a business analyst.

This was not a sentimental decision. It was the most rational and only option for survival.

• Securing cash flow: First, we must keep the company alive. To do that, we need every single yen of cash we can get.
  

• Maintaining employment: We can create 'work' for the stay-at-home moms by having them re-inspect and repack the items, and pay them salaries.
  

• Social contribution: By donating the profits generated, we can contribute to more direct support for the disaster-stricken areas.
  

• Providing value to customers: For customers who don't mind the boxes, this is a chance to get products at a lower price.

This isn't a story where someone loses out. I believed it was the only way where everyone involved could potentially be rewarded, even if just a little.

"I am a trader. My job is to sell products and earn money. That principle does not change even if an earthquake hits or the world turns upside down. In fact, it is precisely because of times like these that I should fulfill my job."

At my words, the staff nodded in silence.

My mind was made up.

We began preparing the e-commerce site. We retook photos of the products, drafted text that honestly explained the situation, and worked sleeplessly to create a special page titled 'Sale of Imperfect Goods'.

Called a hypocrite

And then, the fateful day.

I posted an announcement about a sale on X (formerly Twitter).

“【Report on damage from the Noto Peninsula Earthquake and a request】

Due to the recent earthquake, our warehouse in Toyama has suffered significant damage. Fortunately, the contents are safe, but a large number of products have had their outer boxes crushed. Therefore, please allow us to sell these products as 'imperfect goods' at a discounted price. The profits will be used to maintain staff employment and as donations to the disaster-stricken areas. Please, lend us your support.”

My finger trembled slightly as I pressed the post button.

The reaction appeared immediately.

“Twi-bird, that must have been terrible! Please let me help, even if it's just a little!”

“I don't care about the boxes! I'm rooting for you!”

“That's a product I was just looking for. I'll buy it!”

Warm messages of support flooded my timeline one after another. Order notifications arrived on my smartphone incessantly. Each one felt warm, like water soaking into a parched heart.

However, it didn't take long for cold, sharp, blade-like words to begin mixing into that warm flow.

“Wow, disaster profiteering. How low.”

“Making money by exploiting people's misfortune. Hypocrite, give it a rest.”

“You're probably just going to pocket the money instead of donating the profits, right?”

Most of them were from anonymous accounts I had never interacted with before.

I had prepared myself. But when I actually saw those words, it felt like a sharp pain piercing directly into my heart.

Hypocrite.

That word echoed in my head over and over.

Am I a hypocrite? Is what I'm doing, in the end, nothing more than making money to rebuild my own company?

For a moment, my heart wavered. Should I cancel the sale and apologize, saying, 'I am very sorry'? If I did that, I wouldn't have to get hurt any further.

However, at that moment, the image of that pile of rubble and the faces of the mothers doing piecework who were silently working amidst it flashed through my mind again.

And I clearly saw the goodwill of someone I didn't even know, who was purchasing my products one after another along with messages of support.

Who am I doing this work for?

For some faceless person throwing stones anonymously?

No.

It is for the staff who believe in me.

It is for the customers who believe in me and buy my products.

And it is for society, which I hope to make smile, even if just a little, through this business.

The moment I thought that, a quiet anger and a resolve like steel welled up from the bottom of my gut.

I sat down at my PC and typed out the words.

'Thank you for your criticism. You are right. I am a trader. My job is to sell and earn money. And with the money I earn, I will pay my staff whose salaries have been reduced, and donate the rest to the local government. That is my way of doing things.'

I had no more hesitation.

If money is lost, you can just earn it again.

However, if the trust from your family, colleagues, and customers around you is broken once, it takes an enormous amount of time to repair. Or rather, it might never return to the way it was.

If it is to protect that trust, I will gladly become the villain.

I don't mind being called a hypocrite. I don't mind being cursed at for profiting from the disaster.

I will simply carry through the justice I believe in, in my own way.

That might have been the moment when a trader who had been hit by the disaster could truly call themselves a 'business owner'.

Chapter 3: Repaying kindness across borders and an unexpected pitfall

A 'Signal Fire' Called Crowdfunding

The 'imperfect goods sale' received a response that far exceeded my imagination. The number of support purchases, which far outweighed the voices of criticism, supported our activities.

However, that alone was not enough. There was no guarantee that this sale alone could continuously protect the employment of the work-from-home moms who were helping us with re-inspection and repacking work.

We needed a more stable mechanism to protect their livelihoods.

That was when I made another major decision.

Crowdfunding.

Honestly, I hesitated. It was right after being criticized for 'disaster business.' I could clearly foresee being told again, 'Are you just collecting money by buying people's sympathy?'

However, my mind was already made up. No matter what anyone thinks, I will protect what needs to be protected. To do that, I will do everything I can.

'[Noto Peninsula Earthquake/Disaster Area Support] I want to protect the employment of work-from-home moms raising children with disabilities'

I launched the project with such an unadorned, straightforward title. The return gifts were, of course, our products.

It was a simple concept: apart from the sale items, we would offer regular products at list price and use the support funds to cover the moms' salaries.

To tell you the result, this project became a major turning point in my life.

In the end, a total of 2,532,480 yen was raised from 684 people.

I was surprised.

Beyond the amount raised, what moved me was the 'number' of people and the 'words' they left behind.

'I have clearly received your resolve, Tsuitori-san.'

'If I can be of even a little help to the moms.'

'Toyama was also hit hard, wasn't it? Please do your best.'

Every time I read the supportive comments attached to each donation, my eyes would blur, and I couldn't read the text. I could feel my heart, which had been wounded and frayed by criticism, being filled with warmth.

This is not just money.

This is the powerful voice of 684 people saying, 'It's okay, you're not wrong.'

This is the greatest proof that we are not alone.

Crowdfunding was not only a means of raising capital, but also a 'signal fire' to gather allies. And seeing that signal fire, many allies rushed to us from all over Japan—no, from all over the world.

Cheers from Taiwan and the 'Chain of Repayment'

Among those allies who rushed to help, there were people who particularly moved my heart.

They were supporters from Taiwan.

While analyzing the sales data of our 'imperfect goods sale,' I noticed a certain fact. Looking at the purchasers' locations, the place with the most buyers after Japan was Taiwan.

Even in our crowdfunding campaign, much of the support from overseas came from Taiwan.

Why?

Of course, my company originally handled umbrellas using Taiwanese fabric, and USB cables and card readers using excellent Taiwanese semiconductors. There was certainly a business connection.

Due to rising raw material costs, we had temporarily scaled back those transactions, but the high level of Taiwanese technical skill and the sincerity of our partners had always resulted in a good relationship.

However, even so, this number is extraordinary.

When I traced back the comments on social media, I understood the reason. There were many messages written in Taiwanese languages like these:

'Japan, hang in there. This is to repay your kindness.'

'Taiwan will not forget Japan's kindness.'

The moment I saw those words, I was struck.

How much support Taiwan gave to Japan during the Great East Japan Earthquake. How many Japanese people were saved by that warm sentiment. And the fact that we help each other whenever something happens.

They had remembered.

And they reached out quite naturally, thinking it was their turn to help.

My heart was moved.

How noble business truly is.

The modest relationship of trust I had built with my partners in Taiwan has come full circle, becoming such a massive circle of goodwill that it is now saving me.

At that moment, I made a decision.

I decided to shift the donation destination for the profits from the remaining 20-30% of inventory in our 'imperfect goods sale' from Noto to Taiwan.

This was because, just before that, on April 3rd, a massive magnitude 7.4 earthquake had struck Taiwan. It was the Hualien earthquake.

'Now, it is our turn to return the favor.'

When I told my staff this, everyone agreed without hesitation.

We sent the profits from the remaining inventory as a donation to the disaster-stricken areas of the Taiwan earthquake. It was a 'chain of gratitude' born from the connection between people and hearts, transcending mere business profit.

A new pitfall behind the heartwarming story

Now, telling the story this far, it might sound like a neat, heartwarming tale.

The crowdfunding was a success, and a circle of cross-border support was born. Happily ever after.

...But my business life doesn't end like that.

Yes, stories don't just end with heartwarming tales.Behind every success, a new failure is always waiting with its mouth wide open.

It happened when the project had successfully concluded and I was busy shipping the return items to our supporters.

I received a phone call from the shipping company.

'Mr. Twibird, I'm sorry. Regarding the products we sent out, there are many that have been returned to us because the recipients were absent...'

At first, I thought this was a common occurrence. However, the number of them was extraordinary.

Because the number of shipments was so large, we couldn't handle it all ourselves and had requested a partner warehouse to handle some of the shipping. However, that was where an unexpected pitfall lay.

Metaphor Creation ②: A footrace where you thought you crossed the finish line, only to find another lap had been added to the course

If I were to liken my state of mind at that time, it would be exactly this.

I had run a 100-meter dash with all my might, crossed the finish line, and shouted, 'I did it!' Just as I was basking in the applause of the audience and thinking I could finally rest, an official came up to me and said this.

'Excuse me, sir. Actually, we've added another lap to the course. And this time, there are hurdles.'

Huh? I didn't hear about that, I thought.

The profits I had gained from the success of that crowdfunding campaign were melting away quite interestingly due to this unexpected rush of returns.

'Why won't you accept it...!'

Facing the shipping company's slips, I held my head in my hands. The reasons for the returns were varied.

One was an operational error at the partner warehouse. Thinking they were doing a good deed, they shipped the products in cardboard boxes bearing the logo of a major e-commerce mall site we usually use.

From the perspective of the supporters who received them, it was a mysterious situation where 'the crowdfunding support item arrived in a box from a major e-commerce mall for some reason.'

'I didn't order this,' they would think, and it's no wonder they felt suspicious and refused delivery.

Another reason was the unique circumstances of the disaster area. Due to the earthquake, people had evacuated or moved to temporary housing, and there was a pattern where they had forgotten to notify us of their change of address.

And then, what tore my heart out the most was the case where it was mistaken for a 'scam shipment.'

An unfamiliar box arriving when they had long forgotten about it. Naturally, since there was a system to send tracking numbers via email at the time of shipment, prior notice had been given.

However, the customers had likely forgotten even their own good-willed support in the midst of their daily chaos.

'I don't remember ordering anything like this; this must be a scam!' they said, and reported it to consumer centers in various regions.

For a business owner, there is nothing more heart-wrenching than a call from a consumer center.

'We have received a consultation from Mr./Ms. XX saying that a product they have no recollection of has arrived...'

The person on the other end of the line is, of course, polite. However, behind that politeness, there is a sharp, suspicious atmosphere hanging in the air, asking, 'Aren't you doing something wrong?'

Every time I received such a call, I felt as if my heart were being chilled by ice water.

'No, that is not a scam. It is such and such, we conducted a crowdfunding campaign to support the disaster area, and this is the return gift for that...'

I explain everything from scratch, carefully and with the utmost sincerity. Fortunately, the representatives all understood, but when that kind of phone call continued about three times, I was truly mentally exhausted.

What started out of good intentions ends up, in a roundabout way, leading to suspicions of fraud.

People who supported me out of good intentions are feeling anxious.

And to clear up that misunderstanding, I am consuming a vast amount of time and mental energy.

This experience taught me another harsh reality of running an e-commerce site.

Business is not over until the product is delivered.

No, business is not over until the moment the customer receives it and is sincerely satisfied, saying 'thank you'.

I posted this new failure story on social media as a joke.

'Everyone, please! If you buy a product via mail order, please make sure to receive it! Otherwise, a small-time trader like me will die from shipping costs and calls from the Consumer Affairs Center!'

Mixing in self-deprecation and humor.

Because if I didn't do that, I wouldn't have been able to keep going.

Chapter 4: A War of Attrition with Invisible Enemies ~Institutional Walls and Human Malice~

The 'Mirage' Known as Subsidies

From spring to summer. As the seasons changed, the landscape of the disaster area seemed to be moving forward, albeit very, very slowly.

The scattered rubble was cleared away, and houses with emergency repairs became noticeable. Thanks to the hard work of our staff and colleagues, we finally saw a prospect of resuming our business at our warehouse as well.

Once the physical battle settled down, the next thing to come is the battle with financial reality.

Months after the earthquake, I was betting on one hope: subsidies for business operators from the national and prefectural governments.

'With this much damage, there must be some kind of support.'

Believing that, I struggled with a mountain of application documents. I took photos of the damage, calculated the losses, and rewrote the business plan.

Already overwhelmed by the immediate restoration work, the days spent facing unfamiliar administrative documents were a mentally draining task.

How many hours did I spend on this? Despite having no time, I worked hard for a few dozen minutes every day to make time for this subsidy application document, into which I poured my heart and soul.

However, what awaited me beyond that was a merciless reality.

The result was a rejection. In other words, a zero response.

The words told to me by the person in charge at the counter still ring in my ears.

“In Mr. Tuitori's case, the building itself did not completely collapse, so it is not recognized as 'direct damage'.

Inventory damage and the like fall under 'indirect damage', sothey are not eligible for subsidies.All you can do is manage with earthquake insurance.”

It was a shock, as if I had been struck in the head with a blunt object.

Earthquake insurance. Of course, I was enrolled. However, what is covered by that is merely a portion of the asset value.

Labor costs for replacing boxes and re-inspecting products when they fell, losses during the period we couldn't operate, and above all, the brand value lost due to crushed boxes. None of those thingsare covered by insurance at all.

The total out-of-pocket expense amounted to nearly 10 million yen.

The country and the prefecture are saying that I must handle all of that on my own.

Metaphor Creation ③: The boxer with ruptured internal organs diagnosed as uninjured

Let's compare the situation at this time to a boxing match.

I took several powerful body blows and sank to the ring. My consciousness was hazy, and my internal organs were on the verge of rupturing. I was barely able to stand.

However, in the post-match doctor's check, the doctor makes this diagnosis:

“There isn't a single scratch on the face. There is no bleeding. Therefore, this athlete is 'uninjured'.”

Are you kidding me?

The boxer that is me, while having no external wounds, is battered on the inside and has sustained damage to the point of being unable to return. Yet, the doctor known as the system only judges by 'appearance'.

This was the cruel boundary line between 'direct damage' and 'indirect damage'.

Houses collapse, factories burn. If there are no such visible 'wounds', the helping hand of the system will not reach.

Damages to the "internal organs" of a business—such as supply chain disruptions, loss of product value, and reputational damage—are all treated as one's own responsibility.

This wall of the system taught me another harsh reality of surviving in a post-disaster world.

Toyama's "Silent Disaster"

Media coverage inevitably focuses on the devastation in Ishikawa Prefecture, where the damage is most severe. That is only natural. However, in its shadow, Toyama Prefecture, where I live, was also quietly but deeply wounded.

Though not widely known, the number of earthquake insurance claims filed for this earthquake was the second highest in Toyama Prefecture, with over 40,000 claims, following Ishikawa Prefecture's approximately 64,000.

My own home was no exception. The concrete foundation was riddled with countless cracks.

This, too, is a "silent damage" that cannot be seen just by looking.

Insurance was applied, but it did not cover the full cost of repairs. In the end, I was able to finally complete the repairs by using a portion of the relief money provided by Toyama Prefecture, which came from donations from everyone. I truly have nothing but gratitude.

Houses with broken roofs that you can't see. Houses with warped foundations. There were many such houses here in Toyama as well.

Hyenas target weakened prey

A massive, cold-hearted enemy called the wall of the system.

In addition to that, there was another "invisible enemy" that gnawed at me.

That is human "malice."

When the "distressed goods sale" and crowdfunding began, there was a period where the order notifications would not stop ringing.

Each of those notification sounds felt like a fanfare of support, and we exchanged smiles even in our state of utter exhaustion. However, it did not take long for dissonance to begin mixing into those sounds of celebration.

The first person to notice the anomaly was one of the young staff members.

"Mr. Twitori, there are some strange orders..."

When I peered at the PC screen she was pointing to, there were strange order data entries lined up there.

The billing name was clearly a Japanese name, yet the delivery address was a room in a multi-tenant building in Osaka. The phone number did not exist. Furthermore, there was a history of multiple failed payment attempts every few minutes using the same credit card.

If it had been just one, I might have dismissed it as a typo. However, similar orders were coming in one after another, as if they had been coordinated.

The billing source was Tokyo, and the delivery address was Kyushu. The billing name was Japanese, while the delivery address was a string of alphabet characters. When I checked the IP addresses, most of them were routed through overseas proxy servers.

The blood drained from my face. This was not just a prank.

It was a typical fraudulent technique, using stolen credit card information to try and swindle products.

They were like hyenas, sniffing out the scent of weakened prey, targeting companies in the chaos of a disaster, thinking, “Checks must be lax in this situation.” and swarming in.

What would happen if I didn't notice this and shipped the products?

If the real cardholder later filed a claim saying, “I don't remember using this,” all sales would be canceled. Furthermore, there is something called a “chargeback,” which incurs additional fees.

Moreover, the products that had already been shipped would never return. In other words, it is a “total loss” for the seller.

In an already dire situation, this treatment was mentally exhausting. I felt incredibly foolish for being happy about the support purchase notifications just a few hours earlier.

They were exploiting our goodwill and the kindness of our supporters as if mocking us.

We were forced into the futile and nerve-wracking task of investigating each suspicious order one by one and canceling them manually.

That was far more mentally damaging than the financial loss of having products stolen, as it meant constantly coming into direct contact with “human malice.”

And then, the malice attacked me in an even more vicious form.

One day, I received an email from the payment company with an unfamiliar subject line.

“[Important] Notification of Chargeback Occurrence”

It is a phrase that makes any business owner freeze. It said that a customer had filed a complaint claiming, “The product I received is different from what I ordered.”

“No way...”

We were extremely careful with our packing process. However, we were in the middle of chaos. A mistake might have been possible. I immediately searched for that order data in the system.

But when I looked at the displayed data, I couldn't believe my eyes.

That order was still in 'unshipped' status. How could they claim 'the wrong item arrived' when I hadn't even shipped it yet?

The answer was on social media.

The buyer was loudly spreading the word on social media, complete with a screenshot of the order confirmation email, claiming, 'That company is a disaster fraud! They sent me the wrong product!'

The blood drained from my face.

This wasn't just about stealing products; they were coming to completely destroy our 'credibility' itself.

Fortunately, since all records prior to shipment remained, I explained the situation to the payment processor, and we avoided disaster; the payment processor also fully sided with our company.

The bottomless malice of those who hide behind the shield of anonymity to trample on people's goodwill and beat down those who are already weak.

After fighting an irresistible threat like a natural disaster,now I had to fight the ugliest parts lurking within human beings.

This war of attrition was definitely eating away at my heart.

Chapter 5: Even So, the Sun Rises Again

The second hammer blow, and laughter

Summer passed, and the scent of autumn began to drift in.

Although the scars of the earthquake remained vivid, we were gradually, very gradually, beginning to regain our daily lives.

I had grown accustomed to fighting fraudulent orders, and thanks to the work of the moms doing side jobs, the 'imperfect goods' in the warehouse were traveling to their new homes. I felt like I could finally breathe.

However, it seemed the gods of this land wanted to give me quite a trial.

A record-breaking heavy rainstorm struck the Noto region.

Television news reported that the ground, loosened by the earthquake, was collapsing, causing landslides. The roads for recovery work were being cut off once again.

'Again...?'

I watched the scene, gnashing my teeth. 'Is there anything I can do? Maybe a support project for the heavy rain damage this time...' It was right when I was thinking that.

Toyama was also hit by heavy rain.

I had a bad feeling. I drove through the heavy rain, speeding toward the warehouse. And then, I learned that my premonition had been correct.

The warehouse was flooded.

Fortunately, I avoided the worst-case scenario of water rising above the floor level, but the cardboard boxes on the floor were soaked through with water.

Standing before that sight, for some reason, I couldn't stop the laughter from welling up inside me.

"Ha... hahahahaha!"

Earthquake, tsunami, fraudulent use, bad reputation, and then, flood damage.

At this point, feelings like anger or sadness just seem to vanish. I felt like the protagonist of a poorly written comedy sketch.

While I was worrying about Noto, my own feet were submerged in water. What a joke.

"Hey, is there anyone in this world who will worry about me!" I felt like cursing at the heavens.

However, strangely enough, my spirit was not broken.

Perhaps a person who has once seen the bottom of despair is no longer easily shaken by small things. Compared to the earthquake, this level of damage is nothing.

"I will not give up on this business just because of a disaster."

As I carried out the wet cardboard boxes, I kept telling myself this. And I also thought the following.

"I am so impressive for still looking forward and working despite this string of disasters."

To overcome extreme situations, sometimes you need to praise yourself with all your might. This was also an important lesson that this disaster taught me.

The painful financial statement one year later

And in the blink of an eye, a year had passed.

January 2025. One year since the earthquake.

In society, there was talk of progress toward reconstruction, and an atmosphere suggesting that daily life was gradually returning. However, the reality of my company was far from such optimism.

The financial statement was deep in the red.

Sales plummeted, and we were completely in the red. That was to be expected. For the past year, I could do almost nothing, such as starting new businesses or conducting promotional activities. It was a year spent solely chasing stories of the earthquake and dealing with the aftermath of the disaster.

Inspecting products crushed by falling boxes, halting sales, handling customer support, processing fraudulent orders, and cleaning up after the heavy rains... It was not a glorious story of recovery, but a purely mundane, gritty war of attrition.

It was busy enough to die from overwork.

Even looking back now, I can say that with certainty.

In the end, there was almost no compensation from the national or prefectural governments. In reality, I had no choice but to clean up the mess entirely on my own.

And standing before me was a new, all-too-realistic wall.

It was a shortage of funds for tax payments.

Even if a company is in the red, consumption tax payments do not wait. At this rate, I would run out of cash to pay the taxes.

...I have no choice but to sell.

I made a decision for the third time.

An inventory sale. However, this sale had a completely different meaning than before. It was not to support the disaster area. It was not to maintain employment.

Simply to survive.

To keep the company from going under.

To earn the consumption tax.

We announced a sale offering up to 50% off home appliances and our remaining stock of leather wallets.

If you cannot afford to buy, just reposting or sharing helps.

I poured my pride and my resolve to make a last stand into that one sentence.

As expected, I saw some criticism, such as people calling it another opportunistic business tactic. However, I no longer had the luxury of caring about such words.

To survive, I could not afford to care.

That was my honest feeling.

A business where only I profit is boring.

Supported once again by many kind-hearted people, the sale allowed me to somehow manage to set a prospect for paying my taxes.

And then, March 2025.

Although I had received them before, I also received letters again from the Governor of Ishikawa Prefecture and the Mayor of Himi City, Toyama Prefecture.

It was a thank you for the donations made from that "sale of imperfect goods" and the revenue from X (formerly Twitter).

As I gazed at those thin, yet heavy pieces of paper, I kept reflecting on the events of the past two years.

Earthquakes, tsunamis, criticism, betrayal, institutional barriers, repeated disasters...

On the other hand, countless acts of goodwill, support, and encouragement from across borders.

And then, I realized.

If it were the old me, I might have done the donations secretly and anonymously, fearing being called a "self-promoter" or a "hypocrite."

However, now it is different.

Whether they call it self-promotion or whatever, I don't care.

If my business, if my actions can make even one person smile. If they can give even one person hope for tomorrow. Isn't that enough?

"A business where only I profit is boring."

Those words settled deep into my heart.

This was the answer I had finally found at the end of my two-year battle.

Final Chapter: What I found on top of this rubble

My business is by no means large. It is a small trading company quietly operated in a port town in the Hokuriku region.

However, I can now say this with my head held high.

My work is not just about making money by moving products from one place to another.

It is work that protects the pride of mothers working from home who are raising children with disabilities.

It is work that weaves bonds of trust with sincere partners overseas, including those in Taiwan.

It is work that allows me to grow together with the followers who believe in the information I share and support me.

The earthquake took many products from my warehouse.

But perhaps, in exchange, it gave me many things as well.

It gave me the 'meaning' of my work, and the answer to the fundamental question of 'why am I doing this work?'

To you, who are reading this story now, let me ask you just one final question.

'Who does your work make smile?'

It is fine if you cannot find the answer right away.

However, I believe that when the 'what if' day eventually comes, that answer is the only thing that will support you and help you stand up again.

I hope this story becomes a small light that protects you and someone precious to you for that day which may come.

If you feel like it, I will continue to talk about the details of what happened during this earthquake and my current business situation, so I would be encouraged if you could follow, like, or comment.

Epilogue: Please let me build this model

Thank you very much for staying with this long, long story until the very end.

I will be honest. I have worked so hard, so I want to be rewarded (laughs).

However, that does not just mean in a financial sense. This two-year battle is not over yet. In fact, the real challenge might just be starting from here.

Because, right now, my company is in massive debt.

In this world of constant price hikes, the desperate voices of stay-at-home moms asking, 'Is there any work?' are only increasing.

However, having been burned by the earthquake, shifting back to a product sales business that requires holding large amounts of inventory is far too risky.

I want to delegate work, but I cannot. I have been carrying this contradiction for the past year.

That is precisely why I have continued to search for a new path. A business with no inventory risk, high profit margins, and above all, one that can deliver value to many people.

For the past year, that is why I have been desperately trying to rebuild my existing business and exploring various new ventures to launch.

And one of those challenges is the monetization of this note.

Through this note, I am seriously aiming to first achieve sales of '3 million yen per month.' Do you think it's impossible?

I don't think so. Because compared to the earthquake and everything else that happened, that level of hardship is nothing. I am working like my life depends on it, keeping the cycle turning.

And why am I so obsessed with 'earning money on note'?

It is because this challenge is not just for me alone.

I want to reach out to mothers who are isolated from society and pushed to their limits, both financially and mentally, while raising children with disabilities. I want to create an environment where they can work from home, at their own pace, and by utilizing their own abilities.

As a means to that end, I believe in the unique potential that the note platform holds.

1. Liberation from time and place

Writing is a job that can be done as long as you have a computer, even while caring for a child or late at night after the family has gone to sleep. If work is interrupted by a sudden illness, there is no need to bow your head and apologize to anyone. This dramatically reduces their mental burden.

2. Skills become assets

What I want to build is not just the allocation of tasks. It is a system to educate them in 'profitable writing skills' and support them so they can earn an income independently. Skills once acquired become assets that can be used for a lifetime.

3. Diverse fields of activity

There is a dream in note. No matter what background a person has, there is a possibility that their knowledge and experience will be recognized as value. However, for that to happen, someone must first show the 'path'.

'Can you really earn money on note?'

By achieving results myself, I need to become a clear model case that shows, 'If you do it this way, you can reach this point.'

The figure of "3 million yen per month" that I am aiming for. This is by no means to line my own pockets.

It is a realistic benchmark to make this business model "sustainable" and to distribute sufficient compensation to those involved.

In particular, if membership, which provides continuous support rather than one-off paid articles, grows, this business will definitely become "sustainable".

If I can achieve that, it is not a dream to expand into other genres and operate multiple note accounts. Explanatory articles on specialized papers or research reports on niche markets.

I will entrust the writing to stay-at-home moms based on the manuals I have created.

Once good content is created, I can build an LP (landing page), attract customers through Meta ads or Google ads, sell it, or connect it to small-lot product sales.

I can only smell success.

The rest is how to get there. I do not want to give up.

This is a battle to make society a little better.

If you can empathize with my thoughts even a little, would you please support my challenge?

A "Like" on this article or a "Follow" on my account will directly warm my heart.

And, if you would like to take a deeper look at my battle, considering joining the "Membership" would be the greatest possible strength.

In the membership, I talk without hiding anything about business failures that I couldn't write here, and concrete ways to utilize note.You can register from below.

Your support will move me, and the nameless mothers and children, one step further.

Please, let me build this model.

Thank you for your support.

[Author Overview]

I, Kokumu-George, also known as Twi-Tori, run a trading business in the Hokuriku region while working on projects that shine a light on the "gaps" in society, as written in this article.

There are many failures, conflicts, and pathetic stories, but I share the real stories I have seen and felt on the ground, and the business insights gained from them, on this note. I also tweet my daily realizations on X (formerly Twitter), so please follow me.

Your support will be the strength for me and for them.

note: https://note.com/glad_auklet4142

Threads:https://www.threads.com/@cokumu_motto

X (Twitter):https://x.com/_596_

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• [True Story 30,000 Characters] How do you choose a tax accountant?

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• [Make your corporation a Kabushiki Kaisha!] My story of losing tens of millions of yen by being stingy with the 140,000 yen setup fee.

  1. 'Let's go with a Godo Kaisha because it's cheap'... Did you know that such a casual choice is the beginning of losing everything—financing, hiring, and trust? This is a record of my blood-sweating failure where I actually threw tens of millions of yen down the drain.

• [Complete True Story] A collection of records on how I bankrupted and closed down my red-ink company.

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[Author Introduction]

The author of this article, 'Tsuitori' (also known as 'Kokumu-George'), is a trader who, in his daily life, imports products and plans merchandise while communicating with vendors from various countries in the Hokuriku region.

For details on his background and profile, please visit the following page.

Additionally, as a business copywriter, he is involved in creating product copy and descriptions. However, the case studies and explanations introduced here are structured based on Tsuitori's unique perspective—leveraging knowledge of the latest technology and AI, conducting research through paper searches and study reports, drafting, and brainstorming. Since much of the content within the article is AI-generated, this is a different activity from his traditional writing work, and he acts as a different author here.

Furthermore, Tsuitori regularly introduces the latest papers, research results, and case studies on X (formerly Twitter, https://x.com/596), where he freely shares new insights and inspiration with his readers.

This note contains a variety of content created through the collaboration of AI and humans. As a new form of next-generation reading material, please check out other articles, follow, and enjoy the latest information.

*[About the content generation of this article]
As mentioned in the author introduction, this article also utilizes advanced AI tools such as ChatGPT (OpenAI), Claude (Anthropic), and Gemini (Google) to conduct paper searches, research report investigations, drafting, and brainstorming. The generated text is used as a first draft in accordance with the terms of service of each respective service.

The content posted is also in compliance with those terms. Note that the final text is always verified, edited, and rewritten by the author to ensure originality.

Heartfelt thanks to the various AI tools that contributed significantly to the generation of this article. And heartfelt thanks to the readers who have read this far.

[Important Notes]
1. The content of this article includes the author's personal views and hypotheses. These may not necessarily align with general perceptions or expert opinions.

2. The information in this article is current as of the time of writing. Some information may become outdated over time.

3. Please practice and apply the content of this article at your own risk. The author cannot be held responsible for the results of any actions taken by readers based on the information in this book.

4. This article is based on the author's experience and domestic/international case studies, with the text refined by ChatGPT, Claude, and Gemini.

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I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to the various AI tools that contributed significantly to the generation of this article, and above all, to the readers who have read this far.