Chapter 1: Seven-Figure Monthly Income from Scratch

Mio Shiraishi does not eat breakfast.

It is not that she has decided not to eat.

She simply puts off the need to eat somewhere every morning.

In the refrigerator, three yogurts are lined up.

The expiration date was yesterday.

There are two eggs left in a six-pack, and there was one pack of natto.

In the vegetable drawer, komatsuna in a plastic bag is giving off a slightly damp smell.

Mio opened the refrigerator, looked for three seconds, and closed it.

There is food to eat.

There is nothing she wants to eat.

On the kitchen counter, a mug from last night was sitting. A ring of dried coffee remained at the bottom. It wasn't worth putting in the dishwasher. It wasn't worth washing. When she left it as it was, two days had passed.

There are few things on the living room floor.

The spines of the books on the bookshelf are arranged by height, and documents are sorted into transparent file boxes.

"Contracts"

"Invoices"

"Research Materials"

"Lab Concept"

"Unprocessed"

All the labels are printed in the same font.

However, a high school uniform blazer was hung carelessly over the back of the dining chair.

A piece of white paper is sticking halfway out of the pocket.

Mio saw it.

A handout from school.

Parent-teacher conference.

Submission deadline, today.

Mio reached out once, then stopped.

Touching Yume's things without permission leads to trouble later.

No, 'trouble' isn't the right way to put it.

Yume doesn't yell. She doesn't cry. She doesn't blame.

She just puts a little bit of distance between us.

That distance is harder to deal with than being yelled at.

The smartphone alarm went off.

Seven-fifteen.

Time to wake Yume up.

Mio went to the front of her daughter's room at the end of the hallway and knocked twice.

"Seven-fifteen."

There was no reply.

"It's seven-fifteen. You have P.E. first period today. You said so yesterday."

There was a sound of bedding rustling from inside.

"I'm up."

Yume's voice was absorbed by the door, growing faint.

"The interview form is due today."

"I know."

"If you're going to submit it, please do it this morning. If it's not an electronic application, I'll fill it out for you."

There was a brief pause.

"No. I'll submit it myself."

"There's a section for the guardian, isn't there?"

"I told the teacher. I'll submit it later."

"When is 'later'?"

"Later."

Mio didn't say anything beyond that.

If she said it, it would be correct.

The moment the correct words were placed in the morning hallway, Yume would drift a little further away again.

Mio returned to the kitchen and flipped the switch on the electric kettle.

While waiting for the water to boil, she opened her laptop.

The document remained on the screen just as it had been last night.

Subject.

Mr. Daichi Kurihara: Profile Re-editing Proposal.

Mio sat in her chair and tucked her hair behind her ears.

She hadn't washed her face yet.

The original self-introduction was terrible.

To be precise, it wasn't that the writing was bad.

It was that a bad life was being written about in a bad way.

Company employee.
Failed at side hustles many times.
Spent over two million yen on information products.
I also have debt.
I've caused trouble for my family too.
I'm not valued at work.
I'm desperate to become someone.

Mio stared at that text for a while.

It's honest.

But, it's too honest.

People don't read writing that is just honest.

They keep their distance before reading it.

And those who keep their distance won't help you.

Honesty that isn't helped is just nakedness.

Mio corrected the first line in red ink.

Working as a company employee while taking on multiple side hustles.

Don't put "failure" at the beginning.

What you put at the beginning is action.

People forgive those who take action a little more than those who fail.

She moved the cursor to the next line.

Because I've taken many detours, I know exactly where beginners stumble.

Don't write that you failed with information products.

If the subject of the failure is too specific, the reader will look down on the client.

I don't listen to people who look down on me.

That's why I turn failures into 'detours'.

I turn the experience of being deceived into 'understanding beginners'.

What should I do about the debt?

Mio stopped moving for just a moment.

Debt is dangerous if you treat it lightly.

But if you treat it too heavily, the reader will run away.

I share realistic know-how learned from practice, built upon self-investment.

Not bad.

The water boiled.

Mio stood up and opened the jar of instant coffee.

Without using a spoon, she added the powder by eye.

She poured the hot water.

She didn't stir it.

The black powder floated in the cup, slowly sinking.

Yume came out into the living room in her school uniform.

Her hair wasn't tied back.

Her face still looked sleepy.

But her tie was fastened neatly.

'Breakfast'

Mio asked.

Yume opened the refrigerator and took out the yogurt from yesterday.

"That expired yesterday."

"One day doesn't matter."

"You shouldn't eat dairy products."

"Then I won't eat it."

Yume put the yogurt back and slung her school bag over her shoulder.

"There is bread."

"I don't want any."

"If you have P.E., you should eat something."

"You're not eating anything either, Mom."

That remark was quiet.

Mio remained silent, holding her cup.

Yume headed to the entrance.

The sound of putting on shoes.

The sound of the door opening.

After a beat, the sound of it closing.

Her "have a good day" didn't make it in time.

Mio stared at the closed door for a few seconds.

Then she returned to her laptop.

8:30 AM.

An online meeting with Daichi Kurihara.

The man who appeared on the screen looked more tired than in his profile photo.

Thirty-four years old. Company employee. Married with children. Sales position.

His hair was styled, but a lock of his bangs was stuck to his forehead with sweat.

The background appeared to be a living room. On the shelf behind him, children's picture books, workout equipment, and opened cardboard boxes were jumbled together.

“Mr. Shiraishi, thank you for your time today.”

“I am not a teacher. My job is to refine writing.”

Mio corrected him as she always did.

Kurihara gave a troubled smile.

“But to me, you are a teacher. I don’t know how to read my own life.”

“Let’s confirm first. Your goal, Mr. Kurihara, is to organize your side-hustle achievements and use them for social media posts. Ultimately, you want to lead people to a beginner’s course or individual consultations. Is that correct so far?”

“Yes. Oh, but I’m not sure if I have enough to call it a course yet.”

“Right now, we are at the stage of organizing how you are perceived, rather than whether you have achievements.”

Kurihara leaned forward slightly through the screen.

“How I am perceived?”

“Even with the same facts, the meaning changes depending on how they are arranged.”

Mio started screen sharing.

She displayed the original self-introduction text side-by-side with a draft containing her red-ink revisions.

Kurihara froze, staring at the screen.

"Is this me?"

"I am only using the facts about you, Mr. Kurihara."

"But, somehow... I look like an amazing person."

"I am not trying to make you look like an amazing person. I am organizing the information so that the reader can find value in it."

Kurihara fell silent.

His mouth was trembling slightly.

"Is it okay to write about how I failed at my side job?"

"Actually, it is better if you do. However, you shouldn't write about the failure itself, but rather what you discovered from that failure."

"What I discovered?"

"Where beginners go wrong. What they end up paying money for. What kind of words they get hooked by. You have that as experience, Mr. Kurihara."

"I was just being deceived."

"Someone who has been deceived knows the path that leads to being deceived."

Kurihara looked up, as if struck by a sudden realization.

Mio continued.

"Not being appreciated at your company is not necessarily a weakness, depending on how you write about it."

"No, that really is a weakness. My peers are already section chiefs, and I've been a regular employee the whole time. Even my boss says I lack initiative."

"Instead of saying you lack initiative, you could say that the evaluation criteria within the organization did not align with where you provide value."

Kurihara's mouth hung slightly open.

"I didn't know you could put it that way."

"You can."

Mio said calmly.

"However, you must not write in a way that escapes reality. Kurihara-san, you are not a success story. Therefore, do not speak as a successful person, but as a 'practitioner who has taken the long way around.' If you get this wrong, it will immediately become shallow."

"A practitioner who has taken the long way around."

Kurihara repeated the words as if rolling them over his tongue.

"I have always thought of myself as a failure."

"Failure is raw material."

Mio said.

"If you present it as raw material, it becomes a wound. If you process it, it becomes value."

Kurihara's eyes turned red.

If he cries, the meeting time will drag on.

Thinking this, Mio moved the cursor to the next revision proposal.

"So, my failures weren't in vain, were they?"

Kurihara's voice was slightly hoarse.

Mio paused for a second before answering.

"Whether they were in vain or not is something that will be decided from here on out."

Kurihara looked like he was about to cry at those words as well.

In the middle of the meeting, a woman's voice came from behind him.

"Daichi, the washing machine has stopped."

Kurihara turned around.

"Oh, sorry. I'm in a meeting right now."

I know. But it was like that yesterday, too.

The woman, whose voice was all that could be heard, did not appear on screen.

It must be his wife.

Kurihara's shoulders hunched slightly.

I'll do it later.

I'm saying this because that 'later' always ends up being in the middle of the night.

I'm in the middle of an important conversation right now.

I know.

There was a brief silence.

Mio watched that silence.

Only Kurihara was visible on the screen.

However, she could tell that the life behind him was slowly eroding his composure.

Cardboard boxes placed on the floor.

Unfolded children's clothes.

A nursery school communication book stuck crookedly into a shelf.

Next to what he called self-investment, there was a pile of unprocessed laundry.

Kurihara forced a smile.

Sorry. My wife is a bit of a realist.

Being a realist is not a bad thing.

Mio said.

However, you need to adjust how much of your personal life you reveal in your posts.

Is it better not to show my personal life?

It depends on how you show it. Having a wife and children can build trust. However, if you focus too much on stories about causing trouble for your family, readers will empathize with your wife, not you, Kurihara-san.

Kurihara looked a bit troubled.

Is it bad if they empathize with my wife?

It shifts the focus away from the main subject of your posts.

The moment I answered, the presence behind me stopped.

His wife must have been listening.

Without appearing on screen, just her breath changed the air in the room.

I'm sorry, Kurihara said quietly. Please continue.

Mio continued.

Three days later, Kurihara's first post was published.

The Three Assumptions I Discarded to Achieve Results in Record Time After Losing Two Million Yen in a Side Hustle

The title was one of three options Mio had proposed.

At first, Kurihara resisted including the figure of two million yen.

But Mio explained that the number was not a source of shame, but an entry point.

Readers react to concrete pain.

Monetary figures are more effective than abstract talk of effort.

The post began to gain traction during the lunch break.

1:02 PM.

127 likes.

1:24 PM.

468 likes.

2:17 PM.

The follower count has exceeded 1,000.

A message arrived from Kurihara.

Ms. Shiraishi, the notifications won't stop.
This is a first for me.
It's actually true that my experience can be useful to someone.

Mio typed a reply.

The initial momentum is good. Don't get emotional and post repeatedly here; let's space out the next post. Pick up the comments with good engagement and categorize the readers' concerns.

Before sending, she looked at it for a moment.

Congratulations.

She added that sentence to the beginning.

By evening, there were comments on Kurihara's post.

"You gave me courage."

"I've only ever failed too, so this really hit home."

"I want to learn from someone like this."

"If there's a course, I'd like to take it."

"I trust the stories of people who have taken the long way around more."

Mio categorized the comments into a spreadsheet.

Empathy.

Course request.

Self-disclosure.

Question.

Criticism.

There is little criticism.

However, there were a few.

"What can someone who failed at two million yen teach?"

"Are there going to be more information product peddlers?"

"I'm tired of businesses that sell failure stories."

Mio moved them to a separate sheet.

She did not delete them.

Criticism can be used for product design.

If you know what people are skeptical about, you can prepare the answers in advance.

At night, an additional meeting with Kurihara was scheduled.

Kurihara on the other side of the screen was as bright as a different person compared to the morning.

Perhaps he bought lighting, as his complexion looked good too.

"Shiraishi-san, I've received three individual consultation requests."

"Please don't accept them yet."

"Eh?"

"What you need right now, Kurihara-san, is not to take consultations, but to prepare yourself to look like someone who can be consulted."

Should I turn down the consultation?

Don't turn it down; change it to an announcement before recruitment begins. Have those who apply now join a 'priority notification list.' If you rush to handle things individually, the value you provide will collapse.

Kurihara nodded seriously.

Shiraishi-san, you're amazing.

What's amazing is the response. I'm just organizing it.

No, but really. For the first time, I feel like my life has become something useful.

Have you talked to your wife about it?

Kurihara's expression clouded for a moment.

Well, a little.

What was her reaction?

She's still skeptical. She thinks I've just gotten caught up in something weird again.

That's to be expected.

Kurihara gave a bitter smile.

Expected, you say?

Given your history.

But this time is different.

To prove it's different, you need consistency.

Yes.

Post every day for at least thirty days. However, not as a successful person, but as someone who is organizing things based on their failures.

Understood.

"Also, it's too early to use the word 'course'."

Kurihara lowered his eyes.

"Actually, I've already thought of a title."

"What is it?"

Kurihara smiled bashfully.

"Seven-figure monthly income from scratch."

Mio stopped holding her cup.

"You don't have a track record of a seven-figure monthly income yet."

"Not yet. But I feel like I can do it."

"You cannot write it as a track record."

"Is it no good even as a sign?"

Mio remained silent.

A sign.

That way of putting it was correct.

A sign is not where you are now.

It is the destination you hang at the entrance.

"If it's 'Aiming for a seven-figure monthly income from scratch,' that's possible."

"Isn't that too long?"

"It's accurate."

"But it's weak, isn't it?"

Kurihara was already beginning to understand.

Precise words are weak.

Weak words are not read.

Words that are not read are as good as non-existent.

Mio looked at Kurihara on the screen.

In the morning, he was ashamed of his life.

At night, he was trying to put a sign on his life.

Too fast.

However, on social media, the fast ones win.

"Then, let's do this."

Mio opened a new document.

From zero to a seven-figure monthly income. A salaryman who took a two-million-yen detour in his side hustle reveals his practical record for beginners.

Kurihara gasped.

"This is good."

"I included 'to'. I didn't write that it has already been achieved."

"But people who see it might think you've already reached it."

"Some people might think that."

"Is that okay?"

Mio paused for just a moment.

She could have stopped here.

I could have left out the phrase 'seven-figure monthly income'.

I could have made it more modest, more sincere, and more accurate.

But sincere words would only lead Kurihara back to that place once again.

To the man who failed at his side hustle, was saddled with debt, was called by his wife about the washing machine, was unappreciated at work, and could not read his own life.

He is now looking forward for the first time.

Even if he is looking toward a sign that is slightly exaggerated.

"It's a margin for the sake of being read."

Mio said.

Kurihara smiled as if he had been saved.

"Shiraishi-san, you really are a teacher."

From the other side of the screen, his wife's voice called out again.

"Daichi, the food is getting cold."

Kurihara did not turn around.

"Later."

His voice was a little stronger than it had been in the morning.

Mio said nothing.

Two weeks later, Kurihara's followers exceeded ten thousand.

Three weeks later, the priority waiting list reached one hundred and seventy-six people.

Four weeks later, the first small-group seminar was fully booked.

The seminar title ultimately became this.

From Zero to a Seven-Figure Monthly Income
A Side Hustle Profile Course to Turn Failures into Assets

Mio kept the "to" in "to a seven-figure monthly income" until the very end.

She felt that was where her sincerity lay.

The revenue from the first course was 680,000 yen.

Kurihara bowed his head repeatedly through the screen.

"Ms. Shiraishi, thank you so much. My life is going to change."

Mio said.

"Whether it changes or not starts from here."

"Yes. But I have at least reached the entrance to that change."

The day after the course, a long message arrived from Kurihara.

Teacher, the attendees yesterday were all crying.
They said it was the first time they were able to affirm their own failures.
Even though it was what I conveyed, it felt like your words, Teacher.
I think this is something that more people need, not just me.
Not just for side hustles, but for job changes, matchmaking, starting a business, or family businesses.
Isn't everyone losing out because of how they present their own lives?
Teacher, this method, others can do it too, right?

Mio read the message over several times.

In the morning living room, the printout for Yume's parent-teacher conference was still hanging on the back of a chair.

The submission deadline had passed.

Yume hadn't said anything.

Mio hadn't been able to ask anything yet either.

On the computer screen, Kurihara's words were glowing.

Mio took a sip of her coffee.

It had gone cold.

It was bitter.

Even so, I was able to drink it.

I typed a short reply in the comment section.

I can do it.

After sending it, Mio let out a small sigh.

At that time, it still looked like the gateway to salvation.