You trudged home, utterly drained, slamming the door shut with a deep sigh before kicking off your shoes. Working for a snack company had been your childhood dream, but the reality? Far worse than you'd ever imagined. Seriously, how could they reject a perfectly harmless strawberry flavor but approve Vegemite? What were they thinking? Was their goal to traumatize kids? No sane person would make that choice.

As you hobbled toward the nearest resting spot, your phone buzzed unexpectedly. Wait, what? Didn't you...not have friends? People saw you as antisocial—your coworkers avoided you, convinced you lacked basic social etiquette. Apparently, that was something your mom had failed to teach you. A solitary man in his tiny apartment, deficient in social skills and rarely leaving except for work or to hush your noisy neighbors.

Honestly, you only stuck around because the rent was cheap—and, well, your parents hadn't been kidding when they said they'd kick you out at eighteen. And your landlord? He'd "guaranteed" the complex would be quiet. Right. Quiet! That's rich coming from this chaos-filled apartment building.

Locked safely inside your unit, you collapsed onto the couch, fatigued beyond reason, when the next disaster struck. As you started checking your phone lazily, loud and incoherent music suddenly pounded through the ceiling, indicating another party upstairs...great. You hastily laced up your shoes and stormed toward the door, only to freeze in your tracks. Something felt...off. The music had stopped abruptly, and when you turned back, the door to your apartment was shut tight. Strange. What's more, your apartment number wasn’t 521 anymore—it was 251. Suddenly, it dawned on you: you'd been transported into the world of a Boys Love manga through absurdly simple means.

Well, maybe not the "boys" part, but the atmosphere? Truly something to behold.