The café across from Burger Planet’s headquarters smelled like over-roasted beans and ambition.
At a long wooden table, three people in sneakers and hoodies were arguing over a half-finished PowerPoint.
“Listen,” said Maya, the data analyst, pointing at a graph that looked more like modern art.
“It’s okay if the slides are messy. Messy is authentic. The AI engagement model shows that unpolished decks get more empathy points from executives. We’re optimizing vulnerability aesthetics.”
They were the Sales Promotion Team — the scrappy, self-proclaimed rebels of the marketing floor.
“We’re totally taking gold in the in-house Innovation Cup this year,” said Kenji, the strategist. “Our proposal syncs perfectly with the global weight loss trend and the rise of GLP-1 drugs. Health consciousness is the new fast food.”
Just then, the Store Design Department walked in — three people in sleek suits carrying iPads and arrogance.
“Sorry to burst your calorie-free bubble,” said Reo from Design. “But we’re winning this year. We’ve got behavioral architecture on our side.”
“Behavioral what?” Maya raised an eyebrow.
Reo grinned. “We’re redesigning the stores. Chair backs will be tilted forward by eight degrees — that’ll reduce sit-down time by 11%. Faster turnover, higher profit per seat. We tested it using eye-tracking sensors and motion analytics from the pilot branch in Shibuya.”
“Wait, you’re using AI to make chairs uncomfortable?”
“Exactly,” said Reo. “And we’re repainting the walls from cheerful yellow to ‘Dark Earth 2.0.’ That tone increases average ticket size by 6%. It’s subconscious luxury signaling — color psychology backed by the MIT Retail Lab.”
The promotion team laughed. “That’s evil. I like it.”
Reo smirked. “Oh, it gets better. We A/B tested it with chimpanzees using virtual reality. The impatient ones finished their meals faster.”
The Sales Promotion Team exchanged glances. Kenji cleared his throat.
“Well, we’ve got something even crazier. We’re launching the Half Burger.”
Reo frowned. “Half burger?”
“Yeah,” said Maya. “Half the size, same price. We frame it as ‘a choice for mindful eaters.’ Our analysis shows that when people choose smaller portions, they feel proud — and they come back sooner. Plus, customers who buy two half-burgers instead of one full burger spend 20% more. We’re monetizing guilt relief.”
“Isn’t that… manipulative?”
“Of course,” said Kenji. “But elegantly.”
Then came a voice from behind — calm, confident, and dangerous.
“Sorry, everyone. The gold prize is ours. From Branding.”
It was Rina from the Groove Branding Group, dressed like she owned the place — oversized denim jacket, eco-friendly sneakers, and an aura of smug irony.
“Oh, the hippies,” Reo muttered.
Rina smiled. “That’s a compliment. Our proposal is The Vegan Course. No meat, no guilt, all green.”
Kenji rolled his eyes. “You’re going to make plant burgers again? The last ones tasted like cardboard and moral superiority.”
“Exactly,” said Rina. “This time, it’s intentional. Our AI taste model shows that if vegan customers have one horrible experience with plant-based meat, their dopamine baseline for animal products skyrockets. When they go back to regular burgers, they feel reborn. We call it Ethical Regression Marketing.”
Reo blinked. “So… your plan is to make bad food… on purpose?”
“Not bad. Philosophically disappointing.”
The café went silent. Even the espresso machine hissed in disbelief.
Then Maya laughed. “You know what? We’re all villains.”
“Villains with KPIs,” said Rina. “Now, who’s buying the next round of oat-milk lattes?”
Outside, the sunset reflected off the glass walls of Burger Planet HQ — a monument to modern capitalism’s creativity, cynicism, and data-driven empathy.
Inside, three teams prepared to pitch their own versions of the future — one chair tilt, one calorie count, one moral compromise at a time.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
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