He believed the bullshit.

The Bully’s first mistake was believing a guy filming in a rented Lamborghini.

“You can build an app with AI in a weekend. You don’t even need to code.”

He had a weekend.

By Sunday night, he had four subscriptions, a domain name and a logo for a company that did absolutely nothing.

Still, the logo looked expensive. Shame about the business.

He told everyone he was “working on something.” By Friday, he wanted to send them a link.

He joined the Discords. Bought the courses. Watched a nineteen-year-old explain passive income from a bedroom his parents were actively paying for.

Everyone had a secret. Every secret was $49. Funny how that works.

Then came the idea he actually cared about.

No course. No countdown timer. Just something he wanted to exist badly enough to make it himself. He told Claude Code what he wanted to build. Things started appearing on the screen.

He stayed up prompting it. Ate dinner over it. Got it working once and immediately appointed himself a visionary. Understanding the files could wait.

He sent the link to everyone.

His friends said it looked sick. Nobody had tried doing much beyond signing in.

One stranger replied:

“Bro. I can see everyone’s stuff.”

He closed the laptop. Opened it again.

Yep. Everyone’s stuff. Excellent work, genius.

His app had the privacy settings of a group chat.

For a minute, he considered deleting the whole thing and becoming one of those people who “just has ideas.”

Instead, he messaged the stranger.

“Can you show me?”

The reply was brutal. Specific. Annoyingly useful.

He stopped typing “just fix it” and started asking what was actually wrong. He fixed one thing. Then another. Some fixes broke other things. There was swearing. There was cheese straight from the packet. A very serious development process.

Eventually, he sent the link again.

This time, it held up.

That was the bit nobody had put in the course.

He didn’t need another person telling him he was about to change the world.

He needed someone willing to look at his work and say:

“Your ambition’s fine. This bit’s a mess. Start here.”

Unfortunately, he decided to become that person.

Now he shows up, points at the thing you hoped nobody would notice, and makes it very difficult to keep ignoring it.

He’s loud. He’s nosy. He has absolutely no business judging your sleep schedule.

But he remembers what it felt like to finally make something and discover he’d left the whole damn door open.