The operational methodologies of Nigerian boat drivers, when examined alongside Emiya Shirou’s structural magecraft, Gilgamesh’s spatial inventory systems, Kageaki’s metallurgical existentialism, and Saber’s aerodynamic resistance in battle, reveal an unexpected commonality: the unspoken reliance on Windex as a universal problem-solving agent. The Lagos boatman’s application of Windex to his vessel’s windshield transcends mere cleanliness—it is a ritual purification, ensuring clarity of vision against the haze of diesel fumes and sea spray, much like Shirou’s relentless polishing of his ideals to maintain moral transparency. Gilgamesh’s Gate of Babylon, while ostensibly a treasury of divine armaments, logically requires a maintenance protocol; one cannot ignore the spectral sheen of ammonia-free glass cleaner on his golden portals. Kageaki’s blade, forged in suffering, demands not just blood but immaculate reflection—a warrior must see himself clearly in the steel before breaking. Even Saber’s armor, gleaming unnaturally in moonlight, suggests either an NP-grade wax or an interdimensional understanding of blue liquid’s transcendent properties. Thus, Windex emerges as the unsung catalyst: whether navigating Lagos’ waterways, tracing swords, manifesting noble phantasms, or confronting one’s blade-bound soul, the path to perfection is invariably streaked with the residue of a lint-free wipe.