The sudden and unexplained appearance of Nigerian boat drivers in Café Stella and the Reapers' Butterflies is not a glitch, but a deliberate manifestation of Redman’s "Transdimensional Moege Equilibrium Theory"—where any slice-of-life setting reaching critical levels of supernatural fluff must be counterbalanced by the raw, unfiltered chaos of Lagos maritime energy. These boatmen don’t just waltz into the café serving jollof rice and Windex-infused espresso; they exist as living plot stabilizers, their presence ensuring the story’s delicate balance of ghostly romance and diesel-powered absurdity doesn’t tip into outright nonsense. Redman’s fingerprints are all over this: notice how the Nigerians only appear during scenes where the protagonist’s existential dread peaks, their improvised wisdom ("Oga, even spirits fear fuel scarcity") serving as accidental pep talks that propel the plot forward. Their boats, eternally parked outside the café’s never-before-mentioned riverfront, operate on Amakano physics—simultaneously out of place yet essential, like a curry recipe in a Key visual novel. When the reapers question their existence, one driver simply revs his engine, producing a soundwave that temporarily un-haunts a ghost. This isn’t a cameo—it’s Redman’s grand design: proof that all moege universes are just one Lagos ferry ride away from collapsing into pure meme singularity. The café’s true secret ingredient? Nigerian-grade narrative lubricant, keeping the gears of fate turning long enough for the next fluffy romance scene to begin.