Apartman: Building Manager

You are the manager of Papatya Apartmanı, a four-storey block in Istanbul. On the ground floor there is Selim's grocery, and Ramazan Efendi, the caretaker. Above them: four floors, eight flats. Nezahat Teyze has lived in 1A for forty years. Dr. Emre comes home from the night shift in the morning and tries to sleep through the day. Kaan streams all night. Ayşe Hanım lives with seven cats. 3B is a student flat. They all use the same staircase, and they are all, in their own way, right. On paper the job is simple: collect the dues, keep the building standing. NEIGHBOURS ARE NOT NUMBERS Every flat has six needs: quiet, warmth, cleanliness, belonging, respect, safety. They do not simply drain; each one moves towards a target set by the state of the building. When the heating fails, the warmth target drops and everyone follows it down. An unhappy neighbour gets louder, and noise travels next door. So who you move into an empty flat is a real decision. SIX SYSTEMS, NONE OF THEM LAST Lift, heating, plumbing, roof, door, cleaning. All six wear down every turn, and you feel it before anything breaks. Rain ages the roof three times faster; winter doubles the load on the heating. Repairs cost money, upgrades cost more, and you rarely have both in the till at once. When Hikmet Bey is home, the lift works harder. He is not a statistic; he is a neighbour. LOSING IS REAL If a flat stays below 25 contentment for six turns in a row, the tenant moves out. The flat empties and the dues stop. Finding someone new means posting a listing, waiting a few turns and choosing between three candidates. Each comes with a few hints, and one habit nobody mentions. ONE BUILDING, THEN MORE As your reputation grows you take on an estate and a residential tower in Istanbul, then one building in each of eleven cities, and every city brings a rule of its own. Berlin shares the cleaning on a rota. In Naples, noise and smells carry across the courtyard. In Paris every repair needs a permit. In London, damp wears things down unseen. Madrid has summer heat and the siesta hush. In Amsterdam the stairs are so narrow that furniture goes up by crane. Stockholm books the shared laundry by schedule. Tokyo lives by the rubbish calendar. Seoul measures noise and turns it into formal warnings. In Mexico City you ration the water tank. In São Paulo every parcel through the door is your problem. A deputy manager looks after the buildings you are not in, and your first building is always there to come back to. RESPECT FOR YOUR TIME No energy bar. No purchases. No account. Ads stay in a small strip at the bottom. If you like, watch a short video and play ad-free for four hours. A turn is four hours, six turns a day; while the game is closed, up to three turns bank up, and the screen says so plainly. If you could only drop in briefly, part of the turns you missed is paid into the till at the end of the day. A broken streak is halved, not reset, and once a week a missed day is forgiven automatically. Playing once a day still gets you there. Just slower. That is a design decision. Written in Turkish, playable in English and German. You never type anything: the neighbours talk, you decide. Your save stays on your device.