Bizarre! Takuya Higashimoto Enjoyed Expensive Meals for Two Years Without Paying a Penny by Cheating Food Companies

In an astonishing case that has both amused and alarmed Japan, a man from Nagoya successfully ate gourmet meals for two years without spending a single yen, deceiving a popular food delivery platform through a sophisticated web of lies. The story of 43-year-old Takuya Higashimoto, who managed to enjoy over 2 million yen worth of luxury meals through the Demae-can app, reads almost like a modern crime novel—one that reveals both the loopholes of digital convenience and the obsessive dedication of a man who refused to pay for his dinner.

For over 24 months, Takuya lived like a well-fed king while technically being unemployed, exploiting the trust-based structure of a multi-million-dollar delivery ecosystem. His case has not only left Japan stunned but has also prompted nationwide conversations about online security, customer refund policies, and the moral decay behind digital deception.

A Gourmet Life Funded by Fraud

What makes Takuya Higashimoto’s story so captivating is the level of detail and consistency in his deception. According to reports from the South China Morning Post, Higashimoto had been unemployed for several years and relied entirely on food deliveries for sustenance. Unlike the typical case of a hacker or a scammer seeking financial gain, his motive was indulgence—a craving for high-end cuisine without the means to afford it.

His daily orders reportedly included eel bento, hamburger steak, and ice cream—luxuries in Japan’s culinary culture. For two entire years, he ordered from the Demae-can platform, a leading online food delivery service in Japan similar to Uber Eats or DoorDash. After each delivery arrived, he would immediately file a complaint through the app, claiming that his meal had never been delivered. The company, operating under a customer-first refund system, would promptly reimburse him.

This process effectively gave Takuya both the food and the refund, allowing him to continue his scheme with minimal suspicion. Over the two-year period, he pulled this trick more than a thousand times—specifically 1,095 transactions—resulting in an estimated loss of 3.7 million yen for Demae-can.

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The brilliance, or rather the audacity, of Takuya’s actions lay in his ability to manipulate not just the system, but also the psychology of customer service. Companies like Demae-can operate under the principle that “the customer is always right,” and refund complaints are often automated or swiftly processed to maintain goodwill and public trust. Takuya turned that goodwill into a personal buffet, one fraudulent complaint at a time.

The Web of Fake Identities and Digital Deceit

The second—and perhaps most remarkable—aspect of Takuya’s con was his intricate strategy to conceal his tracks. To avoid detection, he created 124 fake accounts over the course of two years. Each account was registered under a different name, address, and phone number, giving the illusion that multiple customers were making isolated refund requests.

He went as far as to obtain prepaid SIM cards under false identities using fabricated documentation, ensuring that even if the company cross-checked phone numbers or delivery addresses, no immediate connection could be traced back to him. This elaborate effort suggests a man deeply aware of the system’s weaknesses and methodically exploiting them.

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It was not a casual scam born out of chance—it was a sustained, calculated campaign. Higashimoto’s approach demonstrated a surprising understanding of how digital verification systems work in consumer platforms. By rotating addresses, changing small delivery details, and alternating restaurants, he managed to keep his activities under the radar for an astonishing length of time.

Yet, as many con artists eventually discover, perfection breeds complacency. On July 30, when he once again ordered ice cream and chicken steak and immediately filed a complaint requesting a refund, the system flagged the transaction. By that point, Demae-can had begun tightening its refund review process after noticing an uptick in suspicious complaints. This order, routine for Takuya, became the one that led to his downfall.

The company’s internal audit traced several previous refund cases with similar patterns—identical complaint phrasing, overlapping delivery areas, and shared payment identifiers. A deeper investigation revealed a network of connected accounts that, when mapped, pointed to a single IP address in Nagoya. Demae-can subsequently filed a police report, and authorities arrested Takuya soon after.

When questioned, he reportedly admitted to the crimes and expressed little remorse, instead claiming he did not think he would ever be caught. His calm demeanor during interrogation, according to investigators, suggested a man who saw his scheme as an art form rather than a criminal act.

The Aftermath: Security Overhauls and Public Reaction

The revelation of this extraordinary scam has triggered a wave of scrutiny toward food delivery platforms across Japan. Demae-can, in particular, has come under criticism for its lax refund policies, which allowed one individual to defraud the company more than a thousand times without raising internal red flags. In response, the platform announced that it is enhancing its ID verification systems and strengthening its fraud detection algorithms.

New measures being implemented include mandatory photo identification for new account sign-ups, improved AI-driven order tracking, and manual verification for repeated refund claims. The company also plans to cooperate closely with law enforcement to prevent similar abuses in the future.

The incident has also ignited a nationwide debate about customer trust and corporate responsibility. Japan, known for its culture of honesty and mutual respect, has long operated under systems that assume goodwill from users. Refund policies in many industries—from e-commerce to hospitality—are designed to favor customers to maintain reputation and service quality. However, as the digital economy expands, cases like Higashimoto’s have forced companies to confront the darker side of convenience.

On Japanese social media platforms such as X (formerly Twitter), the case has gone viral, with users expressing a mix of disbelief, amusement, and criticism. Some posts praised the “sheer dedication” and “creativity” of Takuya’s deception, albeit in a tongue-in-cheek manner, while others condemned his actions as a selfish abuse that undermines trust-based business models. A few users even noted that the system’s vulnerabilities were as much to blame as the individual, arguing that large corporations must build smarter, more resilient systems to prevent human error and exploitation.

Legal experts in Japan have also weighed in, noting that while digital scams are not new, the scale and duration of Takuya’s scheme are unusual. His case has become a cautionary example of how small loopholes in automated processes can snowball into significant financial losses. Under Japanese law, he faces multiple charges including fraud, identity falsification, and misuse of electronic communication networks—a combination that could result in several years of imprisonment if convicted.

Ethicists have also discussed the psychological dimensions of the case. Higashimoto’s long-term unemployment and isolation might have contributed to his obsessive routine. The thrill of “outsmarting the system,” coupled with daily access to free gourmet food, may have created a feedback loop of reward and rationalization. In interviews with Japanese news outlets, local residents from his neighborhood described him as a quiet man who kept to himself and rarely interacted with others—a solitary figure leading a secret life of indulgence financed by deceit.

A Digital Crime Reflecting Modern Vulnerabilities

Beyond the immediate humor and shock of the story, the Higashimoto case symbolizes a broader issue in the modern digital age—the fragility of trust within automated systems. As companies increasingly rely on AI, algorithms, and customer-friendly automation, the human element of oversight often fades. Convenience, though essential for growth, becomes a potential liability when exploited by those who understand its inner workings.

The Demae-can fraud is not just a story about one man’s gluttony; it is a reflection of how technology, when combined with human cunning, can blur moral lines and expose systemic weaknesses. It also highlights how the very qualities that make digital services appealing—speed, efficiency, and user trust—can become gateways for abuse when unchecked.

In response, several other food delivery services in Japan, including Uber Eats Japan and menu.jp, have reportedly begun reviewing their refund processes and security frameworks. Experts predict that more stringent verification requirements, including government-issued ID linking, will soon become standard practice.

For the general public, the case serves as a peculiar reminder that even seemingly harmless acts of deception can grow into large-scale fraud. The lengths to which Takuya went—creating fake documents, rotating SIM cards, and maintaining over a hundred identities—demonstrate how obsession and opportunity can intersect in the digital world.

As the story continues to spread internationally, it has become a cultural talking point not only about crime but about the psychology of online anonymity. Behind every username and order number lies a human being, capable of both creativity and corruption.

In the end, while Takuya Higashimoto’s two-year feast has come to an end, his story remains a striking case study in modern digital exploitation—a bizarre blend of cunning, indulgence, and audacity that exposes how easily convenience can be corrupted when systems prioritize trust over scrutiny.