Before dawn broke, the bell rang.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Its echo shattered sleep and silence. Juniors leapt from bunks, eyes wild, hearts pounding.
Kalu Egbe hit the floor, grabbing his sneakers. "Nna m ichi oke... today don come."
Nedu was already tying his shorts. "Bell no dey lie. Seniors dey wait."
Fireboy burst out of his bed, "I no wan fly today. Tega talk say we must evaporate."
Within minutes, the hostel became a storm of rushing feet. Boys ran with shirts half-worn, slippers in hand, some barefoot. The fear of arriving late outweighed any shame.
Outside, the cold morning air bit at their faces. The path to the sports field was narrow, and the line of running juniors stretched long.
As they approached the field, voices thundered.
"Run faster!"
Senior Tega stood like a warden at the edge, whistle in mouth, belt in hand.
"You there! Why you slow? Start flying!"
Kalu sprinted harder, lungs burning. Nedu stumbled but kept pace. Fireboy zig-zagged, avoiding the reach of a swinging belt.
On the field, seniors barked commands.
"Ten laps! Move!"
Kalu ran, the ground a blur beneath him. Sweat soaked his shirt, but he dared not slow. Tega's voice echoed.
"If you stop, you crawl back to hostel!"
Around him, boys gasped, some fell, others dragged themselves upright. No mercy. No water. Just running.
Then, the breakfast bell rang.
Instead of stopping, seniors shouted again.
"Run to dining! No delay! Move now!"
Chaos erupted.
Juniors scattered, some sprinting straight to the dining hall in sportswear, others attempting to dash to the hostel first.
Kalu hesitated. "My spoon dey hostel!"
Fireboy shouted, "Forget spoon! Run!"
Seniors were everywhere, blocking paths.
"You! No time! Enter dining like that!"
Some juniors reached the hostel, yanked off clothes, grabbed plates. Others stormed the dining hall sweaty, confused.
Inside, the hall was noise and motion. Boys ate in jog-wear, panting.
Kalu sat, breathless, spoon in hand. He'd made it.
Nedu collapsed beside him. "This school na madness."
Fireboy laughed weakly. "At least we chop."
And so, in Old FGC, the bell ruled—and boys ran, dressed or not.
To be continued...