📍 Dorm Room – Omega Wing
🕟 5:30 AM
The words on Maka's screen seared into her skull, glowing in the bluish haze of early dawn.
// ọmọ t'ó lọ́tà – The child who walks a different path should not be broken, but tested. – A.A.
It shouldn't have mattered. It was just a comment embedded in a dead thread of code. But it felt intentional. Personal. A whisper from someone watching her closely.
A taunt?
A warning?
A summons?
She had to know.
Her fingers moved across the keyboard with surgical urgency. She pulled up archived project files, cross-referenced "A.A." against donor lists, faculty logs, internal memos, and early Academy development documents.
As usual, Alhaji Adewale Adebayo appeared everywhere — like a watermark burned into the Academy's digital walls. His influence was tangled through every system.
But this "A.A."?
This felt older.
Deeper.
Hidden.
Maka cracked open a restricted archive she'd found accidentally the night before — a fossilized server that predated half the buildings on campus. The encryption was primitive, almost ceremonial. She slipped through.
There it was.
Project: Aṣẹ-Ajé.
The file was thin, most logs corrupted or redacted. But the project lead's name remained intact:
Alimotu Adebayo.
Not the Alhaji.
His sister.
A name scrubbed from the family's public history.
A digital ghost.
Maka scrolled.
A pioneer whose work — "The Authority of Sorcery," the interface between intention and computation — had been shut down without explanation.
A phrase flashed on the final encrypted log, dated the day before the project's termination:
JAGAN HAS EYES.
Maka leaned back, a slow shiver crawling down her spine.
This wasn't just sabotage.
This wasn't just a corporate power play.
The JAGABAN node had roots older than she was — a legacy of secrecy passed down through a family dynasty with a history of burying anything they couldn't control.
She wasn't fighting an algorithm.
She was fighting a ghost with a bloodline.
---
📍 Advanced Economics Lecture Hall
🕥 10:30 AM
"The winners of this market simulation," Professor Durojaiye announced, "will present their strategy directly to the Adebayo Foundation investment board. This is not an exercise. This is an audition for your future."
A ripple of electric ambition spread through the hall.
This was the golden ticket.
Predictably, Temi swivelled with perfect grace toward Lekan.
"Partner?" she asked.
Lekan's answering smile was sharp and predatory.
Bayo's phone vibrated.
A message from his father.
The Okoro girl's network activity shows unusual resilience.
Your assessment was too soft.
Apply pressure. Today.
His jaw tightened.
Pressure.
Of course.
He stood, chair scraping like a blade drawn across stone. Heads turned. Conversations died.
He did not walk toward Temi.
He crossed the aisle, ignoring the stares, ignoring the confusion.
He stopped at Maka's desk.
"You and me, scholarship student," he said, voice carrying through the room. Not a question. A declaration. A move in a chess match only two of them understood. "Let's see if you can translate your code into cold, hard cash."
Gasps. Murmurs.
Temi's face iced over — a queen denied her crown.
Maka met his eyes.
She understood exactly what this was.
Not partnership.
Not alliance.
A forced move in a much deadlier game.
She nodded once.
"Fine."
---
📍 Library Strategy Room
🕝 2:30 PM
The private room felt like a war table — whiteboards covered in equations, screens glowing with simulations, textbooks spread like maps.
Two minds.
Two philosophies.
One objective.
Bayo tapped his model. "Leverage existing market panic. If people are afraid, control the fear and you control the market."
"Or dissolve the fear entirely," Maka countered, spinning her laptop toward him. "Build transparency they can trust. Create a system so clean the old one can't compete."
He scoffed. "You think revolution wins against profit?"
"It does when the people are the ones who profit."
They weren't just discussing market strategy.
They were debating worldviews — empire versus liberation.
Frustration prickled her skin.
She slammed her wrist on the table. The quartz bracelet Layo had given her clacked loudly.
Bayo froze.
His eyes locked on the bracelet like it was radioactive.
"Where did you get that?"
Not curious.
Urgent.
Maka straightened. "Why?"
"Just tell me," he said quietly.
"A friend. My roommate. Layo."
Recognition hit him like a punch.
"Adeleye…" he whispered. "Her father was the lead engineer on my aunt's project. Aṣẹ-Ajé. My father called him incompetent. My aunt called him indispensable." He swallowed. "He was the last person she spoke to before she disappeared."
Maka blinked. "Disappeared?"
"Officially? She resigned." Bayo shook his head. "Unofficially? She was erased."
He sat forward, voice dropping to a razor-thin whisper.
"That bracelet you're wearing is one of her prototypes. A conduit for data resonance. A relic from a war her side lost."
The room felt suddenly smaller.
His throat worked.
He owed her truth now.
"The JAGABAN node isn't just slowing your app. It's siphoning your work — line by line. My father plans to replicate KudiSync, stamp our name on it, and release it as a 'philanthropic advancement.' He'll take what you built for your people and sell it back to them."
Maka's stomach turned.
"So it's theft."
"It's conquest."
Their eyes met — two worlds, equally violated.
This partnership was no longer forced.
It was necessary.
---
📍 Dorm Room – Omega Wing
Server Hub Access
🕘 9:00 PM
The maintenance closet door opened with embarrassing ease — just as Layo promised. The hum of the server hub hit Maka like heat from a furnace.
I'm in. All clear? she typed.
Clear, Bayo replied. Temi and Lekan are prepping in the east wing. You have a window.
She slipped deeper. Lights blinked rhythmically, like the heartbeat of a mechanical beast. Cables snaked in all directions.
Then she saw it — the primary admin port.
She pulled out the stylus Bayo dropped on the rooftop.
It clicked into the port with the precision of destiny.
Her HUD opened like a blooming flower.
She found the JAGABAN node.
She didn't disable it.
That would trigger alarms.
Instead, she slithered inside.
The siphoning code was elegant, predatory — copying every byte of KudiSync into a hidden archive.
Fine.
Let them copy.
Maka planted a seed.
A Digital Poison Pill — her signature woven into recursive logic so subtle even seasoned engineers would admire the beauty without noticing the venom.
At its core, she embedded one line:
// ọmọ t'ó lọ́tà
Let them steal her code.
Let them perfect it.
Let them trust it.
Once their version reached critical mass, the pill would activate — not by crashing, but by slowly corrupting financial trust at a mathematical level. A graceful collapse.
Justice by code.
It's done.
The lion will smell the poison.
Let him, she replied. By then, it will already be in his blood.
---
📍 Rooftop Terrace
🕚 11:00 PM
The city shimmered like a bowl of crushed stars. The night air was sharp, carrying the distant thrum of Lagos traffic.
They stood side by side now — no pretenses, no masks.
"We beat them today," Maka said.
"No." Bayo shook his head. "We provoked them. My father won't ignore you anymore. He'll send others. People who don't lose."
He turned fully toward her.
"My father is hosting a gala next week. Ministers, investors, rival families. The entire board. They'll be there."
"And you want me to walk into the lion's den?"
He nodded once.
Not dramatic.
Not manipulative.
Just honest strategy.
"They'll attack your reputation before they attack your code. Whisper campaigns. Dossiers. Half-truths. You need to be ready."
Maka exhaled, slow and steady.
The night tasted like smoke and possibility.
This was her first real step into their world — the world that swallowed people whole.
"Send me the details," she said.
Bayo's expression softened — almost relief, almost respect.
The wind picked up, brushing against them like an unseen hand.
The first move had been made.
The board was set.
The pieces were stirring.
And together — unwilling allies bound by danger — they were stepping into a war neither of them knew how to survive.