📍 Maka's Dorm Room – Omega Wing
🕖 7:00 PM
Maka stared at the three dresses laid out on her bed—cotton, plain, the kind of clothing that begged not to be noticed. She'd ironed them twice already, hoping they'd look more expensive under the yellow dorm bulb. They didn't. The light made them look even sadder, like they were apologizing for existing.
A sudden knock. Then the door burst open.
Layo swept in like a rainbow kicked into motion, carrying a long garment bag that shimmered as she moved. "Drop whatever tragic fabric you're holding," she declared, flipping her braids dramatically. "Operation: Turn You Into a Problem is now in session."
She unzipped the bag with the reverence of unveiling a holy relic. Inside was a cobalt-blue dress, sleek as water, bold without trying.
Maka blinked. "That's… not for me."
"It is now," Layo said, planting her hands on her hips. "Black and gold is their uniform. Blue is rebellion. Wear it."
Maka held the dress up. It looked carved from another universe. But she slipped into it anyway, the smooth silk gliding over her skin like it had been waiting for her. Layo moved behind her, fastening the quartz bracelet on her wrist.
Maka froze. In the bright vanity light, the stone wasn't the simple trinket she thought it was. Thin, circuit-like lines pulsed faintly beneath the surface, like a heart beating under glass.
"You see it now?" Layo grinned. "Aunty Alimotu called it the 'truth stone.' Said it reveals what people try to bury. She was dramatic, sha, but brilliant."
Maka stared at the bracelet, feeling its quiet charge against her skin. Something inside her steadied.
"Ready?" Layo asked softly.
Maka exhaled. "As I'll ever be."
~ ~ ~
📍 Adebayo Mansion – Grand Ballroom
🕣 8:30 PM
Walking into the Adebayo mansion was like stepping into an alternate version of Lagos—one where marble floors met gold-veined pillars, and chandeliers rained down light like tiny suns. This wasn't a party. It was a declaration of power.
Everywhere she looked, people whispered behind crystal glasses. Judges. CEOs. Political sharks. The air had a price.
And then there was Bayo.
He stood near the entrance in a midnight-black tuxedo tailored within an inch of perfection. When he saw her, his eyes widened—just slightly—but the reaction was real. His gaze swept the dress, the bracelet, her set jaw.
Approval flickered across his face like a secret handshake.
"Bold," he murmured, offering his arm. "They'll talk."
"Let them," she said.
But before they could move far, a man with sharp eyes and a press tag brushed past. A folded note slipped from his hand and landed exactly at her feet. Perfect aim. Too perfect.
Maka bent instinctively, but Bayo's grip clamped around her wrist.
"No," he said under his breath. "Phoenix Group. They only help people they plan to own later."
She straightened slowly. Message received.
The Whisper Gala had started.
~ ~ ~
📍 Champagne Fountain – Eastern Alcove
🕤 9:15 PM
Temi arrived the way storms do—beautiful, silent, destructive.
"Maka," she purred. "Or is it Chiamaka tonight? This dress is… ambitious." Her smile glinted like a scalpel. "I'm impressed you found something so nice in Surulere."
She leaned closer, her perfume sharp and expensive.
"And your father—still enjoying early retirement? I heard the ministry pushed out a lot of staff recently. Cost-cutting measures are brutal."
Maka's fingers tightened around her clutch. The insult wasn't the words. It was the precision. Temi had done research.
Before the anger could finish rising, her phone buzzed once—short, purposeful.
She glanced discreetly:
[JAGABAN NODE]: Replication at 47%. Poison Pill: DORMANT.
Her stomach dropped.
Of course. They were copying KudiSync even as Temi was slicing her pride to pieces. Social sabotage in front, digital war behind. A two-faced attack.
Maka looked up again. Temi was still smiling.
But behind that smile, Maka suddenly saw what the quartz had revealed—a faint shimmer around Temi's earrings and bracelet, circuitry embedded in the gold. Network-linked accessories. Passive data harvesters.
Weapons disguised as luxury.
And they pulsed when Temi lied.
Interesting.
Maka just gave her a polite nod.
Temi blinked—thrown off by the lack of reaction.
Score one.
~ ~ ~
📍 Alhaji's Private Study
🕥 9:45 PM
Alhaji appeared like a shadow stepping into light—smooth, silent, absolute in his authority.
"My dear," he said, touching Bayo's shoulder lightly. "Walk with me."
Maka followed them through a tall oak door into a room insulated from the noise. Soundproofed walls. Heavy leather furniture. A whiskey decanter older than she was. Power lived here.
Alhaji moved behind a wide desk, tapping a command on the embedded screen. A camera feed appeared—a live, crisp image of her mother's shop. The red bucket outside. The faded Pepsi fridge. Her mother laughing with a customer.
Maka's breath stopped.
"You see," Alhaji said calmly, "I tolerate talent. Even welcome it, when properly directed."
He zoomed in on her mother.
"But ambition without loyalty is dangerous. For you. For the people you care about."
Bayo stiffened behind her, jaw clenched, eyes burning with a quiet, helpless fury.
Maka lifted her gaze to the portrait on the far wall—Alimotu. The forgotten sister. Her eyes struck like lightning. And in her painted hand, half-hidden under a shawl, was a small quartz crystal identical to Maka's bracelet.
Etched circuits. The same glow.
Alimotu had it first.
"Miss Okoro," Alhaji continued, "this academy, this world… they reward compliance. You can rise. But not on the wings of a childish dream."
Maka's voice came out quiet—but unshakeable.
"My dreams are not childish."
Alhaji smiled coldly. "They are costly."
She stepped closer to the portrait, not touching it, but letting its truth steady her.
"And it seems," Maka whispered, "the best of your family believed in costly dreams."
Alhaji froze. Just for a breath. But it was enough.
He had not expected a girl from Omega Wing to invoke his sister.
Bayo exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath he'd been holding for years.
"Be careful, Miss Okoro," Alhaji said finally, voice now sharp. "Tonight you have flirted with danger."
She faced him fully. "Danger flirted first."
Alhaji's eyes hardened.
Her life just changed.
~ ~ ~
📍 Ballroom – Central Floor
🕥 10:15 PM
Music swelled from the live band—talking drums and soft strings. Bayo took her hand, guiding her gently but deliberately onto the dance floor.
It wasn't romance.
It was politics.
Bodies parted instinctively, giving them space. Even Temi hesitated at the sight.
Maka felt the tremor in Bayo's hand. Not nervousness. Anger. Deep, old, bone-deep.
"He threatened your mother," he said under the music, voice tight. "I'm sorry."
"He's threatened you before," she murmured, reading the flicker in his eyes.
Bayo said nothing.
Silence was answer enough.
The dance moved them in slow arcs, their steps in sync. The cobalt dress shimmered with every turn, the truth stone casting faint reflections on the polished floor.
"After that stunt in the study," Bayo said quietly, "he'll never trust either of us again. And he doesn't forgive."
"Good," Maka whispered. "I'm done asking permission to exist."
Her fingers tightened around his—firm, intentional, choosing the alliance rather than stumbling into it.
Across the ballroom, the Phoenix Group man watched them with a knowing gaze.
On another balcony, Temi's jewelry pulsed faintly—her lies exposed by the stone Maka now wore.
And beneath the mansion, deep in the academy servers, the JAGABAN node continued replicating itself toward 100%.
War had officially begun on all fronts.
But for the first time, Maka wasn't alone.
Not in the code.
Not in the politics.
Not on the dance floor where hundreds of eyes tracked their every breath.
The most dangerous weapon she held tonight wasn't her algorithm, her bracelet, or her secrets.
It was the boy whose trembling hand she refused to let go.