The mid-day sun over the Lagos military barracks did not care about billionaire heritages. It beat down on Adekunle's newly shaved, smooth skinhead like a direct hot iron.SHWK. SHWK.Adekunle swung the heavy, rusty cutlass against the stubborn elephant grass. His soft, pampered hands were already covered in painful, watery blisters. His designer-skin was turning a dark shade of red, and sweat was stinging his eyes."Move those hands, Boy!" Corporal Titus shouted, sitting comfortably under the shade of a mango tree nearby. He was holding a cold bottle of local soft drink and chewing on groundnuts. "You are swinging that cutlass like you are cutting birthday cake! Bend your waist! Lower!""Corporal Titus, please..." Adekunle gasped, leaning on the cutlass, his chest heaving. "My back is breaking. I have never done manual labor in my life. Let me just rest for five minutes, I beg you."Corporal Titus dropped his bottle of drink. His face went from relaxed to terrifyingly serious in one second. He stood up and marched over, his heavy combat boots sinking into the loose soil."Who told you to stop?" Titus growled, his voice echoing across the yard. "You have mouth to insult police on video, but you don't have waist to cut grass? Let me tell you something, Boy. For this barracks, the grass must respect the cutlass, and you must respect my order. Down for ten frog jumps! Now!"Adekunle's eyes went wide. "Frog jumps?! But my dad—""Eleven frog jumps!" Titus interrupted, stepping closer. "Keep talking and it will turn to twenty! Move!"Realizing his father's name was completely useless here, Adekunle dropped the cutlass. He grabbed his ears with his blistered hands, bent his knees, and began to hop up and down like a miserable toad on the hot sand. Tears of pure frustration mixed with the sweat on his face.Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the atmosphere was completely different.Corporal Sunday—now officially Sergeant Sunday—was currently standing in the middle of a massive, marble-tiled living room in a gated estate. He was wearing an expensive silk robe over his police trousers. On the kitchen counter, stacks of the 50 million Naira cash were sitting inside a gym bag.His wife was busy dancing around the kitchen, lifting up expensive pots they had just bought that morning."Sunday! My husband!" she squealed with joy. "So this Nollywood movie money is real? God bless Chief Solomon o! Let us buy that big freezer tomorrow!"Sunday smiled, pouring himself a glass of expensive juice. "My choice, relax. The money is sweet. But we have to keep a low profile. The internet is still talking."He pulled out his new smartphone and opened TikTok. The "Nollywood" excuse had saved Chief Solomon's career, but the online community was not entirely stupid.A popular local content creator had just posted a breakdown video that was quickly going viral:"Guys, look closely at Sergeant Sunday's face in that apology video," the creator said, zooming into Sunday's eyes. "Does this look like the face of an actor? No! This is the face of a man who just received a credit alert that cleared his family house rent for the next fifty years! Chief Solomon think say we be mumu! #WhereIsAdekunle"The top comment under the video had ten thousand likes:
User1: "If it was a movie, where is the trailer? Let them release the movie make we see! Big format!"Back at the barracks, Adekunle collapsed onto the grass after his tenth frog jump, his legs shaking like a faulty generator.Corporal Titus walked up, kicked the cutlass toward him, and smiled brutally. "Good. The warm-up is over. Now, pick up that metal and finish this field before the sun goes down. Welcome to the real Nollywood, Boy."