The war for the future of global finance began, as most modern wars do, not with a bang, but with a cascade of digital panic and the quiet, brutal art of campus gossip. And for Maka and Bayo, it began on three hours of sleep.
đ Student Union & Professor's Office
đ 9:00 AM | Next Day
The Student Union hummed with a nervous energy that caffeine couldn't cure. Maka clutched her tablet, the live feed from the Foundation's war room a stark contrast to the scene around her. On screen, FeFe's face was drawn. In the Union, the tension was a more intimate poison.
Layo's explainer graphics were being distributed by River Guard members. "The Alliance wants to control your money," one read.
From the plush couches, Tunde of the Legacy Club held court. "Every sinking ship has its rats. Though most rats have the decency not to hand out lifeboat instructions."
Maka's jaw tightened. As she passed a limestone wall, a fresh, red graffito made her stop: SELLOUT PRINCE. Instinctively, her fingers went to the quartz bracelet on her wrist. It felt cold, unnervingly so, as if the campus's turning mood had leeched all its warmth.
Her phone buzzed. A summons. Professor Durojaiye's office was a sanctuary of books and quiet, but his expression was grim. "Maka, your scholarship review is Friday. The board is concerned. Your... extracurricular activities... are a distraction. Tunde's father, on the Board of Trustees, is asking pointed questions. Don't throw this away."
The warning was a cage door slamming shut. The battle was now academic, too.
Across the Union, Bayo scrolled through a leaked dossier, his strategist's mind seeking patterns. And then he found one: Adebayo Adewunmi Sr., his father. The graffiti on the wall seemed to pulse. SELLOUT PRINCE. The air left his lungs.
đ Private Jet & Campus Arrival
đ 12:00 PM | Local Time
Chioma's arrival was a lightning strike. She appeared at the main gates with Chinedu, introduced as her "research assistant" for a guest lecture series. The rumor mill went supernova.
The River Guard saw a threat. The Legacy Club saw confirmation of a "criminal enterprise." Chinedu's calm, professional presence lent an air of credibility that disarmed some of the immediate suspicion.
Maka, against Bayo's silent objection, led them to The Grind, the student coffee shop. Let everyone see.
Surrounded by the clatter of espresso machines, Chioma laid it out. "They're calling it 'The Preservation Initiative.' A global regulatory framework to outlaw your protocol."
"On what grounds?" Maka asked.
"National security. Economic stability." Chioma's smile was razor-thin. "The usual euphemisms for control. But their real campus play is to poach your talent. They'll offer Davidâand othersâlucrative internships to drain your intellectual capital."
Bayo's eyes narrowed. "So they're not just trying to beat us. They want to buy our best minds and leave us with nothing."
The surreal nature of the moment washed over Maka. Discussing the systematic dismantling of a revolution in the same spot where she'd stressed over midterms.
đ Campus Quad
đ 3:00 PM
The quad had become a theater of war. Near the business school, the Legacy Club's "Financial Safety Workshop" was in full swing, Tunde's voice smooth and amplified. A hundred yards away, under an ancient oak, David had set up his own counter-workshop.
As Layo pinned up a new, bold graphicâ"They call it control. We call it community." Her phone buzzed. A text from her father: "Saw the campus news. Your graphics are brilliant. Proud doesn't cover it." A bolt of confidence shot through her. She stood taller.
Then, Tunde's amplified voice carried across the green. "Some even throw away golden opportunities to play revolutionary."
The barb hit. David flinched, then stood on the picnic table bench. "He's right about one thing! I was given a golden opportunity. MIT." A murmur went through the crowd. "But I'm deferring. Indefinitely. My community built me. I don't run from battles."
A gasp. Maka's hand flew to her mouth. Across the distance, she and Bayo shared a look of fierce pride and gut-wrenching worry. The silence that followed was heavy and profound. David's words hung in the air, a challenge and a sacrifice that left even the Legacy Club momentarily speechless.
đ Foundation War Room
đ 6:00 PM
David slipped into the war room, the adrenaline from the quad finally fading. He opened the MIT acceptance email on his phone one last time, staring at the words that represented a future he'd once dreamed of. With a final, resigned sigh, he closed the app. The sacrifice was now a quiet, personal grief.
The strategy session began. "They're attacking on three fronts," Bayo summarized, his voice tight. "Regulatory, financial, and community."
"Their endgame is 'StableCoin Africa,'" Chioma revealed. "A controlled alternative. And your father," she said to Bayo, "is providing them with cultural legitimacy."
FeFe, who had been silently cross-referencing data, looked up. "She's right about the offshore accounts funding the Legacy Club. The transaction patterns match my own data. It's verified."
This small validation changed the room's atmosphere. Chioma wasn't just a wild card; she was a verified asset.
Maka had been silent, watching the lines on the whiteboard converge into a cage. She stood up. "We can't win playing their game. A dam tries to contain a river. But a river doesn't fight the dam. It finds another way. It creates tributaries."
The team's quiet determination solidified around her vision.
đ Global Network, Dorm Rooms & Campus Server Room
đ 9:00 PM
The "River Fork" strategy was live. In Bayo's dorm room, Maka deployed a complex encryption module. As the code compiled on the screen, a soft, rhythmic light pulsed from the quartz bracelet on her wrist.
Bayo saw it. "MakaâŠ"
She looked from the screen to her wrist, her eyes wide with wonder and confusion. The bracelet was reacting to the protocol itself. They shared a lookâthe mystery of Alimotu's final gift was deepening.
On the main operations screen, the network responded. Nodes flickered to life across campus. Ordinary students were becoming revolutionaries from their dorm rooms.
Then, David's phone buzzed. A message from Campus IT: "Unauthorized process detected on the main academic server. Shut down the 'Campus Tributary' or I will."
David typed a frantic reply, pleading their case. The admin's final response was terse: "You have 24 hours. And this never happened." They had a temporary reprieve, fighting both the Alliance and their own bureaucracy.
đ Bayo's Apartment & Campus Gates
đ 11:00 PM
The confrontation with his father was brief and brutal over the video call.
"If you continue down this path, Bayo, the tuition payments stop. The apartment is gone. You are choosing beggars over your birthright."
"You're helping them strangle the future, Father."
"I am preserving our family's legacy!"
"No. You are ending it."
The click was final. Bayo saw the campus security car still idling outside. He was now a person of interest in both his worlds. He packed a single bag and walked out.
He found Maka at the campus gates, her face etched with worry. "You didn't have to give up everything!"
"What is 'everything'?" He exploded, gesturing back toward his apartment. "A trust fund? It's nothing! You are my everything! This," he gestured to the campus, "is my everything!"
Their argument was cut short as Layo, David, and a dozen other River Guard members arrived, bearing snacks and determined smiles.
"We saw the posts," David said, clapping Bayo on the shoulder. "You're crashing with me in Makoko. My mom already cleared a space."
The romantic strain melted away, replaced by a profound, humbling gratitude. His chosen family had shown up.
đ Campus Rooftop (Their Spot)
đ 12:00 AM
They stood in the quiet dark, the exhaustion finally hitting them. The quad below was empty, the battlefield quiet for the night.
"We survived the first wave," Maka whispered, her voice hoarse. "But the campus will never be the same."
"The lines are drawn," Bayo agreed, his hand finding hers. They were a public couple now, their alliance another front in the war.
Maka looked down at the sleeping campusâthe lecture halls, the dorms, the paths they'd walked. It was their sanctuary and their battleground. As she did, the quartz bracelet on her wrist warmed gently, a persistent, comforting heat that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
She understood. Alimotu's legacy wasn't a blueprint or a protocol. It was the willingness to stand for a new world, to become a living, adapting system that could flow around any obstacle.
"They wanted to preserve their world," Maka whispered, the words a vow sealed by the bracelet's warmth.
Bayo squeezed her hand, his voice a low, steady promise against the dark. "We'll show them ours can't be containedânot even by these campus walls."