đź“Ť Omega Wing Dorm
đź•— 8:00 AM
Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows of the Omega Wing dorm, illuminating particles of dust that danced like tiny rebels in the morning air. Maka stared at her phone, the official email burning into her retinas. She read the summons twice, her fingers growing cold against the device.
"The Committee on Academic Standards and Scholarships has scheduled a hearing to review your continued eligibility... concerns regarding conduct unbecoming of a scholarship recipient... creating campus divisions through inappropriate relationships and activities..."
Each word felt like a carefully crafted weapon. Bayo read over her shoulder, his body tensing with each sentence. When he finished, he took a measured breath.
"I'll call my mother's lawyers in Geneva immediately. This is targeted harassment, pure and simple. They can't—"
"No," Maka cut him off, her voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her hands. She lowered her phone, meeting his concerned gaze. "That would prove their point—that I need saving, that I'm not enough on my own. I need to face this as myself. As Chiamaka Okoro from Surulere, not as someone who needs Adebayo lawyers to fight her battles."
The door burst open before Bayo could respond. Layo stood there, breathless and flushed from running, her usual vibrant energy replaced by urgent intensity.
"Bad intel," she gasped, leaning against the doorframe. "Just came through my father's old network. Tunde's father is chairing the committee, and they've scheduled it for next Thursday—right in the middle of finals week. They want you stressed, sleep-deprived, and unprepared."
Bayo's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Then we'll be overprepared. We'll know their playbook better than they do."
Maka looked between them, the quartz bracelet on her wrist beginning to pulse with a slow, steady rhythm. Not warning, but focus. This wasn't just an attack on her scholarship; it was an attack on everything they'd built.
---
đź“Ť The Observatory - Strategy Session
đź•™ 10:00 AM
The team gathered in their sanctuary, the morning light streaming through the dome in brilliant shafts. David had transformed their makeshift headquarters into a war room, with three screens running simultaneously—legal precedents on one, committee member profiles on another, real-time social sentiment analysis on the third.
"They're attacking on three coordinated fronts," Bayo said, pacing like a field marshal before battle. His Lagos Underground stylus tapped against his palm with rhythmic precision. "Your relationship with me, the so-called 'distraction' of Kudi River, and these vague 'conduct' charges they can shape to fit whatever narrative they want."
Layo projected her campaign metrics onto the observatory wall. "#AffectionArmor is already trending in six African countries. We have video testimonials from Kudi River users in twelve countries about how your relationship inspired community trust and collaboration."
David looked up from his research, his eyes bright with discovery. "Found something interesting in the committee's own charter. Article 4, Section B mandates support for 'innovative student leadership that enhances the institution's reputation and extends its impact beyond campus boundaries.'"
Maka's bracelet pulsed steadily, the quartz stone warm against her skin. She looked at the faces around her—Layo with her fierce loyalty, David with his quiet brilliance, Bayo with his strategic mind now fully engaged in her defense.
"They think they're putting me on trial," she said quietly, the realization settling deep in her bones. "But we're putting their entire system on trial. Their outdated definitions of worth, their narrow view of what constitutes 'appropriate' ambition."
Bayo stopped pacing, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Then let's give them a show they'll never forget."
---
đź“Ť Administration Building - Hearing Room
đź•‘ 2:00 PM
The boardroom was a masterpiece of institutional intimidation—dark wood paneling, impossibly high ceilings, a massive mahogany table that seemed to stretch for miles. Tunde's father sat at the center, flanked by four other committee members, his smile thin and condescending.
Professor Durojaiye sat at the far end, his expression carefully neutral, though Maka noticed he hadn't once looked at Tunde's father.
"Ms. Okoro," Tunde's father began, his voice dripping with false concern, "we're here today because we're concerned about priorities. A scholarship student dating a disinherited heir, leading radical political activities that create campus divisions... it creates certain... optics that reflect poorly on the institution."
Bayo, who had been sitting silently beside Maka as moral support, leaned forward slightly. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and clear, cutting through the condescension.
"My financial situation is a matter of public record since my disinheritance," he stated, as if discussing the weather. "I maintain a 3.8 GPA while working approximately fifteen hours a week in freelance design to cover my personal expenses and contribute to Kudi River's infrastructure. If the committee's concern is about 'distractions,' I would submit that successfully managing academic rigor, entrepreneurial responsibility, and financial independence simultaneously demonstrates rather exceptional focus."
Professor Durojaiye coughed lightly, hiding what might have been a smile behind his notes.
Tunde's father recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing. "And this... Kudi River enterprise. It's become quite the distraction from academic work, from what we understand."
Maka didn't defend. She reframed. With a tap on her tablet, she projected Kudi River's latest metrics onto the screen at the front of the room: 3.5 million users, a 15% demonstrable increase in financial inclusion for Nigerian students, partnerships with three major economic cooperatives.
"This 'distraction,' as you call it," she said, her voice calm but carrying to every corner of the room, "has helped more Nigerian students afford education than this committee has in the past five years. It has created real economic opportunity, not just theoretical discussions about it."
The door at the back of the room opened quietly. Every head turned as Zara stepped inside, uninvited and unscripted. She stood straight in her simple Surulere school uniform, her chin lifted in defiance.
"You want to talk about my sister's conduct?" she said, her voice shaking but clear in the stunned silence. "Let me tell you about the girl who coded an app to help my mother's market union save money when the banks turned them away. The one who fixed our neighbor's generator at 3 AM during finals week because their baby needed oxygen. If that's 'unbecoming,' then your standards are broken."
The energy in the room shifted palpably. The sterile bureaucratic proceedings had suddenly become human, personal, real.
---
đź“Ť Administration Building - Verdict
đź•” 5:00 PM
The verdict came two hours later, after they'd been made to wait in the hallway on hard wooden benches. Tunde's father looked defeated, his earlier confidence replaced by weary resignation.
"After careful consideration," he said, not meeting Maka's eyes, "the committee has determined that your scholarship will be maintained. However..."
The pause was deliberate, theatrical.
"You will be placed on probationary status, with monthly conduct reviews for the remainder of your academic career here."
It was a leash. A beautifully crafted, bureaucratically approved leash designed to tame and control her influence.
Outside in the hallway, Bayo was furious. "They want to make you their pet revolutionary," he seethed, his voice low and dangerous. "Tamed, displayed, and brought out for photo ops when they need to prove how 'progressive' they are."
Maka touched her bracelet, which pulsed with steady warmth. "They just showed me their final move," she said, a strange calm settling over her. "And it's weak. Leashes only work if you accept they have the right to hold the other end."
---
đź“Ť The Observatory - Reckoning
đź•— 8:00 PM
The team gathered as night fell, the weight of the bittersweet victory settling over them like a heavy blanket. The observatory, usually their sanctuary, felt different tonight—less an escape and more a command center for a war that was evolving faster than they could track.
Layo scrolled through the real-time analytics on her tablet. "Platform engagement grew twenty percent during the hearing. #AffectionArmor is now trending in fifteen countries. People were watching, Maka. Really watching."
David looked up from his own screen, his expression troubled. "But at what cost? Monthly reviews mean they can shut you down anytime they want. One misstep, one statement they deem 'inappropriate,' and it's over."
As they debated, Maka's tablet chimed with a distinctive triple tone they'd come to recognize. The Atlantis Node signal from Geneva had resolved from a simple handshake request into a complete data packet. Schematics for something called a "Regulatory Immune Protocol"—a sophisticated legal and technical framework that could make Kudi River essentially untouchable by national governments and financial regulators.
Attached was a message from Amara: "The walls are going up everywhere. The old powers are frightened, and frightened animals are dangerous. The river must learn to flow underground. Come to Geneva. The current is stronger here, and we have allies you cannot imagine."
The choice hung in the air between them, immense and terrifying.
Layo broke the silence first, her voice uncharacteristically small. "Geneva? That's the belly of the beast, Maka. Global finance, international regulators... we'd be trading one cage for another, just with better furniture."
David countered, his pragmatism warring with his idealism. "But look at this protocol Amara sent. It could protect every single Kudi River user from exactly the kind of pressure the committee just put on you. We're talking about scaling from millions to billions while staying true to our principles."
Bayo watched Maka, his expression unreadable. "My mother's offering protection, resources, and a global platform. But it means stepping into her world, playing by international rules. And it means leaving all this behind." He gestured around the observatory, at the campus beyond, at Nigeria itself.
Maka looked from face to face—her chosen family, each with their own fears and hopes. Layo, terrified of losing their movement's soul to global corporate interests. David, seeing the mathematical inevitability of scale. Bayo, torn between protecting her and respecting her autonomy.
The river was at a crossroads, and every tributary led to a different ocean.
---
đź“Ť The Observatory - Intimate Resolution
đź•š 11:00 PM
Alone at last, Maka and Bayo stood under the starlit dome. The weight of the day—the hearing, the verdict, the impossible decision—settled between them like a third presence.
"I chose you knowing the cost," Bayo said softly, his hand finding hers in the dim light. His thumb traced circles on her wrist, just above the quartz bracelet. "I saw the fighter in you that first day at the gates, and I knew my world would never be the same. I'd choose you again tomorrow, and every day after that."
Maka leaned into his touch, the bracelet warm between them, humming with what felt like approval. She thought of her mother's shop in Surulere, of Aunty Bisi's market women, of CampusCoder's student loans, of the millions of tiny streams that made up their river. She thought of the committee's leash, designed to slowly strangle their growth.
Then she thought of Geneva—of Amara's offer, of the Regulatory Immune Protocol, of taking their revolution global.
"The committee wanted to put me in a box," she said, her voice quiet but absolute in the stillness. "But rivers don't belong in boxes. They carve canyons through mountains. They reshape continents."
She looked at the Geneva schematics glowing on her tablet, then at Bayo's face—the boy who had given up a kingdom to stand beside her, who was learning to build a new one with his own hands.
"It's time we showed them what happens when the current decides to change course."
Bayo's smile was all the answer she needed. In the quiet of the observatory, with the stars as their witness, they began planning their most dangerous revolution yet—not against a person or an institution, but against the very concept of borders, both on maps and in minds.