The morning sun cut through Riverside University, glinting off the glass windows, but it did nothing to ease the tension that clung to every corridor. The campus was alive, but not with excitement—every step echoed with whispered rumors, anxious murmurs, and the heavy weight of expectation. Posters for the SOAP OPERA Competition glimmered from walls, pillars, and notice boards, each a silent reminder of the stakes.
Johnson Adeyemi walked through the Arts Faculty hallway, clutching his notebook tightly. Every glance felt like judgment; every whisper, a dagger. Students clustered in tight groups, their conversations sharp and urgent.
"Did you hear Praise's latest draft?" someone hissed.
"She's rewriting her climax! Jola says it's weak!"
"Raphael? He's going to win again without even trying."
Johnson's chest tightened. He had no flashy reputation, no cheering fans, no borrowed prestige. He had only his pen, his ideas, and the gnawing fear of being invisible again.
He spotted Ella sitting on the library steps, headphones in, completely absorbed in her writing. Calm, untouchable, unbothered. Johnson envied her composure; it was the armor he desperately wished he had.
Then came the whisper that made him freeze.
"Tania's entering the competition."
"What? Tania? That girl?"
"They say her story is insane."
Tania? Writing? The rules had shifted. She wasn't an observer anymore; she was a competitor, a force that could change the balance of alliances and fuel rivalries. Johnson's stomach twisted.
By mid-morning, chaos erupted fully. Jola and Timileyin clashed over plot structure, sticky notes flying like shrapnel.
"Your climax makes no sense!" Jola snapped.
"At least my side characters are necessary!" Timileyin shot back.
Praise and Promise paced near the cafeteria, gesturing wildly as they argued story arcs. Chidi slammed his laptop repeatedly. "Why now? Why today?"
Even the Library Annex, normally a haven, had transformed into a battlefield. Laptops clicked like gunfire, pens scratched like knives, and papers rustled like whispers of a thousand impatient ghosts. Johnson tried to duck into a corner, hoping to escape—but there was no corner safe enough.
Raphael leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Ah, the quiet storm," he said. "Time's ticking. Three days. Tick-tock."
Johnson stared at his blank page. Fear surged through him. Every word felt heavy; every sentence a test of courage. He wanted to disappear, to vanish from this battlefield, but he couldn't—not this time.
Tania appeared at the doorway. She didn't speak, didn't move, just looked at him. Confidence radiated in waves—a silent challenge. Johnson could feel it piercing through the chaos: step up, or stay invisible.
The campus erupted again when Mike's group chat pinged:
"BREAKING: Professor Nwagu added TWO MORE JUDGES! One is from outside the state! Can you believe this?!"
Panic spread like wildfire. Students froze mid-typing, eyes wide with disbelief. The competition had become merciless. Every glance, every word, every gesture could alter someone's fate.
By noon, chaos escalated further. Jola and Timileyin's argument drew a crowd. Praise and Promise mapped strategies across cafeteria tables, comparing drafts and predicting outcomes. Chidi paced in endless circles, muttering curses. Isaac hunched over his notebook muttering formulas for plot logic, while Mary and Martha whispered feverishly, completing each other's sentences with unnerving precision.
Rumors of sabotage surfaced. Some claimed a draft had been leaked; others whispered accusations of copying ideas. Trust vanished like smoke. Johnson realized something terrifying: winning wasn't just about writing anymore—it was about surviving.
By afternoon, the tension hit a fever pitch. Johnson retreated to a quiet corner, notebook in hand, and tried to focus. The words came slowly at first, trembling with fear. Each sentence was a battle, each paragraph a victory. He could hear the cacophony of the campus outside—students typing frantically, arguing, whispering—but inside, Johnson began to carve his own path.
Raphael typed with surgical precision, calm yet alert. Tania moved silently among the tables, pen carving worlds onto paper. Mike's laughter rang out, but even his energy couldn't mask the fear in the eyes around him. The war of words was in full swing.
The first day drew to a close, but Riverside University had been transformed. Alliances formed, whispers spread, and competition burned hotter than ever. Johnson Adeyemi made a decision that would define him: he would fight. Not just for recognition, but for survival.
He put pen to paper, and this time, the words didn't falter. They came with fire, with courage, with defiance. Outside, the lights flickered on. Somewhere in the male hostel, Raphael whispered, "This competition no be play."
And in the quiet of his room, Johnson whispered back: "Not anymore. Not this time."
The war of words had officially begun.