"I need your used pad.".
Silence crashed into the room like a physical force.
Morounkeji blinked, unsure she had heard correctly.
"My… what?"
"Your used pad," he repeated softly. "Just once every month."
The return journey from the forest near Ijebu Ode lingered in their minds long after Adewale and Oluwatobi settled again into their cramped one-room apartment in Lagos. Nothing about the room had changed—the same faded curtains, the same cracked plastic table, the same mattress pushed against the wall—but something inside them had shifted permanently.
The air itself felt heavier, as though the secret they carried had already begun to reshape their reality. They still woke up to the noise of buses and danfo conductors shouting for passengers, still struggled with unstable internet connections while chasing online clients, and still joked about their hunger to avoid thinking about it. Yet beneath the laughter, a silent agreement had formed: poverty was no longer acceptable, and love was about to be tested in ways neither of them fully understood.
Living together had always made their friendship stronger. They had survived months of unpaid rent, nights of garri soaking without sugar, and endless failed deals that left them staring at their laptops in frustrated silence.
The apartment had become their war room, their refuge, and sometimes their prison. Their girlfriends, Morounkeji and Iremide, were the only colors in their otherwise dull routine. The girls never stayed permanently; they visited on weekends or evenings, sometimes cooking, sometimes cleaning, sometimes simply bringing warmth into the room.
Those visits reminded the boys why they kept pushing. But now, every visit carried a new tension. Every smile from the girls reminded them of the ritual condition Baba Adigun had revealed. Every innocent moment had begun to feel like borrowed time.
Five nights after their return from the forest, Morounkeji visited first. She arrived carrying a small food flask, her cheerful energy immediately brightening the room. She greeted Oluwatobi respectfully before settling beside Adewale, teasing him for not shaving. The room smelled of jollof rice and fried plantain within minutes, and laughter filled the space as they ate together on the floor.
Oluwatobi watched them quietly, observing how naturally Morounkeji leaned against Adewale, how easily she trusted him. That trust made his chest tighten. He imagined asking Iremide for the same thing and felt his stomach knot.
Adewale, however, was already thinking differently. While he laughed and joked, part of his mind kept replaying Baba Adigun's instructions—the words about glory, sacrifice, and secrecy.
Later that evening, when Morounkeji stepped outside to answer a phone call, Oluwatobi lowered his voice. "Guy, you sure about this thing?"
Adewale did not answer immediately. He stared at his phone, scrolling through pictures of luxury cars and designer outfits, then finally spoke. "Tobi, we don suffer too much. If this thing work, everything go change"
Oluwatobi rubbed his palms together nervously. "But na our girlfriends we dey talk about o."
Adewale nodded slowly. "And na for them we dey do am for."
The logic sounded comforting, even convincing, yet both of them knew the truth was more complicated.
When Morounkeji returned inside, Adewale became unusually attentive. He adjusted the fan to face her, offered her the last piece of chicken, and even insisted she take his pillow when she complained of a slight headache. Oluwatobi noticed the change immediately. Adewale was preparing emotionally, softening her trust, strengthening her attachment. It was not manipulation in the obvious sense—it was something quieter, more dangerous, because it came wrapped in genuine affection.
Two days later, Iremide visited. Unlike Morounkeji's playful energy, Iremide carried a calm presence that often made the room feel peaceful. She greeted both men warmly and began arranging the scattered plates without being asked.
Oluwatobi watched her closely, his chest tightening with every small act of care. She moved naturally, comfortably, as though she already belonged in his life permanently. When she finished tidying up, she sat beside him and studied his face.
"You've been quiet lately," she said softly.
"Just thinking about work," he replied.
She tilted her head slightly. "Or something else?"
Oluwatobi forced a smile, but her question lingered long after the conversation moved on.
That night, after both girls had gone home, the apartment fell silent again. Only the buzzing of mosquitoes and distant generator sounds filled the darkness.
Adewale lay on the mattress staring at the ceiling while Oluwatobi scrolled endlessly through his phone without reading anything.
Finally, Adewale spoke. "I'm going to ask her."
Oluwatobi turned slowly. "So fast?"
Adewale sat up. "Tobi, opportunity no dey wait. Baba talk say the glory must come willingly. If she trusts me, she will agree."
Oluwatobi exhaled deeply. "Iremide no be that kind person."
Adewale gave a small smile. "Na love go convince her."
The next evening marked the beginning of the change neither of them could reverse.
Adewale invited Morounkeji over again, but this time he had prepared something different. Earlier that day, an unexpected payment from an old online client had entered his account. The amount was not large, but it was enough to create an impression. He used it immediately—buying a new smartphone, a stylish handbag, and an expensive wig he knew she had admired weeks earlier. When she entered the apartment and saw the neatly arranged gifts on the small table, she froze in disbelief.
"Wale… what is all this?"
Adewale smiled confidently. "Just small appreciation for my woman."
Her eyes widened as she picked up the phone. "You bought this for me?"
He nodded.
Emotion flooded her face instantly. She hugged him tightly, her excitement genuine and overwhelming. Oluwatobi, sitting quietly at the corner, watched everything unfold with mixed feelings. He could see exactly what Adewale was doing—building trust through generosity—but he also saw something else: the ritual had not even started, yet the momentum was already forming.
Later that night, when Oluwatobi stepped outside to take a call, Adewale finally leaned closer to Morounkeji.
"There's something important I need to discuss with you."
Her smile faded slightly. "You sound serious."
He took her hand gently. "I want our future to change. I want us to move out of this struggle."
She nodded slowly.
"There's a spiritual connection someone introduced me to," he continued carefully. "It's not dangerous. It's just something personal that helps open doors."
Her expression shifted into cautious curiosity.
"What kind of personal thing?".
Adewale swallowed. The moment had arrived.
"I need your used pad.".
Silence crashed into the room like a physical force.
Morounkeji blinked, unsure she had heard correctly.
"My… what?"
"Your used pad," he repeated softly. "Just once every month."
Her fingers slowly loosened from his hand. Confusion replaced excitement. Fear followed.
"What do you want to use it for?"
Adewale moved closer quickly, lowering his voice. "Nothing bad. It's just part of the spiritual process."
She stared at him, searching his eyes.
"Will it harm me?"
"No," he said firmly. "I swear."
Her breathing slowed slightly, but uncertainty remained.
"And you promise this is for our future?"
"Yes."
She looked down, thinking deeply. Trust battled with fear inside her.
Meanwhile, outside the apartment, Oluwatobi stood alone under a flickering streetlight, staring at his phone without really seeing it. He already knew what was happening inside the room. The realization made his chest tighten. If Morounkeji agreed, the pressure on him would become unavoidable. He imagined asking Iremide and felt a wave of guilt crash over him.
Three days passed. Morounkeji did not give an answer immediately, but she did not reject the idea either. Instead, her behavior changed subtly. She became more affectionate, more attentive, more emotionally connected to Adewale.
The expensive gifts had strengthened her trust, and the promise of a better future had softened her fear. Adewale noticed the shift and grew more confident. He began receiving more unexpected payments online—small amounts, but frequent enough to convince him that the process was already aligning with his destiny.
Oluwatobi watched everything with growing anxiety.
One evening, after another alert entered Adewale's phone, he turned excitedly to his friend.
"You see? Something is already moving!"
Oluwatobi forced a smile.
But inside, his resistance was weakening.
A few days later, Iremide visited again. She arrived wearing a simple gown, carrying homemade soup for both men. The apartment filled with warmth as she served them carefully, making sure everyone ate comfortably. Her presence felt peaceful, grounding, almost protective.
Halfway through dinner, she suddenly looked at Oluwatobi..
"You've been worried about something."
He froze.
"What makes you say that?"
She smiled gently. "I know you."
That simple statement shook him more than any accusation.
Later that night, after Adewale and Morounkeji stepped outside briefly to buy drinks, Oluwatobi sat alone with Iremide.
The room felt unusually quiet.
"Iremide," he said slowly, "if there is something small that can change our future… will you do it for me?"
Her expression immediately became serious.
"What kind of thing?"
He hesitated.
Fear rose inside him.. But temptation pushed harder.
"I'll explain soon," he said quietly.
The moment lingered between them.
And somewhere far away, deep within the silent forest near Ijebu Ode, Baba Adigun sat calmly beside his shrine, eyes closed, as though listening to distant voices only he could hear.
A faint smile formed on his lips. The process had begun—but the true test of love had only just started.