I checked my account for the fourth time that morning.
₦750,000.
I stared at it. Blinked. Checked again.
Still there. Sitting in my account like it had always belonged there. Like it hadn't completely rearranged the architecture of my morning.
I sat up slowly on my mattress the springs groaning underneath me like a retired wrestler being asked to do one more match and looked around my apartment with the fresh, unforgiving eyes of a man who could finally afford to be honest about his surroundings.
The rug that had given up being a rug and was now just a suggestion of one. The curtains so thin that every morning the sun waltzed straight through them like it paid rent. The chair in the corner with my blazer draped across it. The walls wearing paint that had been old when I moved in and had only gotten more tired since.
I tilted my head slowly.
"This," I said to the empty room, "is not the home of a man who just saved a hospital from a ten million naira ransom."
*Accurate,* the system replied. *Your current living conditions are statistically inconsistent with your recent performance output.*
"Statistically inconsistent." I stood up. "That's a polite way of saying I live like I've given up."
*I was being diplomatic. Yes.*
I grabbed my jacket off the chair.
"We're fixing everything today."
*Define everything.*
I looked around the apartment one last time. The mattress. The curtains. The sad rug. The chair. The walls.
"Everything," I repeated.
*...Budget allocation recommended before—*
"Everything," I said again, and walked out the door.
---
Techzone on Wuse road was the kind of electronics store that had been personally responsible for a significant portion of my suffering over the past two years.
I used to come here and walk through it slowly touching things I couldn't afford, reading spec sheets like they were menus at a restaurant I'd never eat at, then leaving with that particular hollow feeling of a person who has spent forty minutes wanting things that wanted nothing to do with them.
I walked through the entrance and the familiar blast of air conditioning hit me along with the smell of new plastic and possibility.
A sales attendant appeared at my elbow within seconds. Young guy. Orange vest. The bright eager energy of someone on commission.
"Good morning sir, welcome to Techzone, how can I"
"PC section," I said without breaking stride. "Walk with me."
He walked with me.
The PC section was at the back tower units behind glass, component boxes stacked with military precision, spec sheets laminated and attached like price tags on dreams. I stood in front of the display towers and took my time. Hands in my pockets. No urgency.
This was new. I liked it.
*Recommend the Ryzen 9 7900X,* the system said. *Twelve core processor. Handles parallel tasks without breaking a sweat. Future proof for a minimum of four years given your projected workload.*
"Talk to me about the motherboard."
*ASUS ROG Strix X670E. Military grade capacitors. Supports DDR5 RAM. Four M.2 slots for storage expansion. Built like it has something to prove.*
I almost smiled. "You sound excited."
*I don't experience excitement. I'm conveying relevant specifications.*
"Sure you are."
I turned to the attendant who had been watching me with the fascinated expression of someone trying to figure out exactly how old I was. "Ryzen 9 7900X. ASUS ROG Strix X670E motherboard. Write it down."
He typed rapidly on his tablet.
"RAM 32 gigabytes DDR5. Two sticks of sixteen. Leave expansion slots free." I moved along the display. "GPU RTX 4070. Not the Ti version, the standard. I don't need to render films, I need to work fast and clean."
*Correct choice,* the system said approvingly.
"Storage."
*Two terabyte NVMe SSD for the primary drive. Fast. Quiet. Reliable. Secondary four terabyte HDD for archives and backups.*
I relayed it word for word. The attendant's typing had taken on a slightly reverent quality.
"PC case something with good airflow. Mid tower. Nothing flashy."
*The Fractal Design Meshify,* the system suggested. *Clean. Functional. Excellent thermal performance.*
"Fractal Design Meshify," I told the attendant.
Then I turned to the monitor wall.
They had them. Right there on the display shelf like they'd been waiting specifically for this moment. Two 34 inch curved ultrawide monitors LG UltraWide, deep black bezels, 144 hertz refresh rate, the kind of screens that made you feel like you were inside whatever you were working on rather than just looking at it.
Side by side on the display shelf they looked extraordinary.
I stood in front of them for a long moment.
*Overkill,* the system said.
"I know."
*For your current workload two standard 27 inch monitors would be entirely sufficient.*
"I know."
*The price difference alone could cover two months of*
"I'm getting them," I said.
A pause.
*...They are genuinely beautiful,* the system admitted quietly.
"I know." I turned to the attendant. "Both of them. The display units if they're available. Box fresh otherwise."
"Box fresh sir, yes." He was typing so fast I was concerned for his fingers.
Then I found the keyboard section.
Mechanical keyboards lined up in a row, each with a small demo pad beside it. I moved down the line slowly, pressing keys on each one feeling the resistance, listening to the sound, the way each keystroke either felt like work or felt like music.
The first one was too stiff. The third was too light like typing on suggestions.
The middle one was perfect. Deep satisfying clicks. The kind of keyboard that made you want to write something just to hear what it sounded like.
*That one,* the system said, a half second after I'd already decided.
"We agreed."
*Don't make it weird.*
I put it in the basket.
Then I saw it.
On a shelf near the accessories section. A keyboard and mouse combo backlit, cycling slowly through soft colours. Blues bleeding into purples bleeding into deep reds. The kind of RGB lighting that served absolutely no functional purpose whatsoever and looked incredible doing it.
*No,* the system said immediately. Flat. Certain.
I picked it up and read the back of the box.
*Brandon. No.*
"It's aesthetic."
*It is a distraction dressed as decoration. You are building a serious work environment. This undermines the entire*
"It comes with a mouse."
*The mouse is irrelevant. Put it down.*
I turned it over in my hands. The cycling colors shifted slowly on the display model beside it. Blues to purples. Purples to red.
"It's going in the basket," I said.
*I want it noted for the record that I advised against this.*
"Noted." I put it in the basket. "Noted and ignored."
*...This is genuinely embarrassing.*
"For who?"
The system went quiet.
I also picked up a proper deskwide, clean lines, built in cable management channels running underneath like hidden veins. A monitor arm that would hold both screens exactly where I needed them. A proper ergonomic chair the kind that supported your back like it actually cared about your spine rather than just going through the motions.
Cable ties. A desk lamp with adjustable temperature lighting. A mousepad the size of a small country.
By the time I reached the checkout the attendant looked genuinely happy. Not performed customer service happy. Actually happy. The kind that comes from watching someone spend real money with real conviction.
The total appeared on the screen.
I paid without flinching, without doing the mental gymnastics of moving money around in my head, without that specific nausea of watching a balance drop below a comfortable threshold.
I just paid.
Stood up straight and paid.
The attendant processed it with slightly shaking hands.
"Delivery this afternoon?" he asked.
"Two hours," I said. "I need to sort the apartment first."
"Of course sir. Absolutely sir."
I picked up my receipt and walked out into the morning sun.
*Workspace components acquired,* the system said. *Operator efficiency projected to increase significantly.*
"What about the RGB?"
A pause.
*We don't talk about the RGB.*
---
The furniture store was three streets away.
I moved through it differently to how I'd moved through places like this before. No lingering near price tags. No internal calculations. No putting things back with that quiet defeated feeling of someone shopping in a world that wasn't quite built for their budget.
Just me, a purpose, and an afternoon.
Mattress first.
The display beds were lined up in a row and I walked down them lying on each one with absolutely zero self consciousness. Flat on my back. Eyes on the ceiling. Assessing.
The first one was too firm like sleeping on a firm disagreement.
The second had that particular softness that felt amazing for thirty seconds then swallowed you whole. No.
The third one I lay down on and my entire body just stopped arguing.
"This one," I said from horizontal.
A sales lady who had been following me at a respectful distance since the second mattress appeared at my side. "Excellent choice sir. Orthopedic memory foam. Responds to your body temperature."
"Wrap it up."
She wrote it down.
Sofa next. I wanted something that looked like a decision. Clean lines. Deep cushions. The kind of sofa that made a room look like someone intentional lived there.
I found a three seater in a deep charcoal grey fabric that felt exactly right. I sat in it. Shifted left. Shifted right. Leaned back.
The sales lady materialized again. "Very popular choice sir. The"
"I'll take it."
She wrote it down without finishing her sentence. We were developing a rhythm.
Curtains blackout. Because I was done with the sun's opinions about when my day should start.
A rug with actual structural integrity. Two lamps for the corners warm light, not the harsh overhead kind that made everything look like an interrogation. A coffee table that matched the desk energy I was building at home.
When everything was arranged for delivery and I'd transferred three months rent to my landlord who called me back immediately to confirm it was real because apparently my payment history had not prepared him for this moment I stood outside on the pavement and felt the specific satisfaction of someone who had solved several problems in a single morning.
*Domestic situation stabilized,* the system confirmed. *Living conditions now consistent with operational requirements.*
"That's a very clinical way of saying my house won't embarrass me anymore."
*Your house was always functional.*
"My mattress sounded like a bag of complaints every time I moved."
*...The new one is a marked improvement. I'll allow it.*
I looked at my reflection in the store window. Same face. Same jacket but that was about to change too.
"Clothes," I said.
*Agreed. You've been wearing the same rotation since the semester break.*
"Was that a dig?"
*It was an observation.*
"It was a dig."
*It was a factual observation that happened to be unflattering. There's a difference.*
I hailed a cab.
---
Moda Mall on a Thursday afternoon had that particular energy of a place that took itself seriously without quite earning it. Marble floors. The kind of lighting that made everything look slightly more expensive than it was. Shops arranged along both sides of a wide corridor like a very well dressed argument.
I moved through the ground floor with my hands in my pockets and a looseness in my step that felt new. Not performed confidence actual ease. The specific freedom of a person who wasn't mentally calculating the cost of breathing near nice things.
I found the menswear section of a mid range store that sat in exactly the right spot quality without trying to bankrupt you. Good cuts. Clean fabrics. Nothing that demanded too much attention.
I pulled things off racks with a calm deliberate energy, holding them up, checking fits, returning the ones that didn't speak and keeping the ones that did.
Two pairs of dark jeans properly fitted. Not the kind that required hope to get into.
Three shirts one white so crisp it looked like it had principles. One navy. One deep forest green.
*The green one,* the system said immediately.
"I know. Already keeping it."
*Good. It works with your complexion.*
I paused mid reach. "You've said that twice now."
*I process visual data. Colour theory is part of that.*
"You're giving me fashion advice."
*I'm giving you data based advice. There is a categorical difference.*
"There really isn't."
*Move on Brandon.*
I added a clean minimal jacket not a blazer, something lighter and easier, something that said I have somewhere to be without making it sound like a threat.
I draped everything over my arm and turned toward the fitting rooms.
And stopped.
She was three metres away.
Stella.