Femi stuffed the last bite of his greasy bun into his mouth, wiped his hands on his jacket, and slapped his phone back into his pocket. Time to move.
He jogged to his bike—ancient, coughing, and cranky, but it was his. His trusty cracky motorbike that had seen better days, yet somehow still roared to life with a kick and a sputter. He swung his leg over the seat, kicked the starter, and it coughed, spluttered, then screamed like it hated him—and mornings—just like every day.
"Ah, fck, don't die on me now," he muttered, gripping the handles.
And then they were off. The streets of Lagos were already alive, chaotic in their usual way. Danfos arguing, bikes weaving, vendors yelling over frying oil, and the smell of roasted plantain cutting through it all. Femi didn't slow, didn't blink. He weaved through the madness, heart thumping, thinking about one thing: graduation.
Just in time.
He skidded into the school yard, tires skidding over dust and gravel. A few teachers glanced his way, one raised an eyebrow, but it was fine. Perfectly fine. He hopped off, parked the motorbike with a shake of the stand, and jogged toward the hall.
Inside, the ceremony was already rolling. Students sat stiff-backed, tassels swinging, clapping politely while the principal droned on. Femi slipped in, just in time for the introductions. They were calling names, handing out diplomas.
The results had already been announced, of course.
"Bose, second. Ayemoyi, first." Femi let that sink in. Predictable. Annoying, even.
And him? Somewhere smack in the middle. 19 out of 41. Safe. Enough to say he passed, enough to not be laughed at. But not enough for a fancy university. Not that he had the money to attend one anyway.
He leaned against the wall for a second, letting the moment hit. Safe. Solid. Could've been worse. Could've been better.
Femi adjusted his jacket, tapped his fingers against the diploma in his hand, and smirked faintly. Safe. Good enough to move forward. Not great—but it was his path to figure out.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the army plan flickered, waiting like it always did.
He shoved that thought aside for now. Graduation first. Survive the ceremony. And maybe, just maybe, catch up with Bose and Ayemoyi before the photos started.
Femi leaned against the wall, diploma clutched in one hand, watching the chaos unfold. Classmates buzzing, photos being snapped, tassels swinging, teachers hustling to keep everyone in line.
Bose and Ayemoyi were already circling each other like two proud eagles. Bose, always perfectly dressed, hair neat enough to reflect sunlight, smirking like he had the universe in his pocket. Ayemoyi, lazy grin, arms folded, barely standing straight—yet somehow still first. Typical.
Femi snorted quietly. Middle of the class, 19 out of 41. Safe. Solid. Not great, not terrible. Good enough to tell himself he didn't need anyone else to get by.
"Oi, Oba! You made it!"
He turned. Some classmates waving him over, laughing, joking. Femi pushed off the wall, weaving through the crowd.
"Late, as always," one of them teased.
"Traffic," Femi said without breaking stride. Half-truth, mostly a shrug.
They laughed. Some tried to peek at his results. Femi held the diploma a little higher. "Middle," he said. Straight-faced. "Safe. Survive the ceremony. That's me."
The group snickered. Bose rolled his eyes. "Safe? That's how you describe 19 out of 41? Dude, aim higher next time."
"Yeah, yeah," Femi said, waving him off. He didn't have the money for college, didn't have the luxury to aim higher. For now, surviving was enough.
They wandered out into the courtyard, sunlight hitting the red dust, the hum of Lagos slowly growing louder. Femi noticed it all—the vendors outside the gates hawking small snacks, kids on bikes zig-zagging through the morning heat, the occasional honk from a danfo tearing past. It was chaotic, alive. Perfectly normal.
Femi's mind wandered. The army. College was a maybe if he could scrape enough money, but the army… that was solid. No guessing, no favors, no asking anyone for help. If the last application didn't go through, he'd have a backup ready.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, letting the thought linger. Not for long. Not yet. Today was for the small wins. Graduation. The laughs. The pictures. The fake smiles for the teachers snapping photos.
But deep down, that spark was still there. That little ember in his chest. Waiting. Planning. Knowing today was just the first step.
His friends tried to coarse him to join in the after party but he politely declined saying he got stuff to organise at home
Bose and ayemoyi understood it was always tuff for an orphan like him especially since he didn't like to rely on anyone
Ayemoyi grinned and said "gotcha, if you ever need anything remember to call both of us treat it like we're investing in you and not giving you free cash"
"I'll consider it"
Bose nodded before driving off with ayemoyi who had a woman in his arms who didn't seem to be a student
He hopped on his motorcycle which was already at the end of its life span
He first of all went to his employer to inform he was quitting
She had already prepared a goodbye gift of 100 federation dollars and a parcel of food for him
He then went to sell his motorcycle as scrap which only gannered him 30 federation dollars
He then had to use 10 out of it so he could get home on time
So he was now left with 120 federation dollars
When he arrived home he looked at the decapitated old building his parents left for him
He would be selling it soon if he couldn't get a job since his only choice would be the army
He opened the door an went in
He opened his phone and the first notification was from kairos a delivery company were he applied to be delivery boy
It was too be expected since this was the year 2040 most things were already automated and the chances of hiring someone older stinger and postgraduate was already low talkless of him
He didn't hesitate and switched to the army application page....