The sun rose over Lagos like it always did—relentless, indifferent, beautiful. But for Elian Athen, this morning felt different. Lighter. As if the city itself had shifted somehow while he slept.
He didn't know why. Not yet.
The first sign came at 8 a.m., when his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. He almost ignored it—strangers contacted him constantly now—but something made him open it.
"Mr. Athen. My name is Segun. You probably don't remember me. Five years ago, I was a street kid in Mushin, selling pure water at intersections. You stopped one day, bought my whole stock, and talked to me for twenty minutes about integrity. I didn't understand most of it then. But I remembered. Today, I'm opening my first business. A real one. With a license and everything. I named it
