📍 Federal High Court, Lagos
🕘 9:00 AM
The courtroom smelled of polished wood, stale anxiety, and the faint metallic sting of electricity—like the air just before a storm. Maka stood beside Mr. Adekunle, their lawyer, who radiated the quiet confidence of a man who'd spent years dragging Goliaths into the light. His dark suit wasn't expensive, but it was sharp. His eyes even sharper.
Across the aisle, Alhaji Adewale Adebayo's legal team looked like a wall of corporate armor: imported fabrics, cufflinks worth more than tuition, expressions carved from arrogance.
Once the murmurs died, Adekunle spoke.
"Your Honor, the plaintiff claims intellectual property theft. Yet the document before you—" he raised Alimotu's patent with the careful reverence of someone handling an ancestor's bone "—contains a public domain dedication so explicit it practically sings."
A ripple moved through the observers.
Adebayo's lead counsel rose. "Your Honour, this… relic from an attic is unauthenticated. We cannot validate the scribbles of idealistic teenagers trying to play revolution."
Maka's heart hammered—anger, fear, exhaustion all braided together.
While the courtroom tensed, Maka's phone buzzed. A message from Layo popped up:
"Streaming this to 1.2M #WeAreTheRiver viewers.
The streets are watching."
The judge read the patent slowly. Line by line. Word by word. When he finally looked up, silence thickened.
"In all my years," he said, "I have never seen such an unambiguous dedication to the public domain." He tapped the paper. "The clause is clear: any attempt at exclusive ownership renders all proprietary claims null and void."
He faced Adebayo's counsel.
"This case is dismissed. With prejudice. You cannot sue someone for using what you do not own."
THUD.
The gavel cracked like lightning.
Twitter erupted outside. Court cameras flashed. Maka's knees almost buckled—but for the first time in months, the collapse would've been from relief.
~ ~ ~
📍 Adebayo Mansion — Private Study
🕙 10:00 AM
The mansion was all marble, cold air-conditioning, and ancient portraits staring down like disappointed ancestors.
Alhaji Adebayo sat alone, replaying the livestream. His expression was stone. Only the tightening of his hand around the glass tumbler betrayed him. A small, crystalline crack echoed from the pressure.
He dialled a number.
"Activate regulatory pressure. All channels. Central Bank, SEC—bury Kudi River under compliance reviews."
A pause.
"And inform the Phoenix Group. A river has many tributaries. Tell them it's time for… confluence."
He hung up, jaw clenched, eyes locked on a paused frame of Bayo standing beside Maka.
"This isn't over," he whispered.
His voice was the first true threat of the day.
~ ~ ~
📍 The Underflow
🕛 12:30 PM
The celebration hit like a tidal wave.
Layo's livestream comments scrolled so fast they looked like rainfall.
Market women were dancing in Surulere.
Tech bros were tweeting threadstorms.
A radio station was calling them "the new generation's fintech freedom fighters."
Inside the Underflow, Bayo stared at the analytics dashboard like it was holy scripture.
"Fifty thousand new users in one hour," he breathed. "Aunty Bisi's esusu group just completed their biggest collection ever. People are trusting us."
But Maka's screen flashed a different colour—ominous orange.
[AJÉ PAY]: Launch Detected.
Value Erosion Protocol Initiated.
"They launched early," she said. "Way too early. That's panic."
News articles popped up instantly:
'Ajé Pay Users Report Missing Payments.'
'Adebayo Foundation Blames "Minor Scaling Errors."'
Bayo laughed—quiet, bitter. "Their own greed is imploding on them."
Layo frowned at her phone.
"The Phoenix Group's channels just went dead. Chioma isn't replying. Silence from apex predators usually means one thing."
"They're changing tactics," Maka finished.
And in the glow of their screens, the celebration outside suddenly felt fragile.
~ ~ ~
📍 Adewale Academy — Headmaster's Office
🕒 3:00 PM
The office smelled of lemon polish and institutional fear.
Headmaster Adebisi cleared his throat. "Your scholarship," he said to Maka.
"And your enrollment," to Bayo.
"Both are under review. The negative attention—"
"You mean my father," Bayo cut in, voice chilled.
The headmaster flinched. "Our largest donor… has concerns."
Before he could continue, the door swung open.
Layo strolled in like she owned the building. "Before you embarrass yourself on international television," she said, "take a look."
She shoved her phone toward him.
The Entrepreneurs' Association officially endorses Kudi River. CNN is requesting an interview. BBC trending the hashtag #StudentsWhoShiftedTheSystem.
Adebisi's face went through the five stages of academic crisis management:
Panic → Denial → Bargaining → Opportunism → Smiling like he'd always believed in them.
"We at Adewale Academy are proud to support innovation," he said smoothly. "Carry on."
Bayo stared at him with pure disgust. Maka fought a laugh.
Layo bowed theatrically. "Thought so."
~ ~ ~
📍 Campus Rooftop
🕡 6:30 PM
Sunset kissed Lagos in gold and fire.
For once, no alarms. No deadlines. Just the wind on their skin and the city humming below.
"They're regrouping," Bayo said. "My father. Phoenix. Ajé Pay is collapsing. This is calm before a counter-strike."
Maka leaned on the railing. "Tonight, we breathe before the next battle."
He looked at her. The way he looked at her made her chest flutter dangerously.
"Are we still just students?" he asked quietly.
"No," she murmured. "We're architects of a new world."
She touched his hand.
"But right now… I'm just the girl falling in love with the boy who walked away from a kingdom to build a revolution."
His breath caught. "It wasn't a kingdom. It was a cage."
She smiled. "Then let's build something freer."
The kiss that followed was slow. Unhurried. A promise, not an escape.
~ ~ ~
📍 The Underflow
🕘 9:00 PM
The peace was shattered.
A piercing alarm ripped through the room.
"DDoS attack!" Maka shouted.
Hundreds of hijacked servers across three continents hammered their nodes.
Traffic spikes. Memory leaks. Ghost packets.
Then—
H E A T.
The quartz bracelet burned against her wrist, glowing crimson, veins of light racing across the stone.
"They found a memory vulnerability in the handshake protocol," she said. "The bracelet's warning us!"
Bayo examined the pattern. "This is Phoenix Group. That's their signature."
For twenty gruelling minutes, they fought:
Maka rewired the node architecture.
Bayo filtered malicious patterns.
Layo monitored social channels, blocking psyops and misinformation.
Finally—
The storm broke.
Then a new alert appeared:
[EXTERNAL COMMAND]: JAGABAN_ALPHA ACCESS.
Origin: GENEVA.
Bayo's blood ran cold.
"My mother…"
A chat message arrived:
'Adequate defence.
But you're fighting waves, not the tide.
The current flows to Geneva.
Your mother is waiting. — C'
Chioma had made her move.
~ ~ ~
📍 The Underflow
🕛 Midnight
Bayo's phone buzzed with a message. He opened it—and his face crumpled for one unguarded second.
ọmọ mi…
I understand now.
Come to Geneva.
It's time to finish what Alimotu started.
"She hasn't called me that in years," he whispered.
Maka squeezed his arm. "Then we go. But on our terms."
Layo waved her ticket. "Bought with leftover hush money. Let his father fund our rebellion."
Maka nodded slowly.
"This isn't leaving Nigeria."
"This is taking the revolution global."
The room felt suddenly too small for what they were about to become.
~ ~ ~
📍 Adewale Academy Gates
🕟 4:30 AM
The gates looked different in the half-light. Less like an institution, more like a boundary she'd finally crossed.
Maka touched the quartz bracelet. It pulsed warm—approval, courage, memory.
She walked forward without looking back.
~ ~ ~
📍 Murtala Muhammed Airport
🕡 6:30 AM
Three students.
Three backpacks.
One revolution.
"My father's people are watching," Bayo murmured.
"So are Phoenix," Layo added.
"Let them," Maka said. "We're not here to play by their rules."
She adjusted her bag, feeling the weight of what they were leaving—and the future waiting for them.
"Remember what Alimotu wrote," she whispered. "He cannot own a river."
Layo grinned. "Well, this river is about to flood Switzerland."
They walked toward the gate.
The bracelet warmed—not fear this time. Anticipation.
~ ~ ~
FINAL LINE
The plane lifted into the dawn, carrying three revolutionaries toward an uncertain future—while behind them, a million tiny streams kept flowing, each one a quiet rebellion against the idea that any man could ever own a river.