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Yahoo Boy’s Last Sacrifice – Episode 4

A Story By Mr lexx

The apartment in Bariga smelled faintly of fried yam and roasted plantain as Adewale leaned back on the worn couch, stretching his long limbs and letting the exhaustion of the day sink into his shoulders. He glanced across at Oluwatobi, who sat cross-legged on the floor, staring blankly at the cracked tiles. “Tobi,” Adewale said casually, trying to mask the nervous excitement coiling in his chest, “how far about Morounkeji? Has she… made up her mind?”

Oluwatobi shrugged, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “She says she needs time. Two weeks, she told me. I don’t think she’s ready yet.”

Adewale grinned, though his heart thumped unevenly. “Time… is luxury for some, bro. But when she’s ready, everything will change. You’ll see.”

Two weeks passed, each day a slow drumbeat of anticipation. Adewale busied himself with the usual city grind, juggling clients, small online hustles, and side deals. But even in the chaos of Lagos traffic, the heat of the sun bouncing off tin roofs and dusty roads, his mind wandered constantly to Morounkeji. He imagined her walking into the apartment, handing him the small nylon bag, and watching his life — and theirs — transform in a heartbeat.

That afternoon, the door swung open, and there she stood, radiant even in the dim light of the apartment. Her hand rested lightly on the nylon bag she carried, almost like a secret, almost like a key. Adewale’s chest tightened as he stood, frozen for a moment, before rushing forward.

“Morounkeji…” he breathed.

She smiled softly, cheeks flushed with courage and resolve. “Wale… I’ve thought about it,” she said quietly, her voice steady but trembling ever so slightly. “And I realized… it’s just a pad. I always discard it anyway. But if it will help our future… help us…” She paused, holding out the nylon bag toward him. “I’m ready.”

Adewale’s eyes widened. Relief, disbelief, and ecstasy washed over him in equal measure. He grabbed her hand, gently pulling her closer. “You… you really mean it?” he asked, voice shaking with emotion.

She nodded, lips parting slightly as a nervous, excited smile spread across her face.

That night, the apartment was electric. After sharing a meal of spicy jollof and fried chicken, they moved to the bedroom, hearts beating in tandem. Adewale promised her marriage, a life of luxury, every dream she had whispered in passing, every wish she had kept secret.

Their kisses were deep, consuming, and the night stretched around them like a velvet cloak. Every touch, every whispered word, every tender moan was laden with the weight of love, trust, and the secret that would now forever bind their destinies.

The next morning, Adewale shared the news with Oluwatobi, barely able to contain his excitement. “Tobi… she gave me hers! Morounkeji agreed!” His grin was wide, triumphant, almost boyish in its joy.
“Tomorrow, I’m heading to Ijebu Ode. Baba Adigun is waiting. This… this is it, bro. This is our time.”

Oluwatobi nodded, though a shadow lingered behind his eyes. “I see… that’s good for you, Wale. I… I’ll see what I can do with Iremide.” His voice carried the weight of his unease, the hesitation that had grown heavier since the babalawo’s words first entered his mind.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Oluwatobi approached Iremide that evening as she arranged flowers on the small dining table. His hands trembled slightly, and his words came out in fits. “Iremide… I need to ask you something important. Something that… could change our future.”

Iremide looked up, eyes warm yet sharp, and tilted her head slightly. “Tobi… you know I love you. But if this is… something dangerous, I won’t let it touch us.”

He took a deep breath, voice pleading, “It’s for us… for our life together. For everything we’ve dreamed about. Please, Iremide… trust me.” I need your used pad for something that will change our story.

Her gaze hardened, a shiver of fear crossing her expression. “Blood of Jesus, Tobi! No! I cannot… I will not give you my pad. I love you too much to do something that could… that could change me, hurt me, or curse us. No. I cannot.”

Oluwatobi’s heart sank, a dull ache that pressed against his chest. He tried reasoning, trying persuasion, soft words, laughter, even veiled jokes. “Iremide… think of our future… of the life we can build.”
She shook her head, firm as iron. “I will not. I cannot. I’m sorry. I love you, but some things… are not mine to give.”

A week later, Adewale returned from Ijebu Ode, carrying a new spring in his step and a quiet confidence. The nylon bag had fulfilled its purpose. That very week, one of his clients transferred him twenty thousand dollars. He stared at the screen, blinking, shaking his head. “This… this is real?” he muttered under his breath. He laughed, hoarse with disbelief, then sank back onto the couch, overwhelmed.

Within days, the transformation was undeniable. Adewale rented a modest house in Lekki, insisting that Oluwatobi move in with him. The boys now shared a spacious apartment with tiled floors, running water that didn’t sputter, and the faint scent of cleanliness that seemed almost magical compared to Bariga.

Adewale shopped for designer clothes, shoes, and luxury bags. He bought expensive wigs for Morounkeji, treated her to hair appointments, and showered her with gifts she had only dreamed of. She spent more time with him than ever, their romance deepening, filled with laughter, whispers, and soft touches in the new space that now felt like a palace to her.

Iremide, visiting occasionally, noticed the changes in her friend. She smiled genuinely for Morounkeji, happy that the young couple’s love had been rewarded. But each time she glanced at Oluwatobi, a quiet longing stirred in her heart, mingled with the unspoken knowledge that he still wished for a shortcut to wealth. He, too, dreamed of the day Iremide might relent, of the life they could share if only she gave him the same gift.

Every evening, Lagos hummed outside their windows. Streetlights buzzed faintly, the occasional siren cut through the night, and motorcycles traced light trails along the uneven streets. Inside, Adewale and Morounkeji whispered dreams aloud, shared intimate moments, and planned futures that seemed more tangible than ever.

Meanwhile, Oluwatobi sat quietly, restless, torn between love, loyalty, and the seduction of what he still could not have.
Even as wealth began to change them subtly, the boys’ bond remained strong.

Adewale would laugh, teasing Oluwatobi about his slow pace, while Tobi would roll his eyes, secretly envious but outwardly supportive. Yet beneath the camaraderie, the tension built, a silent current warning that love and greed rarely flowed together without friction.

👉 To be continued in Episode 5

Yahoo Boy’s Last Sacrifice – Episode 3

“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.”
A story by Mr lex

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.

👉 To be continued in Episode 4

Yahoo Boy’s Last Sacrifice – Episode 2

You want wealth. I can give it. I can make you rich beyond what your eyes have ever seen. Cars, houses, women, influence. You will shine. But,” he paused, letting the word settle, “nothing comes without a price.”

A story by Mr lexx

Baba Adigun did not rise to greet them. He remained seated on the earth, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap, eyes as dark and still as the forest shadows. The boys could feel the weight of his gaze piercing through them, weighing their intentions, their hearts, and even their loves.

“Sit,” he said finally, his voice calm yet carrying authority. The boys obeyed, sitting on the damp earth. Leaves rustled above them. Somewhere, a bird cried—sharp, lonely.

“You are desperate,” Baba Adigun began. “Desperate men bring their hearts to me. You want wealth. I can give it. I can make you rich beyond what your eyes have ever seen. Cars, houses, women, influence. You will shine. But,” he paused, letting the word settle, “nothing comes without a price.”
Adewale’s chest tightened. “Price?” he asked cautiously.

“Your love,” the babalawo said simply. “Wealth tests love. And love is the most fragile thing a man carries.”

Oluwatobi shifted, uneasy. “What… what do we have to do?”

Baba Adigun’s gaze softened just slightly, though the shadow in his eyes remained.

“The source of your wealth will be borrowed glory. The most sacred energy of someone you love, given willingly, willingly, without coercion. You will take it, and in return, the spirits will make you rich. But…” He raised a finger.

“The glory must remain hidden. If she learns, the wealth will turn to ashes, and someone will pay with blood.”

Adewale leaned forward. “Hidden glory? I don’t understand, sir.”

The old man’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Her life force. Her essence. Her monthly flow.”

Oluwatobi’s face paled. “Flow? You mean… menstrual blood?”

Baba Adigun’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Her pad. Every month. Given freely, without question. That is the key. And you must honor her while doing it.”

Adewale blinked. “Honor her?”

“Yes,” Baba Adigun said firmly. “You will spend on her lavishly. Phones, clothes, trips, jewelry. Shower her with everything she desires. But you will never give her wealth to start her own life. Her glory fuels yours, but it must remain her hidden power, or your fortune will crumble.”

Oluwatobi’s stomach churned. “I… I don’t know if I can ask that.”

Baba Adigun’s voice was soft, almost hypnotic. “Then walk away. Wealth will find others. But if you take it… your lives, your loves, your ambitions will never be the same.”

The boys sat in silence. The forest around them seemed to lean closer, listening, watching, waiting. The sounds of the city were distant, irrelevant. Even the birds had stopped.

Adewale’s mind raced. He thought of Morounkeji: her soft laugh, the way her head fit perfectly on his shoulder, the way she believed in him. Could he ask her? Could he make her part of this… dark bargain?

Oluwatobi’s thoughts turned to Iremide: her faith, her sharp intuition, the way she looked at him when he spoke of dreams. Could he risk her happiness, her trust? Could he risk destroying her?

The forest pressed in, heavy with expectation. Baba Adigun waited, silent now, his presence a quiet but insistent command.

Finally, Adewale exhaled. “We… we need to think,” he said. But even as he spoke, he felt the pull—the temptation, the promise of wealth, of escaping poverty, of giving Morounkeji everything she ever wanted.

Oluwatobi nodded, but unease was written across his face. “Think fast. The spirits do not wait for indecision.”

That evening, as they walked back through the narrow paths of Ijebu Ode, the weight of the babalawo’s words lingered. Leaves brushed their shoulders. Crickets chirped incessantly. Even the river nearby seemed quieter than usual.

Adewale spoke first. “Tobi… imagine Morounkeji in a Range Rover. Imagine her wrist heavy with gold, her hair always perfect, every wish granted.”

Oluwatobi shook his head. “And what? We ask Iremide to… to give something like that?”

“Yes,” Adewale said, voice low, almost trembling. “But we don’t take everything. We honor them. Shower them with gifts.

But we never give them the power to make their own money. Their glory… it is the fuel.”

Oluwatobi’s stomach knotted. “That’s… that’s dark.”

Adewale looked away. “I don’t want to think about it either. But… if we don’t do this, we will stay like this forever. Struggling. Always hungry. Always dreaming.”

The words felt heavy between them. Even the crickets seemed to pause.

Days passed. Back in their small apartment, life returned to its chaotic normalcy. Morounkeji leaned against Adewale as he repaired a broken table fan. Iremide cooked dinner while Oluwatobi tried to fix a leaking faucet. The romance was intact, unspoiled. Tender words, playful laughter, whispered promises of a future together.

Yet beneath it all, both men felt the pull of temptation—the secret knowledge that wealth, unimaginable wealth, was within reach.

Adewale’s mind wandered at night. Morounkeji slept peacefully beside him, her soft breaths like music. Could he ask? Could he betray innocence for ambition?
Oluwatobi wrestled with his conscience too. Iremide’s voice in his head reminded him of faith, trust, love. Could he really risk it?

A week later, Adewale could no longer resist curiosity. He returned to the forest alone, retracing the path to Baba Adigun. The forest seemed denser this time, shadows deeper, air heavier. Every step felt like a test.

The babalawo was waiting. “Decide now,” he said. “Will you take it or walk away?”
Adewale swallowed. “I… I want to take it.”
Baba Adigun’s eyes glinted. “Then you will honor her, lavish her with gifts, but never give her power. Do this… and wealth will follow.”

Adewale nodded, a shiver crawling down his spine. “I understand.”

The old man waved his hand, and the forest seemed to sigh, a soft, almost approving rustle of leaves.

That night, back in Bariga, Adewale called Morounkeji. “Baby… I got you a surprise,” he said casually. She smiled. “Wale… you always surprise me.”

He hung up before she could ask details. Inside, his mind raced, imagining the path ahead, the gifts, the trips, the phones, the hair, the designer clothes. Everything he could give her to make her feel cherished… while keeping her glory hidden.

Oluwatobi lay awake beside Iremide, struggling with his own demons. Could he follow? Could he betray trust for ambition?
Outside, the city hummed. In the distance, the forest of Ijebu Ode waited silently, patient, knowing that desperate hearts would soon cross its threshold.

👉 To be continued in Episode 3

Yahoo Boy’s Last Sacrifice – Episode 1

Iremide’s hands trembled as she held the small nylon tightly. “Tobi… what exactly do you want to use my pad for?” Her voice was a mix of fear, confusion, and disbelief.

The room seemed to shrink, silence pressing in from every corner. He swallowed, eyes downcast. “For our future,” he said finally, almost in a whisper.

She stepped back, pale and shaking. “What kind of future needs my menstruation blood?”

A story by Mr lexx

Three years earlier, Lagos was hot as usual, the streets alive with the hum of generators, honking cars, hawkers shouting from every corner, and the occasional shrill wail of a siren. In a tiny, cramped apartment in Bariga.

Adewale stirred a pot of instant noodles, sweat glistening on his brow, not from the heat but from the exhaustion of the day.

Across the room, Oluwatobi sat cross-legged, his laptop open, but the screen frozen mid-transaction, his fingers drumming lightly on the keys, restless and anxious. Both young men were in their early twenties, broke, ambitious but still innocent, and most importantly, in love.

The love they carried for their girlfriends—Morounkeji for Adewale, and Iremide for Oluwatobi—was pure, untarnished by greed or suspicion. Even in the small apartment, with its flickering lightbulb and the hum of a malfunctioning fan, they laughed, shared dreams, and held onto hope.

They were bound together not just by friendship but by a shared vision of a life that promised more than survival; it promised freedom, power, and love unfettered by poverty.

Adewale waited that afternoon outside Morounkeji’s modest compound in Surulere, holding a small nylon bag carefully in one hand. When she stepped out, her radiant smile cut through the heat of the day. “You came!” she said, eyes bright, her tone playful yet warm.

He shrugged and raised the nylon. “Madam complained yesterday that she was craving suya. So I went and borrowed money to buy it.”

Her eyes softened. “You borrowed money just to buy suya for me?”

“For my future wife? I can borrow the world,” he replied, flashing his charming grin. She laughed, shaking her head, and playfully hit his chest with her small hand.

They walked together to a low concrete bench outside her house and shared the suya and Fanta, the aroma of roasted meat mixing with the city’s dusty air. She rested her head lightly on his shoulder, her trust in him absolute, her laughter a balm to the worries of his small, struggling life.

“I promise you something,” she said softly between bites. “When we finally make it, don’t ever change, Wale. I love the man I know now, not the one who’ll be chasing money up and down”

Adewale kissed her forehead, a tender gesture that carried more weight than words. “Even if I enter Forbes list tomorrow, na you go sit beside me, Morounkeji. Nobody else.” She smiled, oblivious to the secrets that destiny was already weaving into their lives.

Across town, Oluwatobi walked Iremide home after midweek church service. The streets smelled of fried yam, fuel, and sweat, and the fading sun painted a soft golden glow across her face. She clutched her Bible to her chest, a protective gesture that spoke of faith and vulnerability.

“You were distracted today,” she said softly, her voice carrying concern.

“Just thinking about life,” he said quietly. “About how to make you proud. About how to get us out of this struggle. About how to hit it big.”

She stopped and faced him, eyes steady and calm. “Tobi… I don’t need a rich man. I just need a man who fears God and loves me.”

He looked at her as if she had handed him the world itself. “And I love you,” he said quietly, the words heavy with sincerity.

“Then that’s enough,” she whispered, slipping her hand into his as they continued walking through the uneven streets, unaware that the same hand he held so tightly would one day be asked for something that could change their lives forever.

Back in their small apartment, the boys hustled late into the night, fingers moving rapidly across worn keyboards and cracked screens. Yahoo profiles, fake clients, scams that sometimes worked and often failed, but always with the same goal: money. Small victories were celebrated with shawarma and coke, small defeats with silence and sighs. They often talked about dreams so big they seemed impossible.

“I pray Make we blow before we reach thirty,” Adewale would say, eyes shining in the dim light.

“Our babes go enjoy,” Oluwatobi would reply, echoing the promise that kept them awake during nights when nothing else did.

They were not wicked men. Not yet. They were young, tired of seeing others live the life they imagined for themselves, desperate to create a future for the women they loved. Their ambition was pure, born out of love and hope, yet it was the same ambition that would one day begin to erode that innocence.

One evening, as they nursed cheap beer at a roadside joint in Surulere, an older man approached their table. His eyes were sharp, a glint of knowingness in his gaze.

“You boys still dey hustle small-small?” he asked, voice calm but carrying authority.

Adewale shrugged. “Na God dey help person o, yahoo don dey hard.”

The man laughed softly. “God helps those who help themselves. If una serious about money… If una want cash out big from this yahoo,I fit show una way.”

“Which way?” Oluwatobi asked cautiously, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“There is a babalawo inside the bush of Ijebu Ode. Baba Adigun. He no dey fail.”

The boys chuckled nervously, unsure if the man was serious. His face did not move, nor did his expression change as he added quietly, “He doesn’t fail.”

That night, neither Adewale nor Oluwatobi could sleep. Morounkeji had sent him a voice note:

“Goodnight baby. Don’t stress too much. One day we’ll look back at this struggle and laugh.”

Adewale replayed it three times, staring at the ceiling, thoughts tangled in dreams of wealth and love. He imagined the life they could have: cars, trips, a house of their own, and most importantly, a future where Morounkeji would never have to worry about anything again.

Oluwatobi, lying beside him on the tattered mat, whispered, “You dey think wetin I dey think so?”

Adewale exhaled slowly. “If this thing na real… nko?”

Tobi nodded. “Anything wey go make our women proud… I’m ready.”

The wind outside whistled through the broken windowpane, carrying the scent of rain and something darker—an omen of choices yet to come.

Two days later, a dusty, rattling bus screeched to a halt at the edge of a dense forest. The boys stepped down cautiously, legs stiff from the journey and anxiety alike. The forest loomed before them, a wall of green and shadow, thick trunks entwined with creeping vines, the ground soft and damp with decaying leaves. The air smelled of wet earth, herbs, and something faintly metallic that made Adewale wrinkle his nose.

Under a gnarled tree, an old man sat, calm and still, eyes piercing, unblinking, observing them as though he had been expecting them all along. Baba Adigun.

“I have been expecting you,” he said, voice low and measured, carrying a weight that made the boys freeze.

“How sir?” Adewale asked, attempting casualness but failing.

“True love always brings desperate men to me,” the old man replied softly. The wind rose suddenly, rustling the leaves and carrying a scent of herbs and fire, as if the forest itself was listening.

The boys exchanged nervous glances, each realizing that their lives had shifted irrevocably the moment they stepped off that bus. Something powerful, dangerous, and irreversible awaited them in the shadows of that forest.

👉 To be continued in Episode 2