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TheBlessedMAN:
EPISODE 19 — Scars and Goodbyes.

For one week, I was in that hospital — one long, painful week.
The first night I got there, I honestly thought that was my end. My body wasn’t paining me — it was holding a full-blown protest. My ribs were playing Tekken, my chest was doing WWE SmackDown, and my back? That one was running its own government project with no completion date in sight.

Every morning, the nurses would troop in like soldiers on duty.
“Sir, small prick,” one said, holding a syringe.

I frowned. “You people should at least agree that it’s not small again. Since yesterday, you’ve been pricking me like mosquito wey never chop since last year.”

The doctor behind her chuckled. A tall man with a bald head that reflected light like mirror.
“You’re healing well,” he said in his deep baritone. “No fractures, but you have muscle bruises, contusions, mild internal swelling, and dehydration.”

I blinked slowly. “Doctor, just say it like you are talking to a bricklayer — sheybi I go live?”

He smiled. “You’ll live.”

“Good,” I nodded. “Because the god of thunder don enter menopause, he no fit get another child wey go replace me o.”

He laughed and patted my shoulder. “You’ll be fine, son of thunder.”

Jude was there too, standing like a bouncer at the door. When the doctor left, he sighed.
“Guy, you strong o. I swear, when I saw you lying on the floor that night, I swear I thought you don go.”

I laughed small. “Go where? I never even born pikin. You think Shango will allow his prodigal son to die like that?”

He smiled and shook his head. “You no go ever change....you and this your thunder talk....”

The painkillers they gave me were strong enough to make a lion humble. But each time I coughed, it felt like my lungs were sending resignation letters.

By the fourth day, I could at least move around small. My face no longer looked like puff-puff, just a little bit swollen.
Jude came in that morning with a nylon bag and dropped it beside me.
“What’s that?” I asked.

He grinned. “By the way, that new phone you asked me to get for you — I got it.”

“Oh, you don buy am?” I asked, already stretching my hand like a kid waiting for candy.

“Yes na. abi the six hundred K wey you say make I comot with your ATM na for land?” He said, reaching into my wallet to pull out the SIM card I retrieved the previous day. “Let’s set it up.”

He slipped the SIM into the new phone, hit the power button, and the screen came alive like a new dawn.
He helped me set everything up — restored my contacts from cloud storage, synced my old details. After some hours, it almost felt like nothing had been lost; like I’d taken back a piece of my life Kenny had stolen.

Then he handed the phone to me. “Take.”

I smiled weakly. “Ah, Baba Jude — the telecom messiah himself.”

He chuckled. “Better thank me well before I carry it back.”

We both laughed, but the laughter didn’t last long. Soon, the talk drifted to Baba T — how much we missed him, and what would happen to his body.
Jude called someone he knew to ask if it was possible to get the body released for burial, but the response wasn't what we expected at all.
It's legally impossible for now.

The police were still investigating, and until they cleared it, the hospital couldn’t hand the body over — not even to his family.

I felt something sink deep inside me.
It hit me — Baba T’s burial might not happen anytime soon. It would take pure luck, because the police would never find the person who stabbed him — Cynthia.
And the painful part? It was me, his own friend, who helped her escape.

That thought sat heavy in my chest… and I knew it would haunt me for a very long time.

That same night, around 8:30 p.m., Chuka messaged me.

CHUKA: Good you’re online. What happened? I’ve been trying to reach you for three days now. Where are you?

I quickly typed back, explaining everything briefly — the attack and how I was now in the hospital.
Minutes later, his reply came in:

CHUKA: Send me the hospital’s account details. No questions asked.

That message alone said everything.
I called one of the nurses, got the hospital’s account number, and sent it to him.

A few moments later, another message popped up:

CHUKA: Stay put. Don’t worry about the bills. Everything is covered. Get well. We’ll talk later.

I read that line three times.
“Everything is covered?” I muttered. Then I looked around suspiciously.
“Abi he don sell my kidney in advance?”

I chuckled weakly, but then something started itching my brain. I picked up the phone again and typed:

Me: Boss, one small thing. That night… Cynthia. You people got her, abi?

His reply came fast — sharp and heavy like a slap.

CHUKA: Funny, isn’t it? For someone who remembers even the tiniest details — like what I wore the first day we met — you sure have a big problem remembering rules.

A few seconds later, another message followed:

CHUKA: No questions asked.

I frowned, my thumb hovering above the screen.

Me: But boss, I just wan—

Before I could finish typing, another message landed.

CHUKA: And let it be the last time you ask me about anyone related to the Circle. It’s none of your business. We let you know what we want you to know… and we will allow you to not know what we don’t want you to know.

I just stared at the screen, mouth half-open.
For a long moment, I didn’t move. Then I dropped the phone on my chest and sighed deeply.

No questions asked, eh?

But the way he said “anyone related to the Circle” hit differently in my head.
It could only mean one thing — they got Cynthia that night. That thought sent some relief into my worried mind.

And as for Kenny — no one had seen or heard from him since that night. Maybe he left town or something happened to him, either way, we need to move on from that.
But deep down, I knew one thing for sure — we all missed Baba T.


Morning of the fifth day, I was deep in sleep when my new phone rang. I opened one eye with a groan but when I saw the name, my heart skipped.
Tiffany.

I picked up weakly. “Hello?”

Her voice came through soft but shaky. “Darous… oh my God, Darous you got me worried...how are you? Are you okay?”

I smiled faintly. “Last I checked, yes. Still in one piece — just refurbished.” She let out a sigh from the other end. "But I'm in a hospital."

She gasped. “Hospital? What happened?”

I sighed. “Long story jare my queen of wahala. I’ll tell you when I see you.”

“No! You’ll tell me the address of that hospital right now!” She declared.

"And if I don't?"

She didn’t even pause. “Then I’ll start calling every hospital in Lagos till I find the one that has a fine boy named trouble magnet on their bed!”

I chuckled weakly. “Ah, abeg no disgrace me like that o.”

“Try me,” she fired back. “Don’t make me trend for the wrong reason — ‘Woman storms hospitals hunting for wounded boyfriend.’”

I laughed, wincing at the pain in my ribs. “Okay, okay, calm down Inspector Tiffany. I’ll send you the address before you start doing nationwide search and rescue.”

“Good,” she said, voice softening a little. “Because if I find out from another source, I’ll personally unplug your drip when I get there.”

I smiled into the phone. “You see why even devil is afraid of you?”

I gave her the hospital name and address.
Before I could even say, “don’t come,” she ended the call.

Two hours later, my ward turned to a movie set.

Tiffany walked in like she owned the building — followed by Toyosi, both of them looking like they were headed to a wedding, not a hospital. Tiffany wore a tight black dress, earrings shining like transformer sparks. Toyosi’s perfume hit the air before she even entered — sweet and expensive. My eyes settled on Tiffany's breast. Wow. Those sumptuously looking breast. My mind drifted back to the night at Mrs Adeoye. How I handled that breast and all the thrills that followed. I was already fantasising about how I will handle her when next the opportunity presents itself when Tiffany's next action broke into my thoughts.

Tiffany didn’t even greet me first. She marched straight to the nurse’s desk and said in that her rich girl accent that only appears during drama:
“Excuse me! Why is this man’s bed so close to the generator house? Are you trying to kill him with carbon dioxide?”

The nurse blinked like she was buffering. “Ma, please, you can’t—”

Tiffany cut her off. “No, you can’t! You’ll move him to another private room right now.”

The nurse frowned. “Sorry, ma, only the patient or family members can make such a request.”

Right then, the doctor entered — same bald-headed one. Tiffany turned to him sharply.
“Doctor, please, this environment is not safe for him. The fumes from that generator could kill him!”

The doctor adjusted his glasses calmly. “Madam, please relax. I understand your concern, but that generator house is quite far from his ward window. Besides, hospital policy only allows relatives to request transfers.”

Tiffany hesitated, blinked once, then said smoothly, “Alright then… does the title of wife count as relative in your hospital policy? Because I’m his wife.”

I nearly choked. My eyes almost jumped out of their sockets.

Right at that exact moment, Jude walked in holding a bottle of Lucozade. The doctor turned to him immediately.
“Sir, can you confirm that, please?”

Without blinking, Jude said, “Of course, doctor. They even got married the same day Diogo Jota and his wife did. It’s a football thing.”

The doctor squinted. “Diogo Jota?”

Tiffany nodded seriously. “Yes. The Brazilian goalkeeper. We’re huge fans.”

I bit my tongue not to laugh.

Toyosi stood by the door, arms folded. Her eyes met Jude’s — and instantly, the air went cold. Jude looked away, pretending to scroll through his phone.

Tiffany wasn’t done.
“If you don’t move him to a safer ward,” she said, “I’ll call an ambulance and take him to another hospital right now.”

The doctor raised his hands. “Alright, alright. We’ll move him. Please, calm down.”

She turned to me, still breathing hard. “See what I mean? You can’t even rest in peace in this kind of environment!”

I smiled weakly. “Babe, I’m not dead yet. And I’m perfectly fine here.”

She gave me a look. “Fine? You’re just one moustache away from Osama bin Laden.”

I chuckled. “And yet here you are…beside a terrorist. What if American troops raid this place right now?”

She folded her arms. “Good. At least they’ll rescue me first. You?—” she pointed at me—“they’ll interrogate you till you get well enough to be shipped away.”

I smirked. “Then I’ll tell them you’re the mastermind. You fit the profile.”

She rolled her eyes. “Keep talking, Osama Junior.”

She sat beside me, holding my hand. For once, her voice went soft.
“You scared me, Darous. You really did.”

I smiled. “You think the son of thunder can die just like that? Thunder would strike my coffin first.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

The doctor returned with two nurses and they wheeled me into a smaller, private ward. Toyosi and Jude led the way, while Tiffany followed right behind—barking instructions like a military wife on a rescue mission.

When the nurses finally left us alone, she exhaled deeply. “Please, next time you want to almost die, send me a text first.”

I grinned. “You’ll be the first on the invitation list.”

Toyosi laughed softly from the corner. Even Jude smiled small.

"But tell me, what exactly happened to you?" Toyosi asked, folding her arms with that British concern that always sounds like judgement.

Tiffany’s eyes followed, resting on me with that same suspicious calm—like she was waiting to catch me lying.

"How did you end up like this, for real?" Toyosi pressed again, this time sounding like a detective from BBC Africa.

Truth is, I hadn’t planned what to say since they walked in. I turned to Jude for backup; he just gave me that small nod that clearly meant, “Guy, don’t say jack. Just freestyle.”

And since one of the perks of being the son of Thunder is knowing how to lie so well you’d convince even FBI, I cleared my throat and began.

“So… we were at our usual bar, yeah? Some gang mistook us for their rivals. We got talking and it turned to a heated argument. So one of them pulled a knife and stabbed Baba T. So Baba T is dead.”

Tiffany’s eyes widened. Toyosi gasped like she just heard cooking gas price had increased again.
“Wait, what? Baba T is dead?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “We rushed him to the hospital, but he didn’t make it. Me, Jude, and Kenny… we couldn’t take it. We beat the guys so bad, their ancestors probably flinched in their graves.”

They both went silent. Then Tiffany sighed and said softly, “Wow. I actually liked him. He was...the calm one among you, but in a funny way.”

Toyosi nodded slowly. “Yeah, I remember him. He said he wanted to be a motivational speaker. I told him he needed motivation first....eeeyah... may his soul rest in peace."

“Okay, fine. But how did you end up like this?” Tiffany asked.

I sighed and rubbed my bandaged arm. “That same night, the gang came after me. They broke into my place and beat me up. Next thing I knew, I woke up here. Jude’s been the one taking care of me since then. As for Kenny… he’s like Baba T’s widow. He took the whole thing worse than anyone else.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie—just ninety percent true and ten percent remix.

They both looked at me with pity. Tiffany came closer, brushing my hair like I was her lost puppy.

“You’ll be fine,” she said softly. “I’m staying here with you till you get better. And I don't want to hear pim on that...”

Toyosi added, “We’ll even get you something to eat. And maybe a barber to come shave your hair right here. You’re beginning to look like Osama Bin Laden.”

“A barber? Inside the hospital?” I laughed. “You girls are crazy.”

Tiffany gave me a side-eye. “Have you heard about the Saudi sleeping prince?”

“No. Who is that?”

“A prince who’s been in a coma for over twenty years,” she said, scrolling through her phone. “Here—look.”

She shoved the phone in my face.

“Twenty years and he’s still cute,” I said. “Wow.”

“Exactly!” Tiffany said. “Because he let people care for him.”

“That’s because he’s in a coma,” I said. “He doesn’t exactly have a choice.”

Tiffany smirked. “Then maybe I should tell the doctor to put you in the same coma. That way, I’ll finally have my way with you.”

Toyosi gasped dramatically. “Tiff, yes, that's exactly what we'll do.”

They both burst into laughter and walked out, leaving me staring at the door, shaking my head.

“These women will kill me before the stitches heal.” I said to myself.

The room was quiet after Tiffany and Toyosi left.
I could still hear their laughter fading down the hallway — light and carefree.

Then I noticed Jude standing by the door.
He wasn’t smiling. His eyes looked heavy, like he’d been carrying something too hard to say.

He walked up to me slowly, hands deep in his pockets.
“Bro,” he said, voice low, “I need to go.”

I blinked. “Go where?”

“Out of the city,” he replied. “And I'm leaving tonight.”

I tried to sit up. “Why? What’s going on?”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about it for days now. Kenny is still out there. And you and I both know he won’t stop until he finds me. The guy’s broken, and broken people are dangerous.”
He paused, eyes darting toward the window. “I wanted to leave two days ago, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave you alone. But now that Tiffany and Toyosi are here, I know you’ll be fine. You’ve got people who will truly care for you.”

I forced a weak smile. “So you’re leaving because Toyosi is around, right?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, bro. Not that.”
He looked me straight in the eyes. “I’ve moved past Toyosi. What happened between us taught me something I’ll never forget in my life— never let what people think about you decide how you live your life.”

His voice cracked a little. “I spent too long trying to prove I wasn’t a fool, trying to look strong, trying to be who I’m not. And look where it got me — lost, scared, and almost broken. But now… I just want peace. I just want to start again.”

We both went silent for a moment. The room felt heavier and quieter.

Then he smiled faintly and said, “I just miss Baba T, man.”

I nodded slowly. “We all do.”
That single name brought the silence back — thick and cold.

He sighed. “When they finally release his body, I’ll find a way to come back. No matter where I am, I’ll show up for his burial. He deserves that much from me.”

I smiled weakly. “Yeah… he really does.”

Then I mentioned Cynthia, but Jude quickly waved it off.
“She’s a big girl,” he said, forcing a half-smile. “Wherever she is, she’ll be fine. I’m done worrying about what I can’t fix. So be safe my bro....”

I felt a weight settle on my chest the moment I saw his eyes. I’ve known him long enough to recognize that look — the one that says his mind is made up. And when it gets to that point, nothing can change it.

“So this is it?” I asked quietly, fighting back the tears.

He nodded. “For now. I’ll keep in touch. We’re brothers, remember? Blood doesn’t make family — loyalty does.”

I got up slowly and hugged him. We didn’t say anything for a while. We just stood there, two broken men trying to hold each other together.

When we finally let go, his eyes were red but shining.

“Take care of yourself, bro,” he said. “You’ve been through hell, but you’re still standing. Don’t forget that. You’re stronger than you think.”
He paused and looked straight into my eyes like he suddenly remembered something.
“And if you ever feel like jumping off a bridge again, you better call me first. Because if I ever hear you died, I swear I’ll find your corpse, tie it around my neck, and dive into the same ocean. That way, at least you’ll know you killed both of us.”

I swallowed hard and forced a smile. “And you… don’t let the world turn your heart cold. You hear me?”

He laughed softly, wiping his face. “Too late for that,” he said, half-joking, half-true.

Then he turned, grabbed his small bag from the corner, and headed for the door.
He looked back one last time and said, “We’ll meet again, Darous. Maybe when all this madness is over.”

The door closed quietly behind him.

And just like that, the room went still again.
I stared at the empty doorway for a long time — feeling grateful, scared, and alone all at once.

It’s crazy how people come into your life, change it, and then leave —
but still leave a part of themselves behind in you.




To be continued.

Drop your comments below. One more episode on this page before we continue oooooo

TheBlessedMAN:
Chai... See as this my readers just escaped ... Assuming say I never write this update before the match ni, there's every chance there won't be any update today o... Eh.. see as dem wipe my team 4-1? This one worse

TheBlessedMAN:
done my boss. I stayed all night cooking this. I hope it's worth it.

TheBlessedMAN:
if you want to save your favourite character, send 2 BTC to my wallet 😀😀😀 or I'll start killing them one by one... 😀😀😀

TheBlessedMAN:
Episode 1 – The Return of Darousmart

My name is Darous, short for Darousmart if you like full package, you know like you want to finish all your pronunciation subscription. Thirty-five years old according to my birth certificate, tall enough to pick things from the top of the shelve without anyone or anything aiding me, and dark, with a beard that some girls say make me look like I know what I’m doing in life. Truth is, I’m still hustling like every other Nigerian man with dreams bigger than his pocket.

I’m a building contractor — one of those guys you call when you want your house to look like Banana Island even though your budget is telling you to build in Mushin. I came from a poor background, and poverty taught me two things early: how to survive, and how to never forget a promise, whether good or bad.

That night, I was sitting in our usual joint — a rough but lively parlour down the street. The smell of suya mixed with cigarette smoke, and the fan overhead was spinning like it was tired of life. My friendship circle was already there.

Jude sat first, sharp guy, thirty-two, slim with restless eyes. He was the type that wore tight shirts and behaved like the whole world was owing him money. Beside him was Baba T, older, heavy, with a belly shaped like a drum. His Arsenal cap had faded, but he wore it with pride. He's the type of guy that can defend his point of view with his last breath. Kenny came next, short, stocky, head shining like freshly polished floor. He always wore bright colours that made you wonder if he was trying to start a carnival.

And then there was Bola our female friend.

Bola was thirty, tall, skin like caramel sugar. Her body was full in all the right places, hips that didn’t just move but announced themselves. She wore a black fitted dress that hugged her like it didn’t want to let go. Her gold earrings danced each time she laughed, and believe me, Bola loved to laugh. She laughs at literally anything that produces sound or motion.
If laughter has a subscription button, I'm sure Bola would have run out of laughs a long time ago.

“Contractor don land!” Jude shouted as I walked in. He slapped the table like he had just discovered oil. “Darousmart, the man that carry cement by day and women by night. How market?”

I dropped into a chair, shook my head. “Market no dey smile, Jude. I build for people, dem delay my money. I no build, dem insult me. Tell me, who go pay me for the insult and all these disgrace na?”

Kenny laughed so hard his belly shook. “Insult dey sweet for Lagos, my guy. Some people dey chop better with only insult.” he grabbed his half filled bottle and gulped it down.

Bola leaned closer, her perfume slipping into my nose like soft temptation. “Darous, you’re too gentle. If na me, nobody go owe me pass one week.”

Jude gave her a side look. “And how you go collect am? You go send your sweet smile or something stronger as a money collector?”

She smiled wide, her lips shining. “Sometimes smile works better than slap.”


Everybody laughed, but inside the laughter, I saw Jude’s eyes — sharp, watching Bola’s hand resting close to mine.

I cleared my throat. “Abeg, wetin una dey drink? This stress wey dey my body fit kill me if ah no quench am fast”

Baba T waved his hand. “Na beer dey here. If you want pepper soup join, just shout.”

“Bring the pepper soup,” I said, settling back. “But make sure e no be goat head wey dem cook yesterday o.”

The drinks came. Conversation flowed. But even with the noise, I felt Bola’s eyes on me. Heavy and at the same time searching.

She shifted her chair closer, her dress brushing my jeans. “Darous, I no go lie, you dey carry yourself different. I like am.”

I smiled but kept my voice calm. “You like wetin you see, abi?”

She held my gaze, her tongue wetting her lips slowly. “Maybe. But I like to confirm with my own eyes.”

Kenny broke the moment with his loud voice. “Abeg, na who dey pay today? Because if na me, make una no order anything again.”

Everybody laughed, but I wasn’t laughing. I was still looking at Bola, and Bola was still looking at me.

Later that night, when the drinks finished and one by one my friends left, Bola didn’t rush to go. She leaned in, whispering, “Darous, walk me home nau or you want make dem kidnap me.”

I pretend not to care "no be only Kidnap... Na Adultnap. You know say I don tire sha?"

She laughed softly and pleaded gently. "Please nau.. na beg I beg" she said with pity eyes.

Her house was just two streets away. The night air was cool, quiet, only the sound of distant generators humming. She walked slow, hips moving like rhythm, and I knew what was happening.

At her door, she didn’t fumble with her keys. She looked at me, eyes soft but daring. “You want to come in? Or you dey fear?”

I smiled. “Fear? Me? Bola, na house we dey talk about, no be prison.”

She pushed the door open. The small living room was neat, smelling of lavender. She dropped her bag, turned to me, and before I could say anything, her lips were on mine.

It was fire. Her mouth was soft but demanding. Her hands pulled me close, pressing that body against me. My head spun, but my hands had already found her waist, the curves warm and real.

She whispered against my ear, “I’ve been watching you, Darous. I know you’re not like the others.”

I chuckled, breathless. “And yet, here you are, kissing me like you’ve known me for years.”

Her laugh was low, dangerous. “Maybe I have.”

She pulled me towards the couch, her dress sliding as she moved. My eyes traced every line of her figure, and my heart pounded like I had just climbed three floors carrying cement. She kissed me again, deeper, and her hands…


I won’t describe the rest. But let’s just say Bola was not shy, and she knew exactly what she wanted.

When it was over, we lay there, catching our breath. Bola traced circles on my chest with her finger, smiling. “Darous, you have no idea what you just entered into.”

I turned to her. “What do you mean?”

She gave me that smile again — the kind that looked sweet but carried something dangerous. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And right there, I knew this story wasn’t just about sex. It was about something bigger. Something that could make or break me.


To be continued.....