The next morning, sunlight sliced through the blinds, casting geometric patterns across the polished oak floors of The National Daily's Sports Desk. The newsroom hummed with renewed energy. Phones pinged softly, tablets buzzed with alerts, and journalists tapped away on wireless keyboards, earbuds in, half-listening to live commentary streaming across wall-mounted screens.
Adaeze stepped in, clutching her laptop like a shield, navigating between colleagues balancing laptops, coffee mugs, and smartphones. Heads lifted, curiosity flickering across faces.
'There she is!' Kamsi called, leaning over a minimalist desk, her voice slicing through the hum of conversation, the tap of keyboards, and the low rumble of phones ringing across the bustling newsroom. 'Our rising star!'
Adaeze slowed. 'What happened?'
Kamsi thrust her phone forward. A headline glowed on the screen, bold and scrolling:
'Reporter Challenges Izunna Obieze After Victory — Sparks Fly!'
A short clip of Adaeze's exchange played beneath, viewers' comments streaming in real-time.
'That girl has guts!'
'Who is she?'
'You can't talk to Izunna like that!'
'Fearless!'
Adaeze's hand flew to her mouth. 'Oh no.'
'Oh yes,' Kamsi replied, a grin lighting her face. 'You are trending. Already called the bold reporter.'
The glass door to the Sports Editor's office, perched along the side of the bustling newsroom floor, slid open. Mr Ikenna emerged, coffee mug in hand, steam rising from it and glowing in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. He glanced at the busy reporters typing and moving around before his eyes settled on Adaeze. 'Adaeze.'
She squared her shoulders, held her head high, and met his gaze. 'Sir.'
'You shook the table. I like tables that shake when it brings readers. Your story pulled more clicks than any other match report combined.'
A quiet breath escaped her.
'And it's not just online,' the Chief Editor called from the newsroom doorway. 'The circulation team just reported that every kiosk and newsstand we track has sold out. People are buying the paper to read about you. That's real impact, Adaeze.' He nodded and walked away.
Adaeze blinked, a small, proud smile spreading across her face.
'However,' Mr Ikenna said, sipping from his mug, 'next time, ease your tone. We report, we do not wrestle. Ask the hard questions, yes, but do not make players feel ambushed. We need them to talk to us again.'
Adaeze nodded.
Mr Ikenna then walked towards the newsroom's automatic door. It slid open as he got close and clicked softly behind him as he left.
Kamsi leaned close, elbow nudging Adaeze's arm. 'Still,' she whispered, 'you cut through the noise. People noticed. That is a start.'
Adaeze sank into her sleek chair and opened her laptop. She typed steadily, the soft clicks of the keys keeping a calm rhythm, even though her heart was still racing. Every now and then, Izunna Obieze's eyes flashed in her mind—steady, amused, and a little impressed. He lingered there longer than she expected.
For the rest of Sunday, she monitored the tournament from the newsroom. While other teams played their matches, Adaeze reviewed footage from Saturday, fact-checked quotes, and prepared player profiles and tactical breakdowns for her readers. Even without stepping onto the field, she remained fully immersed in the tournament, building stories that would set the stage for Nightengale United's next match.