Chapter 5: The Weight of a Promise
The gym behind the Surulere market was not a "fitness center." It was a graveyard of rusted iron and shattered concrete, smelling of old sweat, magnesium powder, and the metallic tang of blood. The weights were welded together from scrap metal, and the "bench" was a wooden plank supported by cinder blocks.
Mide gripped a bar that felt like it had been pulled from the chassis of a truck. He was on his 400th rep of the afternoon. His vision was blurring, and the heat under the corrugated iron roof was suffocating.
[System: "401... 402... Don't stop now, Oga. If you can't lift this rusted iron, how will you lift the hopes of twenty million Nigerians? Your 'Physical' stat is screaming, but that's just weakness leaving the body."]
Shut up, Baba, Mide thought, his teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached. I'm... almost... there.
He pushed the bar up one last time, his triceps trembling like guitar strings.
[Sub-Quest: 'The Strength of the Street' — COMPLETED!]
[Reward: +2 Physical Stat. Current Physical: 61]
[Bonus: You have earned the temporary trait: 'Iron Grit' — Resistance to fatigue increases by 5% for the next 48 hours.]
Mide dropped the bar. The clang echoed through the near-empty gym. He sat on the dirt floor, gasping for air, pouring a sachet of "Pure Water" over his face. He felt different. The "reinforcement" the System had mentioned was settling in. He wasn't a bodybuilder, but his frame was tightening, becoming leaner and more explosive.
"You're going to Manchester to play football, not to fight Mike Tyson," a voice joked from the shadows.
Mide looked up. It was Coach Samuel, leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a mix of pride and sadness.
"I have to be ready for both, Coach," Mide said, standing up.
Samuel walked over and handed Mide a small, worn-out leather pouch. "This is for you. It's not much, but it's 'transport fare' for when you reach London. Don't spend it on meat pies. Keep it for an emergency."
Mide looked at the pouch. He knew Coach Samuel barely made enough to feed his own kids. In his first life, Mide had taken the money and wasted it. This time, he pushed it back gently.
"Keep it, Coach. Use it to buy new balls for the boys on Pitch 4. When I sign my first contract, I'll send you enough to buy a whole stadium. I promise."
Samuel stared at him, then nodded slowly. "You've changed, Olumide. You talk like a man who has already seen the mountain top. Go. Don't look back."
The Final Supper
The atmosphere inside the Adeyemi household that evening was hushed. The usual noise of his younger sisters, Bolu and Simi, arguing over the television was gone. They sat at the table, picking at their jollof rice, their eyes constantly darting toward the two battered suitcases sitting by the door.
Mide's mother kept piling more plantains onto his plate. "Eat, Mide. In England, I heard they only eat bread and cold beans. You will wither away if you don't fill your stomach now."
Mide looked around the table. His father was unusually quiet, his hand resting near the signed visa documents.
"Papa, Mama," Mide said, laying his spoon down. The room went silent. "I know this feels like I'm just going on a trip. But I want you to understand something."
He reached out and took the hands of his two sisters. Bolu was fourteen, dreaming of being a doctor; Simi was ten, a math prodigy who had to share textbooks because they couldn't afford new ones.
"I am not going to Manchester just to play. I am going to clear the way," Mide said, his voice thick with a 35-year-old's conviction. "Bolu, Simi... study hard. Don't worry about the school fees for next term. I'll handle it. And as soon as I get my permanent residency, I am coming back for all of you."
"Olumide, don't make promises you can't keep," his father warned, though his eyes were glistening behind his thick lenses.
"It's not a promise, Papa. It's a prophecy," Mide replied. "Bolu, you will go to the best medical school in London. Simi, you'll have every book you ever wanted. And Mama... you will never have to step foot in that market to sell lace again. I will buy you a house where the only thing you have to do is sit in the garden and drink tea."
His mother burst into tears, pulling him into a crushing embrace. Even his stoic father had to look away, clearing his throat loudly.
[System: "Warning: Emotional levels exceeding 90%. +10 Charisma XP. Also... your sister Bolu just slipped a small note into your pocket. Don't read it until you're on the plane. It'll make you cry, and 'Kings' don't cry in front of scouts."]
Mide squeezed his sisters' hands. He felt the weight of their futures on his shoulders. In his first life, he had let them down. Bolu had dropped out of school to work, and Simi had married a man she didn't love just for stability.
Not this time, Mide vowed. Every goal I score is a brick in their new house. Every assist is a year of their education paid for.
The Last Night
Mide lay on his bed for the final time. The squeaky fan seemed to be singing a goodbye song. He checked his System one last time before the "Airport Arc" began.
[System: "Current SP: 145. Physical: 61. Mental: 75. You're as ready as a boy from Surulere can be. Tomorrow, the 'Airport Tension' begins. The scouts, the paparazzi, and the first taste of what it means to be 'Property.' Go to sleep, Mide. The next time you close your eyes, the air won't smell like Lagos."]
Mide reached into his pocket and felt the crinkle of the note from Bolu. He didn't open it. He just held it, letting the reality of his mission sink in. He wasn't just MA10 anymore.
He was the hope of the Adeyemi bloodline.
[Current Status]
Name: Mide Adeyemi (MA10)
SP: 145
Mental Stat: 75 (Increased due to emotional resolve)
Current Location: Surulere (Final Night)
Next Objective: Murtala Muhammed International Airport (The Departure).