Dayo had already told the team the release date for Lois's album. Some of them were skeptical, whispering among themselves about how risky it was to skip the usual research and projections. But at the end of the day, he was the boss. They had no choice but to follow his lead.

Even Wayne and Valery, though they trusted Dayo's instincts, were uneasy. Still, they moved forward with preparations—press rollouts, content calendars, promotional budgets. Whatever doubts they had, they buried them under the reality that Dayo had never failed them before.

And once that was settled, his focus shifted.

The FIFA World Cup performance was next.

***

Dayo waved goodbye to his family as they accompanied him to the airport. Janet, his younger sister, clung to him with tears in her eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Dayo teased with a grin. "It's not like I'm not coming back. Relax."

The family laughed, teasing Janet until it was time for him to board.

As the plane lifted toward Morocco, Dayo felt both nerves and excitement pulse through him. This wasn't just another gig—it was the FIFA World Cup, one of the biggest stages in the world. He would be performing at the opening ceremony alongside global stars from every corner. Among them was Luna, whom he hadn't seen since their last night together.

Though they spoke often on the phone, seeing her again was different. At first, there was an awkwardness—stolen glances, words hanging halfway between personal and professional. But soon, they found their rhythm again, agreeing quietly that for the sake of their careers, they would keep whatever they had between them a secret.

***

Rehearsals were intense. Billions would be watching, and the pressure was immense. Every move, every harmony, had to be in sync. For Dayo, the thought of performing in front of 75,000 people live was staggering. And the choreography? Completely foreign to him. He had never been formally trained, never imagined himself learning routines this complex.

The lead choreographer, Shun Li—an internationally acclaimed creative—hadn't known much about him beyond a few viral clips. Out of curiosity, Shun searched him online: headlines about the Heathrow incident, blogs calling him a prodigy, debates about whether he was overrated or the real deal. But instead of forming an opinion, Shun kept an open mind.

At first, Dayo stumbled through rehearsals—off-beat, stiff, frustrated. But by the third day, something changed. His rhythm locked in, his steps sharpened, and his confidence grew. Shun clapped in the middle of rehearsal, grinning. "That's it! That's the energy!"

Luna, watching from the side, couldn't hide her shock. She knew Dayo had no dance background, yet he was moving like someone who'd been at it for years. What she didn't know was that Dayo had an edge:

[Prodigy's Instinct] — a rare ability that lets him absorb new skills at lightning speed. Whatever he set his mind to—singing, dancing, stage presence—progress came naturally, as if guided by instinct.

It was how he turned from a stiff beginner into a performer who looked seasoned in less than a week.

But not everyone was clapping. Dayo noticed something strange: many of the other artists kept their distance. They were polite, but brief. Conversations ended quickly. Smiles felt fake—and as someone who had been trained to observe, he could spot insincerity easily.

At first, he thought it was nerves, or maybe they just didn't know him well enough. But the coldness lingered.

On the third evening, during a break, someone finally approached him.

"Dayo?"

He turned—and froze.

Standing in front of him was Luron Vale.

The same Vale whose song he had once covered in a piano store back when he was still a nobody. Dayo had twisted the melody, added his own flavor, and posted it online. To his shock, Vale himself had reposted it with the words: "This kid's voice is unreal. Would love to link one day."

And now, here he was.

Vale smiled, extending a hand. "Been meaning to meet you properly. That cover you did of my track? You killed it. Different, but I liked how you flipped it."

Dayo shook his hand firmly, grinning. "Man, you don't know what that meant to me back then. That repost gave me courage when I needed it most."

"Glad it helped." Vale paused, then added quietly, "You actually gave the track a second life. The hype was dying down, and then boom—your cover reignited it. You boosted the numbers. I noticed."

Dayo felt a warm pride at that. For the first time that day, he relaxed. Then, because the question had been bugging him, he asked what he'd been wanting to know.

"Vale, can I be honest? I've noticed a lot of people here keeping their distance. They're polite, but cold. I thought this would be a chance to meet people. I thought maybe it was me… but is there something I don't know?"

Vale's smile faded. He exhaled. "It's not you. It's perception. People think you're arrogant."

Dayo frowned. "Arrogant? How?"

"Your last interview," Vale explained. "About the Heathrow incident. The host asked if you saw yourself as a hero, and if you thought you'd surpass the legends. You said, 'Time will tell.' To you, that was careful. Humble, even. But the media cut it, spun it, and made it sound like you were declaring yourself above everyone else. That headline spread like wildfire."

Dayo felt his chest tighten. He remembered the sharp questions. He had thought his answer was respectful. Yet here it was, twisted into cockiness.

Vale shook his head. "This industry is full of sharks. Folks here are watching how you move in interviews. They assumed. Some will hold onto that. Others will wait and see. Don't let it choke you—just be who you are."

Dayo nodded slowly. "I get it now. Thanks for telling me."

Vale leaned in, his grin returning. "Hey, by the way—I was on tour before coming here, that's why you didn't see me earlier. But I've got a show in the U.S. next month. You should come on stage. The crowd would love you, and you can even perform your own version of my track. Think about it."

The invitation was huge. Though Dayo had been performing at shows, this would be his biggest tour stage yet. It wasn't just flattery—Vale genuinely respected him. Dayo said yes before he thought.

"Yeah. I'd love to."

Vale clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. I'll have my people send the details. We'll link after rehearsals."

Before leaving, Vale gave him a steady look. "Listen, don't let the noise drag you down. This industry runs on perception. People will always talk. All you can do is keep showing them who you are. Stay humble. Keep grinding. They'll see the truth."

Hearing it from Vale—someone he respected, someone who had been in the game longer—loosened the knot in his chest.

So, he adjusted.

Over the next few rehearsals, Dayo made an effort. He laughed more. He complimented others. He showed gratitude. When dancers stumbled, he helped. Slowly, the room thawed. One by one, conversations flowed. Numbers were exchanged.

By the end of the week, Dayo wasn't just the fast learner who impressed everyone with his stage presence. He was also the artist who showed humility, maturity, and heart.

And that mattered just as much.

Still, Dayo knew not everyone would like him. In this industry, there would always be those who resented newcomers rising too fast. But that was fine.

Because Dayo wasn't here to be liked. He was here to last.

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