Chapter 94: Uncle Marcus
Dayo sat on his bed that evening, the soft glow from his phone lighting up his face. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the faint hum of the air conditioner. He decided to check his music dashboard — something he hadn’t done since the last stage ended.
When he opened it, his eyes widened a little. His latest song, "The Truth Will Come Out," had exploded.
YouTube: 26.4 million views
Spotify: 10.7 million streams
Apple Music: 9.3 million streams
Audiomack: 6.9 million plays
It hadn’t even been four days since he released the song, and it was already this hot. With the Guinness World Record announcement about the fastest rap, it would only rise higher.
He smiled faintly. It felt good to see things picking up again. After everything that happened, this was the one thing that still made sense.
Just as he was scrolling through, his phone rang. The name on the screen made him pause — Valery.
He picked up quickly.
"Val, what’s up?" he asked, his voice calm but curious.
Her tone was tense. "Dayo, there’s a problem."
He frowned a little. "What happened?"
Valery sighed deeply. "It’s Lois. She... she left the label. She signed with MM Records."
For a moment, Dayo didn’t say anything. He blinked slowly, unsure he heard her right. "Wait. What did you just say?"
"She signed with Michael’s label," Valery repeated. "Clara came here today with her. They handed in the termination letter. Everything’s official."
Dayo leaned back in disbelief. "You’re joking, right?"
He had just given Lois an album any upcoming artist would die for — and now she’d walked away.
"I wish I was," Valery said quietly. "They made it clear they’re not coming back. Michael moved faster than we expected."
Dayo exhaled and rubbed his face with both hands. For a moment, he just sat there in silence. Lois’s songs had been some of his best work — H.E.R, Unbreak My Heart, Only You. Songs he gave her freely, wanting her to shine.
And now, those same songs were sitting under Michael’s control. Not fully — since he still owned the copyright — but all the shows, promotions, and concerts that would’ve brought in serious money were now gone.
I should’ve told her to resign the contract before I gave her the album, he thought bitterly. I was going to... but that was when Luna came around. Damn.
He took a slow breath and calmed himself.
"You know what, Val," he said finally, his voice steady, "it’s fine. Don’t blame yourself. I should’ve seen this coming."
"But Dayo—"
He cut her off gently. "No, it’s not your fault. I get it. Just keep pushing everything we already have out there. Promote the album — we still have the copyright, so let’s use that before the hype dies down. I don’t know what Michael’s next move is, but we can’t slow down now."
Valery sighed again. "Okay. I’ll handle it."
"Good," he said softly. "We’ll figure it out."
When the call ended, the room fell silent again. Dayo dropped his phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
He wasn’t angry — just tired. He had always known Michael was powerful, but this time it felt personal. The man wasn’t just trying to win; he wanted to break him.
Dayo clenched his fist slowly.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath. "If it’s war you want, it’s war you’ll get."
He turned off the light and sat in the dark, his mind racing with quiet thoughts and plans.
---
It started like any other morning. The sun had just begun to rise over Washington, painting the sky in a soft orange glow.
But somewhere far away, in the deserts of Iraq, a different kind of morning had begun — one filled with noise, dust, and chaos.
A U.S. military unit had been ambushed during a mission near the city’s outskirts. The air was thick with smoke and gunfire. Soldiers shouted orders, calling for cover. Among them was Major Marcus Carter, a man who had seen too many battles but never lost his sense of duty.
"Move! Move!" he yelled, guiding his team behind an armored vehicle. But before they could take cover, an explosion went off nearby. The ground shook. Everything went white.
Moments later, silence.
The news spread fast.
> Breaking News: Twelve U.S. soldiers confirmed dead after an explosion during a military operation in Iraq. Among the casualties is Major Marcus Carter, a decorated officer known for his years of service in overseas missions...
---
Dayo sat on his bed, staring blankly at his phone. His mind was still on Lois, on the label, and everything that had gone wrong. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t even moved much.
Then his phone rang again. It was his dad.
He picked up, sounding tired. "Hey, Dad."
There was a long pause on the other end. Then his father spoke, his voice weak.
"Dayo... I have bad news."
Dayo frowned. "What’s wrong?"
His dad took a deep breath. "It’s Marcus. There was an attack during one of their missions. He didn’t make it."
Dayo froze. The words didn’t register at first. "Wait, what are you saying?"
"He’s gone, son," his father said quietly. "They just released the list of names. Marcus was one of them."
For a moment, Dayo couldn’t speak. His hand trembled slightly.
"No... that can’t be true," he whispered. "I just spoke to him two weeks ago."
"I know," his father said, his voice cracking. "I’m so sorry."
The call ended, but Dayo just sat there, staring into space. His throat felt dry, his chest heavy. Marcus wasn’t just an uncle — he was like an older brother.
Even before Dayo reincarnated, the original Dayo had cherished Marcus deeply.
He remembered how Marcus used to call him "Little Soldier" whenever he complained about stress. He remembered how Marcus had supported his music, even though he never really understood it.
All the memories rushed through his head.
Now he was gone.
Dayo placed his phone beside him and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry — not yet. He just sat there, breathing slowly, trying to understand everything happening at once.
First the label.
Now this.
It felt like the world was pushing him down from every side.
He whispered to himself, "Why does it always have to be like this?"
Then, quietly, he stood up and looked out the window at the rising sun. His reflection in the glass looked tired — broken, even. But behind that pain was something else building up.
Resolve.