Chapter 95: Meeting Michael
The week felt long and heavy for Dayo.
He didn’t feel like himself anymore. Normally, he was full of life — smiling, working, laughing with people. But this time, everything about him was quiet. Even his eyes looked tired.
At first, no one knew what was wrong until one of the contestants mentioned that Dayo’s uncle had passed away. The news spread fast — from the contestants, to the crew, and then to the internet.
Soon, it was everywhere.
People online were posting old clips of him, writing things like "Stay strong, bro," and "Sorry for your loss." The same media that had mocked him last week, saying "karma finally caught up with him," were now pitying him. Everyone was suddenly kind again.
But Dayo didn’t care about the noise. His heart was heavy.
His father took the news hard. He used to be a soldier too before he retired — only because Dayo’s mom begged him to leave the force. Marcus’ death hit him like a wound reopening.
His uncle Marcus wasn’t just family — he was the last connection to his father’s side. His grandparents were gone. His father’s brother, Marcus, was gone too. That meant the only people left now were his dad, his mom, his younger brother, and his sister. That was all.
Dayo called home every night, trying to sound strong even when he was breaking inside.
"Dad, please eat something," he said once.
"I’m fine, son," his father answered, though his voice was weak.
Everyone around Dayo tried to comfort him, but he didn’t want sympathy. He just wanted peace.
In the studio, he sat in front of the mic for hours, but nothing came. His mind was blank. The theme for the next round was summer — joy, freedom, energy — but he couldn’t feel any of that.
He tried to write, but every time he thought of music, he saw his uncle’s face instead. It wasn’t just creative block. It was grief.
Even when he tries to sing it was the same results.
He remembered how close Marcus was to him. Even before Marcus died, he used to call and check on him. He supported his music, even though he didn’t really understand it. That memory alone made Dayo’s chest tighten.
People from production came to check on him too.
"Are you okay?" they asked.
"I’m fine," Dayo said every time, though it was clear he wasn’t.
Days passed like that — slow, quiet, and sad.
The day before the competition, Frank walked in quietly.
"Dayo," he said, his tone low but urgent. "Someone wants to see you."
Dayo didn’t look up. "Frank, not now. Please. I’m not in the mood."
"It’s serious," Frank replied. "You need to come."
From the way he said it, Dayo already guessed who it was.
He sighed, stood up, and followed him out.
Outside the building, a man waited.
He wasn’t old — maybe late thirties — but everything about him showed control. His posture was straight, his suit sharp, and his eyes calm in a way that made people nervous.
Michael Malo.
Their eyes met. The air between them grew heavy.
Michael smiled faintly. "So, we finally meet face to face."
Dayo nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "First time, right?"
Michael took a slow step closer. "I’ve heard a lot about you, Dayo."
"Same here," Dayo said evenly.
They stood there for a few seconds, neither speaking. It wasn’t silence — it was a quiet test of who would blink first.
Finally, Dayo spoke. "So, Michael," he said slowly, his tone calm but curious, "to what do I owe this visit?"
Michael’s smile widened a little. "You know why I’m here."
"I prefer to hear it from you," Dayo said.
Michael chuckled softly. "Fair enough."
He walked a bit closer until they were face to face. "I’ll go straight to the point. You’ve done well — fastest rap record, loyal fans, strong presence. But you’ve made one mistake."
Dayo’s voice didn’t change. "And what’s that?"
"You crossed the wrong man," Michael said simply.
Dayo gave a small laugh. "I’m guessing that man is you."
"I don’t call it hate," Michael replied smoothly. "I call it balance. You’ve been moving without structure, without guidance. And I don’t like that."
"So what do you want from me?" Dayo asked.
Michael’s tone stayed calm. "I’m giving you an offer — join my label. Work under me. You’ll rise faster, go bigger, and you’ll get to keep your little fan dream alive."
Dayo stared at him for a few seconds. "And if I say no?"
Michael smiled faintly. "Then you won’t make it to the finals. No matter what you perform, I’ll make sure of that."
Dayo’s face didn’t move, but his eyes sharpened. "So it’s a threat now."
"Call it business," Michael said. "I offered quietly before, and you ignored it. This is me being generous one last time."
Frank, who had been standing a few feet away, finally spoke up. "Sir, maybe we should—"
Michael turned his head slightly, his voice cold and cutting.
"Why are you still here, Frank?"
Frank froze, lips tightening.
Michael didn’t look at him again. "When I’m speaking, you don’t interrupt. You can leave."
Frank hesitated, humiliated, then slowly walked off without another word.
Michael’s eyes returned to Dayo. "Where was I? Right. The offer."
Dayo’s voice stayed calm. "You don’t need to repeat it. I heard you the first time."
Michael studied him for a long moment. "You’re not afraid of me," he said quietly, almost amused. "Do you even understand who I am?"
"I do," Dayo said. "That’s why I’m still standing here."
For the first time, Michael’s smile faded. His tone dropped lower. "You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But in this industry, guts without backing means nothing. You either play the game, or the game plays you."
Dayo’s reply came slow and steady. "Then maybe I’ll change the rules."
That made Michael pause. His brow lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
He didn’t expect that kind of answer — not from someone who should be terrified.
"You remind me of myself when I was young," Michael said finally. "But the difference is, I learned when to bow."
Dayo’s voice was quiet but firm. "Maybe you bowed too early."
Michael’s eyes hardened. "Then you’ve already lost."
He turned to leave, his voice echoing behind him. "You have until tomorrow to decide. After that, whatever happens is on you."
As he walked away, Frank stood waiting at a distance, his jaw tight.
He gave Dayo a look — half smug, half uneasy — but Dayo ignored him and stared at Michael’s back until he disappeared.
When they were gone, Dayo finally let out a slow breath. His hand clenched slightly by his side.
"Why now?" he whispered. "Damn it..."