The day after his victory at the Pulse Battle Royale felt like a fever dream. CJ woke up to 112 unread messages, 74 new followers, and five missed calls from unfamiliar numbers. On his nightstand lay the golden trophy—a symbol of everything he'd fought for, and a weight that now pressed on his chest like a silent contract.
Charles was the first one to call.
"Bro. You trending! CJTheVoice is literally on fire."
"On what?"
"Twitter. Insta. Even Facebook, bro. Some label guy posted a clip of your last verse and it's everywhere."
CJ rubbed his eyes. "Already?"
"Already. Now get up. We got moves to make."
---
Outside the apartment, a crowd of kids waited. Some had notebooks. Others just stared. One girl in a hoodie asked shyly, "CJ… can I take a selfie?"
He blinked. "Uh… yeah. Sure."
He posed, awkward and stunned. A flash. Then another. Then more kids joined in. By the time he reached the matatu stop, he'd taken twelve pictures and signed someone's backpack.
Lulu met him there, her eyes bright.
"Enjoying stardom?"
He laughed nervously. "It's weird."
"You better get used to it. Word is, you're the hottest new lyricist in Nairobi."
CJ shook his head. "It's too fast."
"It's real, CJ. You earned this."
They boarded a matatu heading to Upper Hill, where they had a meeting scheduled with someone named Chris Blanco, a music agent who'd contacted them through Tico's cousin. The whole ride, CJ scrolled through his inbox: invitations to perform, interview requests, audio engineers offering free studio sessions.
But in the middle of all the excitement, one message stood out.
> "You're good. But don't get too comfortable. The crown never sits easy."
— Unknown Number
CJ stared at it for a long time.
---
The meeting with Chris Blanco took place in a posh office in a building with glass walls and endless air-conditioning. Blanco was young—maybe late twenties—but moved with the confidence of someone used to closing deals.
"I watched your final round, CJ," he said, sipping espresso from a tiny cup. "You're not just a rapper—you're a storyteller. That's what sells."
CJ nodded cautiously.
Blanco leaned forward. "I want to offer you a mentorship deal. No strings yet. I get you into studio sessions. I help you shape your debut single. We shoot a music video. You keep your independence, but you'll have guidance. We do it right, and in six months, we go for a full label rollout."
CJ's mouth went dry. This was everything he had dreamed of—but now that it was real, it terrified him.
"Can I… think about it?"
Blanco smiled. "Smart. Most kids sign their souls in the first five minutes. I like that you hesitate. Just don't hesitate too long—opportunities move fast in this game."
---
Outside, the crew was waiting. Lulu raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
"He wants to manage me. No contract yet. Just mentorship."
Charles was skeptical. "That sounds… halfway."
Tico folded his arms. "Halfway can still lead to traps."
"I don't trust shiny offers," James muttered. "What's the catch?"
CJ looked at them, suddenly overwhelmed. "I don't know yet. But we need someone who knows the industry. I can't freestyle my way through everything."
The air between them shifted. The dream they'd shared was growing bigger—and with it, the cracks.
---
That night, CJ sat at the rooftop again, scrolling through more messages.
One stood out.
> "You don't owe anyone your spotlight. You climbed alone."
— Unknown Number
There it was again.
This time, he replied:
> "Who is this?"
Seconds later:
> "Someone who knows what it's like to build a throne and watch friends try to pull you off it."
He showed the messages to Lulu the next morning. She frowned. "Someone's playing games. Block that number."
"But what if it's someone I know?"
"Then they should say it to your face."
CJ wanted to believe she was right. But the thought lingered.
---
Over the next week, CJ recorded his first single. Blanco booked a modest studio with good equipment and a quiet sound engineer named Neville who had worked with rising Afrobeat artists. The beat was moody, emotional, and hauntingly beautiful.
He poured everything into the verse:
> "They said I'd fall, said my dreams too loud,
Now they cheer in the crowd, hands raised, fake proud.
But I see through glass smiles and fake cheers,
Still writing my truth through invisible tears…"
Neville gave him a slow clap from behind the mixing board. "This right here? This is going places."
---
But the more CJ climbed, the more things shifted around him.
One evening, Charles confronted him at their hangout spot.
"You're changing, CJ."
CJ blinked. "What?"
"You're moving without telling us. Recording sessions, meetings. We don't even get updates."
"I didn't know I needed to update you every time I breathe," CJ snapped, then immediately regretted it.
Charles's face hardened. "That's how it is now?"
Lulu stepped in. "Let's not fight—"
But it was too late. Charles walked off.
James followed, muttering, "Told you fame would split us."
CJ stood still, guilt flooding him. Tico said nothing. He just looked at him. Disappointed.
---
That night, his phone buzzed again.
> "You see it now? The higher you climb, the smaller your circle gets. Choose carefully."
CJ didn't reply.
He turned off his phone and stared at the ceiling.
He was finally getting everything he wanted… and still losing pieces of himself along the way.
---