Rise of the Street King

Chapter 53 — Ashes to Plans

The streets still carried the stink of smoke. Charred timber, plastic, the faint copper of blood—every corner Jayden walked through reeked of last night’s fire. The people didn’t meet his eyes anymore. They glanced at him, then quickly away, like he carried the blaze inside his chest. Maybe he did.

The safehouse was ash. The fighters who survived staggered like shadows, dragging crates of salvaged weapons and medicine toward the narrow alleys of Ojuwoye. Jayden had promised them survival; what he gave them was another war.

Malikah appeared from the haze, scarf tied tight against her face. “We can’t stay open like this. Too exposed.”

Jayden nodded. He had already thought it through. Hide. Split. Regrow.

“Spread them out,” he ordered. “No more single nests. Three cells, maybe four. Each runs food, ammo, and watchmen. If one burns, the others live.”

Malikah clicked her tongue but didn’t argue. Not today.

The New Cells....

The relocation began at dusk. The Burned Boy, limping but unbroken, guided a group of younger recruits toward an abandoned factory whose broken windows glimmered like jagged teeth. Another pocket hid in an underground tailoring shop, the hum of machines a perfect cover for whispers.

Jayden walked between them, testing walls, noting escape routes, insisting on double exits.

“Here,” he pointed at a rusted ladder leading to the roof. “If cops kick in the front, you fly. No hesitation.”

The kids nodded, eyes wide. They weren’t hardened yet. They were watching him, soaking in his every move like scripture.

That scared him more than Razor’s men ever could.

Organizing the Scouts...

By midnight, Jayden stood in the tailoring shop, chalk dust still on his fingers from sketching maps on a cracked wall.

“You,” he pointed to a wiry boy with quick eyes. “Market routes. Count cops, count uniforms. Twice daily.”

“Me?” the boy stammered.

“Yeah. You’ve got legs like wind. Use them.”

He turned to the Burned Boy. “You’ll handle supply lines. Anyone says they’re too scared to move, you look them dead in the eye and remind them what scared feels like.”

The Burned Boy gave a tight grin. “Yes, boss.”

Malikah leaned against the wall, arms folded. “We’re rebuilding with children.”

“They saw me fight,” Jayden replied quietly. “They know Razor bleeds like the rest. That’s enough to start.”

But even as he said it, he felt the weight of it. Kids stepping into graves they hadn’t dug.

Amara’s Return...

The rain came down sudden, slashing the tin roof. Jayden almost missed the shadow slipping in through the back. Then he caught her scent—something sharp, like crushed limes.

“Amara.”

She was soaked, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes gleaming with the wild tension of hunted prey.

“You’re hard to find,” she whispered, peeling off a wet jacket. “Even for me.”

“Maybe I meant it that way.”

Her smile was tired. “I bring something worth the risk.”

Malikah’s hand twitched near her knife, but Jayden raised a palm. “Talk.”

Amara leaned in close, voice barely audible over the rain. “Razor’s supply chain isn’t magic. He has one main source. A man named Adewale ex-military, runs stolen crates out of the port. Razor buys loyalty in bullets and crates of expired meds.”

Jayden studied her. “And you know this… how?”

Amara didn’t blink. “Because I owed Adewale once. And I paid him in whispers.”

The room fell into a silence thick enough to drown in. Malikah’s glare cut sharper than steel, but Jayden waved it aside.

“We cut the supplier, Razor chokes,” Amara added, her voice urgent. “But this isn’t street play. Adewale’s got guards, ex-soldiers who don’t hesitate.”

Jayden’s jaw flexed. He wanted to trust her. He also knew every kiss she gave him came laced with smoke.

“Leave it with me,” he said. “For now.”

Recruits of the Fire. .

Later that night, Jayden gathered the kids the ones who had seen him fight Razor’s men during the fire, who whispered about the leader who refused to bow.

He faced them in the factory’s hollow belly, shadows flickering across his scarred face.

“You saw me swing against men twice my size,” he told them. “You saw me bleed, but you saw me stand. If you want to follow me, don’t expect riches. Don’t expect peace. Expect fire.”

A murmur ran through the group, fear mixing with awe. The Burned Boy stepped forward first. “We follow.”

One by one, they raised hands. Some trembling, some steady. Kids with nothing but empty bellies and louder dreams.

Jayden nodded, though inside his chest something cracked.

Tribute Interrupted..

By dawn, the machine of survival was running again. Scouts whispered routes, food came in trickles, gamblers paid quiet taxes. Jayden almost felt the city bend back toward him.

Almost.

He sent a close friend, Musa one of his oldest allies to collect tribute from night vendors near Ojuwoye bridge. Simple job, routine. Musa had survived knife fights, raids, and hunger.

But evening dragged long, and Musa didn’t return.

Then came the whispers.

Plainclothes men. Not Razor’s. Not Council. Police, the kind that didn’t wear uniforms. They had taken someone on the bridge, shoved him into a van with tinted glass, and sped into the night.

Jayden’s chest went tight, blood roaring in his ears.

He knew, before Malikah even spoke, whose name the streets carried on their lips.

“Musa,” she said quietly. “They’ve got Musa.”

The room fell still, like the air before thunder...

Jayden’s friend Musa is arrested by plainclothes cops en route to collect tribute.