Rise of the Street King

Chapter 65 — The Mentor’s Shadow

The slums had always whispered of Mama Nuru.

She wasn’t a fighter, not anymore. Age had bent her back, silver streaked her hair, and her hands trembled when she held a cup of tea. But her name carried weight heavier than machetes and guns. She had fed three generations, smuggled bread through curfews, paid school fees for children who weren’t her own, and buried more boys than anyone dared count.

People called her Mama, not because she asked for it, but because she had made herself the spine of survival.

And now, she had called for Jayden Cole...

The meeting was arranged in broad daylight, inside her compound. No shadows, no alleys, no secrets. A bold statement in itself.

Jayden walked in with Malikah and the Burned Boy at his side. The air smelled of stew simmering on coal stoves, and women with headscarves ladled food into bowls for a line of children that stretched into the yard. There were no guards here, no visible guns only the quiet hum of community, the kind Jayden’s own name could never summon.

Mama Nuru sat on a low stool, wrapped in a patterned wrapper, her eyes sharp despite their softness. She waved him closer.

“King of the Slums,” she said with a smile that carried both warmth and mockery. “Sit. You’re making my knees hurt just looking up at you.”

Jayden lowered himself across from her, nodding respectfully. Malikah stood stiff, suspicious, while the Burned Boy shifted nervously, unused to peace.

Mama Nuru poured tea with slow hands, the liquid steaming in the humid air. She offered Jayden a cup. “Drink. Power is thirsty work.”

Jayden took it, the hot clay burning his palm. He sipped, bitter leaves biting his tongue.

“You called me,” he said flatly.

“I did.” She tilted her head. “Because I see a boy trying to carry a crown bigger than his neck. I see strength, but strength alone burns out. Fire consumes itself. You need roots, child. Roots and branches.”

Jayden frowned. “And you’ll provide them?”

Mama Nuru chuckled, low and warm. “I already have. Those merchants who pay you? They’ve eaten my rice before they trusted your blade. Those politicians sniffing at your boots? They’ve licked my hands for decades. You walk on paths I carved long before you picked up your machete.”

Malikah bristled. “Then why call him here? To remind him he owes you?”

Mama Nuru’s eyes flicked to Malikah, amused but sharp. “No. To remind him that a kingdom is not ruled by fear alone. Fear breaks. Trust bends but holds.” She turned back to Jayden. “I offer you trust, child. Guidance. The names of who to bribe, which cops can be bought, which politicians have skeletons they’d rather I keep buried.”

Jayden’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like being called “child,” but her words rang with a truth he couldn’t ignore. His blade had carved space, but it was her web that could hold it.

“And what do you want in return?” he asked.

Her smile widened. “Only that you listen. And when the time comes, you remember who fed you wisdom when your enemies offered bullets...

Over the next days, Mama Nuru wove herself into Jayden’s operations.

Her contacts smoothed bribes, turning snarling police into blind ones. Her whispers pointed him toward warehouses left unguarded, politicians willing to bend, merchants who could be squeezed just enough without breaking.

When Jayden spoke, doors opened faster. When he demanded, fewer resisted.

For the first time since the siege, his empire began to feel solid. Not just fear-driven, but rooted in something thicker.

The Burned Boy admired her instantly, clinging to her words as if she were a grandmother. Malikah, though, watched every move with narrowed eyes, muttering that chains can be woven from kindness as tightly as from iron.

Jayden listened to both but it was Mama Nuru’s voice that carried in his ear at night...

One evening, she called him aside after a strategy session. The market stalls outside her compound glowed in the lamplight, children’s laughter fading into the dark.

“You’ve done well,” she said softly, laying a wrinkled hand on his arm. “But you must be careful. The bigger you grow, the more the Council watches. Some want you crushed. Some… want you close. And some will want to use you without you even knowing.”

Jayden studied her face, lined with age, but eyes sharp like glass. “And which are you?”

She chuckled, patting his arm. “The one who wants you alive. Because dead kings don’t feed anyone.”

Her words were warm, comforting, and Jayden found himself believing them, even as Malikah’s voice whispered in his mind: This is a trap...

Later that night, when Jayden had returned to his safehouse, Mama Nuru met with a shadow in her courtyard.

A man stepped from the dark tall, lean, his features sharp, a scar running down his cheek. Razor’s lieutenant.

He bowed slightly, but not out of respect. Out of habit.

Mama Nuru handed him a small wrapped package, her voice low and measured. “He’s ambitious. Hungry. But hunger makes men blind.”

The lieutenant smirked. “And you’re feeding him.”

She nodded, eyes glittering. “Hold him close. The tighter the leash of trust, the easier it is to strangle when the time comes.”

The night swallowed her words, leaving only silence and the echo of betrayal wrapped in kindness...

Jayden sleeps with the illusion of newfound stability, unaware that the mentor guiding him is already binding him closer to the Council’s blade.