Rise of the Street King

Chapter 74 — Mentor Revealed

The raid had come and gone. Malikah returned bloodied, carrying rifles still dripping with Razor’s men’s blood. She threw the weapons down in the warehouse for all to see, defiance carved into every scar on her face.

Her loyalty wasn’t questioned again at least not openly.

But Jayden’s trust in the world was already fraying, every rope pulled tighter, every knot suspicious. And as the tension inside his ranks cooled, the whispers outside grew sharper. Razor’s men kept striking, but now with uncanny precision. The police pushed harder on his routes, not random anymore but pointed, like they knew exactly where to hurt him.

And behind it all, the one thread that kept tugging at Jayden’s mind: Mama Nuru.

The old woman had been there since the beginning. She had fed him as a boy, slipped him bread when others ignored him. She had brokered truces when bullets were the only language on the street. She had whispered advice in his ear about which vendors to approach, which corners to hold, which people to keep close. She was more than a mentor she was a pillar.

But the bugs Jayden planted in her stall told a different story.

He sat in the backroom of the gambling den, the air thick with smoke, listening to the crackle of the wire. The recording was grainy, but the words were clear enough.

“…you’ll have your favor, but you bring me a body. That’s the deal.”

Jayden had replayed the tape until the machine groaned. Every time, the same words. Her voice, calm as always, but promising something dark to a man whose tone carried authority. Not Razor—someone cleaner, someone who didn’t belong in the dirt but wielded power over it.

And still, Jayden wanted to deny it.

That denial shattered days later, when Amara returned with scraps of paper pulled from a courier bag intercepted at the canals. The ink was blurred with water, but the message was legible: shipments rerouted, patrols diverted, territories mapped. And at the bottom Mama Nuru’s seal, her personal mark.

Jayden stared at the paper, heat rushing through his chest until he thought his ribs might split.

“Her hand,” Amara said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. “She’s been dealing with Razor’s lieutenants and city men both. These aren’t rumors anymore, Jay.”

The Burned Boy slammed a fist against the wall. “That witch has been feeding us crumbs while selling banquets to them.”

Jayden said nothing. He couldn’t not yet.

That night he went to her stall, alone.

The air was heavy with spice and smoke, the familiar scent of pepper stew drifting from her pots. She sat at her table as though nothing had changed, her shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders, her hands busy peeling yams. When she looked up at him, her eyes softened the way they always had, like she still saw the hungry boy who had once begged her for scraps.

“Jayden,” she said, her voice warm. “You’ve been too thin lately. Sit. Eat. You forget to take care of yourself.”

He didn’t sit. He stood in the doorway, shadows swallowing half his face.

“Why?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Why, Mama?”

Her hands didn’t stop moving. She sliced through the yam with calm precision, as though the knife in her hand were not a weapon at all.

“Why what?”

“You’ve been selling us. Selling me. Razor. The city bosses. Papers with your mark on them. Whispers on the wire.” His fists clenched at his sides. “How long?”

For a moment, the knife paused. Then she laid it down carefully and looked at him, her eyes old and unblinking.

“Since before you were a man,” she said.

The words cut sharper than any blade. Jayden’s breath caught, and for a moment he swayed, as though the ground had shifted beneath him.

She leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. “Don’t look so surprised. You think these streets survived on your fire alone? No, boy. Deals kept them alive. I fed Razor when he was hungry, same as I fed you. I whispered to the city men so they wouldn’t burn us all to the ground. I played both sides, always, because that’s how the slums breathe.”

Jayden’s throat tightened. “You used me.”

“I raised you.” Her voice was sharp now, steel beneath the warmth. “I gave you counsel. I gave you doors to walk through, enemies to fight, friends to trust. Without me, you’d still be a boy with empty hands and a hollow stomach.”

He took a step closer, the fury in his chest trembling like a storm barely leashed. “And all the while you were feeding Razor, feeding the men who murdered my people. Who burned us. Who bled us.”

Her eyes flashed. “And if I hadn’t? You think the Council would’ve let you grow this long? You think the police would’ve turned their eyes for even a moment? You’re alive because I made you useful. Because I told them: let the boy rise. He’ll serve his purpose.”

Jayden’s fists shook. He wanted to strike, to tear the stall apart, to drag her into the street and let the men see what she was. But something in her voice held him. Something in the quiet certainty that made his rage feel suddenly small.

“You think I’m the mastermind,” she said softly, almost pitying. “But you have no idea who signs the checks.”

The words landed like a hammer.

He stared at her, his breath ragged. Behind her, the pots simmered, the smell of stew filling the air, masking the stench of betrayal. His whole body shook with the need to act, to decide but all he could do was stand there, poisoned by the truth.

She smiled faintly, almost tender. “Eat something, Jayden. You’ll need your strength for what comes next.”

He turned and walked out into the night, her words echoing in his skull, louder than the city’s chaos.