2025-08-16 01:15:11
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Chapter 30 - O Don’s Story
O Don was different. Not just because he could flip numbers in his head faster than most men could count change, but because the streets never swallowed him whole—they sharpened him. Where Problem fought his way through and Biggie carried weight on his back, O Don learned to move like a shadow, eyes always watching, ears tuned to whispers no one else caught.But before he was “O Don,” the strategist of MMS, he was just Kwabena Odonkor, the skinny boy with sharp eyes from Chorkor, raised by a mother who sold fish at the beachside market. His father? A ghost. A man who promised to return and never did. His mother used to say, “Kwabena, you must learn to think faster than hunger. That’s the only way you’ll survive in this world.”The Early GrindGrowing up, O Don was the boy who never had his own exercise books. He borrowed pages from friends, wrote on the back of used paper, and still came top of the class. Teachers noticed him. They would say, “This one, if he doesn’t l
Chapter 29 - Biggie’s Weight
The name biggie was not given to him because of his seize, but because everything about him carried weight—his words, his silence, his presence.Back in Mataheko where he grew up , he was known as Kwaku Boadi, the boy who was quiet but saw everything. He was thick from a young age, had a broad chest , a giant.His mother ran a food joint near the junction, serving all kinds of food to taxi drivers, trotro mates, and tired workers. His father was a hardworking man ,who always had his hands coated with cement dust, because he was a mason.They weren’t rich, but they had enough to eat, enough to smile.Then came the day that shattered everything.The Breaking PointBiggie was only fourteen when his father died. Not from sickness, not from old age—but from a construction accident. A weak scaffold collapsed, crushing him before help could come. His mother’s cries echoed in the whole neighborhood that night. That was the first time he knew pain wasn’t easy to bear with.He wanted to s
Chapter 28 — Problem’s Bloodline
Dansoman, years back. The sun was just beginning to sink, turning the air thick with that red, dusty glow the streets knew so well. A skinny boy no older than ten, barefoot, shirt ripped at the collar, darted between tro-tros and street hawkers. His name then wasn’t “Problem.” He was simply Kwame Mensah, the boy everyone said was “too stubborn to be tamed.”He wasn’t born bad. He was born hungry.His mother, Mama Akos, sold tomatoes at the market. She woke up at 4 a.m. every morning, pushing her basin on her head, humming old gospel songs while her children still slept. Problem had a younger brother, Kojo, frail and always coughing, and a baby sister who didn’t live past her first year. Their father was a ghost — some said he left, others whispered prison. Either way, it didn’t matter.By age twelve, Problem had dropped out of school. His teachers gave up on him; books were never his thing . He started hustling—carrying loads for market women, selling sachet water, and sometimes
Chapter 27 – The Weight of the Spotlight
The morning after the show felt like another planet. Tero had barely shut his eyes before the buzzing of his phone dragged him back to consciousness. It wasn’t one or two messages—it was an avalanche. Missed calls stacked like bricks, W******p notifications refusing to stop, emails flooding in from names he didn’t even recognize. He rubbed his face, still half-dreaming, and reached for the phone. The first thing he saw was his name on T*****r. #TeroLive was trending across Ghana, and not just Ghana—he scrolled and saw Nigerian blogs, South African culture pages, even UK-based Afrobeat channels posting clips from the show. Someone had captioned one video: “The streets just raised a prophet through music. Witness Tero, witness the future.” He sat up in bed, staring at that line. Prophet? That word hit different. He dropped the phone on the mattress like it had burned him. THE FRENZY By noon, the MMs were all gathered at their base, still riding the adrenaline of the ni
Chapter 26 - Prophecy’s From The Past
While the media frenzy and Jay’s shadow war heat up, Tero starts hearing whispers he doesn’t want to hear.One night after the comeback show, he slips away from the party and finds himself walking through a quieter part of Johannesburg. Street preachers are gathered at a corner, small crowd listening. He almost ignores them, but one old prophet—eyes blazing—locks onto him.“You,” the man points, his voice cutting the night.Tero stops, annoyed. “Me? Nah, bruh, you got the wrong guy.”The preacher shakes his head slowly. “You’re running, son. But you won’t run forever. You’re not called just for the stage—you’re called for the altar. God will use your voice to heal nations.”The crowd murmurs. Ruby, standing behind Tero, looks stunned. Problem laughs it off, “Ei, pastor, this one be superstar, not preacher.”But the prophet keeps staring. “You’ll see. Fame fades. Spirit lasts. He has marked you.”Tero brushes it off, laughing, but inside, his chest is tight. He hates how the words
Chapter 25 – Shadows After Glory
The after-party glittered like gold, but beneath the lights, I felt the shadows creeping. We had just made history on the stage, but in the corner of my eye, Killer Jay’s smile still burned.Back at the hotel, the suite was chaos. Journalists swarmed outside, labels sent champagne, and promoters begged for meetings. Problem bragged loud, O Don was already calculating numbers, Biggie stuffed his face with wings, and Lovelone sat with his guitar, humming new melodies. Ruby floated in the room like a quiet queen, but I could see the worry in her eyes. She hadn’t missed Killer Jay either.“Terrell,” she whispered when the noise dipped, “what aren’t you telling me?”I froze. For a second, I wanted to lie. But her stare pinned me.“He’s back.”Her face paled. “Killer Jay?”I nodded. “Saw him in the crowd tonight. Same eyes, same grin. He wants me to know he ain’t done.”Before she could answer, the door banged open. Security pushed in a man in a dark suit, slick voice, fake smile. Corpor
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