Chapter 27: The Ashes of Yesterday
The next Monday morning at Emerald University, the atmosphere buzzed.
It was the first day of Prom Campaign Week — when the rich, spoiled, and desperate fought over titles like "Prom King" and "Prom Queen" as if their lives depended on it.
Billboards were everywhere:
Vote Chantel Mwende! The Face of the Future!
Support Ken the King! Power, Looks, Leadership!
Students in flashy clothes handed out fliers, candies, roses.
There were rumors that certain candidates were bribing students with pizzas, shopping vouchers, even iPhones.
Fred stood in the background.
An outsider.
Always.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
---
Fred had learned the hard way:
> Campus was two worlds in one.
The first world was loud, glamorous, dripping in luxury and fake smiles.
The second world — the one Fred belonged to — was hidden in the cracks:
Students sleeping four to a room.
Girls selling their dignity to pay tuition.
Boys stealing exam papers to survive.
Depression masked behind filters and fake laughter.
No one talked about the second world.
It was ugly.
It was inconvenient.
It didn't fit into Instagram stories.
---
That afternoon, as Fred tried to sell second-hand textbooks outside the Student Center, a figure approached:
Victor Mwangi.
Age: 24.
Skin: Mahogany-dark, polished with arrogance.
Height: 6'2", lean, muscular.
Profession: Business Administration student.
Vibe: Dangerous charm.
Reputation: Campus's unofficial drug kingpin.
Victor drove a black Audi A8, custom number plate "B0$$".
Everyone knew Victor was feared, but no one dared talk about it openly.
Victor smiled, flashing white teeth that didn't reach his cold eyes.
> "You're Fred, right?"
Fred nodded stiffly.
Victor threw a heavy arm around his shoulder, casual as a snake winding around prey.
> "Listen... you look like you could use some help."
Fred said nothing.
Victor leaned in, voice low:
> "You hustle for me — sell some... merchandise around campus. I'll make sure you eat. Sleep somewhere decent. Maybe even... drive someday."
The promise hung in the air like perfume and poison.
Fred knew the "merchandise" meant drugs.
He wasn't stupid.
But hunger... real hunger... it made men consider things they swore they never would.
Fred's throat felt dry.
His dignity battled his survival instinct.
Victor's smile sharpened.
> "Think about it, kid. Hunger doesn't wait."
Then he was gone.
Leaving the smell of expensive cologne and danger behind him.
---
Meanwhile, Lina Mathenge was living in a different reality.
She breezed into the Student Lounge — a VIP-only area reserved for students whose bank balances were thicker than textbooks.
Everything about her screamed effortless elegance:
Designer handbag.
Gold wristwatch.
Shoes that cost more than Fred's yearly rent when he had a home.
But Lina wasn't as carefree as she looked.
Her phone buzzed nonstop with messages from her unknown fiancé — a deal arranged by her politically connected parents without her consent.
Her heart ached for freedom she pretended she didn't care about.
She was beautiful.
Popular.
Rich.
And deeply, deeply trapped.
That night, Fred returned to Dina's cramped hostel room, his body aching from carrying water bottles all day.
Dina was smoking by the window, barefoot, wearing a ripped T-shirt that said "Trust No One."
She eyed him sharply.
> "You met Victor."
Fred nodded.
Dina exhaled a cloud of smoke.
> "Don't be stupid, Fred. Victor's deals come with chains you'll never break."
Fred swallowed hard.
He was tired.
So damn tired.
Of being hungry.
Of being looked down on.
Of being invisible.
> "What choice do I have?" he whispered.
Dina's eyes softened, just for a second.
> "You always have a choice, kid. Even if it's between hell and more hell."
--
That night, Fred lay awake on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling.
He thought about:
The banana peel Mark had thrown at him.
The way Lina had laughed behind her hand.
The hunger gnawing at his gut like wild dogs.
Victor's smiling, shark-like face.
He thought about power.
About respect.
About never begging again.
And he made a decision.
---
The next morning, Fred stood outside Victor's Audi.
Hands trembling slightly.
Heart a war drum.
Victor smirked.
> "Ready to eat, kid?"
Fred nodded once.
Silently.
The first invisible thread of the chain slipped around his neck.
But at least he would eat.
At least... for now.
---
That was how Fred began his new life.
The life of silent deals.
Secret deliveries.
A fake smile plastered over bruised knuckles and a bleeding soul.
The boy who once dreamed of being loved now dreamed of survival.
No matter the price.
Even if it meant losing pieces of himself, one by one, until there was nothing left but cold, sharp hunger.
--