The city was a beast, its streets a labyrinth of shadows and danger, but Kente knew how to survive its maze. He crouched by a pile of discarded electronics, his hands moving quickly as he scavenged for anything of value.
"Still digging through junk, Kente?" Rashid's gravelly voice interrupted his focus. The old scrapyard owner leaned against a rusted metal pole, his face etched with amusement.
Kente smirked without looking up. "Junk to you, treasure to me." He held up a cracked screen. "See this? Five cedis once I fix it up."
Rashid snorted. "Five cedis won't buy you a meal worth eating."
"Good thing I don't eat like you," Kente shot back, stuffing the screen into his bag.
As he shifted a piece of metal aside, something glinted beneath. His hand froze. A small, metal tag lay buried beneath the debris, engraved with a strange symbol. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand.
"What's that?" Rashid asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Not sure." Kente held it up to the fading light. The symbol was intricate, almost alien, and seemed to shimmer faintly. "Ever seen anything like this?"
Rashid squinted at it, then shook his head. "Nah. Looks fancy, but it's probably nothing. Scrap it for weight."
Kente pocketed it instead. "Or maybe it's worth more than you think."
That night, in his makeshift shelter, Kente examined the tag under the dim glow of his flashlight. His fingers traced the symbol as an unease crept up his spine.
"It's just a piece of metal," he muttered to himself, but the strange hum he felt in his fingertips said otherwise.
The next day, Kente wandered the alleys, the tag still weighing heavily in his pocket. His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion around the corner.
"Give us the necklace, witch," a boy's voice sneered.
Kente's brow furrowed as he edged closer. In the narrow alley, a group of boys surrounded a girl. The leader—a lanky kid Kente recognized as Uche—was holding out a hand toward her.
The girl, with her striking silver eyes, clutched the necklace around her neck. "I said no," she snapped, though her voice trembled.
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," Uche taunted, his grin malicious.
"Hey!" Kente's voice cut through the tension. The group turned, startled.
Uche recovered first, his expression twisting into a scowl. "What do you want, trash rat? This doesn't concern you."
"It does now," Kente said, stepping forward. "Let her go."
Uche laughed. "Or what? You think you can take all of us?"
Kente's fist answered for him, connecting with Uche's jaw. The bully staggered back, his gang rushing forward to retaliate. But Kente moved like a whirlwind, his fists and feet striking with precision born of years of street fights.
Kente turned to the girl, who was staring at him wide-eyed. "You okay?"
She nodded slowly. "I... I think so. Thank you."
He gave her a small nod before turning to leave.
Kente dusted himself off and glanced back at the crumpled bodies of the bullies, still groaning on the ground. His eyes narrowed as he stepped over Uche, the ringleader who'd caused all this trouble. That's when he noticed something sticking out of Uche's pocket—a folded slip of paper. It was like the universe was tempting him. Without thinking, Kente leaned down, his hand reaching for the paper. It's like I can't help myself, he thought with a chuckle. He could already feel the familiar thrill of grabbing something unexpected.
"Always picking something," he muttered to himself, shaking his head at his own strange urge. But the paper felt important. He unfolded it and revealed bold letters at the top:
Almass Academy Entrance Exam
Beneath it was today's date, the time, and Uche's name. Kente's eyes widened. Almass Academy—he'd heard whispers about it, mostly rumors. Some said it produced the most elite Amusu (juju arts masters). But Kente didn't know much beyond that.
Kente nudged Uche's side with his foot. "Hey," he muttered. No response. He crouched lower and shook him. "Wake up, man. You've got an exam today."
Uche groaned, barely opening one swollen eye before it rolled shut again. He was out cold.
Kente sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Typical. You mess with people for fun and ruin your own future in the process." He stood and turned to walk away, but then stopped.
The exam ticket crinkled in his hand.
But it wasn't that simple. The ticket had Uche's name, and Almass Academy wasn't a place for random kids off the street.
That's when the idea struck him. Pulling a small clay jar from his pouch, Kente whispered aworan dan under his breath, scooping out soft, malleable mud. He smeared it across his face, feeling the cool, earthy texture meld with his skin. The mud began to shift and stretch. His features transformed—his sharp jaw softened, his nose grew narrower, and his brow thickened.
"Not bad," he muttered, adjusting his posture to mimic Uche's swagger.
Grabbing the ticket, he headed off toward Almass Academy. As he walked, he rehearsed in his head: Uche's mannerisms, the way he spoke, his cocky smirk. It wasn't just about looking the part—it was about acting it, too.
"This isn't for me," Kente reminded himself quietly. "It's for him. Just until the exam is over."
With that, he disappeared into the bustling streets.