Prologue – "The Promise"
The air was thick with anticipation as the world watched. A lone figure stood at the summit of a towering skyscraper, the heart of a city that didn't exist a decade ago. Beneath him stretched a landscape of glass, steel, and light—a Nigeria reborn. Smart highways pulsed with self-driving vehicles, vertical farms glowed with bioluminescent crops, and drones wove between solar towers that kissed the clouds.
But Joshua wasn't looking at the city. His eyes fixed on the horizon beyond it—the untamed lands still waiting for his vision.
A voice crackled through his earpiece. "Sir, the council is ready for your announcement."
He turned toward the broadcast camera. "No," he replied, "not yet."
His fingers grazed a worn notebook in his pocket—the same one he had carried since university. Its pages, frayed and stained, held his earliest dreams. Ideas scribbled in lecture halls, business plans drafted under flickering hostel lights, and sketches of cities that no one believed could exist.
Joshua closed his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, he was back where it all began—before the wealth, the power, and the wars. Back to a time when his only assets were ambition and hunger.
The wind whispered, carrying his vow to the city below:
"I promised I would change this land… and a promise is something I always keep."
"The Lecture Hall"
The fluorescent lights flickered above, casting a pale, tired glow over the rows of rusted metal chairs. The lecture hall was cramped, filled with the chatter of students battling boredom while the professor's voice droned on.
Joshua sat in the middle row, a battered notebook open and his pen tapping restlessly. The topic of the day—"Nigeria's Economic Barriers"—was something the professor approached like an autopsy: cold, clinical, and hopeless.
"…and due to corruption and dependency on oil exports," the professor concluded, "Nigeria has remained a sleeping giant, unable to diversify its economy effectively."
A hand shot up. Joshua's. His voice, clear and sharp:
"But isn't it also true that Nigeria has more than enough resources—human and natural—to lead globally, if we change our priorities?"
The room fell silent. Some students smirked; others whispered.
The professor, an older man with spectacles sliding down his nose, gave a tired sigh. "In theory, Mr. Joshua, but theories don't change reality. Corruption runs deep, and the cost of development is beyond imagination."
Joshua's eyes narrowed. "Then the problem isn't the country. It's the people in charge of it."
The class chuckled at his boldness, but a figure in the back—an older man in a tailored suit—leaned forward, intrigued.
After Class – The Spark
Outside the lecture hall, Joshua rushed down the corridor, dodging clusters of students. His friend, Tolu, caught up, panting. "Bro, do you always have to challenge the professors?"
Joshua grinned. "If I don't, who will?"
Tolu shook his head. "You talk like you can fix Nigeria by yourself."
Joshua's smile didn't fade. "Maybe I can't. But I can build something so powerful that the people who can will have to listen."
Before Tolu could reply, a voice interrupted:
"Bold words for a student."
They turned. It was the man from the back of the class—Mr. Kalu, a known businessman and university donor.
"I liked your question," Kalu said, his eyes sharp. "And I want to hear your answers. Can you meet me tomorrow for coffee?"
Joshua's heart pounded. "Yes, sir. I'd be honored."
As Kalu walked away, Tolu nudged Joshua, wide-eyed. "Bro! Do you know who that is?"
"I don't," Joshua replied, his lips curling into a determined smile. "But I'm about to."