The next morning should have been peaceful.
It wasn’t.
Dayo woke to the familiar warmth of Luna sleeping beside him, and for the first few seconds everything felt normal. The room was quiet, comfortable, and safe—the kind of morning he had spent years wishing for but rarely experienced. Sohow, during the night, Jennifer had migrated into their bed and was currently sleeping sideways with one leg thrown across both of them as though she personally owned the entire mattress.
Dayo smiled.
So battles simply weren’t worth fighting.
Carefully, he reached for his phone on the nightstand, but the mont the screen lit up, his expression changed. He frowned, blinked once, then looked again to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.
17,842 notifications.
Dayo stared at the number and it kept increasing by the seconds.
Normally, even on a busy day, he received a few thousand notifications. Seeing a figure this high before breakfast could only an one thing.
Sothing had happened.
His first thought was simple.
Sobody died.
His second thought ca imdiately afterward.
Wayne.
Without opening a single notification, Dayo already knew who was responsible. Only Wayne could create this level of chaos overnight and sohow remain proud of it.
Beside him, Luna slowly opened one eye.
"What happened?"
Dayo held up his phone.
Luna looked at the screen where a video thumbnail showed him walking into the party, picking up the guitar, and singing.
Then she imdiately started laughing.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes."
"You saw it?"
"I haven’t even opened anything yet."
That sohow made Luna laugh even harder.
Jennifer stirred slightly before rolling over and instantly falling back asleep.
Dayo finally unlocked the phone.
The first thing he saw was a ssage from Valerie.
Good morning.
Before you start yelling.
It wasn’t .
The second ssage ca from Wayne.
Good morning, boss.
Before you start yelling.
It was absolutely and I can’t wait for you to fire hehe.
Dayo slowly closed his eyes.
Luna was already struggling to breathe from laughing.
"I like Wayne."
"I don’t."
"That’s a lie."
"Today I don’t."
Another notification appeared.
Then another.
Then five more.
His phone practically vibrated nonstop as ntions, tags, ssages, emails, articles, fan edits, reaction videos, industry pages, and news outlets flooded his screen. Everyone seed to be talking about the birthday party, but more importantly, everyone seed to be demanding the release of the song.
Dayo opened one post.
Imdiately regretted it.
The first clip showed him opening the front door.
The second showed him almost slipping into combat mode after being surprised.
The comnts underneath were rciless.
"He looked ready to defend the nation."
"The nation was a birthday cake."
"This looks like military instincts. Did Dayo ever serve?"
"Bro saw friendship and prepared for war."
Dayo rubbed his forehead.
Luna nearly rolled off the bed laughing.
"It wasn’t that bad."
"It was exactly that bad."
She couldn’t even argue because it absolutely was.
The next clip showed Jennifer proudly holding the birthday sign she had spent so much ti making.
Dayo smiled automatically.
The comnts sohow beca even more chaotic.
"That little girl runs the entire household."
"Nobody can convince otherwise."
"Look at her face. She knew exactly what she was doing."
"Future CEO."
"Current CEO."
"Fair point."
Dayo continued scrolling through fan art, birthday edits, ssages, videos, and photos before finally reaching the song clip.
That was when he paused.
His eyes narrowed.
"That can’t be right."
Luna leaned closer.
Then her eyes widened too.
"Oh."
The view count had climbed into the millions overnight.
Not after a week.
Not after several days.
Overnight.
Every platform looked the sa.
Release the song.
Release the song.
Release the song.
Thousands of comnts beca hundreds of thousands, and hundreds of thousands beca millions. Entire accounts had practically dedicated themselves to demanding the release.
So were polite.
Others were considerably less polite.
One comnt with over two hundred thousand likes read:
"Dayo, if you don’t release this song we will respectfully beco a problem."
Another said:
"I’ve listened to twenty seconds so many tis that I practically know the entire song."
Another simply wrote:
"JD Records employees, if you’re reading this, blink twice if the release date exists."
Dayo sighed heavily.
"They are insane."
"You say that every year."
"They are."
"They love you."
Dayo didn’t answer imdiately because that part was harder to dismiss.
The amount of support he had received from his fans over the years was honestly overwhelming. There had been monts when he was at his absolute lowest, monts when entire industries seed determined to tear him apart, and yet sohow the fans remained. They defended him, supported him, believed in him, and sotis carried him through periods he wasn’t sure he could survive alone.
He would always be grateful for that.
Continuing to scroll, he moved past the jokes, s, and demands until the tone gradually shifted.
The comnts beca more personal.
More emotional.
More honest.
One fan talked about listening to his music during chemotherapy.
Another wrote about losing a parent.
Soone else described surviving depression.
A university student explained how one of Dayo’s songs played before every important exam.
Another spoke about losing everything financially and finding motivation through one of his interviews.
Dayo found himself reading longer than he intended.
Then one comnt stopped him completely.
"I don’t think celebrities realize how much they beco part of people’s lives. Dayo doesn’t know . He never will. But so of his songs got through the worst period of my life. Seeing him happy feels like seeing an old friend finally smile again."
For several seconds he didn’t move.
Didn’t scroll.
Didn’t speak.
Luna noticed imdiately.
"What is it?"
Dayo quietly handed her the phone.
She read the comnt.
Then another.
Then another.
Eventually she handed it back.
Neither of them said anything.
Not because there was nothing to say.
Because there was too much.
Outside the bedroom, the mansion was beginning to wake up as voices echoed faintly from downstairs, doors opened, footsteps moved through hallways, and guests slowly erged from their rooms.
Life was starting again.
Dayo placed the phone down.
For once he wasn’t thinking about hashtags, view counts, statistics, or trending pages. Instead, he found himself thinking about the people behind those comnts. Millions of strangers living completely different lives, yet sohow connected to him through songs he had written years ago.
It felt strange.
Humbling.
And honestly, a little overwhelming.
Before he could think any further, his phone rang.
The caller ID appeared instantly.
Wayne.
Dayo stared at it.
Luna imdiately started laughing again.
"Oh, answer it."
"I don’t want to."
"You have to."
With a long sigh, Dayo accepted the call.
The mont he did, Wayne’s voice exploded through the speaker.
"BOSS!"
"Wayne."
"Hypothetically speaking."
"No."
"You haven’t even heard the question."
"The answer is still no."
Wayne ignored him completely.
"Hypothetically speaking, if a certain song happened to already be trending globally, and if millions of people happened to be demanding its release, and if JD Records could potentially make a ridiculous amount of money—"
"No."
"Damn."
The line went silent.
Then Wayne spoke again.
"So you’re not mad?"
"I’m very mad."
"Oh good."
"Good?"
"You sounded too calm. I got worried."
Dayo ended the call imdiately.
Luna buried her face in a pillow laughing.
Sowhere downstairs, Wayne’s offended shouting echoed faintly through the mansion.
Despite himself.
Despite everything.
Dayo found himself smiling.
Because for the first ti in a very long ti, the noise surrounding his life wasn’t coming from enemies.
It was coming from people who cared.
And sohow that made all the difference.
After getting dressed, Dayo finally headed downstairs because he had a house full of guests to feed. The previous night’s dinner had apparently created a problem. After tasting his cooking, everyone had insisted he make breakfast as well, and now they were refusing to let him escape the responsibility.
By the ti he entered the kitchen, several people were already awake.
Wayne was sitting at the island scrolling through social dia.
Min-Jae was drinking coffee.
Valerie had sohow claid an entire section of the counter.
The mont they saw him, the complaints began.
"Chef finally arrives."
"We’ve been starving."
"It’s been twelve years."
"You people ate less than eight hours ago."
"That’s not the point."
Dayo shook his head and got to work.
The kitchen quickly ca alive.
One side beca dedicated to Nigerian dishes while another slowly filled with Korean and Arican breakfast items.
He prepared akara fresh from the fryer alongside soft agege bread a Nigeria local bread eating by millions, yam and egg sauce, and a rich pot of beans this was for the Nigerian artists. On another counter, plates of Korean rolled olets, kimchi fried rice, grilled beef strips, and vegetable pancakes were arranged neatly this was for Min-Jae as he knew how pick he could get with his al.
For those who preferred sothing lighter, he made stacks of fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs, waffles, fresh fruit bowls, sausages, and hash browns.
The sll alone was enough to drag people downstairs.
One by one the guests appeared.
Then more arrived.
Then even more.
Soon nearly every seat around the dining area was occupied.
"What exactly is this?" one of the Nigerian artists asked while staring at the spread.
"Breakfast."
"This is not breakfast."
"Yeah," Min-Jae agreed. "This looks like a hotel trying to impress a food critic."
Dayo ignored them and continued serving food.
The reactions started almost imdiately.
People reached for second servings before finishing their first.
Conversations paused because everyone was too busy eating.
Even Wayne went unusually quiet.
That alone convinced several people the food was exceptional.
"This akara is dangerous."
"Who puts this much effort into breakfast?"
"Bro, this kimchi fried rice is ridiculous."
"Pass the pancakes."
"No, pass the yam first."
The table dissolved into laughter and friendly argunts as people stole food from each other’s plates and debated which dish was the best.
For a while nobody talked about trending hashtags, viral videos, business etings, music releases, or industry politics.
They simply ate.
And as Dayo sat there watching his family, friends, artists, and guests enjoying themselves around a table full of food he had personally prepared, he realized that monts like this were becoming increasingly rare.
Rare.
Simple.
And worth protecting.
For now, that was enough.
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