Vendetta lane.

Chapter One. (The call that changed everything)

On a hectic Monday morning, Mr. Oscar, a mathematics teacher at St. Francis College, Benin City, walked out of his classroom drenched in sweat.

His shirt clung to his back, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. Every few seconds, he rubbed his forehead, trying to suppress the pounding headache that seemed determined to split his skull in two.

The previous night had been a mistake.

A few drinks with some friends had turned into several more, and before Oscar knew what was happening, it was already past midnight. He had barely slept before his alarm dragged him out of bed.

Normally, he would have called in sick.

But Oscar knew the principal too well.

The man considered absenteeism a greater crime than murder.

So, despite the pounding in his head and the sour taste in his mouth, Oscar had forced himself into his clothes and gone to work.

He had barely finished his first mathematics lesson before he knew he could not continue.

As the students filed out of the classroom, Oscar remained standing beside his desk for a moment, staring at the blackboard.

Numbers seemed to dance before his eyes.

He sighed.

"God help me."

He picked up his books and made his way toward the staff room.

The corridor was noisy with students moving between classes. Teachers hurried past him, carrying files and lesson notes, while the distant sound of a school bell echoed through the building.

Oscar entered the staff room and immediately headed toward his desk.

He opened the drawer, searched through it, and found a small packet of painkillers. Without bothering to look for water, he swallowed two tablets and then sat down heavily.

For several minutes, he simply stared at the wall.

He needed to go home.

But how?

He already knew what would happen if he approached the principal.

"Sir, I am not feeling well."

"What is wrong with you?"

"I have a terrible headache."

"Have you seen the school nurse?"

"No, sir."

"Then go and see the nurse."

And that would be the end of the discussion.

Oscar sighed again.

Perhaps he could wait until lunchtime.

Then an idea occurred to him.

Coffee.

Strong coffee.

Maybe that would clear his head enough to survive the rest of the day.

He was about to send one of the junior teachers to get him a cup when his phone suddenly rang.

The unexpected sound startled him.

Oscar reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

He looked at the screen.

Then his expression changed.

A smile slowly appeared on his face.

"Osas?"

He answered immediately.

"Hello?"

A familiar voice came from the other end.

"Oscar."

For a moment, Oscar said nothing.

He had not heard that voice in months.

"Osas! Where are you?"

"Come outside."

Oscar frowned.

"Outside where?"

"Your school."

Oscar sat upright.

"My school?"

"I'm waiting at the gate."

Oscar stared at the phone in disbelief.

His childhood friend, Osas, had joined the Nigerian Army shortly after they graduated from the university. Since then, their friendship had been maintained mostly through occasional phone calls and messages.

Osas had been deployed to dangerous areas, fighting insurgents and participating in counter-terrorism operations.

Oscar had always admired his courage.

But seeing him now was unexpected.

He hurried outside.

A few minutes later, he saw Osas standing beside a dark vehicle.

Oscar's smile widened.

"Osa!"

They embraced.

But the excitement quickly faded when Oscar noticed something different about his friend.

Osas looked exhausted.

His face was thinner, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He was no longer wearing his military uniform. Instead, he wore ordinary clothes, but there was something about his posture that still betrayed the disciplined soldier he had been.

"Osa, I must admit I'm surprised to see you," Oscar said. "Shouldn't you be at the war front fighting insurgents?"

Osas looked away for a moment.

"I was."

He paused.

"Until three days ago."

Oscar's smile disappeared.

"What happened?"

Osas opened the vehicle door.

"Get in."

Oscar hesitated, then entered.

As Osas started the engine and pulled away from the school, Oscar looked at him anxiously.

"You are beginning to scare me."

Osas remained silent for several seconds.

"Our counter-terrorism unit was ambushed on the Kukasak Road."

Oscar turned sharply toward him.

"When?"

"Three days ago."

His voice was unusually low.

Oscar swallowed.

"Wait... you mean you were among those soldiers?"

Osas nodded.

"According to the news, nobody survived that attack."

"There were no survivors," Osas answered quietly.

He looked straight ahead.

"Except me."

Oscar stared at him.

"You survived?"

"I escaped."

"How?"

Osas's jaw tightened.

"I ran."

The word hung heavily inside the vehicle.

Oscar frowned.

"You ran?"

"I realized we were outgunned. Their firepower was far superior to ours. Staying there would have meant certain death."

Oscar shook his head slowly.

"The military has a name for that."

Osas glanced at him.

"Desertion."

Silence filled the vehicle.

"And they don't treat deserters kindly," Oscar added.

Osas gave a bitter smile.

"I know."

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"I spent twenty-four hours in detention. They were preparing to court-martial me."

Oscar's expression softened.

"What happened?"

"Fortunately, the President's Special Adviser on Security visited the base."

Osas paused.

"He intervened."

"The adviser?"

"Yes. He convinced them not to proceed with the trial."

Oscar breathed out in relief.

"Thank God."

Osas laughed bitterly.

"Don't thank God yet."

Oscar looked at him.

"They didn't forgive me."

He swallowed.

"They dishonourably discharged me."

Oscar's face fell.

"I'm sorry, my friend."

"Don't be."

Osas's voice suddenly became firm.

"I have a business proposal."

Oscar looked at him suspiciously.

"What kind of business?"

Osas smiled faintly.

"One that will change our lives forever."

Oscar said nothing.

He knew that look.

It was the same look Osas had worn when they were boys and had decided to sneak into places they were forbidden to enter.

They had always been troublemakers together.

Only this time, something felt different.

More dangerous.

Osas had served his country faithfully, only to return with disgrace hanging over his name. He refused to spend the rest of his life being remembered as the soldier who abandoned his unit.

There was another reason driving him.

His fiancée lived in Kumasi.

He had promised her a future, and he could not bear the thought of returning to her as a poor and dishonoured man.

He wanted to return wealthy.

Rich enough to erase the humiliation of his past.

Rich enough to rebuild his life.

No matter what it took.

And as Osas drove through the busy streets of Benin City, his mind was already made up.

There was only one way left to make that happen.

And whatever that way was, Oscar was about to become part of it.