CHAPTER TEN
Saturday mornings usually belonged to laundry. Buckets lined the washing area outside the hostel.
Students scrubbed shirts by hand while arguing over football, politics, and whose turn it was to buy detergent. Music drifted from an old radio balanced on a window ledge, competing with laughter echoing through the corridor.
Room 214, however, was unusually quiet.
The only sound came from the ceiling fan struggling through another slow rotation.
Michael sat cross-legged on the floor.
Spread before him was the same exercise notebook that had occupied nearly every spare hour of their lives over the past week.
Its once-blue cover had begun to curl at the edges.
Several pages had coffee stains.
Others were filled with neat calculations, arrows, crossed-out paragraphs, and red corrections from Dr. Bamidele.
Ryan lay on the lower bunk staring at the ceiling.
For almost five minutes, neither of them spoke.
Finally...
Ryan sighed.
"So..."
Michael looked up.
"So?"
Ryan nodded toward the notebook.
"What now?"
Michael closed it carefully.
"We improve it."
Ryan laughed.
"No."
He sat upright.
"I mean after that."
Michael rested the notebook on his lap.
His eyes wandered toward the open window.
Outside, students crossed the hostel courtyard carrying buckets and bags of dirty clothes.
Somewhere nearby, someone was frying akara.
The familiar smell drifted lazily into the room.
"We find someone who believes in it."
Ryan smiled faintly.
"And if nobody does?"
Michael answered so quietly Ryan almost missed it.
"Then we'll keep looking."
Ryan watched him for a long moment.
There was no stubbornness in Michael's voice.
No pride.
Just certainty.
As though failure had already been considered...
...and accepted.
───
The following weeks became less about dreaming...
...and more about preparation.
Their lectures continued.
Assignments multiplied.
Tests arrived without warning.
Yet every free moment somehow found its way back to the notebook.
The university library became their second home.
The elderly librarian eventually stopped asking for their identification cards because he already knew exactly where they would be.
The business section.
Second floor.
Third shelf from the window.
They borrowed every entrepreneurship book the library owned.
Books on accounting.
Books on supply chains.
Books on leadership.
Books on logistics.
Books written by entrepreneurs who had succeeded.
Books written by entrepreneurs who had failed.
Some were decades old.
Others had pages so worn they threatened to fall apart.
Michael read slowly.
Always with a pencil.
He underlined sentences.
Filled margins with questions.
Sometimes he closed the book halfway through a chapter simply to think.
Ryan read differently.
He preferred stories.
He wanted to know what founders had done.
How they convinced investors.
How they hired people.
How they recovered after failure.
One evening, just before the library closed, Ryan leaned back in his chair.
"Do you know what all these successful people have in common?"
Michael looked up from his notes.
"What?"
"They all make failure sound romantic."
Michael smiled.
"Maybe because they already survived it."
Ryan sighed.
"I'd rather read about success."
Michael turned another page.
"You can't understand one without the other."
───
Books alone were not enough.
Michael wanted real conversations.
Every Friday after lectures, they left campus.
Sometimes by bus.
Sometimes by danfo.
Sometimes on foot when transport money ran short.
Lagos became their classroom.
They visited printing presses.
Furniture workshops.
Small warehouses.
Wholesale markets.
Transport companies.
Building supply stores.
Even mechanics' workshops.
Michael asked almost everyone the same questions.
"What is the most difficult part of your business?"
"If you could solve one problem immediately, what would it be?"
"What costs you the most money?"
At first people looked at him suspiciously.
Some ignored him completely.
Others assumed he wanted a job.
A few laughed.
One elderly trader narrowed his eyes.
"Young man..."
"Are you from the government?"
Michael laughed.
"No, sir."
"Then why are you asking all these questions?"
"I'm trying to understand."
The trader studied him for another moment before smiling.
"Most people your age come here asking how much I make."
He pointed at Michael.
"You're asking why I lose money."
Michael nodded.
"That's what interests me."
The old man laughed.
"You'll go far."
As they walked away, Ryan nudged him.
"You've become famous among market women."
Michael frowned.
"For what?"
"Asking questions nobody else asks."
───
Not every conversation went well.
Some business owners dismissed them before they could finish speaking.
Others insisted they were too busy.
One transport manager waved them away without even looking up from his paperwork.
"We're students," Ryan muttered as they left.
"They don't take us seriously."
Michael looked back at the office.
"They don't know us."
"Exactly."
"We haven't earned their trust yet."
Ryan sighed.
"I hate when you're right."
───
Weeks slowly turned into months.
With every conversation...
The proposal changed.
Entire sections disappeared.
New pages replaced old ones.
Financial projections became more realistic.
Operational plans became clearer.
Risks were added.
Weaknesses were acknowledged instead of hidden.
One evening Ryan flipped through the notebook.
"I don't recognize half of this anymore."
Michael smiled.
"Good."
"Good?"
"It means we're improving."
───
One afternoon Dr. Bamidele called them into his office.
"I've been watching you two."
Ryan exchanged a nervous glance with Michael.
The lecturer smiled.
"Relax."
"I'm impressed."
He reached into a drawer and removed a small business card.
"I have a former student."
"He now owns a transport company."
Ryan immediately sat straighter.
"I've spoken to him."
Michael remained silent.
"He agreed to give you fifteen minutes."
Ryan nearly stopped breathing.
"Fifteen?"
Dr. Bamidele nodded.
"Don't waste them."
───
The meeting was scheduled for the following Wednesday.
Neither of them slept well the night before.
Ryan polished his only pair of black shoes until they reflected light.
Michael ironed his white shirt twice.
The only tie either of them owned belonged to Ryan's cousin.
It was slightly too short.
Neither complained.
Before leaving the hostel, Ryan checked the proposal for what felt like the hundredth time.
"You think this is enough?"
Michael adjusted the borrowed tie.
"It has to be."
Ryan looked unconvinced.
"I suddenly feel underqualified."
Michael smiled.
"You've always been underqualified."
Ryan stared.
"That's encouraging."
"I'm serious."
"We're learning."
"There isn't a qualification for that."
───
The transport company's office occupied the second floor of a modest commercial building in Surulere.
Compared to the skyscrapers they had imagined, it seemed surprisingly ordinary.
A receptionist asked them to wait.
Every passing minute felt longer than the one before it.
Ryan wiped his palms against his trousers.
Michael simply observed the office.
Delivery schedules pinned to notice boards.
Maps on the walls.
Phones ringing constantly.
Employees moving quickly from desk to desk.
Everything had a rhythm.
"Mr. Bello will see you now."
They entered together.
The businessman looked to be in his early fifties.
Sharp eyes.
Calm posture.
Years of experience rested comfortably on his shoulders.
He gestured toward two chairs.
"Sit."
Michael thanked him.
Ryan almost forgot to.
The proposal had barely reached the desk before Mr. Bello began asking questions.
"You're students."
"Yes, sir."
"You've never run a business."
"No, sir."
"You have no money."
"No, sir."
"No employees."
"No, sir."
"No customers."
"No, sir."
"No track record."
"No, sir."
The businessman leaned back.
"So..."
He folded his hands.
"Why should I trust you with mine?"
Silence.
Ryan felt his heartbeat echo inside his ears.
Michael met the man's eyes.
"You shouldn't."
Ryan nearly fell off his chair.
Mr. Bello raised an eyebrow.
Michael continued calmly.
"If I were in your position..."
"I wouldn't invest either."
The room remained silent.
"But..."
Michael leaned forward slightly.
"One day..."
"You'll wish you had."
For the first time...
Mr. Bello smiled.
Not because he believed the proposal.
Not because he intended to invest.
But because the young man sitting across from him possessed something money couldn't buy.
Conviction.
He closed the proposal gently.
"I like your honesty."
He stood.
"But honesty isn't enough."
He shook Michael's hand.
"Not yet."
Then Ryan's.
"I hope I hear your names again someday."
Outside the office, neither of them spoke.
The streets of Surulere bustled around them.
Danfo buses honked impatiently.
Street hawkers weaved through traffic balancing goods on their heads.
The afternoon sun beat against the pavement.
Ryan kicked an empty plastic bottle into the gutter.
"We embarrassed ourselves."
Michael kept walking.
"No."
Ryan looked at him.
"We learned something."
"What?"
Michael thought for a moment.
"What investors are afraid of."
Ryan sighed deeply.
"You always find a lesson."
Michael smiled.
"Failure is expensive."
Ryan nodded.
"So?"
"We might as well get our money's worth."
Ryan stopped walking.
Then...
Slowly...
He laughed.
Not because they had succeeded.
Because somehow...
Michael had turned another rejection into fuel.
As they boarded a crowded danfo back toward the university, the proposal rested quietly between them.
It still hadn't found someone willing to invest.
But something else had happened.
Their dream had survived its first encounter with the real world.
And for Michael...
That mattered even more.
Neither of them knew it then, but the empire they dreamed of would not be built because people believed in them.
It would be built because they refused to stop believing in themselves—even when everyone else had every reason not to