From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 410: The Thought

The corridor didn’t change much after that, but the outside world did.

By the time they left the hospital, the air felt different. Not quieter, not calmer, just heavier in a way that had nothing to do with traffic or weather. Sharon noticed it first when her phone refused to stay silent for more than a few seconds. Calls stacked on calls, messages layering over each other so fast the notifications blurred together.

She didn’t pick up.

Not yet she knew who were talking after all her number was out there for people who wanted to communicate with Dayo through her.

Dayo walked ahead of her toward the car, same pace, same posture, but she could tell his attention wasn’t on anything in front of him. His eyes moved, but not with the street. Not with the people passing. He was somewhere else, still inside that moment on the road, still replaying it from angles nobody else could see.

The driver opened the door as soon as they got close. Dayo got in without saying anything. Sharon followed right after, closing the door and finally glancing down at her phone again.

She exhaled once.

"It’s growing faster now."

No response.

She didn’t expect one.

She tapped one of the notifications, opened a post, then another. Same clips. Different captions. Bigger pages now. Verified accounts. Influencers attaching their own voice to something they hadn’t been there to witness.

She turned the screen slightly toward him.

"Mainstream pages have picked it up."

Dayo didn’t look.

"Pulse just posted it. Channels will follow."

A/N: Pulse and Channels are leading news channels in Nigeria.

Still nothing.

She locked the phone and leaned back slightly in her seat.

"The angle hasn’t changed yet," she added. "It’s still about what you did. Not anything else."

That got a small reaction. Not a full turn. Just a shift in his eyes.

"Good," he said.

The car moved into traffic, merging slowly into the late evening flow. Outside, nothing had paused. Hawkers still walked between cars. Horns still cut through the air like they always did. Life didn’t care about what had happened a few hours ago.

But inside the car, something had already started moving.

Sharon’s phone rang again.

Different number this time.

She stared at it for a second, then declined it.

"They’re starting," she said.

"Who."

"Everyone."

She glanced at the screen again.

"PR firms. Two already sent proposals. One brand wants to ’align messaging’ with what happened." She made a small face at that. "NGOs are reaching out too. Road safety, child welfare, a few education-focused groups. Journalists are asking for statements."

Dayo leaned his head back slightly, eyes closing for a brief second before opening again.

"Don’t answer."

"I wasn’t planning to."

She paused she already knew the answer.

"Not even the NGOs?"

"No."

Her eyes stayed on him for a moment longer than usual.

"Okay."

She didn’t argue.

That wasn’t the part that needed arguing yet.

The car slowed at a junction, stuck behind a line of vehicles that weren’t moving as fast as they should. Sharon’s gaze drifted outside, watching a group of students walking along the roadside. Same uniforms. Same energy. Same careless closeness to moving cars.

She looked away.

When they got back to the building, the lobby was quieter than expected. No one rushed them. No one stopped them. Either the news hadn’t reached this space yet, or the people who worked there knew better than to turn moments like that into noise.

Dayo didn’t slow down. Straight to the elevator. Straight up.

Inside his space, everything was exactly how he had left it earlier. Screens still on. Tabs still open. Data still sitting there waiting for attention that had shifted somewhere else entirely.

Sharon dropped her bag on the table and finally let her shoulders relax a little.

"I’ll start making calls," she said.

Dayo nodded once and walked past her, stopping near the main screen but not looking at it.

She stepped away, already dialing.

The first call was short. Direct. No greetings beyond what was necessary.

"I need estimates," she said. "Public schools in Lagos. Student numbers. Transport access. I don’t want official figures. I want working numbers. Yes, tonight."

She hung up before the other person could stretch the conversation.

Second call.

"High-risk roads near school zones. Areas without crossings. I don’t need perfect data. Just patterns. Send what you have the accurate the better and dont worry about the pay juat get the work done."

Third call.

"Private transport operators. School runs. Informal routes. I need to understand how students are moving right now."

She moved as she talked, pacing slowly across the room, building something in real time without needing a full picture yet.

Dayo stayed where he was.

Still.

Watching nothing.

Thinking through everything he still felt a bit shaken not due to the incident but to who it happened to he has seen death and face death but it was different when it almost happen to a child.

By the time Sharon ended the fourth call, the room had shifted into something else entirely. Less reactive. More focused.

She looked at him.

"I’ll have something rough in a few hours."

He nodded.

"Start with scale."

"I am."

She picked up her laptop and sat down, already opening documents, building a structure as information started coming in.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the soft tapping of keys and the faint noise from the city outside.

Then her phone buzzed again.

She glanced at it this time and didn’t ignore it immediately.

Different kind of call.

She answered.

"Yes?"

Her expression didn’t change much, but the way she straightened slightly said enough.

"I understand," she said. "No, he’s not making any statements right now."

Pause.

"I’ll pass the message."

She ended the call and looked at Dayo.

"That was from someone inside the state system."

He didn’t move.

"What did they want."

"Nothing yet," she said. "Just... awareness."

She chose the word carefully.

"They’ve seen the video. They know it involves a public school student. Road incident. That combination gets attention internally."

Dayo nodded once.

"They’re watching."

"Yes."

"Good."

She studied him for a second.

"You’re not surprised."

"No."

That was it.

No extra thought. No interest in who exactly had called. Just acknowledgment.

Sharon went back to her laptop, but now she worked faster.

More deliberate.

Because the moment had shifted again.

This wasn’t just about understanding the problem anymore.

Now there were eyes on it.

Not public yet.

But close enough.

Hours passed without them really noticing.

Data started coming in piece by piece. Not clean. Not complete. But enough to start forming something real.

Sharon leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the screen.

"Okay," she said slowly.

Dayo looked up.

She turned the laptop toward him.

"This is rough, but it’s enough to see the problem."

He stepped closer.

Numbers.

Clusters.

Estimates layered over maps.

"Public schools alone," she said, "we’re looking at hundreds. Student population in the hundreds of thousands."

She tapped another section.

"Transport coverage is almost nonexistent for most of them. A few private arrangements here and there, but nothing structured."

Another section.

"These are high-risk zones. Roads near schools with heavy traffic and no crossing infrastructure. There’s overlap with where most of these students are."

Dayo’s eyes moved across the screen slowly.

Not scanning.

Reading.

Understanding.

Sharon continued.

"Students are either trekking or using informal transport. Okadas, buses, whatever they can find. No coordination. No protection. Just... movement."

She let that sit for a second.

Then she added, quieter.

"The situation that happened today isn’t rare."

Dayo nodded once.

"I know."

She watched him.

"This is not something you solve with money alone."

He didn’t respond immediately but he already knew that in Nigeria things were a bit complicated.

She turned the laptop slightly, closing part of the display so it wasn’t overwhelming.

"Even if you decide to fund buses yourself," she said, "you run into structure problems immediately."

He looked at her now.

"Management," she continued. "Maintenance. Route planning. Who decides which schools get access. How it’s controlled. How it’s sustained."

She paused.

"This is too big to run privately."

Silence filled the space between them for a few seconds.

Not empty.

Heavy.

Because the conclusion was already there.

Dayo looked back at the screen, then away from it.

"What does it require," he asked already knowing where the conversation would lead but wanted to hear her thoughs.

Sharon didn’t hesitate.

"Access."

A beat.

"Authority."

Another beat.

"System integration."

He nodded slowly.

"So."

She held his gaze.

"You can’t run this outside the system."

That was the moment.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

But it landed.

Dayo turned away slightly, walking a few steps before stopping near the window. The city stretched out below, lights starting to come on as night settled in properly.

Traffic still moving.

People still going somewhere.

Same pattern.

Same risk.

He stayed there for a while.

Sharon didn’t interrupt.

She let him think it through.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady.

"They’ve been reaching out before this right ?."

She nodded different party and people have tried reaching out to him to support their campaigns as elections were coming but he stayed clear.

"Yes."

"Politicians."

"Yes."

He gave a small nod.

"I ignored it."

"I know."

A short pause.

Then he turned slightly.

"This is different."

Sharon closed her laptop halfway.

"Yes."

Another pause.

Not hesitation.

Just adjustment.

Then he sighed and said.

"Hm.....Set the meeting."

She didn’t move immediately.

Not because she didn’t understand.

Because she did.

Completely.

"Who first," she asked.

Dayo didn’t answer right away.

He thought about it properly.

Not who was biggest. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Not who was loudest.

Who was relevant.

"Education," he said.

She nodded.

"That’s the entry point."

He looked back at the city.

"We start there."

Sharon picked up her phone again, already scrolling through contacts, thinking through the cleanest way to make it happen.

"Formal or through an aide?" she asked.

"Formal."

"Okay."

She paused, then added.

"They won’t expect that."

"Good."

She almost smiled at that.

Then she started moving again.

Messages sent.

Calls lined up.

Language controlled.

No rush.

No noise.

Just direction.

Across the city, the videos kept spreading.

Clips replayed.

Arguments continued.

People picked sides for reasons that had nothing to do with what actually happened.

But inside that room, none of that mattered anymore.

Because the moment had already moved past reaction.

Into something else entirely.

And by the time the night settled fully over Lagos, the first step into a different kind of space had already been taken.

Quietly.

Deliberately.

Without announcement.

But real.