From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 413: Meeting...

The building didn’t look impressive from the outside.

It wasn’t meant to.

No glass walls, no flashy design, nothing that tried to announce importance to the street. Just a wide compound, faded paint in places where the sun had stayed too long, security at the gate that looked more used to routine than urgency. Cars moved in and out without noise, drivers already familiar with where to stop, where not to linger.

Sharon stepped out first, phone in her hand, eyes moving quickly across the compound before settling back on the entrance. She didn’t speak immediately. She didn’t need to. Dayo had already taken in the same details the moment the car slowed down.

This was not a place that rushed for anyone.

Inside, the air felt different from outside. Cooler, controlled, but not comfortable. A receptionist sat behind a desk that had seen years of use, not decoration. She looked up when they approached, not surprised, not curious, just aware.

Sharon handled it.

She gave the name, the time, the office they were expected in. The woman nodded, picked up the phone, spoke quietly, then gestured toward the waiting area without adding anything extra.

They sat.

Not for long, but long enough to notice the pattern.

People came in, spoke briefly, moved on. Some waited longer. Some didn’t get called at all. No one complained loudly. This was a place where impatience didn’t change anything.

Dayo leaned back slightly in his seat, one arm resting against the side, his gaze steady but not fixed on anything specific. He wasn’t watching people. He was reading the environment. The rhythm of movement, the way staff spoke to visitors, the small delays that weren’t accidental.

He had seen systems like this before.

Different country, different structure, same underlying control.

Sharon sat beside him, posture straight, phone resting on her lap now. She wasn’t checking it anymore. At this point, nothing outside mattered more than what was about to happen inside.

After a few minutes, a man stepped out from a hallway to the left. Not hurried, not slow, just measured. He looked directly at them without asking.

"Mr. Dayo," he said.

Dayo stood up.

Sharon followed.

No handshake yet. Just a nod, then the man turned and started walking back the way he came. They followed without being told to.

The hallway was narrow enough that you couldn’t walk side by side comfortably. Offices lined both sides, doors half open in some places, closed in others. Voices drifted out occasionally, conversations that stopped short the moment footsteps passed too close.

They reached a door at the end.

The man opened it and stepped aside.

"Please."

Inside, the room was larger than expected, but not decorated to impress. A long table sat in the center, papers arranged neatly on one side, a few files stacked on the other. Two men were already seated.

They didn’t stand immediately.

They looked.

Measured.

Then one of them rose slowly, adjusting his jacket before extending a hand.

"Welcome," he said. "It’s good to finally have you here."

Dayo shook his hand once. Firm, brief, nothing extra.

Sharon did the same.

They sat.

The man who had spoken settled back into his seat, fingers interlocked on the table as he leaned forward slightly.

"We’ve been aware of your work for some time," he said. "Not just recently. Even before this latest situation."

Dayo nodded once, not encouraging the direction but not interrupting either.

The second man spoke this time, his tone lighter but carrying the same intent.

"You have a strong connection with young people," he said. "That kind of influence is not common. It’s something that can be very useful in shaping behavior, especially at a time like this."

Sharon didn’t move.

Dayo’s expression didn’t change.

He let the sentence sit exactly as it was, then spoke without raising his voice or adjusting his posture.

"I’m not here for influence," he said. "I’m here for structure."

The room shifted.

Not visibly dramatic, but enough.

The first man leaned back slightly, his fingers separating before coming together again in a slower, more deliberate way.

"Of course," he said. "And structure is exactly what we’re interested in discussing."

Dayo didn’t nod this time.

He stayed where he was.

"I’ve seen the current system," he said. "There isn’t one that covers what we’re talking about."

The second man gave a small smile, the kind that tried to soften what was about to come next.

"These things are not always as simple as they appear from the outside," he said. "There are layers, approvals, existing frameworks that need to be respected."

Dayo met his gaze directly.

"Who is responsible for student transport in public schools right now," he asked.

Not aggressive.

Not rhetorical.

A direct question.

The two men exchanged a quick glance.

The first man answered.

"Responsibility is shared across departments," he said. "Education, transport, local authorities. It’s a coordinated effort."

Dayo nodded slightly.

"Then why is there no coordination," he said.

No one spoke for a second.

It wasn’t silence from confusion.

It was silence from recognition.

The second man cleared his throat lightly.

"There are ongoing efforts," he said. "Programs that are being reviewed, proposals under consideration—"

Dayo didn’t let him finish.

"What stops implementation," he asked.

The tone didn’t change.

Still calm.

Still direct.

The first man adjusted in his seat.

"Funding is always a factor," he said. "As well as prioritization. There are many areas competing for attention."

Dayo leaned forward slightly now, just enough to show engagement without pressure.

"If funding is not the problem," he said, "what is."

That landed harder.

Because now the excuse had been removed before it could be used.

The two men didn’t answer immediately.

Sharon watched the exchange without stepping in. This was not her part of the conversation.

The second man tried again, shifting the angle.

"What exactly are you proposing," he asked.

Dayo didn’t reach for the documents Sharon had prepared. He didn’t need to.

"Structured transport for public school students in high-risk areas," he said. "Defined routes. Controlled access. Accountability on usage."

He paused just long enough for it to register.

"And integration into existing school systems so it doesn’t collapse after six months."

The first man nodded slowly.

"That is... ambitious," he said.

"It’s necessary," Dayo replied.

Another pause.

Then the shift came.

Subtle.

Careful.

"This kind of initiative," the second man said, "would benefit from strong backing. Alignment. Visibility. People need to understand what is being done and who is supporting it."

Dayo’s eyes stayed on him.

"That’s not my concern," he said.

The man smiled again, thinner this time.

"It becomes your concern when you want it to scale," he said.

Dayo didn’t react to the suggestion.

"I want it to work," he said. "Scale comes after."

The first man leaned forward again, this time more engaged than before.

"You have to understand," he said, "projects like this don’t exist in isolation. There are broader considerations. Stakeholders. Timing."

"Elections," Dayo said.

He didn’t say it like a question.

The word sat in the room without decoration.

Neither man confirmed it.

Neither denied it.

They didn’t need to.

Dayo leaned back again, his posture returning to what it had been when he first sat down.

"I’m not attaching this to any campaign," he said. "No endorsements. No appearances."

The second man raised his hands slightly, a gesture meant to calm without agreeing.

"No one is suggesting that," he said.

"You are," Dayo replied.

Not confrontational.

Just accurate.

The room held that for a moment.

Then the first man exhaled quietly and adjusted his tone.

"Let’s focus on the practical side," he said. "If this is to move forward, there needs to be a framework. A pilot, perhaps. Limited scope. Tested before expansion."

Dayo nodded once.

"That’s fine."

The man continued.

"We would need to identify specific schools, specific routes, assess feasibility, allocate oversight—"

"Who controls it," Dayo asked.

The question cut through the list before it could grow.

The first man paused.

"It would fall under a joint structure," he said carefully. "With oversight from the relevant ministries."

Dayo’s gaze didn’t shift.

"And execution," he said.

"That would be handled through approved contractors," the second man replied.

Dayo sat with that for a second.

Then he spoke again, slower now.

"If I fund it," he said, "I need visibility on execution. Not reports. Actual visibility."

The first man nodded.

"That can be arranged."

"I also need to approve contractors," Dayo added.

That one landed differently.

The two men looked at each other again, longer this time.

"That is not standard procedure," the second man said.

"I’m not interested in standard procedure," Dayo replied. "I’m interested in results."

Silence again.

Not tension.

Evaluation.

They were measuring how far he would push.

He wasn’t raising his voice.

He wasn’t making demands in a way that could be dismissed as emotional.

He was setting conditions.

Clear ones.

The first man leaned back slowly.

"We would have to review that internally," he said.

Dayo nodded.

"Do that."

No pressure.

No follow-up.

Just acceptance of the process without giving up the position.

The meeting didn’t stretch much longer after that.

They circled the structure once more, clarified a few points, avoided others that didn’t need forcing yet. No one pretended an agreement had been reached. No one tried to close it with anything that sounded final.

Eventually, the first man stood.

"We’ll get back to you," he said.

Dayo stood as well.

"I’ll be available."

They shook hands again.

Same firmness.

Same lack of performance.

As they walked back through the hallway, nothing had changed on the surface. Same doors. Same voices. Same controlled movement.

But the conversation they had just left behind had already shifted something.

Not publicly.

Not visibly.

But enough.

Outside, the air felt the same as when they arrived.

Sharon didn’t speak immediately as they walked toward the car.

She waited until the door closed behind them, the driver pulling away from the building before she turned slightly toward him.

"They’re going to try to manage this," she said.

Dayo looked ahead.

"I know."

She studied his expression for a second.

"You didn’t give them room," she added.

"I gave them enough."

That was all he said.

But it was enough.

Because now it wasn’t about whether the system would move.

It was about how it would respond to someone who wasn’t playing by its usual rules.

Dayo himself knew that there was a very high chance they wouldn’t call him back after all they wanted him to compromise but he couldn’t and that was simple.

The reason for this project was he couldn’t stand when such incidents happens to children of all people after all they have yet to live life to the fullest so as he had the ability to avid such situations he would do it.