Chapter 5: Competition, Elders, and Final Wahala

The castration pill work sharp sharp. Once senior brother chop am, he just turn cold—no care for anything again. For National Youth Competition, im sword just dey sweep everywhere. Me, I just dey look like suffer-head.

Before competition, Pastor warn me well:

Unless e too necessary, no use your natal sword. He say e dey fear say I go spoil im name.

I look sky, roll eyes. As if I no sabi am?

Years ago, he dey crush for one elder from Eziokwu Sect. But the woman no send poor sword cultivator. He no want make I use my natal sword because he still dey hope—dey fear gist.

This matter na old wahala. For Naija, love wey no balance dey always cause trouble; even ogogoro no strong reach heartbreak.

Lucky for me, WhatsApp group dey always give me bad ideas wey no help anybody. Like: throw failed juju from juju cultivators give opponent, pretend say na explosive—when na just ordinary knockout powder dem rub inside.

This move make me get bad name. Any spiritualist wey face me dey extra careful.

The small bald monk from mosque go start dey knock im wooden drum once he see me—afraid say just to talk to me go spoil im blessing.

Na so e be. For street, if dem call you juju person, better avoid fight—nobody wan chop stray wahala.

The thing no pure, but e work. Top twenty disciples for National Youth Competition fit enter Grand Illusory Realm. (*Grand Illusory Realm: magical realm wey open every hundred years, full of opportunity.)

I land exactly nineteenth. Spectators dey shout, some dey blow vuvuzela—wahala dey everywhere.

Just one step to enter, my leg come heavy like stone. E be like say I no qualify to enter after all. For Naija, opportunity fit just reach your hand, then e slip; na so story dey long. My mind dey run, "abeg, make door no close now now."

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As I turn, na Eziokwu Sect leader face I see—dark like say rain wan fall. E don finish. The matter of using female lead block thunder tribulation don finally cast.

I dey watch the entrance dey small, but I still dey stuck. If I hear small cough from that Eziokwu leader, wahala fit bust like generator wey no get fuel.

Grand Illusory Realm dey open once every hundred years. Dem talk say na big spiritualist leave am after e climb, full of plenty opportunity. Everybody dey rush go am.

I finally get my chance—now, na here I go stop?

As Naija pikin, I tighten my wrapper, square my shoulder. No wahala wey fit stop me if I never try all my tricks. For this life, even if problem big pass third mainland bridge, who no try, no fit win. My mind dey run, but hope still dey shine like candle for dark. Maybe, just maybe, another WhatsApp message go drop wey go save me one last time...

As the Eziokwu leader eye me, sweat start dey drip for my back. WhatsApp group quiet for once—everybody dey wait to see if my village people go finally catch me.