Chapter 1: Wrong Book, Wrong Boss

The year wey I just wan scatter everything, na so I just volunteer myself—enter one kind boys-love novel, carry the male lead wey dey coma, begin my own wahala.

To be honest, who send me? Sometimes e be like say this Makurdi sun dey roast brain—sometimes I wan just pour ice water for head. But that time, my heart dey heavy, I just dey find anyhow escape. As I dey waka for campus, see boys wey dey form, girls dey shine, I just dey feel like say everybody dey live except me. Na why, when system come with that offer, I no even reason am—sharp sharp, I gree. That kind reckless spirit wey dey catch person when pepper rest for eyes.

I dey hustle on my own, even dey gym till I get eight-pack abs.

No be say I sabi gym before o, but for this new world, na only body strength fit save person from wahala. I dey wake every morning, do push up, carry weight, even jog round the campus like say I be athletics champ. My hostel boys dey hail me—"See as you dey form gym rat!" Dem even dey bet pure water say I go soon join campus bodybuilders. Dem no even know say I dey chase point wey bigger pass physical muscle.

The system sef promise me say if I fit gather enough intimacy points, I go fit go back to my real world.

E talk am well well, like say na JAMB score. Na so I dey calculate intimacy points like say I dey wait for JAMB cut-off. Every day, I dey calculate points like man wey dey look NEPA meter. As I dey tick my list, I dey reason—if I just hold this love mission, Naija sun no go beat me reach home.

But the day before the male lead suppose wake up, na so I realise say I carry the wrong person.

My chest just gbaladun that night. Cold sweat, hands dey shake. No be small thing. Na so e be when you dey do runz and e backfire.

Na Musa Chukwuma I carry—the sleeping, scary, wahala boss from the horror game.

This Musa ehn, na only him face dey deceive person. For street, na him name dey fear people pass. Dem dey even use am scare small children: "If you no sleep, Musa Chukwuma go show!"

On top that one, the guy na real homophobe, proper straight man.

If you see the way him dey look person, you go think say na keke wey break for gutter. Bros no dey smile.

If man even look am anyhow, wahala go burst. To even try touch am? Na death sentence be that.

Nobody dey play with Musa. If him catch you, na to begin beg your village people. All those our pikin play—touch and follow—e no follow for Musa side. Bros fit throw you like empty paint bucket for market.

So, not only say I choose wrong person, I land for wrong world—horror game join.

Na proper Nigerian horror join. Not those oyibo jump scare. Here, e fit be masquerade dey pursue you or you go hear say madman dey blow whistle for cemetery junction. For this place, Musa na king of wahala.