Kazeem walked the long way home.

  Not because he wanted to stretch his legs or see the village. No, he needed to observe. To memorize. To remember.

  Even if the loop never returned, he had to be ready. The ninth had been relentless, a cage with shifting bars. And even if it was gone, he didn’t trust freedom. Not yet.

  So, he took the longest possible route. He wanted to etch every detail of this day into his mind. If the loop returned, he’d know where to look for cracks.

  First came the smell of grilled alloco drifting from the market’s edge, mixing with the faint odor of yesterday’s wet earth. The scent hit him like a reminder:

  Foutou and sauce graine. That was how the day had started. His mother’s cooking,Her worry, Her silence.

  The second breadcrumb came near the plaza. A wooden cart creaked by on uneven wheels, loaded with rusted machine parts; gears, dented motors, tangled copper wires. It groaned with every turn. Kazeem stepped aside to let it pass, and as it did, a small chunk of metal clinked off the back and landed near his foot.

  The scavenger pulling it didn’t notice. Just muttered curses at a chicken that darted across his path and kept moving.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Kazeem picked up the shard and turned it over. It was nothing. Worthless junk. But he committed it to memory anyway.

  In the heart of the market, shouting erupted. Two merchants, one young and one much older stood nose to nose, arguing over territory. “You think just because your father ran this stall, it’s still yours?”

  “Say that again and I’ll break your jaw!”

  Kazeem slowed as others gathered to watch. He didn’t need to see the end to know where it was going. Sure enough, by the time he passed, the two were locked in a full-blown brawl, kicking over baskets of dried plantains and knocking down a stack of bowls.

  He didn’t stop it. Didn’t intervene. Just watched, logged it, like a scientist observing a storm through glass.

  Near the edge of North Azuma, as the school’s final drum sounded for the day, children poured out, laughing, yelling, tossing stones. A group of them ran along the stone path, one little boy jumping from step to step, arms wide like wings.

  Then slip.

  ”!”

  “Waaaaaaaah !! “

  He tripped on the edge of a stone, tumbled hard, and cried out. The others circled him quickly. Kazeem saw the awkward bend in the boy’s arm.

  He winced. Not broken, but close.

  Another mark. Another clue.

  By the time he made it back home, the sun had reached its highest point. Noon. The wind was warm again. Dust swirled lazily in the light.

  He pushed open the door.

  The house smelled clean,Too clean.

  His mother had already closed all the cooking pots. The clay lids sealed tight. The wooden ladle rinsed and set out to dry. No more food on the fire. No plate waiting for him.

  He turned to the kitchen, hopeful.

  “Ah, you’re back,” Yasséna said without turning from her basin. “You took your time. I thought you were avoiding your chores.”

  “I was, a little,” he admitted under his breath .

  She raised a brow. “Well, now you’ll do them on an empty stomach. Everything’s been washed.”

  Kazeem sighed, Loudly.

  His stomach gurgled in protest.

  He stared at the shut marmite. Then up at the ceiling. Then back at the cooking pot .

  Defeated, he dragged himself to the mat, curled up with a grumble, and let hunger tuck him in like a rude older sibling.

  first day of work after 5 days off … my body hurts AS FU-