novelraw Chapter 466: Final Verdic
Chapter 466: Final Verdic
The office was quiet when Dayo opened the files.
It was just past seven in the morning. The building was still empty, the hallways dark, the only sound the low hum of the ventilation system that never fully slept. He had come in early deliberately, needing the solitude, needing the space to think without the weight of other people’s expectations pressing against his concentration.
Sharon had forwarded the package late last night. A folder of video files from Lagos, sent by Sheun with a subject line that contained no words, just an emoji of a microphone. Dayo had resisted opening them until now. He had learned long ago that important decisions required a clear mind, and his mind had been anything but clear in recent weeks.
He poured water into a glass and sat down at his desk. The laptop screen glowed against the dim room. He clicked the first file.
Sheun’s face appeared, filling the frame, the background showing the stripped-down studio Dayo had approved. Sheun’s voice came through the speakers, rough and familiar.
"First candidate. Frosh. Acapella. Raw."
The camera turned. Frosh sat on the stool, notebook on his lap, his body language carrying the particular tension of a man who had nothing left to lose. Dayo leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his eyes fixed on the screen.
Frosh began to sing.
The voice that emerged was not polished. It cracked within the first minute, the technical flaws audible to any trained ear. Pitch wavered. Breath control faltered. But beneath the roughness, something else moved. Something heavy and real, rooted in experience that could not be faked.
As the performance continued, Dayo felt the familiar shift at the edge of his vision.
The interface bloomed quietly, translucent data overlaying the laptop screen. No one else could see it. No one else ever did. It was a part of him, the secret engine that had carried him through every major decision in his career, analyzing patterns and potential that human instinct alone could not quantify.
The numbers settled into focus.
[Frosh]
Status: Unsigned Artist
Singing Level: B+
Rap Level: C+
Writing Level: S+
Stage Presence: B+
Visuals: B-
Potential: SS+
Skills:
- Raw Delivery – Unmatched emotional authenticity. Imperfections serve the narrative.
- Lyrics Depth – Exceptional storytelling rooted in lived struggle.
- Vocal Control: B- (Unrefined technique. High improvement ceiling under pressure.)
Dayo sat back slowly, his breath releasing in a controlled stream. SS+. The highest rating the system had given any new artist in months. The raw numbers were uneven, almost contradictory. A B- in vocal control paired with an C+ in rap and writing S+. But the potential blazed like a signal fire, undeniable and urgent.
He let the video finish, watching Frosh’s final moments, the way the man sat back on the stool afterward with the exhausted posture of someone who had just performed surgery on himself.
Dayo clicked the second file.
Faye appeared.
She was different from the first frame. Where Frosh had been all jagged edges and visible strain, Faye was composed, her posture deliberate, her hands folded neatly in her lap. But Dayo noticed the tension in her jaw, the slight flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. She was not calm. She was controlled. There was a difference.
She began to sing.
The voice that filled his office was the opposite of Frosh’s. Where he had been rough, she was precise. Every note landed exactly where she intended. The pitch was flawless, the tone rich and layered, the breathing invisible. But beneath the technical perfection, the same current ran. Pain, carefully managed. Longing, shaped into melody.
The interface responded.
[Faye]
Status: Unsigned Artist
Singing Level: A-
Writing Level: S+
Stage Presence: S+
Visuals: A
Instrument Skills:
- Guitar: B+
Potential: SS-
Skills:
- Vocal Control – Exceptional mastery over pitch, tone, and emotional modulation.
- Lyrics Depth – Ability to weave complex emotional narratives with precision.
- Stage Presence – Natural charisma that commands attention without demanding it.
Dayo studied the readout. SS-. Lower than Frosh’s raw potential, but her skill levels were more developed, more immediately usable. She was the finished article in ways that Frosh was not, yet Frosh carried a ceiling she could not match. They complemented each other in a way that made him think of strategy rather than coincidence.
He finished the video and reached for his water, drinking slowly while his mind processed what he had seen. Two artists. Two completely different profiles. Both carrying the same hunger.
He clicked the third file.
A young man appeared, slight and wiry, with the restless energy of someone whose thoughts moved faster than his speech. He introduced himself as Kazeem, street name KZ, and launched into a rap verse that rode the beat with practiced aggression. The flow was versatile, the wordplay sharp, the social commentary biting. Dayo nodded unconsciously, recognizing the type. A street poet with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove.
The interface settled.
[Kazeem (KZ)]
Status: Unsigned Artist
Rap Level: S
Singing Level: C+
Writing Level: B
Stage Presence: A+
Visuals: B+
Potential: S
Skills:
- Flow Control – S (Versatile cadence. Adaptive to any production style.)
- Wordplay – A+ (Sharp metaphors. Social commentary with edge.)
- Lyrical Storytelling – A+
Dayo made a note on his pad. KZ was not exceptional in the way Frosh was. He did not have the same SS-tier potential. But his skills were solid, his stage presence infectious, and his writing carried a political sharpness that would balance the roster. He was a commercial asset and a creative counterweight.
The fourth file.
A young woman named Amara, tall and striking, with a voice that did not match her quiet demeanor. She sang a melody she had written herself, and the tone that emerged was unlike anything Dayo had heard in recent memory. Not technically perfect. Not controlled. But distinctive, haunting, the kind of voice that made you stop moving and listen.
The interface flickered.
[Amara]
Status: Unsigned Artist
Singing Level: B+
Writing Level: B+
Stage Presence: A
Visuals: S
Potential: A+
Skills:
- Vocal Texture – A+ (Distinctive, haunting tone. Unmistakable identity.)
- Melodic Sense – A+ (Instinctive hook creation. Earworm quality.)
- Emotional Delivery – A (Connects deeply with listener.)
Dayo wrote her name with a small circle around it. A+ potential was not the SS-tier he had seen in Frosh and Faye. But her vocal texture was a weapon that could not be taught. She had an identity already, a sound that was hers alone. In an industry saturated with imitation, that was currency.
The fifth and final file.
Tunde appeared, soft-spoken, almost hesitant in his introduction. He was older than the others, mid-twenties, with the calm bearing of someone who had worked day jobs while chasing music on the side. His singing was smooth, technically sound, devoid of the raw edges that marked Frosh or the haunting uniqueness of Amara. But when he layered his own harmonies over the melody, demonstrating an ear that found notes instinctively, Dayo sat up straighter.
[Tunde]
Status: Unsigned Artist
Singing Level: B
Writing Level: B-
Stage Presence: B+
Visuals: A-
Potential: A
Skills:
- Vocal Control – A (Smooth, technically sound delivery.)
- Harmonies – A+ (Natural ear for layering voices. Complex arrangements.)
- Songwriting – B+ (Solid structure. Room for depth.)
Dayo leaned back in his chair and looked at the five names he had written on his pad. Frosh. Faye. Kazeem. Amara. Tunde. The system had spoken clearly. Two SS-tier potentials, one S-tier, and two A-tier artists. A roster built from the ground up, selected not by industry connections but by measurable raw material.
He looked at the clock. Seven forty-five. Sheun would be waiting.
Dayo opened the video call application and dialed the number. The connection took a few seconds, then the screen split into three windows. Sheun in the center, Jinad on the left, Akin on the right. The Lagos studio was visible behind them, empty now, the morning light coming through windows that faced a different ocean than the one outside Dayo’s office.
"You don watch am?" Sheun asked without greeting.
"I watched everything," Dayo said.
"So?"
Dayo picked up his notepad, turning it toward the camera so they could see the names. "Five. These five."
Sheun leaned closer to his screen, reading the names. "Frosh and Faye. We know them. Who are the others?"
"Kazeem," Dayo said. "The rapper. Has a nice flow, sharp pen. He’ll balance Frosh. Give you two different energies on the rap side."
Jinad nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah. KZ. I see am. He good."
"Amara," Dayo continued. "I would rate her a A+ potential, but her vocal texture is B-tier already. Distinctive. You can’t teach that."
Dayo started using his system analysis to rate them and the others knew how powerful Dayos words are when he uses this term as he is yet to be proven wrong.
Akin spoke for the first time, his voice carrying the quiet weight of someone who measured twice before cutting once. "She need work. Technique rough in places. But the tone... yeah. That one na gift."
"Tunde," Dayo finished. "He’s not the flashiest. But his harmonies are A+. In a group setting, in a label where people collaborate, that skill becomes essential. He’ll make everyone else sound better."
Sheun sat back, folding his arms. " So according to your rating you pick two SS, one S, two A. You ?"
Dayo looked at the interface in his mind, at the numbers that no one else could see. "The A-tier artists have something the SS-tier ones don’t. Completion. Tunde’s technique is ready now. Amara’s identity is ready now. Frosh and Faye have higher ceilings, but they’re raw. They need development time. KZ is the bridge between them. The roster works because the levels complement each other. You have finishers and you have projects. You need both."
Jinad and Akin exchanged a look. Then Jinad nodded slowly. "Makes sense. If everybody has the same profile, there would be no variety. We just get clones."
"Exactly," Dayo said.
Sheun was quiet for a moment, his finger tapping against his chin. "And the rest? The ones we no pick?"
"Tell them the truth," Dayo said. "That the door is not closed forever. That we building something small right now, not something big. That their time might come later, but today is not their day."
Sheun nodded. "I go handle am."
"And the selected five?" Dayo asked.
"We bring them in," Sheun said. "One by one. We start with Frosh and Faye. Dem be the anchors. The others go join as we settle. Jinad and Akin go produce their first tracks. We build slow, but we build solid."
"Good." Dayo paused, looking at the three faces on his screen. "One more thing. Nobody outside this call knows the full roster yet. Not the artists, not the public, not the industry. We keep it quiet until we have music ready. No announcements. No leaks. Michael is still watching. If he knows what we’re building before we have walls up, he’ll try to knock it down."
The mention of the name shifted the energy on the call. Sheun’s expression hardened slightly. Jinad and Akin became more still.
"We understand," Sheun said. "Silent build. Silent strike."
"Silent build," Dayo confirmed. "When we move, we move fast. But not yet."
The call continued for another twenty minutes, moving through logistics. Studio schedules. Accommodation for Frosh and his sister. Rehearsal spaces. Production timelines. The machinery of creation, assembled piece by piece across an ocean.
When the call finally ended, Dayo sat alone in his office, the screen dark, the room silent. He looked at the notepad on his desk, at the five names written in his own handwriting, and he felt something settle inside him.
Michael had blocked him from the established artists. The Davidos, the Wizkids, the Burna Boys. The ones with international label backing who could not afford to cross the man who controlled their access. Michael had built a wall around the Nigerian industry, believing that without those names, Dayo could not build a presence.
But Dayo had never planned to climb that wall.
He had planned to dig beneath it.
Five artists. Two with SS-tier potential. One S-tier. Two A-tier. A roster that did not exist in the industry’s databases, that owed nothing to the power structures Michael controlled. Five voices that would become ten, then twenty, then a movement that would not need permission to rise.
Dayo folded the notepad and slid it into his desk drawer. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city that was now fully awake, the traffic building in steady layers, the world moving on without knowing what had just been born in a quiet office before dawn.
The Nigeria label was no longer an idea.
It was real.
And it had started with five names, a secret interface, and a man who had learned that the best way to defeat a blockade was to build something so new that the old rules could not touch it.
Dayo turned away from the window and walked toward the door.
He had a daughter to visit.