Chapter 446 446: She Came To See You?
The doors opened before the noise fully reached him.
It came in waves after that first the sharp burst of camera shutters, then voices layered over each other, then the low hum of bodies shifting forward, adjusting, claiming space. The room was bright in a way that flattened everything, the kind of lighting that erased shadows and made every movement visible.
Dayo stepped in like he had done this a hundred times.
Because he had.
Sharon moved slightly ahead of him, already carving a path, already signaling where he should sit. Jeffrey stayed close, shoulders loose, eyes scanning everything with that mix of excitement and awareness he hadn't quite learned to hide yet.
Names were called.
"Dayo!"
"Over here—just one—"
"Can we get a shot—"
He didn't respond to any of it directly. He let it pass over him, kept moving, kept his expression neutral but not cold. There was a rhythm to this. A way of entering without giving too much before it started.
He reached the table.
There was a small pause before he pulled the chair back.
Not enough for anyone to question it.
Just enough to feel.
Then he sat.
Jeffrey dropped into the seat beside him, leaning forward slightly, already more open, more relaxed. Sharon stayed standing off to the side, phone in hand, eyes moving between the room and Dayo in quick, precise glances.
Microphones shifted closer.
Someone tested audio.
A cough somewhere in the back.
Then—
"Alright, we'll begin."
The first question came easy.
"How does it feel to come back and win all three races—50, 100, and 200 meters—in such dominant fashion?"
Dayo leaned slightly toward the mic, hands resting loosely together.
"It feels good," he said, voice steady, measured. "I came here prepared. The goal was to execute cleanly across all three events, and that's what I did."
No hesitation.
No excess.
Another question followed quickly.
"Your 200-meter race with your brother—people have been talking about that specifically. What was that like for you?"
A small shift.
Dayo glanced sideways, just briefly.
Jeffrey was already smiling.
"It was competitive," Dayo said, a faint edge of something warmer in his tone. "He's getting faster. I had to stay focused."
Jeffrey leaned into his mic before anyone prompted him.
"Getting faster?" he said, shaking his head. "I was right there. He just doesn't like admitting it."
A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
Dayo let it sit for a second, then shook his head slightly.
"You weren't right there."
"I was close."
"You were not close."
More laughter.
For a moment, the tension lifted.
It always started like this.
Controlled.
Manageable.
Then the shift came.
It was subtle at first.
A different voice. A different tone.
"Why didn't you address the rumors earlier?"
The room didn't get louder.
The question got sharper as this was the main reason they came here.
Dayo's eyes moved toward the journalist. He didn't rush the answer.
"What rumors specifically?" he asked.
"The narrative that you came to Nigeria for hype and left immediately after. A lot of people felt you avoided clarifying that."
There it was.
Clean. Direct.
Dayo adjusted his posture slightly, not defensive, just more aligned.
"I didn't avoid anything," he said. "I had a schedule. I came to Nigeria, I handled what I needed to handle, and I left for my competition. That was always the plan."
"Then why not say that earlier?" another voice cut in. "Why let it build into something else?"
A slight pause.
Not long.
Just enough to register.
"I don't respond to everything in real time," Dayo said. "Sometimes people are going to create narratives. My focus is on what I'm doing, not correcting every assumption immediately."
His tone stayed even.
But there was a firmness now.
The room leaned in.
"So you're saying the backlash didn't affect you at all?"
"I didn't say that."
The answer came quicker than the last one.
Then—
"I said it wasn't my priority."
A flicker.
Small.
But it was there.
Sharon's eyes lifted from her phone.
Jeffrey shifted slightly in his seat, glancing at him for a second before looking back at the room.
Another question followed.
"Some people felt your silence made it seem like you were avoiding responsibility."
Dayo's fingers tapped once against the table.
Light.
Controlled.
He stopped it immediately.
"I'm responsible for my actions," he said. "And my actions were clear. I competed where I needed to compete. Everything else is interpretation of people's imagination I came here to compete and I don't have to announce it."
The words landed clean.
But something underneath them had tightened.
The questions kept coming.
Not aggressive.
Not hostile.
Just persistent.
"Would you handle it differently now?"
"No."
"Do you feel misunderstood by the public?"
"I think people see what they want to see sometimes and not what is actually happening if you get."
"Do you think your visibility makes situations like this worse?"
"It makes them bigger," he said. "Not necessarily worse."
There was a rhythm to it.
Answer.
Pause.
Answer.
But the pauses were getting slightly longer.
Barely noticeable.
Unless you were watching closely.
Sharon was.
Another journalist raised a hand.
"What's it like competing alongside your brother at this level? Especially in a race like the 200 meters?"
The shift came like a breath of air.
Jeffrey leaned forward again, quicker this time.
"It's annoying," he said. "Because he thinks he's still untouchable."
A few chuckles.
Dayo looked at him, eyebrow lifting slightly.
"You didn't win."
"I almost did."
"You didn't."
Jeffrey laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
"I'm getting there," he said.
Dayo held his gaze for a second longer.
Then—
"I know."
It wasn't loud.
But it was real.
For a moment, something eased.
Then the final stretch came.
A voice from the side.
"Your decisions have been… unpredictable lately. Moving between countries, competing across different fields, staying silent on certain things. Is that intentional?"
Dayo's eyes moved back to center.
"Yes."
"Care to explain?"
"No."
A slight shift in the room.
Not negative.
Just… noted.
Another attempt.
"Do you think that lack of explanation creates distance between you and the public?"
Dayo leaned back slightly.
"It creates space," he said. "And I'm okay with that my life is private and i would like to keep it so."
Shorter now.
More closed.
The edges were there.
Sharon checked her watch.
A signal.
The moderator stepped in.
"Last question."
It came softer.
"Do you feel like you're where you want to be right now?"
That one lingered.
Not because it was difficult.
Because it was too close to something else.
Dayo's gaze didn't move immediately.
When he answered, his voice was steady.
"I'm where I need to be for now but I am.not stopping anytime soon."
Not the same thing.
No one pushed it.
"Thank you."
Chairs shifted.
Microphones pulled back.
Voices rose again, but looser this time, less structured.
Dayo stood.
No rush.
No lingering.
Jeffrey stood beside him, stretching slightly like he had just come out of something physical.
"Not bad," he muttered under his breath.
Dayo didn't respond.
Sharon was already beside them, guiding, redirecting.
"This way."
They moved through the side exit.
Away from the lights.
Away from the noise.
The hallway felt quieter than it should have.
Jeffrey exhaled.
"Some of those questions were—"
"Normal," Dayo said.
Jeffrey nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I guess."
They kept walking.
Dayo gave a sigh of relief and thanking Sharon as she arranged for reporters who didn't ask questions about The mysterious lady that would just have complicated things.
Outside, the air felt different.
Less compressed.
The car was waiting.
Doors opened.
They got in.
Silence settled first.
Not heavy.
Just… there.
Jeffrey broke it.
"You could've gone at them a bit more," he said. "That one about responsibility—"
"I didn't need to."
A pause.
"Yeah."
Jeffrey leaned back, looking out the window.
"You handled it."
Dayo didn't answer.
The city moved past them in quiet lines of light.
Sharon sat in the front, already on her phone, already moving to the next thing.
Dayo's gaze stayed forward.
But his mind wasn't there.
It slipped.
Back.
A room.
A chair.
A bag.
"Few months."
His fingers tightened slightly against his leg.
He loosened them.
The car slowed.
Then stopped.
Home.
The door opened before they reached it.
His mother stood there.
She didn't smile immediately.
She looked at him first.
Properly.
Then she stepped aside.
"You're back."
"Yeah."
Jeffrey moved past them, already talking about something else, something light, something easy.
Dayo stepped in.
The air felt different here.
Still.
Grounded.
His mother closed the door behind him.
"How was it?" she asked.
"Fine."
She watched him for a second longer than necessary.
"You look tired."
"I'm good."
A small nod.
Not agreement.
Acknowledgment.
She turned slightly, walking toward the living room.
"Eat something."
"In a bit."
He stayed where he was for a second.
She didn't move far.
Just enough.
"Something's on your mind," she said, not looking at him.
Dayo leaned his shoulder lightly against the wall.
"It's nothing."
She turned then.
Looked at him fully.
"You've said that since you were ten."
A quiet beat.
"And it's never been true."
He didn't respond.
Her gaze softened.
Not pushing.
Just… there.
"Was it the conference?" she asked.
"No."
A pause.
"Someone?" she added.
That landed.
Small.
Precise.
Dayo's eyes shifted, just slightly.
That was enough.
She saw it.
"Knew it," she said softly.
He exhaled, looking away.
"It's not—"
"You don't have to explain," she cut in gently. "I'm not asking you to."
Silence stretched.
Not uncomfortable.
Just honest.
"She came to see you," she said.
Not a question.
Dayo looked back at her.
"How do you know that?"
She shrugged lightly.
"You don't sit like that after a normal day And you have showed emotion for one person and its obvious she has to be the one."
A faint breath of something almost like a laugh left him.
Almost.
He shook his head.
"It wasn't… simple."
"It never is," she said.
Another pause.
He thought about saying it.
The child.
The question.
The weight.
But the words stayed where they were.
Not ready.
Not yet.
"She has a child," he said instead.
His mother didn't react immediately.