I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 185: Kunle the Hustler

"Face me I face you." That was the name people gave it—but it wasn't really a name. It was a sentence. A truth.

The kind of house where poverty was not just shared—it was neighborly. Built long ago with tired bricks and rust-stained roofing sheets, the building stood like a survivor of war. It had no paint left—only patches of faded color, smudged over by time, rain, and soot. The cemented veranda had cracks like spiderwebs, some parts crumbling, revealing bare earth underneath.

Each room had its own entrance—just a door facing another across a narrow corridor. No privacy. No space. Every whisper traveled. Every cry echoed.

And at the far end, a single toilet and bathroom. Everyone shared it. A queue in the morning, quarrels in the evening.

In this kind of house, survival wasn't glamorous—it was sweaty, loud, and always two steps from madness.

But to Kunle, it was home.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he shouted into his phone, his voice bouncing against the cracked concrete walls.

He stood up quickly, a rush of energy in his limbs, excitement sparkling in his eyes. As he pressed the phone down, still grinning, he whispered to himself,

"Yes."

A simple word, but it carried so much.

Today was starting out great.

Without wasting another second, he grabbed his key, shoved it in his pocket, and darted out of the one-room apartment.

"Wait!" he shouted to the other person inside.

But he didn't wait. He was already halfway into the corridor.

Outside, the sun struck like punishment, fierce and blinding. But Kunle didn't even flinch. His eyes were scanning, hopeful, eager—until reality rushed back.

Two toddlers, no older than two, played in the dust, naked and barefoot—one boy, one girl. Their laughter was thin, their ribs slightly visible, skin dry from too much sun and too little cream.

Next to the wall, an old man sat on a low stool. His face was lined like the building, age carved into every wrinkle. A chewing stick jutted from his lips as he scanned an old, torn newspaper—pages yellow like papaya skin.

Kunle saw him.

And panic hit.

He began tiptoeing back into the house like a thief in daylight, hoping to slip past unseen. But fate had other plans.

"Kunle! Kunle! Is that not you? Kunle, come here!" the old man's voice cracked through the air like thunder.

Kunle winced.

Busted.

He slowly turned, face squeezed like someone who bit bitter kola, and dragged his feet toward the man.

"I knew it was you!" the old man began, pointing the chewing stick like a sword.

"You dey try run abi? Se mo ri e bayi?— (You were trying to run, weren't you? I can see you now.) freeweɓnovel.cøm

You wan disappear?" (You want to vanish, is that it?)

"I've been looking for you for days! So you've been hiding in your room, eh?"

Kunle gave an awkward chuckle, his voice nervous but polite.

"No, it's not like that, sir. I just dey come back very late. That's why I never show face." (I've just been coming home very late. That's why you haven't seen me.)

But the old man wasn't interested in excuses. He cut him off.

"Kunle, where is my money?"

Just like that, the mood dropped.

Kunle's mouth hung open for a reply, but the man wasn't done.

"This is already the second month—almost the third—you haven't paid your rent!" he said sharply, voice raised for everyone to hear. The tone in the old man's voice was a blend of frustration and desperation.

His words were heavy, like the burden of his own struggles. In that moment, Kunle felt it—the weight of the world that people like the old man carried every single day.

Kunle stepped forward, trying to speak.

"About that, sir, I—"

Again, the man interrupted, this time standing up slightly as if to charge.

"The only reason I haven't thrown you out is because of your mother! It's only because of her o!

But even still—mi o n se charity work!— (I am not running a charity!)

I no be Father Christmas o! (I'm not Father Christmas!)

I need my money. I need to buy things for the house. It's only your share that is remaining. Even Sandra has paid her own. Even those useless boys have paid.

Kunle's heart sank. "Kunle. Kunle. Kunle! How many times did I call you?" The old man's voice was more than just a demand—it was a plea, a cry of frustration at the system that had broken him down over the years. Kunle stood still, his chest rising slowly with each breath. He lowered his eyes, humbled by the old man's words, then responded softly:

"Three times, sir."

The man nodded, shaking his head in disappointment. His gaze was heavy, filled with years of hardship and the struggles of surviving in a place where even basic needs felt like privileges.

"I need the money."

Kunle looked at him, then finally said,

"Don't worry, sir. I go pay you soon. I get big deal wey go land very soon. I promise, sir. I go even pay the next three months join." (Don't worry, sir. I will pay you soon. A big deal is about to come through. I promise. I will even pay the next three months on top of it.)

The old man didn't respond right away, just shaking his head again, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"Naso kunle naso just pay me the one you owe me first mr promise and dail always with the mouth." (So, Kunle, just pay me what you owe first, Mr. Promises, always with the mouth.)

Kunle heard as he started walking away, the old man still mumbling under his breath, his words laced with disappointment. He was tired—tired of waiting, tired of promises, tired of the system that had failed him for so long. He spoke in Yoruba now, his frustration pouring out in the language of his ancestors, where words could still hold power.

"Se e go ever change?" (Will it ever change?)*

Kunle, now walking away, felt the weight of it all—he had no answer, no comfort to offer. He was a product of the same system that had failed the old man, yet he was still fighting, still holding on to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

He arrived at the bathroom area, and the sight made him pause. The communal bathroom—typical of the "face me I face you" homes—was nothing more than a small, rundown mud structure that seemed to hold the weight of countless lives. The walls were crumbling, the door barely hanging on its hinges. It had only one toilet for all the tenants, no privacy, no luxury—just necessity. The floor was damp, the air thick with the smell of mold and dampness. It was a place where people shared not just space, but moments of quiet desperation, where every flush and every shower felt like a battle fought in solitude.

Kunle reached the door only to find it locked. He muttered, "No no no."

He pulled out his phone—a battered, old iPhone 6 that looked as tired as its owner. The screen was cracked, the battery life almost non-existent. He checked the time: it was 8:25 AM.

"Shit." Kunle cursed under his breath, realizing he was already running late. The meeting he had could not wait. He muttered again, his voice tinged with frustration, "This is bad, this is bad."

Just then, he saw a little boy passing by.

"Hey hey hey," Kunle called out, waving at the child. The boy, about seven years old, turned and looked at Kunle, his small face blank with curiosity. Kunle recognized him immediately as one of the neighbors' kids, Seun.

"Seun, who is inside?" Kunle asked, hoping for a quick answer.

The boy glanced at the door and shrugged, his face still innocent.

"I don't know. I think it's Aunty Sandra sha." (I don't know. I think it's Aunty Sandra though.)

Kunle muttered, "Sandra?" his mind racing. He turned back to the boy, suddenly irritated but trying to stay calm.

"Go inside jor, your brother and sister are outside. Go and take care of them!" He shouted at the boy, his tone stern as he waved him away.

With a sigh, Kunle stood there, frustration mounting. He had no time for delays. He approached the bathroom side, hearing faint music coming from inside.

He recognized the song immediately—it was Seyi Vibez. That meant Sandra was inside with him, no doubt.

Kunle began banging on the wooden door, shouting, "Sandra! Sandra!"

His voice echoed in the narrow corridor, but no answer came at first. Then, from inside, he heard a loud scream, followed by a sharp voice.

"Who is that? Se o fe so fo ni?" (Who is that? Are you mad?)

Kunle sighed, trying to keep his patience.

"Sandra, na Kunle abeg. I wan use the bathroom, please. I have somewhere to go."

Inside, Sandra's voice came back, laced with annoyance.

"Be like say you don mad nah. Why you dey bang door like that?" (You must be crazy. Why are you banging the door like that?)

Kunle rubbed his temples, his patience thinning.

"Abeg, please. I dey rush."(Please, I'm in a hurry.)

Sandra's voice came back, sounding sarcastic,"I dey come. No rush me abeg, no be say nah better place you wan go self."(I'm coming. Don't rush me, it's not like you're going anywhere important.)

Kunle's face flushed with embarrassment, but he tried to stay calm."Thank you, thanks. Abeg, please fast."(Thank you, please hurry.)

After a while, about two minutes later, Kunle heard the door creak open. Smiling to himself, he grabbed the bucket of water he was going to use for his bath. Just as he was about to rush inside, he noticed a figure coming out of the bathroom. It was a dark-skinned lady, stunningly beautiful, with well-proportioned curves wrapped in a towel. She walked out, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw Kunle rushing toward her.

Kunle quickly moved, almost colliding with her. "Hey, don't push me! Are you mad or something, you this boy?" she snapped, clearly irritated.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just rushing," Kunle apologized, trying to avoid further confrontation.

She shot him a sharp look, muttering under her breath, "O di big man for here, abi?" (You think you're a big man here?) The words were in the Delta dialect, but Kunle knew exactly what she meant.

Kunle smirked, quickly brushing past her and muttering under his breath, "Ashawo," (a derogatory term for a promiscuous woman, commonly used as an insult) as he made his way into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him quickly, just in time to hear her shout back from the hallway, "What did you call me? No be your fault! Nah me I blame, as I come out for you. Nah stupid boy, idiot!" Her curses followed him, but Kunle paid no attention. They didn't bother him in the slightest.

Inside the bathroom, Kunle stripped off his boxers and quickly stepped into the cold water. The chilly water slapped against his skin, but he didn't have time to feel the discomfort. Within less than a minute, he was done, the water dripping from his hair and body as he hurried to finish up. He rushed out of the bathroom, not caring that his body was freezing, and grabbed his clothes in a haste.

He went straight to the door that wasn't his and knocked softly, "Samuel, Samuel," he called. When there was no response, he tried the door and found it unlocked. He stepped inside, not bothering to make a sound.

The room was cluttered, laptops and phones scattered around, with three boys sprawled out, sleeping. Kunle tiptoed through the mess, not disturbing anything, until he reached the boy lying in the middle of the room. He gently tapped Samuel on the shoulder.

"Samuel, Samuel," he whispered, trying to wake him.

Samuel groaned and stirred, still half-asleep. "Kunle, why you wake me this early, nah?" he mumbled, irritated.

Kunle smiled sheepishly, "Aeg, no vex nah. I need to borrow that your suit, abeg," he said, referring to the suit Samuel had mentioned a while back.

Samuel groaned again, rubbing his eyes. "Nah, just take am. I dey dream better dreams, nah," he muttered as he turned over, already half asleep again.

Kunle grinned, "Sorry, sorry." He quickly grabbed the suit from the wardrobe and headed towards the door. As he was leaving, he called out, "Thank you, Samuel," but Samuel just waved his hand in acknowledgment, barely awake. The other two boys didn't even stir.

Back in his apartment, Kunle was dressing quickly, trying to make sure he looked presentable. As he adjusted his collar and glanced in the small mirror, he spoke aloud to himself, "You know that guy I met when I was working at the restaurant in Ikeja? The one who gave me 50K because of that incident? Well, I've been talking to him. He wants to buy one of Mr. Gbenga's houses that he saw on my status. If he buys it, I'll make at least 500K. With that, I can pay the rent, and we'll have enough left to get you to that check-up and buy the medicine they recommended."

Kunle smiled, feeling a wave of hope wash over him as he looked into the mirror, seeing his own reflection. He said softly, "Okay then, Mommy. I'm going. Pray for me o, let's get this money."

As he said the words, he turned to look at the old woman lying on the floor. She was shaking slightly, her body trembling as she struggled from a stroke. The sight hit him deeply, his heart tightening as he thought about everything they had gone through.

He whispered quietly, almost to himself, "Don't worry, Mom. I promise, everything will be okay. I promise, I will make it big." He took a deep breath and stepped outside, his determination burning brighter than ever. The weight of his promise to his mother pushed him forward, and with a renewed sense of purpose, he set off toward what he hoped would be the breakthrough that would change everything.