From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 437: Luna.....

The call came just as he was stepping out of the training facility, sweat still clinging to his neck, his breath not fully settled.

He glanced at the screen.

His assistant.

He picked up without thinking too much about it. "Yeah."

There was a pause on the other end. Not long. Just enough to shift the tone.

"There’s something you need to see."

He slowed his steps a little, eyes narrowing slightly as he pushed the door open and stepped into the cooler air outside. "What is it?"

"I’ll send it to you."

The call ended before he could ask anything else.

A second later, his phone buzzed again.

Video.

No caption. Just the file.

He stood there for a moment before opening it, like his body already knew this wasn’t something casual. Then he tapped.

The screen filled.

Him.

Alice.

That night.

The angle wasn’t clean, but it was clear enough. Too clear.

The hug.

The way she leaned into him.

Then the kiss.

He didn’t move while it played. Didn’t react. Just watched it through to the end.

Then replayed it.

This time slower in his head, even though the video didn’t change.

The surroundings came back to him. The lighting. The exact point they were standing. The air that night.

And then—

That feeling.

He remembered it now.

That brief moment.

When he’d paused for half a second, like something wasn’t sitting right. Like someone might be there. Watching. He hadn’t turned. Hadn’t checked. Just brushed it off and focused on her.

Now it settled properly.

He lowered the phone slightly, staring at nothing for a second before bringing it back up.

Another message came in.

Assistant.

It’s everywhere.

His thumb hovered for a moment, then he called her back.

She picked up immediately. "You’ve seen it."

"Yeah."

There was a beat. Then, more carefully, " who she is?"

He leaned against the side of his car, one hand resting on the roof. "Don’t worry about that."

"That’s not going to stop people from asking."

"I know."

Silence stretched for a second.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were still on the paused frame. Alice’s face tilted slightly up toward him. His hand at her back.

Clear enough for people to build anything they wanted.

"That’s the thing," he said finally. "We don’t do anything."

She didn’t respond right away. "You’re sure?"

"If we respond, we give it shape," he said. "Right now it’s just noise. Let it stay that way."

"They’re already speculating."

"They’ll speculate anyway."

Another pause.

"They’ll try to find her," she added.

He shrugged lightly, even though she couldn’t see it. "Let them try."

"And if they do?"

He pushed off the car, straightening. "Then we deal with it then."

She exhaled softly. Not fully convinced, but not arguing either. "Alright."

"For now, just hold everything," he continued. "No statements. No clarifications."

"Okay."

He ended the call and stayed there for a moment longer, phone still in his hand.

Then he locked the screen.

No expression. No frustration. Just a quiet adjustment in his posture, like something had shifted into place internally.

After that, he got in the car and drove.

—

The week moved faster than it should have.

Or maybe slower.

It depended on what you were paying attention to.

Online, it didn’t slow down at all.

The video spread in waves.

At first it was curiosity. Then it turned into obsession.

People clipped it. Zoomed in. Brightened frames. Compared angles. Tried to catch a clear shot of her face.

They didn’t get it.

Which only made it worse.

The mystery became the story.

Who was she?

Why had no one seen her before?

How did someone like him—someone that careful—let something like this slip?

Every answer just created more questions.

And then the other narratives started blending into it.

The Nigeria story.

The "he used it and left" angle.

The silence.

Everything started connecting in ways that weren’t real, but felt convincing enough.

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t post.

Didn’t acknowledge any of it.

By the time the competition week arrived, the noise had settled into a steady background hum. Loud, but constant.

Manageable.

Reporters kept following calling and tey there best to get something from him but it was all it vain as he used most of his time to train to get himself on peak.

—

The morning of the race felt normal.

Too normal.

Dayo sat in the passenger seat, one arm resting on the window, watching the road move past in quiet rhythm.

Jeffrey was driving.

Too fast at first.

Then he slowed down, then sped up again like he couldn’t find the right pace.

Dayo glanced at him. "You’re doing too much."

Jeffrey exhaled, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "I know."

"You’re not racing yet."

"I know."

Another few seconds passed.

Then Jeffrey shook his head slightly, letting out a short laugh that didn’t fully land. "It’s just... it’s weird."

Dayo didn’t say anything.

Jeffrey continued, voice a bit more open now. "I’ve been watching you do this for years. Like... years. Every race, every clip, every replay. Even when you’re not trying, it still looks like—" he stopped himself, searching for the word, "—like control."

Dayo leaned his head back slightly against the seat, listening.

"And now I’m here," Jeffrey added. "Same event. Same space. It’s not... normal for me."

Dayo turned his head slightly, looking at him properly now. "You’re thinking too much."

Jeffrey scoffed lightly. "Easy for you to say."

"It is."

That got a small reaction. Jeffrey glanced at him briefly, then back at the road.

"You don’t even give your full effort half the time," Jeffrey continued, more quietly now. "That’s the annoying part."

A small smile pulled at the corner of Dayo’s mouth.

"I’m serious," Jeffrey went on. "I’ve seen it. You’ll hold back, still win, then act like it’s nothing. That’s not normal."

Dayo didn’t deny it. Didn’t confirm it either.

He just said, "And you think racing me changes that?"

Jeffrey hesitated. "I don’t know."

"Then stop thinking about me," Dayo replied.

Jeffrey frowned slightly. "How?"

"Race your time," Dayo said. "Not me. If you line up thinking about me, you’ve already lost your own race."

Jeffrey absorbed that, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel before relaxing again.

"Control your start," Dayo added. "Everything else comes after that."

Silence settled again, but it was different this time.

Less chaotic.

More grounded.

Jeffrey let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. "You make it sound simple."

"It is simple," Dayo said. "Not easy. But simple."

That pulled a real laugh out of Jeffrey this time. "Yeah. That sounds like you."

They drove the rest of the way in a quieter rhythm.

By the time they pulled into the venue, Jeffrey’s energy had shifted. Still there, still intense, but no longer scattered.

Focused.

—

The moment they stepped out of the car, the noise hit.

Not overwhelming, but noticeable.

Voices. Movement. Phones already out.

At first, it was the usual kind of attention.

Then it shifted.

"Wait— that’s him."

"No way."

"I thought— wasn’t he—?"

They were suprised as no one knew Dayo was participating in this event it came as a shock to all of them seeing him now after all they were all vivid lovers of swimming and Dayo is an gold medalist Olympic Champion with a grand slam of winning all the sprint in the competition so he is a most watch.

More voices. Louder now.

People stepping closer, trying to confirm what they were seeing.

Dayo barely reacted.

But Jeffrey did.

His name came up too.

Not as loud at first.

Then again.

"Jeffrey!"

He blinked, surprised, turning slightly toward the sound. For a second, he didn’t know how to respond.

Then he lifted a hand, waving back instinctively.

The reaction came quick.

Energy feeding energy.

Dayo noticed it.

Not in a big way. Just a small glance. A quiet acknowledgment.

Jeffrey catching attention on his own.

He didn’t say anything about it.

They kept moving.

Security guided them through, keeping things controlled but not tense.

The atmosphere stayed alive around them.

Some people still calling out, some just watching.

And under it all—

That same hum.

Recognition.

Curiosity.

Something shifting.

—

They moved toward the back entrance, the noise fading slightly as they got closer.

Jeffrey was saying something again, something about lane assignments, but Dayo only caught parts of it.

Because something else cut through.

A voice.

Not loud.

Not trying to be.

Just... there.

He didn’t stop at first.

Just kept walking.

But something about it didn’t sit right.

It didn’t match the rest.

Another call.

Same direction.

This time he slowed slightly.

Jeffrey was still talking beside him, not noticing the shift.

Dayo turned his head just a little, scanning instinctively.

Faces.

Movement.

Nothing clear.

He almost dismissed it.

Then something in his chest tightened slightly.

Not panic.

Recognition trying to surface.

He stopped.

Jeffrey’s voice cut off. "What?"

Dayo didn’t answer.

He turned again.

More deliberately this time.

The crowd shifted slightly, creating a brief opening.

And then—

He saw her.

For a second, his mind didn’t fully register it.

Like the image needed time to settle into something real.

Then it did.

Luna.

Standing still.

Not waving. Not calling again.

Just there.

Watching him.

Everything else blurred slightly at the edges.

The noise didn’t stop, but it faded in his awareness.

His body went still without him deciding to make it happen.

Her expression didn’t give much away.

Calm.

Controlled.

But present in a way that felt heavier than anything around them.

Their eyes locked.

And just like that—

The race stopped being just a race.

Then he whispered "Luna...."