From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 362: Home Soil

While executives in glass towers recalculated, or labels refreshed dashboards and assistants sent "urgent follow-ups," Dayo was nowhere near a boardroom.

He was at the airport.

Night flights always carried a different kind of energy softer, less chaotic, more intimate. The terminal lights reflected off polished floors as travelers moved in steady streams toward departure gates. Security lines hummed. Announcements echoed overhead.

And in the middle of it, Deborah was vibrating with excitement.

"Finally!" she almost shouted, spinning once in place before Sharon gently caught her by the shoulder. "We’re actually going!"

Janet laughed beside her, trying to act composed but failing miserably. "You’ve said that five times already."

"I don’t care!" Deborah replied. "It’s Nigeria!"

Dayo stood a few steps behind them, watching.

For a moment, the industry didn’t exist.

Not the calls. Not the pressure. Not Michael. Not the shadows.

Just this.

Deborah had cried weeks ago when he couldn’t fulfill his promise by giving her and Janet the film like he’d promised. He had made the promise easily back then roles in a project, when he came backs from Asia but due to the explosion of the album and movie he was unable to give them.

He hadn’t broken the promise intentionally.

But it had still hurt her. More like she was trying to childishly blackmail him

So he made a new oromise.

"I’ll make it up to you," he had told her.

She had crossed her arms. "How?"

"You’ll see."

Now this was the answer.

Nigeria.

Not a business move. Not a headline.

Just a mini vacation.

Deborah tugged at his sleeve. "You’re not allowed to change your mind."

"I’m not," he said calmly.

"You better not."

He smiled faintly. "I already checked in. It’s too late."

That was enough for her. She grabbed Janet’s hand and ran ahead toward the gate.

Sharon stepped closer to him. "You’re quiet."

"Just observing."

"You’ve got half the industry looking for you."

"They’ll survive till i am back."

She studied him for a moment but didn’t press.

Boarding began.

The family walked down the jet bridge together. The hum of the aircraft interior welcomed them — soft overhead lighting, the faint scent of recycled air, the low murmur of passengers settling in.

Deborah claimed the window seat immediately.

"Wake me when we land," she declared confidently.

"You won’t stay awake?" Janet teased.

"I will," she insisted.

She lasted twelve minutes.

By the time the plane reached cruising altitude, her head had tilted against the window, city lights fading beneath clouds as she drifted into sleep.

Janet stayed awake longer, watching a movie quietly before eventually dozing off too.

Sharon rested.

The cabin dimmed.

Dayo didn’t sleep.

He watched the wing slice through the night sky and allowed himself something rare stillness.

Nigeria wasn’t a strategy.

It wasn’t a calculated pivot.

It was personal.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew one thing:

Personal moves sometimes created the strongest waves.

The landing announcement came just before dawn.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be arriving shortly..."

Deborah jolted awake instantly. "We’re here?!"

"Almost," Janet said, rubbing her eyes.

As the plane descended, the view shifted from clouds to scattered lights, then to clusters of buildings. Lagos.

Humidity greeted them the moment the aircraft doors opened. Warm air rushed in, thick and alive.

The airport wasn’t grand like Seoul’s or polished like Tokyo’s, but it had something else pulse. Noise. Movement that didn’t pretend to be orderly.

They walked through immigration smoothly. Security was light but present.

Dayo didn’t expect anything outside.

He had researched and had visit in his past life. Nigerian airport fan receptions weren’t typical unless there was prior announcement.

He hadn’t announced.

And it only works if only the person in question is huge.

But when the sliding exit doors opened—

Sound hit first.

Not massive.

Not stadium-level.

But loud.

Real.

Rough-edged.

A crowd had formed behind airport barricades — maybe a few hundred people at most — but the energy multiplied their number.

Phones raised. Handwritten signs. Mostly young women.

"DAYO!"

"Welcome home!"

"Finally!"

He stopped walking for half a second.

Surprised.

This wasn’t Seoul.

This wasn’t Beijing.

But this felt different.

In this life this was the first time he had come to nigeria and getting such welcome was amazing.

It wasn’t organized fan clubs. It wasn’t corporate banners.

It was raw.

He turned slightly to Sharon. "Take them ahead."

She understood immediately and guided the family toward the vehicles waiting further down.

Dayo stepped toward the barricade.

Security moved instinctively, forming a loose buffer as hands reached out.

He didn’t rush.

He waved first.

The reaction doubled.

Someone shouted in Yoruba. Another screamed his name like it was a victory chant. One girl was crying. Another kept repeating, "I can’t believe this."

He reached over the barricade briefly, shaking a few hands.

"Thank you for coming," he said simply.

That was enough.

The security team gently redirected movement as the crowd pushed forward, but there was no hostility — just overwhelming excitement.

It lasted only minutes.

But it mattered.

When he finally stepped into the car, Deborah looked at him wide-eyed. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"You didn’t tell us you were that famous here."

He smirked faintly. "I didn’t even know That myself "

Janet smrike. "You habe to thank me for that i made you famous here."

Dayo smiled and said . "Of course your Royal highness."

Indeed she was the one who made him know after all she caught him with his mom speaking yoruba on live cam.

The drive through Lagos was a different kind of experience entirely.

Traffic didn’t flow.

More likw ir couldn’t because of traffic.

Horns weren’t warnings they were language.

Street vendors moved between cars. Motorcycles slipped through impossible gaps. Music played from somewhere unseen.

Deborah pressed her face against the window. "It’s so busy!"

"It’s alive," Janet corrected as both their eyes never left the window as they look a brand new world.

Sharon just smiled quietly.

They passed through neighborhoods shifting in texture modern buildings, then older structures, then open markets spilling onto roads. The contrast was sharp but authentic.

Dayo watched everything carefully.

This wasn’t polished presentation.

It was reality.

And reality had weight.

Eventually, they reached the house he had arranged.

Not flashy.

Not excessive.

But secure, comfortable, close enough to family land for upcoming ceremonies.

When the gates opened, Deborah jumped out first.

"This is ours?!"

"For now," he replied.

She ran ahead, exploring before anyone could stop her.

Janet followed at a more controlled pace.

Inside, luggage was carried in. Doors opened. Windows tested. Rooms claimed.

The family’s laughter filled the space quickly.

By evening, exhaustion finally won.

They ate lightly. Spoke about the flight. Argued playfully about who snored.

Then one by one, the house quieted.

Night settled over Lagos with distant sounds of traffic and faint music somewhere far off.

Dayo stepped outside briefly, standing under the warm air.

No cameras. No boardrooms. No industry calls.

Just the sound of a city that didn’t pretend to be anything else.

He exhaled slowly.

He had arrived.

And this time—

He wasn’t here to conquer.

He was here to belong.

A/N: might not update for a while, I just got a new job, so still trying to fit in🤧