The echoes of the applauses and cheers of millions of crowds still rang in his ears, vibrating through the soles of his shoes as he stood on the shimmering stage, the arena lights blazed above, bathing everything in gold, Arman David known worldwide as Its_cana, stood at the center, a massive digital screen behind him flaashing with the words "GLOBAL ESPORTS PLAYER OF THE YEAR." fans screamed his name, chants echoing across the zones, his hands trembled as he held up the trophy, reflecting thousands of camera flashes.
But as the cheers started to fade into an eerie silence, the stage lights flickered, then dimmed, then his eyes lazily opened, he blinked, disoriented, gone were the glowing stage lights, the flashes of cameras, and the heavy, gold-plated trophy in his trembling hands, In their place was the familiar creaking fan above, spinning lazily, and the distant sizzle of something frying in the kitchen, his mother was up, a glance at the cracked screen of his phone confirmed it 5:42 a.m.
He reached for his phone, ignored the unread texts and opened a music folder titled "DON'T DELETE" a low crackling audio clip began to play, his father's voice, deep and familiar, sang an old swahili tune off-key but warmly, the sound blending with the rhythm of tires of vehicles passing on the tarmac road, he closed his eyes for a moment letting the sound anchor him.
Through his door his mother called out "Arman, would you please come assist me with a few chores after you take your shower" his eyes flew open, the ceiling fan spun lazily above him, light from the window hit his face at an annoying angle, the glory, the stage, the fans all gone, just a dream, just another morning in Buguruni, Dar es Salaam, it had been the same dream three nights in a row. Standing on a global stage, holding that trophy, and each time, waking up right before the speech.He stood up, pulled on his slippers, and made his way to the bathroom, glancing at the photo of his late father on the hallway wall, David Gonzalez, smiling behind the wheel of his beloved Scania truck, a man who never bowed to corruption. A man who according to official reports died in an accident. But Arman had always felt something wasn't right, that feeling had been growing stronger ever since he found the flash drive, It had happened on a Saturday afternoon, nearly a month ago, when he was reorganizing the tool cabinet in their small storage shed, hidden beneath a rusted wrench and a folded canvas jacket was a plain, silver USB flash drive with a red sticker that read: "CONF. TMS#41". He plugged it into his old laptop, files, dozens of them, GPS coordinates, receipts, maps, photos, names, emails about unregistered freight shipments, one folder was locked with a password titled LAST RUN, he hadn't told anyone about it, not even Peter, his childhood friend, his father hadn't died in a simple truck accident, he was sure of it now, he just didn't know who to trust.
After his quick morning routine, Arman emerged from the bathroom dressed in a grey hoodie and jeans, Mama was flipping chapati (Pancakes) with the grace of habit, she looked up and smiled "You woke up very early today, did you have a beautiful dream today?"
He shrugged "I guess so, we won our matches yesterday, seems like it had an impact on me"
She placed two chapati and a bowl of beans in front of him "So, those games your playing, are they the only thing making you to stay up all night?" she asked while showing some interest in the matter
He grinned "Hehe maybe, who knows" he didn't say anything else, not about the dream, nor about the flash drive.
As he chewed, the morning news played on the small TV, a report on embezzlement in the transport ministry that was his father's former department.
His mother noticed his gaze and quickly changed the channel "Are you thinking about your father, again"
He simply nodded.
She sighed and sat beside him ", Arman, your father was a very righteous man, but, this world.... this world does not tolerate such kind of people."
He locked his eyes on her and asked, "Do you know who might have.....caused this? You know, his death!"
She hesitated for a while "I can't be certain, but all I know is that it wasn't a normal accident, I'm quite sure it was a setup"
The silence that followed was thick, then she added, "Son, don't involve yourself with this issue, focus with your studies and those games that you always play, but please don't poke your fingers to hold such matters, who knows what would happen to you, you might even end up as your father"
But Arman couldn't, not now, especially not after what happened last night, during his last online match, an unknown player using the name GRAVEMAN_47 had joined his enemy team at the last second, their movements were calculated, almost precise, and at the end of the round, he received a private message
>That USB won't stay hidden forever, neither will you.
He hadn't told anyone about the message, he couldn't sleep peaceful after that, his mind was clouded with heavy thoughts regarding his late father, Mr David Gonzalez
After breakfast, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked to the main road, the daladala was nearly full, with bongo flava blasting from the front speakers, he squeezed into a seat, ignoring the familiar faces around him.
Campus life at the National Institute of Transport was always busy, but Arman moved through it like a ghost, known by few, close to less than few, he liked it that way, a silent boy with sharp eyes and a handsome face, always seen tapping on his phone or carrying a USB drive around his neck, only a handful knew he was Its_cana the rising legend of the Tanzanian gaming scenes, but he kept his identities separate, his world as Arman the quiet student was one thing and Its_cana the unstoppable eSports player was another.
The classroom buzzed by 8:00 am, Arman sat mid row, laptop opened, pretending to take notes during the lecture on traffic simulation models, Dr. Mlwambo droned on an out urban transport infrastructures, while Arman's mind drifted into a different world, he wasn't just zoning out, he was calculating timing frames, reflex intervals, thinking about reaction speed, adaptive insticts, all things he mastered in-game, all things he first learned watching his father drive 10 ton trucks through rain, mountains and chaos.
Joyce, the girl who always seemed to know when he wasn't fully present, she leaned slightly towards him "Arman, did you receive that assignment yesterday?" she whispered slowly.
He nodded "Yeah, i emailed it at midnight"
He gave him a look, half admiration, half curiosity, midnight? Arman didn't party, didn't drink, didn't socialize, so what exactly kept him awake? especially till midnight.
His phone vibrated, a message from Peter, who is both his squad member and his childhood friend>Tsup bro, are you ready for tonight, we're having a scrim ten o'clock sharp, make sure you make it bruh
He replied with a thumbs up, Peter was his clothest friend, one of the few people who knew Arman was Its_cana, they had grown up playing games together at a local game center and now they were semi professionals, trying to qualify for the East African Circuit, yet as much as the world of gaming excited him, it was what lay beneath his home that haunted him, THE FLASH DRIVE
FIVE YEARS AGO...
The road to Dodoma was long and rough that day, Arman, fresh out from middle school, rode shotgun next to his father in a weathered Scania truck, the air smelled of sweat, diesel and sunflower seeds, "One day, you will drive exactly like me" his father joked, shifting the gears smoothly.
Arman laughed, "I'll probably be flying aeroplanes or fighter jets and not driving trucks"
"Haha my son has his pride" it was indeed a hearty moment for the duo
Night fell fast as they passed through Mikumi, somewhere between Kilosa and Morogoro, a truck started tailgating them, high beams flashing, honks blaring, his father grew tense "This isn't normal," he said "That driver is too aggressive"
Moments later, the road narrowed near a bridge, the truck behind them sped up, Arman's father tried to move aside as cold sweat wet his back but the brakes betrayed him as they felt loose, everything happened in a second, a screech, a tilt then darkness.
When Arman woke up, he was in a hospital bed with broken ribs, his father's seat had taken a brunt of the impact, they said it was an accident, some whispered sabotage, his father had reported corrupt officials stealing cargo, Arman never got closure, no investigation followed, no justice, just silence.
PRESENT....
Back in the present, Arman stood by the NIT cafeteria, staring at a newspaper, the sports page talked about football, athletics, boxing and other sports, nothing about eSports, no mention of the regional eGaming league, but he knew, deep in the underground, his name was growing.
That night, he logged in from his room, Username: Its_cana, the screen lit up, Kenyan squad vs Tanzanian freelancers, Regional semi-pro scrim, he didn't speak, didn't reaveal location, but his gameplay spoke volumes, MVP 25 kills victory.
After the match, a private message popped up
>You play like the real Its_cana, you're also using Tanzania server, are you in Dar-es-salaam?
He didn't respond, he just stared at the message, lips tightening.
Another ping came in
>We want to sign you, anonymity guaranteed, lets talk
He shut the laptop
Not yet, he stared at the faded sticker on his wall
"One Day...They'll Know My Name."
Then he whispered "But not all of it"
Outside, Dar-es-salaam buzzed.
Inside, Its_cana waited, and Arman David? well he was just getting started, he took his blanket and covered himself head to toe and in less than two minutes he already drifted to the dream world "Zzzzzzzzz."