Chapter 01

Chapter 01

Opening Day Speed

High school had been easy in ways Kofi Tanka didn’t fully appreciate until it was over. He had been a science student—focused, sharp, and consistently ahead of most of his class—but his closest friends were from the art department. They sketched during breaks, argued about music, danced at inter-school events, and treated life like something to be explored rather than conquered. Those years were light. Loud. Carefree.

University, though—that felt different.
UPSA wasn’t just another school to Kofi. He chose it for the streets around it, the rumours of imported engines growling through campus roads at night, and the rich kids who treated cars like toys. He didn’t know what awaited him there, but he knew one thing for sure: wherever the cars were, that was where he belonged.

It was a hot, restless Saturday afternoon, and Kofi T sat on a cracked vinyl chair inside Uncle Tony’s barbering shop, eyes fixed on the television mounted crookedly on the wall. Earlier, he had helped sweep hair clippings, wipe mirrors, and arrange clippers for the day’s rush. Saturdays were sacred in the shop. Elderly men needed to look sharp for Sunday service, schoolchildren needed fresh trims for the week ahead, and working men wanted to feel respectable again—if only for a day.

The air vibrated with the angry buzz of hair clippers, layered over the low hum of gossip. Men argued about fuel prices, football transfers, politics, and whose marriage was quietly collapsing. The only other place where men talked this much, Kofi knew, was the dami boards—those chipped wooden chess tables under big trees at street corners, where pride mattered more than winning.

After lunch, the shop door swung open and Pastor Manu, head pastor of Uncle Tony’s church, stepped inside. He needed a clean, authoritative cut—something sharp enough to carry a sermon. Uncle Tony greeted him warmly and draped the cape over his shoulders.

Kofi was half-listening, half-watching the TV when an advert flashed across the screen.

Street Racing Championship – Live This Season.

Engines screamed. Tires burned. A car flipped in slow motion, fire bursting into the air.

Kofi sat up instantly.

His heart thumped—not with fear, but recognition. For the first time in a long while, racing wasn’t being treated like a dirty secret. It was loud. Public. Celebrated.

Pastor Manu scoffed.

“This nonsense again,” he snapped. “These people are mad. Racing is gambling—gambling with one’s life. To what end? Death? Broken homes? I will speak against it in tomorrow’s sermon.”

The barber shop fell quiet for a moment.

Uncle Tony said nothing. His hands were steady as he guided the clippers. His younger brother—Kofi’s father—had died in a racing accident. But Uncle Tony also knew the truth no one liked to admit: racing was the only time his brother had ever been truly happy.

Kofi looked away from the screen, jaw tight. He said nothing—but something old and dangerous stirred in him.

The new school year arrived quickly.

Kofi had been accepted into a pre-medical program at the University of Professional Studies, Accra, just as Uncle Tony wanted. The offer letter sat proudly on the table at home, proof that intelligence could still open doors. But Kofi’s excitement had less to do with medicine and everything to do with the cars.

Before opening day, he and a few neighbourhood friends took a trip to Kantamanto, weaving through chaos and colour to buy clothes and shoes. It wasn’t about fashion—it was about first impressions. UPSA had rich kids. Kofi refused to look like he didn’t belong.

Tuesday. Opening Day.

Students from all over the continent flooded the campus—dragging suitcases, shouting greetings, hugging old friends, and introducing themselves with forced confidence. Registration was chaotic. Accommodation lines stretched endlessly.

On the main field, a boy with a megaphone welcomed the Level 100 students, talking excitedly about campus life, the Student Representative Council, and the importance of joining clubs.

Kofi barely listened.

A crowd near the centre of the field caught his attention.

He moved closer—and stopped in awe.

Five stunning cars sat gleaming under the sun, sales tags still hanging from their mirrors. Nearby, students showed off their personal rides, surrounded by girls in crop tops holding wash sponges. Music thumped from speakers. The smell of kebabs filled the air.

A campus car wash parade.

It was sponsored by Mani Automotive, a major name pushing their latest models to the next generation of buyers.

This—this was why Kofi chose UPSA.

As he pushed toward the Cars and Racing Club stand, he bumped into someone.

He looked up—and froze.

She was beautiful in a quiet, effortless way. Confident. Unbothered.

Kofi forgot how to speak.

No apology. No excuse.

She simply smiled at him and disappeared into the crowd.

Panicked, Kofi climbed a nearby stairway, scanning faces, searching for her again.

Gone.

Like smoke.

Shaken but energized, he signed up for the club and headed to his assigned room—only to discover fate had paired him with three other hotheads, all loud, ambitious, and unpredictable in their own ways.

That evening, they went out for jams, searching for familiar faces and new energy. Laughter filled the streets. Music poured from cars.

Kofi drifted toward a lineup of expensive vehicles where a group of students were joking loudly.

One guy bragged about a car’s turbo engine.

“It’s actually supercharged,” Kofi said calmly. “That model doesn’t come turbo-stock.”

Silence.

The group turned to him.

Their leader smirked. “Hey boy,” he said, eyeing Kofi’s hoodie, “why are you wearing that in this heat? That’s weird. Come closer—let me see what kind of thing the poor school administration dragged in this year.”

The boy was known.
The son of the Akwamu Hene.
A prince.
An only child.
Surrounded by toys money could buy.

Kofi introduced himself quietly.

They laughed—at his scrawny frame, his soft voice, his calm.

“Stand up for yourself,” one of them said. “Or this school will finish you.”

For the first time in his life, Kofi didn’t react.

He wasn’t afraid.

He was patient.

This was the last time he would keep a low profile.

From here on, he would stand his ground—for himself, for his friends, and for the legacy he carried.

Kofi Tanka was just getting warmed up.