He worked harder than before. He asked better questions. He handled engines more carefully. He remembered every correction Victor had ever given him.
By midday, Victor came over and examined a repair Daniel had completed on a difficult engine.
“Not bad,” he said. “You’re improving.”
Pride rose quietly in Daniel’s chest.
Marcus said nothing, but his jaw tightened.
Months passed. Daniel’s hands grew rough. His movements became precise. His understanding deepened. He was no longer just cleaning tools—he was repairing real machines.
At last, he made a decision.
He would start his own workshop.
When he told Victor, the older mechanic studied him for a long time, then nodded slowly. “You’ve come far. But success won’t come easy.”
“I know,” Daniel said. “I’m ready.”
He found a small run-down building on the edge of town—dusty, cluttered, and forgotten. It was nothing like the polished garages he had once known in rich neighborhoods. But it was enough.
He cleaned the place himself, scrubbing floors, clearing scrap, fixing broken benches. Grace came with bread and akara, then stayed to help organize tools and sweep corners.
“You’re really doing this,” she said one afternoon, smiling in amazement.
“I have to try,” Daniel replied. “I can’t stay a student forever.”
“Then I’ll help,” she said. “You’ll need someone to keep you going when it gets hard.”
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