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One Year Later

The auditorium at MIT was packed wall to wall. Cameras lined the aisles. Screens broadcasted the stage across the globe. The banners overhead read HONORARY DOCTORATE CEREMONY: MALIK RICE, MIT SCHOOL OF ENGINEERING & URBAN TECHNOLOGY .

It was surreal…All of it.

The gold-trimmed robes. The roaring applause. The big-ass projector screen behind him, flashing his face like it was a movie premiere.

But Malik Rice wasn’t blinking. He stood tall in his fitted custom burgundy suit—no tie, gold Cuban link under his collar, a subtle blue handkerchief in the breast pocket nodding to Crescent Park.

His beard was clean. His braids straight to the back with the fresh line.

The light hit his face just right as he stepped up to the podium.

He cleared his throat.

Tapped the mic twice.

Then smirked, bottom grill gleaming under the lights. “Aight, let’s get into it.”

The crowd chuckled.

He stood still for a beat, like he was letting the moment breathe before he did. “First off, lemme say—if this mic cut off halfway through this speech, I brought my own. I got a lil backup Bluetooth on me. I ain’t come all the way to MIT to be silenced, cuh.”

Laughter rumbled across the room.

He grinned. “I appreciate this. I really do. This honor, this stage. I’m not gon’ lie and act like I dreamed of this as a kid. ‘Cause as a kid, I wasn’t dreamin’ ’bout no doctorate. I was dreamin’ about safety, ‘bout makin’ it to seventeen…then twenty-one…then twenty-five.”

He paused, smiled a little softer. “I didn’t grow up with tech clubs, wasn’t no computer lab that stayed open after school.

The only thing I knew about algorithms was how to survive one more day under systems built to break us.

But what y’all call brilliance, I been doin’ outta survival.

Y’all call it innovation. We call it figuring shit out. ”

Heads nodded across the crowd.

“I ain’t graduate from no Ivy. I graduated from Crescent Park.

And let me tell you—some of the smartest people you will ever meet are still stuck there.

Kids who can rewire a trap phone in ten minutes flat.

Boys who can flip $40 into $400 by the end of the day.

Girls who design whole clothing lines from they cousin’s iPad, and none of them got access. ”

He looked out into the crowd—dead into the camera lens.

“That’s the real epidemic, not lack of talent…lack of access. You know how many little Black geniuses out there been convinced they dumb ‘cause nobody handed them the right tools?”

He gulped, hand resting lightly on the podium. “We are not underqualified. We are underfunded…Period!”

The crowd broke into applause. Malik waited.

“I built Plugged In ‘cause I was tired of our brilliance gettin’ gatekept. I was tired of being the one kid in every room who knew how to code, but still had to prove he was smart before he was heard. And now? Now I’m a millionaire under thirty, MIT givin’ me a doctorate, and I did it all without changin’ my tongue for nobody. ”

He smiled again, lifted a brow.

“Y’all like this lil suit number?” He turned just slightly, showing off the cut. “Styled by Aku Rice, cuh. Don’t play with me. That’s my wife and your favorite stylist.”

The crowd laughed again. A few people clapped just for that.

“She the reason I walk in rooms like I belong in ‘em. She held me down when all I had was code and trauma. She prayed for me when I ain’t have the words. She gave me a family. She gave me my peace. She gave me my last name back. ”

He looked toward the side of the stage, eyes softening. “She somewhere out there with my babies, Mars and Venus. Yeah, I know, I’m rich now so I was able to give my babies weird names, but they still ghetto. We balanced.”

Laughter rang out again.

“But real talk? That’s legacy. That’s what I’m most proud of. I don’t care how many apps I build, or how much money I make— being somebody’s daddy is the best code I ever cracked. ”

The crowd quieted.

“I look at my son, and I see every man in my bloodline who never got a chance. I look at my daughter and I remember the first time Aku told me I was more than where I came from. I’m gon’ love them through every version of themselves.

I’m gon’ be in the crib, on the sidelines, outside the club, wherever I gotta be— present .

” He tapped his chest once. “Black dads matter…They’re needed… They’re powerful.”

He nodded toward the front row where Anthony and French sat side by side.

“Shoutout to my Pops, Anthony. And my other OG, French. I know y’all was beefin’ a lil bit at first, but now y’all damn near twins. Appreciate y’all for showin’ me what it means to ride for your family - loud and proud.”

More applause.

“I wanna shout out my day ones—Pharaoh, my brother in this life, you still smarter than me. Bu, who held me accountable when I wanted to wild out. Jay, for investing in a nigga when I still didn’t believe in myself.

” Malik exhaled. “And MIT - thank you for this. Thank you for seein’ past the usual boxes and recognizing what brilliance really looks like. ”

“I ain’t fall into this life on accident. I fell into gravity … got pulled toward love, toward legacy, toward my purpose. And every day I wake up, I do it for the version of me who didn’t think he’d make it out.”

He stepped back, both hands in front of him now, steady and sure. “To every Black kid in a forgotten ZIP code—I see you. You’re not invisible. You’re not behind. You just need a door. I built mine, and now I’m holdin’ it open.”

Standing ovation…Roaring applause…Cameras flashing.

He bowed his head once, then stepped down from the stage. He jogged down the stairs, through the crowd, past the faculty who tried to shake his hand—but he was on a mission. He spotted them before they saw him.

Aku was standing by the side door, Mars on one hip, Venus on the other.

She was still fine…still glowing…still everything.

Her body had changed, but her power hadn’t.

Her hair was pinned up, gold hoops dangling from her ears, and she wore a sleeveless white suit that screamed Black motherhood with edge and grace.

Mars reached out first. “Dada!”

Malik scooped him up even. “Y’all see this?” he whispered. “This the real degree.”

Aku leaned into his side and he kissed her temple.

“You proud of me?” he asked softly.

She smiled. “Always, Black man.”

They stood there—family in the middle of legacy. No cameras. No applause.

Just love.

Just gravity.

And they had finally fallen into it for good.

The End (keep reading)