How can I find a comic about overcoming fear at work?

[JacksonUr 0]

Hi guys. I’m looking for stories where a shy or hesitant character faces high-pressure situations at work and tries to prove themselves. I want a comic that shows courage, professional growth, and maybe some unexpected twists with the boss. Any recommendations for a story that handles this well?

[QuintusLon 0]

Hello! Oh, I know exactly what you mean! I love stories where someone timid steps up and surprises everyone with their courage. If you want a comic that mixes work challenges, personal growth, and some fun tension with authority figures, I’d definitely suggest checking out Big Potential comic. It perfectly captures that mix of nerves, ambition, and charm, and honestly, it gave me a few ideas on handling tricky situations at work myself.

[James227 0]

Lagos has a sound. It's the sound of generators, of haggling, of life happening at a volume that drowns out doubt. My name is Chike, and for three years, my sound was the buzz of a welder, the clang of metal, and the hopeful chatter of my two apprentices. I had a small auto repair and fabrication workshop in Surulere. We fixed cars, sure, but our pride was the custom pieces—ornate gates, security doors, anything a client could dream up in iron and steel. Then, the landlord sold the building. The new owner tripled the rent. Overnight, my workshop was a locked metal shutter, my tools in boxes at my sister's house, and my apprentices scattered to other, more established shops. I was a captain with no ship.

The silence was agony. My hands felt empty. The little savings I had were for feeding my family, not for the astronomical deposit on a new workshop space. I felt like a piece of scrap metal myself—bent out of shape and rusting.

My brother-in-law, Tunde, is a pragmatist. He saw me moping. "Chike, you can't just wait for a miracle. You need to be active. Even if it's in a different arena." He worked in IT and was always on his phone. One evening, he showed me something. "See this? Some of the guys at my office use this. Sky247. The Nigerian version—sky247.ng. They play the football. The odds are good. It's not just throwing money away; it's like analyzing the market. You're a smart man. You understand pressure, mechanics. A football team is a machine, yes? With weak parts and strong parts."

I laughed bitterly. "So I should bet on football to buy a welder?"
"No," he said calmly. "You should use your brain for something that isn't sadness. A little engagement. A little hope. Put in five thousand naira. The cost of a nice dinner we won't have. See what your mind can do with it."

It felt frivolous. But the despair was so heavy that any distraction felt like a lifeline. That night, on Tunde's old tablet, I navigated to sky247.ng. The site was familiar but with a Nigerian flair—prominent ads for local leagues. I created an account: 'Iron_Will'. I deposited five thousand naira.

I avoided the slots. They were nonsense. I went straight to the sportsbook. The English Premier League was on. I knew football. I followed it. But I decided to apply my workshop logic. Don't look at the shiny name (the fancy car). Look at the engine, the suspension (the midfield, the defense). I found a match. A top team with a flashy attack was playing a solid, middle-table team with a legendary defensive midfielder who was a bit past his prime. The odds for the top team to win were very low. The odds for a draw were longer. I thought about it. The flashy team was tired from a European match. The older defensive midfielder would be playing for pride, to prove he still had it. This wasn't a bet on victory; it was a bet on a stubborn, aging part holding the line.

I put two thousand naira on the Draw.

I watched the match at a roadside buka, the sound of the generator mixing with the commentator's voice. It was a tense, grinding affair. Just as I predicted, the old midfielder was a wall. The flashy team threw everything at him. He blocked, he tackled, he organized. The match ended 0-0. A draw.

My two thousand naira became nearly seven thousand.

A small, fierce pride burned in my chest. My analysis—my mechanical analysis—had been correct. I wasn't lucky; I was right.

I didn't withdraw. I left the money there. Over the next two weeks, I became a student of defensive resilience. I bet small amounts, only on matches where I saw a similar dynamic: a gilded attack versus a stubborn, underrated core. I won some, lost some. My balance grew to about twenty thousand naira. It wasn't capital. It was a signal. My brain still worked.

Then, I saw a different kind of market. Not football. "Special Politics" market. "Will the new Lagos metro line begin public trials before the end of the quarter?" The odds for "No" were surprisingly good. Everyone was hopeful, but I knew Lagos. I knew infrastructure. I'd worked on enough government contracts to understand delays. The parts never arrived on time, the inspections took forever. It was a machine with bureaucratic friction.

I put my entire twenty thousand naira on "No."

It wasn't a hopeful bet. It was a cynical one, born of experience. For a month, I checked the news. Promises, photos of gleaming trains, then silence. The quarter ended. No public trials. My bet won.

Twenty thousand naira became eighty thousand.

This was no longer a game. This was a tool. I withdrew sixty thousand immediately. The verification was quick—my national ID, a selfie with Tunde's tablet. The money hit my mobile wallet.

I didn't have enough for a workshop. But I had enough for the first step. I went to the area where metal suppliers worked. I didn't buy new steel. I bought a large, high-quality, second-hand industrial welding machine from a man who was upgrading. It cost fifty thousand. It was a beast. Powerful, reliable. The kind of machine that is the heart of a workshop.

I hauled it to the small, covered space outside my sister's house where I stored my tools. It wasn't a workshop. It was a courtyard. But with that machine, I could take on small jobs. Custom gates, repairs. I could start.

I printed new flyers: "Iron Will Fabrication. Mobile Service. Industrial-Grade Welding." I gave them to my old contacts. A week later, I got a call. A restaurant wanted a custom decorative screen. A job I could do in the courtyard.

I'm still not in a proper shop. But the machine hums. The spark flies. My hands are busy. And sometimes, in the evening, I log into sky247.ng. I might look at the football. I might place a small bet if I see a machine I think I understand. Not for the workshop fund anymore. For the mental exercise. To remind myself that I can look at any system—a football team, a government project, a broken car—and see the pressure points, the weak links, the stubborn, beautiful parts that hold the line. The blue star of that site didn't give me a shop. It gave me back my confidence. And sometimes, confidence is the only seed money you really need.