Howard Stark's resurrection had not gone unnoticed.
It hadn't been a quiet event but the people who understood what it actually meant were a different group from the people who'd watched it happen. There were fewer of them, and they'd had time to process it, which meant the reactions Howard was getting from his old network were mostly past the shock stage and into something more complex.
Hank Pym had taken longer than most.
He was sitting at his kitchen table with the tournament promotional poster spread out in front of him, the Ant-Man suit folded beside it, a cup of coffee he'd made forty minutes ago and hadn't touched. Howard had visited last week. They'd talked for three hours — about the gap in time, about the world that had grown up around the foundations they'd laid, about the specific strange texture of existing in a year that should be impossible for you. Hank had asked the questions he needed to ask and gotten answers that were either satisfying or at least clear.
And then he'd come home and thought about Janet.
The math was right there in the poster. Champion's prize: a wish granted. One wish, one champion, and the field between him and that prize included every enhanced individual currently registering on the planet.
He looked at the Pym Particles beside the suit.
Then he looked at the poster again.
Then he thought about Hope, who was in the next room and had opinions about the tournament that she'd been forming with the systematic thoroughness she applied to every problem, and about Darren Cross, who was somewhere in that same chain of considerations in a way that was going to require a direct conversation Hank had been putting off.
"Hope," he said, loud enough to carry.
A pause. "Yeah."
"Come in here. We need to talk."
Lorelei had been tracking the tournament announcement with the professional attention of someone whose operational mandate had just been substantially altered by an event they hadn't caused.
Her original assignment from Odin was Dragon Ball acquisition. The Dragon Ball cycles were over. The wish was now a prize in an open competition. Which meant the assignment was still technically active — it had simply changed shape.
She placed the call through channels she'd established in the months since arriving on Earth, reached Heimdall on the third attempt, and explained the situation in precise terms.
What came down from the Bifrost was not Heimdall.
Sif landed in the cleared space outside Lorelei's current location with the contained purpose of someone who had been given an assignment and arrived to execute it. She was in civilian clothes but carrying herself in the way that made civilian clothes somewhat beside the point.
Lorelei looked at her.
"I had information for the All-Father," she said. "About the Dragon Balls and the tournament."
"The All-Father is aware of the World Martial Arts Tournament," Sif said. "He has reviewed the situation and determined that Asgard will participate. I am representing Asgard in the inaugural event."
Lorelei was quiet for a moment, running the calculation on how to say what she was thinking in a way that was tactically useful rather than simply accurate.
"You're stronger than I am in direct combat," she said. "I'll give you that. No question." She tilted her head. "But the tournament is an open field. You've seen who's registering. Most of them are male, or will be operating in environments where your physical output is your only asset." She paused. "My chances of reaching the top eight are higher than yours. Objectively."
Sif met her gaze steadily and said nothing.
"I'm not saying this to be cruel. I'm saying it because Asgard's representation matters, and the result reflects on—"
"The All-Father's command," Sif said.
Lorelei stopped.
She held the silence for a moment, processing the specific weight of that phrase, and then made a decision about how much energy she was going to spend on the argument.
"I hope," she said, "that you don't embarrass us."
Sif's expression didn't change. She looked like she was already thinking about something else.
The month passed with the focused momentum of three organizations that had been told to treat a single objective as their primary operational task for a defined period. Universal Capsule, Red Ribbon, and Vanko Industries had complementary reach — Capsule's product infrastructure, Red Ribbon's entertainment and media relationships, Vanko's technical distribution network. Working together, they had placed information about the World Martial Arts Tournament in every significant media surface on the planet, in relevant languages, with culturally appropriate framing.
The result was that everyone who needed to know, knew.
And a significant number of people who hadn't expected to be interested found themselves interested anyway.
Smith came out of the gravity chamber at six in the morning and found Fox waiting outside with a tablet and the expression of someone who had been awake for some time and had arrived at a well-organized position.
"The first phase is done," Fox said, falling into step as Smith toweled off. "The promotional coverage hit everything we targeted. Registration can go live whenever you say."
"Open it now," Smith said. "The people who are going to register will register the moment the channel exists. There's no reason to make them wait."
"Ten days for registration?"
"Ten days is sufficient. We spent a month making sure everyone knew — if they haven't decided by now, they're not going to decide faster with more time."
Fox made a note. "The venue question." He opened the tablet to the options summary. "The island worked for the Dragon Ball format — small audience, controlled access, the whole operation funded by participation stakes. This is different. The ticket revenue model requires real capacity, which the island can't support without us chartering enough aircraft to make the logistics prohibitive." He turned the tablet toward Smith. "The largest functional venue in New York is Citi Field. Eighty-five thousand seats, established broadcast infrastructure, accessible by public transit."
Smith looked at the capacity number. The Dragon Ball tournaments had been smaller, more contained — the audience was the people directly involved in the ecosystem. The World Martial Arts Tournament was meant to be something different. Something people who'd never held a scouter could watch and understand.
"Citi Field," he said. "Book it."
Fox nodded. "Five days between registration close and competition start. Is that enough transit time for international participants?"
"It should be. Anyone coming from outside the country needs time to arrange travel. Five days gives them a window without dragging out the timeline." Smith looked at the hallway ahead of them. "What's the ticket pricing?"
Fox pulled up the structure. "We used the World Cup as a reference point. Qualifying rounds: five hundred for general admission, fifteen hundred to three thousand for premium and VIP sections. Quarterfinals and above: double. The broadcast rights cover all 233 sovereign states and territories — pricing varies by market, some of the smaller markets are below cost as a goodwill arrangement."
Smith paused. "All 233?"
"The three companies combined have relationships in every major broadcast market. The interest level from the distribution side was higher than projected — every territory wanted access." Fox had the quiet satisfaction of someone who had executed a difficult logistical task well. "We get global live coverage for the inaugural event."
Smith processed this for a moment. He'd known the promotion was extensive, but full global coverage in the first cycle was a result he hadn't specifically expected. He looked at Fox.
"As expected from you," he said.
Fox kept his expression professional but didn't entirely suppress the acknowledgment. "The revenue projections are conservative to account for the unusual event profile. If attendance patterns hold, the tournament will be comfortably self-funding within the first day of qualifier tickets."
"And the flying technique?"
Fox shifted gears smoothly. "Everyone in the Fraternity with a developed ki sense has mastered basic flight. Speed varies by power level, obviously — there's a significant gap between the lower end of the capable group and someone like Alexei, for example. But the baseline is there."
Smith nodded. "I want it to become a standard capability across all membership. Not just the upper tier. Anyone who develops ki sense should be on the flying curriculum as soon as they're ready."
Fox smiled slightly. "That means raising the floor for membership. Everyone below an 8 power level can't sense ki at all — you'd be mandating a training pathway that's only accessible to the enhanced."
"Then the enhanced members fly," Smith said. "It's a tool. Tools should be universally available to the people who can use them." He paused. "Start building the structured curriculum. Something Korin can run with a standardized syllabus rather than individual instruction."
"I'll put it together."
Smith stopped outside the dining area. Through the door he could smell coffee and hear the particular background noise of the headquarters in the early morning — the specific acoustic texture of a place that was always occupied.
"Registration goes live this morning," he said.
"Ready when you give the word."
Smith looked at the door. "Give the word," he said.