The first product launch event of Universal Capsule Group came to a successful close. In the end, 230 combat power detectors were sold, amounting to a total of $690 million.
Smith Dole was fairly satisfied with the numbers. After all, this was a brand-new product—and a very expensive one at that.
But he had no doubt that once buyers got their hands on it, they'd come back for more.
Why? Because the first thing those agencies were going to do was crack open the device and try to reverse-engineer it. And Smith knew—they'd end up triggering its self-destruct mechanism, and be left with nothing.
Plus, once certain agencies realized how incredibly useful this device was—especially those with an interest in superpowered individuals—there'd be a surge in follow-up orders. Smith didn't even have to think hard to guess their intentions.
Not only that, once news of the launch got out, he expected a wave of wealthy individuals to try the device out for fun. The detector might even become the next elite status symbol.
After the event concluded, Smith went backstage. Bulma was waiting for him, clearly excited for the next part of their day.
"The launch is over. Once everyone's cleared out, we'll head out as planned."
Bulma nodded eagerly. Fox was still outside wrapping up the last few deals, when Tony Stark showed up.
"Smith, seriously—great invention."
Tony gave Smith a quick hug, then turned to Bulma:
"Bulma, you really outdid yourself. That combat power detector? Brilliant concept."
"Smith, you really hit the jackpot with her."
Having tested the device himself, Tony was thoroughly impressed. And considering Bulma was only 16, he knew she was a rare genius. Not a tool or a sidekick—a genuine prodigy.
Bulma smiled.
"Thanks for the compliment, Tony."
Smith added with a grin:
"She really is a treasure."
As the three chatted, Nick Fury entered. Seeing Tony had already gone backstage, he figured it was a good chance to join the conversation.
"Tony Stark, Smith Dole—both here."
"And this must be our beautiful young scientist, Bulma."
Smith didn't even bother hiding his disdain—he gave Fury a cold stare and didn't say a word.
When did this bald clown get the nerve to show his face around me again?
Tony glanced up and said with a smirk:
"Director Fury. What's the matter, here to show us the wonders of your secret world again?"
Unamused, Fury said stiffly:
"Smith Dole, regarding your new product... there are some things we need to discuss."
Smith smiled faintly.
"Oh? And what's your take on it, Director Fury?"
"If it's about placing an order, talk to Fox."
Fury could feel the contempt dripping from Smith's words. The man clearly treated Coulson with far more respect than him.
"Can we speak privately?" he asked.
Smith glanced at Tony and Bulma.
"They're family."
Then he gave Fury a knowing smirk.
"You sure you want a one-on-one chat with me?"
Fury felt his blood pressure spike. The smugness in Smith's eyes—it made his hands twitch.
He hadn't even planned on coming if Tony weren't here. And now he was regretting it. He realized that maybe Coulson should've handled this meeting after all.
Fury took a deep breath and said:
"Your combat power detector—this product has serious implications for global security. I don't believe it should be sold to the public."
"Of course, that doesn't mean banning it entirely. But I propose we classify it as a restricted military technology, overseen jointly by S.H.I.E.L.D. and relevant agencies."
Tony raised an eyebrow.
A military-grade classification wasn't unreasonable—after all, the detector wasn't ordinary tech. He'd actually come to ask Smith about customizing a version for his own suit.
But "restricted" carried far more weight. It meant many organizations, even entire countries, would be barred from purchasing it.
Clearly, the detector had struck a nerve at S.H.I.E.L.D.
Fury was especially anxious because he didn't want the Skrulls—his "allies"—to be exposed. As long as no one could detect them, he could control the narrative. But if the truth got out, governments and militaries around the world would start asking hard questions—and Fury couldn't predict where that would lead.
Smith's smile vanished.
He walked up to Fury, poked him in the chest, and said coldly:
"I called you 'Director' out of courtesy. Don't start thinking you're actually my superior."
Poke.
"Without that courtesy, to me—you're just a bald egg ready to crack."
Poke.
Each poke forced Fury to take a step back. And with each jab, his face turned red with anger and humiliation.
Tony, watching from the side, suddenly burst into laughter.
"Pfft—ha! Bald egg! Smith, that is gold!"
He caught Fury's murderous glare but shrugged and said:
"Sorry, I've been professionally trained. But some things you just can't hold in."
"Haha... haha... Just let me laugh a bit, alright? Trying to hold it in is harder than controlling a missile."
Fury's face was dark as night.
"Smith Dole, watch your tone. I'm the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D."
Smith's eyes turned icy cold. A wave of killing intent and pressure flooded the room, making it hard to breathe.
For the first time in a long time, Fury felt death creeping in.
He tightened his grip on the emergency pager hidden in his coat pocket—the one that could summon Captain Marvel.
Smith stared at him in silence for several seconds, then glanced at Fury's hand in the pocket.
So... he's holding something, huh?
He didn't say a word—but his message was clear.