Smith set aside thoughts of Celestials and cosmic timelines, refocusing on immediate concerns. Tiamut's emergence was over a decade away—plenty of time to position pieces and prepare contingencies.
A decision could wait.
Golden light erupted in the center of his office.
Smith's head snapped up. A circular portal materialized three feet from his desk—geometric patterns spinning in concentric rings, reality itself bending to create a doorway through space.
His eyes narrowed. Someone was opening a portal directly into his private office without permission, announcement, or basic courtesy.
The audacity was breathtaking.
Karl Mordo stepped through, his dark robes flowing, expression carrying the serene confidence of someone who believed they held moral authority.
Smith moved.
One moment he was seated behind his desk. The next, his hand had closed around the front of Mordo's robes, fingers gripping the fabric with enough force to make the master sorcerer's eyes widen in shock.
Smith pivoted, using Mordo's own forward momentum against him, and hurled the mage back through the still-open portal.
"Didn't your teachers tell you to use the front door when visiting someone?" Smith's voice carried ice-cold fury.
Mordo tumbled through the portal backward, arms windmilling. He hit the floor on the other side with a heavy thud, the impact jarring enough to disrupt his concentration. The portal flickered and collapsed, geometric patterns dissolving into nothing.
Kamar-Taj, Nepal. Mordo's private quarters.
Mordo slid several feet across polished stone before coming to a stop against his meditation cushions. Pain lanced through his shoulder where he'd landed wrong. His dignity, however, suffered worse damage.
He pushed himself upright, brushing dust from his robes, face burning with embarrassment. Smith Doyle had thrown him like a common intruder.
"That was... extremely rude of me," Mordo muttered, replaying the last thirty seconds. He'd opened a portal directly into someone's private office, bypassing all normal protocols and security, treating another person's personal space like it was public property.
The Ancient One would have been disappointed. Worse, she would have been unsurprised—she'd warned him repeatedly about his tendency toward arrogance disguised as righteousness.
At least he'd opened the portal in his quarters rather than Kamar-Taj's training courtyard. If his fellow disciples had witnessed that humiliation, he'd never live it down.
Mordo's jaw tightened. Yes, his approach had been discourteous. But Smith Doyle's response was disproportionate and unacceptable.
Still, he needed Smith's cooperation. Or at the very least, needed to present his case about dimensional defense and Dragon Ball wishes.
Swallowing his pride, Mordo stood, brushed himself off completely, and opened a new portal.
This time, it appeared outside the Fraternity's main gate.
The guards tensed immediately when golden light bloomed fifteen feet from their checkpoint. Hands moved to weapons—one reaching for a radio, another's fingers twitching toward a concealed firearm.
Mordo stepped through with deliberate calm, hands visible and empty, posture non-threatening. He understood their reaction—unauthorized portal manifestation outside a secure facility would trigger any competent security response.
"Good evening," he said clearly, addressing the nearest guard. "My name is Karl Mordo, master sorcerer of Kamar-Taj. I'm here to request an audience with Mr. Smith Doyle. My previous attempt at contact was... unsuccessful. I apologize for the unusual arrival method."
The guards exchanged glances. One spoke into his radio, voice too low for Mordo to catch the words. After thirty seconds of consultation, the guard nodded.
"One moment, sir. We're verifying your request."
Proper protocol. Respectful communication. Exactly what Mordo should have done in the first place.
The guard returned. "Mr. Mordo, Mr. Doyle has agreed to receive you. Please follow me."
Smith sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, expression neutral. His earlier fury had cooled into something harder—calculated displeasure.
Mordo, his transmigrator knowledge supplied. The zealot who'll eventually betray the Ancient One's successors because they don't follow the "rules" rigidly enough. The same man who'll hunt down sorcerers who draw power from dark dimensions, never mind that the Ancient One herself does exactly that to extend her life.
A man so committed to absolutism that nuance and context became enemies.
The kind of person who'd walk into someone's office uninvited and demand they use a reality-altering wish for his preferred cause, believing moral superiority justified any rudeness.
This was going to be tedious.
The office door opened. Mordo entered, guided by a receptionist who withdrew immediately, leaving them alone.
Mordo stopped three paces from the desk and executed a formal bow—not the casual nod of equals, but a genuine gesture of apology. "Mr. Smith, I sincerely apologize for my earlier intrusion. My behavior was disrespectful and violated your privacy. I hope you can forgive the offense."
Smith didn't respond. Just watched, waiting.
Mordo straightened, interpreting the silence as dismissal of the apology. His expression shifted subtly—the humility evaporating, replaced by professional seriousness.
He thinks bowing once is sufficient, Smith noted. Already moving past it like a checked box on a list.
"I'll be direct about my purpose," Mordo continued. "I'm here to discuss the Dragon Balls, specifically their application toward defending Earth from dimensional threats."
He began pacing—not nervously, but with the energy of someone delivering a prepared speech. "Kamar-Taj, under the Ancient One's leadership, protects Earth from invasion by entities from other dimensions. Demons, dark gods, cosmic parasites—beings that would consume this reality if given the opportunity."
His voice carried conviction, genuine belief in his mission's righteousness. "The Dragon Ball wish represents an unprecedented opportunity. If properly applied, Shenron could strengthen Earth's dimensional barriers permanently, reinforce the temple wards, or even seal our reality completely against extradimensional intrusion."
Mordo turned to face Smith directly. "I believe this is why the Ancient One allowed me to participate in the previous Dragon Ball tournament—to learn about the wish's capabilities and advocate for its use in Earth's defense."
Smith's expression didn't change. "Are you telling me how to run my organization?"
"No, I'm asking you to consider—"
"You're demanding," Smith interrupted, voice flat. "You walked into my office—twice—and the second time, you're lecturing me about how I should use the Dragon Balls that I maintain, that I grant others the opportunity to compete for."
Mordo's jaw tightened. "As a prominent superhero and protector of Earth, surely you see the value—"
"I see arrogance." Smith leaned forward, eyes hard. "You lost the tournament. You didn't win the championship, didn't earn the wish, and now you're here demanding I override the results and grant you what you want anyway because you've decided your cause is more important than everyone else's."
"The defense of Earth is more important—"
"Than resurrecting a loved one?" Smith's voice carried dangerous quiet. "Than curing a terminal illness? Than ending discrimination? Those were the wishes at stake last tournament."
Mordo hesitated. "That's not what I—"
"You didn't think about them at all," Smith said coldly. "You thought about your mission, your priorities, your vision of what matters. Everyone else's suffering is just background noise."
"I'm trying to prevent catastrophic—"
"By demanding others sacrifice their wishes for your agenda." Smith stood, the movement sharp enough to make Mordo take an unconscious step back. "You want to protect Earth from dimensional threats? Then win the tournament. Earn the wish. Compete like everyone else instead of assuming you deserve special treatment because you wear robes and call yourself a master."
Mordo's face flushed. "The Ancient One doesn't discriminate when teaching students. Kamar-Taj accepts apprentices from every nation, every background, every—"
"And yet here you are," Smith cut in, "discriminating against everyone who doesn't share your priorities. Deciding their wishes are selfish while yours is noble. That's its own form of bigotry—ideological supremacy dressed up as righteousness."
The words hit like physical blows. Mordo's hands clenched into fists. "I came here in good faith—"
"You came here demanding I bend to your will using moral pressure." Smith's voice could have frozen nitrogen. "The Dragon Balls exist to give people hope. To let them fight for what matters most to them, not what some sorcerer decides should matter."
"Using the wish for dimensional defense benefits everyone—"
"If you can't win the championship," Smith interrupted with finality, "don't presume to tell me what the wish should be used for. I'm giving you—giving everyone—the right to compete. The opportunity to fight for their dreams. That's already more generosity than you seem to comprehend."
He leaned forward, eyes boring into Mordo's. "I advise you not to be ungrateful. The fact that you're allowed to compete at all—after portal-invading my office and demanding I hand you what you want—is a courtesy I'm extending because the Ancient One deserves respect."
Mordo's face had gone from flushed to pale, anger and humiliation warring visibly. "You're making a mistake. Dimensional threats—"
"Are Kamar-Taj's responsibility," Smith finished. "You want the Dragon Ball wish for your mission? Win it. Otherwise, stop wasting my time with sanctimonious lectures about what I should prioritize."
The office fell silent. Mordo stood rigid, jaw working, clearly struggling between walking out and continuing the argument.
Smith sat back down, dismissing him without words. "My receptionist will show you out."
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