After their nocturnal fashion extravaganza, the first pale fingers of dawn found the entire group collapsed in their respective bedrooms like victims of a particularly enjoyable natural disaster. Only Peter's natural teenage resilience and Coby's house-elf efficiency prevented the morning from devolving into a hunger-induced crisis.
By three o'clock in the afternoon, the survivors began emerging from their rooms with all the grace and vitality of reanimated corpses. They drifted into the living room like ghosts haunting their former selves.
Gemini, having managed her recovery with characteristic efficiency, surveyed the battlefield of sprawled bodies and wondered if she'd accidentally wandered into a morgue.
"Are you actually alive, or should I start planning funerals?" she inquired with arms crossed and eyebrow raised in aristocratic disapproval. "Because there's a World Cup match tonight, and I'd prefer conscious spectators."
Tony launched himself upright with the desperation of a drowning man reaching for a life preserver, slapping his cheeks with enough force to wake the dead. "Alive! Conscious! Fully operational!" he declared with manic enthusiasm. "What's our battle plan? Do we need war paint? Team colors? Tactical snacks?"
The living room transformed from morgue to war room in seconds. American sporting culture demanded proper preparation—team merchandise, face paint, banners, and enough enthusiasm to power a small city.
"Did you really think I'd leave us unprepared?" Gemini produced a tasseled silk pouch with the satisfaction of a general revealing secret weapons. "I assume nobody's supporting Japan after yesterday's... cultural demonstration?"
Collective laughter erupted as Tony commandeered the pouch and began excavating its contents like an archaeologist discovering treasure. "Support them? Stark Industries just terminated every contract, partnership, and handshake deal we had with their entire country. Cultural character reveals national character, and theirs is apparently garbage."
The preparation ritual commenced with religious fervor. Chinese flags were painted on cheeks with artistic precision, while the three women and Peter adorned themselves with crimson hair clips that periodically launched palm-sized fireworks skyward—miniature pyrotechnics that exploded into perfect replicas of China's national flag.
Hand-held flags were distributed with military precision, each person claiming their personal banner and positioning it for optimal waving access. Losing one's flag in the crowd would be tantamount to treason.
Tony's final excavation revealed a collection of peculiar binoculars that resembled steampunk telescopes designed by caffeinated inventors. He studied them with engineering confusion.
"What exactly am I looking at here?"
"Omnioculars 3.0," Gemini explained with the patience of someone educating technological primitives. "Standard Quidditch viewing equipment. The players move faster than your eyes can track—without these, you'd be watching blurs and wondering why everyone's cheering. The original version only offered slow-motion replay, but that made following live action impossible. These beauties provide real-time enhancement plus all the classic features—instant replay, tactical analysis, player statistics, the works."
She gestured dismissively at the magical devices. "Not expensive by magical standards, though they're essentially useless outside Quidditch matches. Distribute them—one per person."
Tony claimed a pair for immediate experimentation, thrusting the remainder at Steve with characteristic delegation. "Handle distribution, America's Ass. I need to reverse-engineer this technology."
Steve accepted the bag of binoculars while processing the unexpected nickname. "America's... what now?"
"Your unconscious collapse last night provided excellent views of your posterior assets," Tony replied without looking up from his technological analysis. "Don't be modest—you've got the kind of physique that sells movie tickets."
He departed for field testing, leaving Steve standing frozen with embarrassment cycling through various shades of mortification.
By six o'clock, their transformation into proper sports fans was complete. Practical considerations dictated dining in their tent rather than navigating crowded markets—Coby's culinary expertise provided sustenance without logistical nightmares.
Properly fed and equipped for battle, they prepared for departure just as extraordinary sounds erupted outside. The floating countdown that had dominated the sky for days reached zero and exploded into cascading fireworks that defied gravity—numbers transforming into perpetual pyrotechnics.
Multilingual announcements thundered from the heavens: "The match begins shortly! Please present tickets at Quidditch Stadium entrances for orderly admission!"
The street had transformed into a river of red—their entire district apparently supported China with decorations so extensive they painted half the sky in crimson glory.
Gemini assumed point position, grasping Peter's hand while raising her flag like a battle standard. The others fell into formation behind her—losing anyone in a crowd of tens of thousands would transform entertainment into search-and-rescue operations.
The approach to the stadium resembled controlled chaos. Human rivers converged from every direction, carrying supporters in waves of color and sound that challenged the structural integrity of eardrums.
"BOX 2! PROCEED TO EXCLUSIVE PASSAGE!" The voice emerged from the stadium with enough volume to wake dragons. Ticket checkers wielded magical megaphones like weapons against the auditory apocalypse.
Gemini presented her ticket and raised her flag higher—visual navigation in this human tsunami required constant vigilance. Separation meant potential disaster.
The crowd carried them forward with inexorable momentum until they reached a blessed junction where foot traffic divided. Most spectators flowed toward general admission, while premium ticket holders accessed exclusive passages.
The VIP corridor featured a spacious elevator that whisked them upward with magical smoothness. Doors opened to reveal a young woman in traditional hanfu—professional hospitality personified.
"Welcome to Box 2," she greeted them in flawless English. "Please present your tickets for verification."
Gemini produced her thoroughly crumpled ticket—evidence of enthusiastic gripping during their crowd navigation. The hostess accepted it graciously, examined the details, and returned it with ceremonial precision.
"Please follow me to your accommodation."
Their journey through soundproofed corridors demonstrated impressive magical engineering—complete acoustic isolation despite the stadium's proximity. They walked considerable distances before stopping at ornate double doors.
"Your private box," the hostess explained with professional thoroughness. "Insert your ticket here for access. Inside you'll find refreshments, beverages, and full amenities. The whiteboard by the entrance accepts written requests for additional services. Your accommodation includes three rest chambers and two private facilities. Any immediate requirements?"
Gemini followed instructions, inserting her ticket into the magical lock. Doors opened with mechanical precision, releasing a sound wave that required immediate ear protection.
"May we enter?"
"Certainly. Enjoy the match."
Box 2 exceeded every expectation. The stadium-facing wall was completely transparent—magical glass that provided unobstructed views while maintaining structural integrity. Luxurious seating arranged along the viewing edge included individual coffee tables laden with premium refreshments.
Side doors revealed additional amenities—three rest chambers with five beds each, plus private bathroom facilities. This wasn't spectator seating; this was a luxury suite that happened to overlook sporting events.
Settling into their premium positions, they finally beheld the Quidditch Stadium in its full glory. The oval field stretched five football fields in length, carpeted with emerald grass that seemed to glow under magical illumination. Goal posts stood at each end—three hoops mounted on towering poles that defied conventional physics.
The field's center currently displayed commercial advertisements—apparently even magical sports required corporate sponsorship.
Tony claimed the match program from his coffee table and began studying the evening's schedule. "What exactly is a 'mascot performance'? Please tell me it's not people in giant animal costumes."
Gemini settled into her seat with the satisfaction of someone who'd successfully navigated complex logistics. "Oh, it's much better than that. Wait until you see what magical creatures can do when they're showing off for crowds."
The stadium continued filling with spectators, creating a visual spectacle that rivaled the upcoming match. Tens of thousands of supporters wearing team colors transformed the venue into a living kaleidoscope of national pride and sporting enthusiasm.
Tonight would be more than a game—it would be a cultural experience that none of them would ever forget.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
🔥 Want to read the next 90+ chapters RIGHT NOW?
💎 Patreon members get instant access!
⚡ Limited-time offer currently running...
👉 [Join on Patreon - patreon.com/DarkGolds]