Deep beneath Fisk Tower, in a quiet space isolated from the city's hustle and bustle, only the low hum of energy flow and the subtle frequency changes of the environmental simulation system could be heard. Sandman Flint Marko stood in the center of the Training Simulation Cabin, surrounded by swirling yellow sand, no longer just simple condensation and dispersion.
Under his mental control, countless grains of sand, like miniature artisans endowed with life, were precisely constructing a detailed, miniature model of the Brooklyn Bridge, complete with traffic, streetlights, and even the lifelike "water ripples" beneath the bridge. This was a deep assimilation of the Advanced Sand Control Techniques, a visible improvement in control gained from those 120 points.
Sweat trickled down his forehead, but his eyes were focused, and a nearly devout earnestness touched his lips. Each refinement in microscopic control made him feel one step closer to the self who could provide a more stable future for his daughter.
Meanwhile, several floors away, in the "Physical and Mental Health Assurance Center," Master Lin had just finished a deep meditation. Dr. Emily watched the flattening brainwave curves on the monitoring equipment and nodded slightly.
"The mental sea disturbance has largely subsided, Mr. Lin. This time, in response to ghost-level mental pollution, your recovery speed was fifteen percent faster than expected."
The Silent Heart Master slowly opened her eyes, her gaze beneath the silver mask as calm as water. She nodded slightly, not speaking, but one could feel that the confrontation with "chaos" had made her "stillness" even more refined. The professional recovery environment provided by the Association was like the best whetstone.
Above ground, the tightly enclosed plot in the core of Manhattan was quietly changing at an unnatural speed. The Basic Building Units produced by the system operated silently in the night, their faint blue light outlining the increasingly towering steel skeleton of the building, like a metallic behemoth accumulating strength in dormancy. The vast secular resources invested by Kingpin—funds, materials, legal frameworks, public relations—flowed like surging blood, continuously injecting into this advanced skeleton, making its flesh and blood grow fuller day by day.
In the top-floor office, Kingpin stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the brightly lit New York below, seemingly extending to the distant coastlines of Europe and Asia. Wesley stood quietly behind him, his tablet displaying several initially screened property listings, located on the Thames River in London and in Shinjuku, Tokyo, respectively.
"The preliminary selections for London and Tokyo still require your final decision," Wesley said in a low voice.
Kingpin did not turn around, merely giving a faint "hmm." The pieces for a global strategy had already fallen into place in his mind.
And on the other side of the city, in the cozy apartment in Queens, Peter Parker lay in bed, tossing and turning. The faint light from his phone screen illuminated his conflicted face. The Hero Association APP interface remained open, the "Register" button like a tempting Pandora's Box. Aunt Mei's gentle bedtime reminder—"Discuss any decisions with Aunt Mei"—still echoed in his ears, intertwining and colliding with the previews of equipment in the APP's Mall that could solve his real-life dilemmas.
S.H.I.E.L.D., Trident Headquarters.
Nick Fury's single eye stared at the latest analysis report on the energy anomalies beneath Fisk Tower and the mysterious construction site, transmitted by satellite, his face grim. Coulson stood beside him, his tone heavy:
"Officer, their expansion speed is exceeding expectations. The source of their technology remains a mystery, but their strength… can no longer be ignored. We have detected multiple unidentified low-level superhuman individuals attempting to contact the Association through various channels."
Fury remained silent, his fingers tapping a dull rhythm on the desk. He knew that the probing contacts were over; next time, it would no longer be a polite visit.
In Tony Stark's Villa laboratory in Malibu, an impassioned symphony echoed. On the holographic design in front of him, a suit of armor more streamlined and with stronger energy reactions than the Mark VII was taking shape. He selectively ignored Jarvis's rational analysis; a competitive spirit, provoked by challenge and doubt, drove him into a new round of research. Kingpin's stern face and those "vulgar" posters were like thorns in his heart.
As night deepened, New York remained bustling.
The Hero Association, a name born amidst controversy and doubt, was no longer just a concept. It had a loyal core, diverse abilities, an efficient platform, solid logistics, a rising headquarters, and also lurking enemies and wavering observers.
The first cornerstone had been quietly and firmly laid, both in unseen shadows and under the spotlight. It was not an end, but the beginning of a broader and more tumultuous era.
In the distance, faint thunder rumbled.
A storm was brewing.