SUP Chapter 37: Supergirl Kara! Death Returns!

Avoid Gotham at all costs.

It’s bad luck.

Ian had lived by this DC Universe survival rule since arriving.

“Even dogs won’t drink it, but you can, cousin,” Ian said, pulling the straw from the cola he’d sipped, flipping it, and handing it back to Kara. Her expression, brows furrowed like hooks, was indescribable.

She just stared at him.

Crunch, crunch~

Someone else’s fried chicken always tasted better. Ian peeked into the bag—still a few pieces left. His bangs parted, revealing a rosy forehead.

Yes, pale yet flushed, standing out.

“There’s… a bullet in your forehead,” Kara said, still processing his “cousin” remark, noticing the anomaly.

She should’ve seen it earlier.

But her attention had been on Ian’s looks. Now, focusing, she saw a large-caliber pistol bullet lodged in his forehead!

“Bullet? No way!”

“No chance, I’m too fast for security to hit,” Ian said, devouring the chicken, his starving body finally satisfied.

Clumsy cousin, trying to ruin his meal.

So mean.

“Got a headache?”

Kara’s eye twitched, her expression beyond strange.

“Nope,” Ian said, shaking his head. Before Kara could react, he didn’t just take one bite—he chomped continuously, even crunching the bones, swallowing them whole.

“…”

Kara didn’t notice her food vanishing.

She kept staring at his forehead.

Finally, unable to ignore it, Supergirl silently reached out with lightning speed.

Her speed was unreal. Before the ravenous Ian could react, she plucked the bullet from his forehead with two fingers.

“You should feel pain… that’s normal,” Kara said, suspecting a prank but finding no cameras after glancing around. Hesitating, she handed the bullet to Ian.

“What!?”

Ian froze mid-bite.

Kara thought he’d freak out or faint.

“Nah, it’s fake, just your imagination. You must’ve eaten toxic mushrooms this morning, cousin,” Ian said, pocketing the bullet, pretending it never happened.

“?????”

Kara crouched, picking up the bullet that fell from his torn pocket.

Seeing this.

“Fine, you win. You saw through my noob status,” Ian admitted, recalling he’d glanced back at the shooting guards from a distance.

Didn’t expect a sharpshooter in a $3,500-a-month crew.

So competitive!

America was too intense!

“This isn’t a prank?”

Kara’s expression remained skeptical.

She suspected Ian had a camera her super-vision couldn’t detect. That made more sense than someone being shot in the head and acting so calm.

“No prank, just biology. Iron Head Technique’s gotta have some science. My forehead’s tougher than my skull,” Ian said, stuffing the last piece of chicken in his mouth.

His absurd focus nearly broke Kara.

What!

Was this a normal reaction?

“If you’re after attention, I can recommend my therapist. No offense… just, society’s stressful,” Kara said, barely holding it together, but keeping her manners.

Before she finished, Ian handed her his doctor’s note.

“I’ve stopped wearing a fake mask lately. I feel I’m almost cured,” Ian said earnestly, getting no response from Kara.

“…”

“…”

A silent standoff.

In the eerie quiet, only the sound of Ian devouring Kara’s food echoed—chicken gone, now fries, one bite, two, three, four, like a gluttonous beast.

The $100+ deluxe fast food was annihilated.

“Ian Kent?”

Reading the name on the note, Kara’s usually carefree eyes widened. She finally understood why he called her cousin.

Surviving a bullet to the head suddenly made sense—sort of. When she left Krypton, her escape pod was caught in the Phantom Zone’s time-space stasis for 24 years. Arriving on Earth at 13, her cousin was already a grown superhero.

An adult.

So, the older cousin became the younger.

Clark, now a grown man, rescued her from the pod and entrusted her to the loving Danvers couple. She’d lived in National City ever since.

As for Clark’s family… well, Kara only recalled attending his wedding and hearing he had three lively kids.

Not that she was distant from Clark—she felt they talked often, just not with his family.

There was a reason. Just then, Kara, expression normal, suddenly clutched her head, bending over with a pained grunt.

“Cousin, you okay?”

Ian quickly supported his slightly taller elder, her arm soft, lacking muscle. Kryptonian biology was a cosmic miracle.

“Don’t call me cousin… I’m not much older than you,” Kara said, straightening up, seemingly forgetting her pain.

“Okay, cousin,” Ian nodded, eyes puzzled.

Something felt off but he couldn’t pinpoint what.

“…”

Facing Ian’s stubbornness, a frustrated Kara chalked it up to Clark’s good parenting, assuming Ian was just being cheeky.

She was about to sigh.

Suddenly, her movements froze. Her golden hair stopped swaying. The world’s colors faded—beige walls, gray corridors, brown floors, all washed out like diluted paint, leaving only stark outlines.

Ian’s nose caught a familiar fragrance.

“Big Sis.”

He turned, seeing the familiar figure, forcing himself into his least favorite fake-smile mode. The woman, still in Tessa’s skin, leaned against the wall in a black dress.

Eyes blazing, expression slightly displeased.

Ian’s heart sank.

[NEXT CHAPTER]