Chapter 39: High-Stakes Move and Mutant Ferns
Kisuke's recovery was, like everything he did, efficient and slightly theatrical.
After three days of comatose sleep, he woke up, stretched, complained about a cramp in his neck, and declared he was "at ninety-nine percent." The remaining one percent, he insisted, could only be cured with a dangerous amount of green tea and chestnut sweets.
On the morning of the fourth day, the Kyoto shop was at peace.
The rain had ceased, leaving a washed, clean blue sky over the Gion district.
Urahara was in the living room of the pocket dimension, the main room of the traditional house that served as his dwelling.
It was a space of minimalist perfection.
The floor was golden rush tatami, woven with a precision that soothed the eye. The walls were shoji paper and unvarnished cypress wood, which smelled of ancient forest. In the center, a low dark wooden table (chabudai) rested on a silk cushion. On the back wall, in the tokonoma (the decorative alcove), hung a scroll with a single ink brushstroke depicting a mountain, and below it, a vase with a single flowering plum branch.
It was the epitome of wabi-sabi: the beauty of imperfection, impermanence, and rustic simplicity.
Urahara sat on his cushion, holding his tea cup with both hands, sighing with pure aesthetic satisfaction.
"Balance," he murmured to himself. "Harmony. The silence of empty space."
He took a sip.
"How civilized."
CRASH!
The sound of something huge hitting a doorframe shattered the zen into a thousand pieces.
It came from upstairs. From the hallway connecting to the physical shop.
"Damn it! Pivot! Pivot!" Kara's voice was heard, talking to herself.
Urahara lowered the cup slowly. His left eyebrow began to twitch.
"Kara-san?" he called, with a note of cautious concern. "Everything alright? Are we being invaded? Is it a bear?"
"No!" she shouted from the staircase. "It's the corner! It's too narrow! Wait!"
There was a sound of creaking wood, followed by a RIIIP that sounded suspiciously like wallpaper being torn, and then a heavy THUD that shook the ceiling beams.
"Got it!" she announced triumphantly.
Heavy footsteps came down the stairs.
The sliding door to the living room slammed open.
And the concept of wabi-sabi died screaming.
Kara Zor-El entered the room.
She wasn't carrying a weapon. She wasn't carrying a defeated villain.
She was carrying a sofa.
A huge sectional sofa, modern gray leather, with adjustable headrests and chrome cup holders in the armrests. It was a monstrosity of contemporary comfort, a furniture whale designed for luxury apartments in Metropolis, not Japanese tea houses.
And Kara was carrying it on one shoulder, with a single hand, as if it were a slightly large handbag.
With the other hand, she was dragging a stainless steel industrial design floor lamp that looked like a communications satellite.
"Good morning!" she said, beaming, hair in a ponytail and a smudge of dust on her nose. "I brought reinforcements."
Urahara froze, his tea cup halfway to the table.
His eyes went from the gray leather sofa to the golden straw tatami.
From the stainless steel to the cypress wood.
It was a visual collision so violent it made his teeth ache.
"Kara-san..." he said, his voice strangely high-pitched. "What... what is that?"
Kara set the sofa down.
"It's my sofa," she said, as if it were obvious. "From my apartment. It's super comfy. It has memory foam. And look..."
She pressed a button on the armrest. A section of the sofa extended with an electric hum, turning into a recliner.
"Recliner!" she exclaimed.
"I see," said Urahara, standing up and backing away instinctively, as if the furniture might attack him. "It is... very... big. And very... gray."
"It's slate gray," she corrected. "It goes with everything."
She looked around the perfect, minimalist living room.
"Well, almost everything. This place needs a little life, Kisuke. It's very pretty, but... there's nowhere to sit. The floor is hard."
"The floor is tatami," defended Urahara, offended. "It is natural. It breathes. You are supposed to sit in seiza or on a cushion. It is good for posture."
"It's good for getting cramps," retorted Kara, lifting the sofa again and looking for a place to put it. "How about here? In front of the empty wall?"
"That is the decorative alcove!" shouted Urahara, jumping to interpose himself between the sofa and his sacred scroll. "It is the tokonoma! It is a sacred space for the contemplation of art! You cannot put a... a reclining leather monster in front of the plum branch!"
Kara frowned, holding the two-hundred-kilo sofa in the air with one hand while scratching her head with the other.
"But it's the only place the TV fits."
Urahara paled.
"The... the TV?"
"Yes. The TV."
Kara turned around, left the sofa floating in the air for a second (thanks to a touch of tactile telekinesis or simply perfect balance, Urahara didn't want to know) and ran into the hallway.
"Wait, don't move!" she shouted.
She returned ten seconds later.
This time, she brought a flat black box.
A flat-screen television. Eighty-five inches. 4K. Ultra HD.
It was so big it looked like a monolith from "2001: A Space Odyssey".
"Ta-da!" she said. "We can't watch movies on your tablet forever. We need home cinema."
Urahara looked at the giant black screen. He looked at his delicate paper and wood wall.
He brought a hand to his face, sliding his fingers over his eyes.
"Kara-san," he said, with the patience of a saint being tested. "This is a traditional house. The aesthetic relies on simplicity. On nature. On the absence of... giant mass consumer technology."
"But you have an underground lab with supercomputers and holograms," Kara pointed out.
"That is work!" he exclaimed. "This is home! There is a difference! You cannot mix zen with... with HDMI!"
"Look," said Kara, lowering the TV and leaning it carefully against the wall (Urahara winced hearing the wood creak).
She crossed her arms.
"I moved in, right? I live here now. And if I'm going to live here, I need to be able to watch The Great British Bake Off in high definition while eating ice cream on a sofa that doesn't make my butt square. It's a biological necessity."
Urahara looked at her.
He saw the determination in her eyes.
He saw the floating sofa.
He saw the giant television.
And, most importantly, he saw that she was trying to make this place her home, not just a hotel.
He sighed, defeated by the logic of love and comfort.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. You're right. Compromise is the foundation of cohabitation."
He looked at the sofa.
"But you cannot put that on the tatami. The metal legs will rip the straw. And the weight will leave permanent marks. And frankly, the slate gray clashes horribly with the honey tone of the wood."
Kara pouted. "So what do we do? Do I leave it floating?"
"No," said Urahara, a spark of ingenuity shining in his eyes.
He pulled the fan from his belt and opened it.
"If we are going to desecrate the sacred aesthetic of feudal Japan... let's do it right. Let's do it with style."
"What are you going to do?" asked Kara, interested.
"A renovation," said Urahara. "Spiritual Science applied to interior design."
He walked to the center of the room.
The sofa was still floating where Kara had left it (she had put a book under one leg to balance it temporarily).
Urahara raised his cane, Benihime.
He didn't unsheathe the sword. He used the tip of the sheath like a pencil.
He began to draw in the air. Lines of golden light, complex geometries, spatial Kidō formulas.
"The problem," he murmured as he worked, "is friction and visual dissonance. We need a space that is two things at once. Domestic quantum superposition."
He drew a circle around the area where Kara wanted to put the sofa and the television.
"Kara-san, push the sofa inside the circle, please."
Kara obeyed, pushing the massive furniture inside the area delimited by the light.
"Now the TV. On the wall."
Kara placed the television against the tokonoma wall.
"Kisuke! You're going to cover the plum branch!"
"Trust me," he said.
Urahara finished the design. A glowing cube of energy now surrounded the modern furniture.
"Hado #1: Shō... modified!" he whispered, tapping the air with his cane.
Magic happened.
The tatami floor under the sofa... changed.
It didn't break. The woven straw fibers loosened, softened, changed color. In a second, the rectangle of tatami under the sofa transformed into a shag rug, a soft cream color that perfectly complemented the gray of the leather.
"Material transmutation," explained Urahara. "Soft for the feet, safe for the sofa."
Then, he turned to the television.
The huge black screen was blocking the wooden wall.
Urahara made a gesture with his hand.
The television became... transparent.
It didn't disappear. It became like glass. Through it, the mountain scroll and the plum branch could be seen perfectly.
"Camouflage mode," said Urahara with satisfaction. "When off, it is invisible. You can enjoy the art. When you turn it on..."
He gestured to Kara.
She picked up the remote control and turned it on.
The image appeared, crisp and bright, floating in the air, hiding the wall.
"Cool!" shouted Kara, clapping.
"And there is more," said Urahara.
He snapped his fingers.
Kara's industrial design floor lamp rose into the air. It disassembled itself. The metal reshaped, twisted, acquiring an organic texture, resembling driftwood, but maintaining the shine of steel. The shade transformed into reinforced rice paper.
It landed again. Now it was a modern lamp, but with an ancient soul. It fit.
"Aesthetic fusion," said Urahara, putting away his cane. "Metropolis meets Kyoto. Modern minimalism with traditional warmth. What do you think?"
Kara looked at the room.
She had her comfy sofa. She had her giant TV. But the room still felt quiet, beautiful, balanced.
She ran to Urahara and gave him an impulsive hug that cracked his back.
"It's perfect! You're a genius!"
"Just a shopkeeper with good taste," he said, patting her back, a little winded.
"I'm going to get the blankets!" she said, releasing him and running toward the portal. "And the popcorn! Let's inaugurate the cinema!"
Urahara smiled, watching her go.
He sat on the new sofa.
He reclined.
The leather was soft. The memory foam molded to his tired back.
"Mmm," he murmured, closing his eyes. "I must admit... human technology has its merits. This is... dangerously comfortable."
Scritch... Scritch... Crunch.
A strange sound came from the entrance.
Urahara opened one eye.
Krypto, the Superdog, had entered the room taking advantage of the commotion.
He was lying in the genkan (the entrance), happily occupied.
He had something between his paws. Something wooden. Something he was chewing with great enthusiasm.
Urahara narrowed his eyes.
The object was made of light paulownia wood. It had a black velvet strap.
It was his left geta (sandal). His favorite.
"Krypto-san!" exclaimed Urahara, getting up from the sofa faster than he had used to fight Amazo.
Krypto raised his head, a piece of wood dangling from his mouth. He wagged his tail. Thump-thump!
"That is not a bone! It is artisanal orthopedic footwear!" shouted Urahara, running toward the dog. "Drop! Drop!"
Krypto, thinking it was a game, jumped up and ran out into the garden, sandal in mouth, barking happily.
Urahara chased him, socks slipping on the polished wooden floor.
"Kara-san! Your beast is eating my dignity!" he shouted.
From the hallway, Kara's laughter resonated, mixing with the dog's barks and the shopkeeper's complaints.
The house was loud. It was messy. It was full of strange furniture and thieving dogs.
And for the first time in years, it was alive.
The afternoon had settled into the pocket dimension with a golden laziness.
The artificial sun, programmed to mimic the sunset of a late summer day, bathed the inner garden in warm orange light.
Inside the newly renovated living room, the atmosphere was one of triumphant domesticity.
Kara and Urahara were sitting on the huge gray leather sofa.
The floating, camouflaged television was on, broadcasting a documentary about the migration of emperor penguins, narrated by a soothing British voice.
Krypto, exhausted after his crime against footwear, slept soundly on the new shag rug, letting out little huffs that made his whiskers twitch.
On the low table, amidst remote controls and a stack of magazines, rested the cause of the impending disaster.
The fern.
It was a common houseplant (Nephrolepis exaltata), bought by Kara at a Metropolis florist months ago in an attempt to brighten her apartment.
It had been a sad plant.
Its leaves were a bit brown at the tips, its posture droopy, as if suffering from chronic seasonal depression.
But that had been on Earth.
Here, in Urahara Kisuke's pocket dimension, the rules of horticulture were... different.
The dimension's air wasn't just oxygen and nitrogen. It was saturated with Reishi (spirit particles). It was an atmosphere dense in vital energy, designed to sustain spiritual beings and power Kidō.
For a normal terrestrial plant, used to fighting for sunlight filtered through pollution, this environment wasn't just food.
It was super-steroids.
Kara was eating a chocolate cookie, eyes glued to the screen.
"Look at that little one," she said, pointing to a baby penguin falling on the ice. "He's so clumsy. Reminds me of Barry when he tries to skate."
Urahara, who was reading a manga with his legs crossed at the other end of the sofa, nodded absently.
"Fascinating aerodynamics for a flightless bird," he muttered.
Kara reached for the table to grab another cookie from the plate.
Her fingers brushed the plate.
But the plate was empty.
Kara frowned, looking away from the TV.
"Kisuke? Did you eat the last cookie?"
Urahara looked up from his manga. "Hmm? No. I've barely touched the plate. I'm saving myself for dinner."
"Weird," said Kara. "I could have sworn there was one left."
She shrugged and looked back at the penguins.
Behind the fern pot, a soft sound became audible.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Kara turned slowly.
The fern looked... bigger.
Much bigger.
When she had brought it in the morning, it was a modest plant about thirty centimeters high.
Now, its fronds hung over the edge of the table, brushing the floor. The leaves were a vibrant, almost luminescent green, and seemed to pulse with a slow, steady rhythm.
And, most disturbingly of all, one of the long, curly branches was curved inward, "holding" something against the central stem.
Chocolate crumbs fell from between the leaves.
"Kisuke..." said Kara, her voice slow and cautious. "I think my plant is eating my snack."
Urahara lowered his manga. Adjusted his hat. Looked at the plant.
His scientist eyes narrowed.
"Ah," he said.
"'Ah'?" repeated Kara. "Just 'Ah'?"
"Reishi saturation," diagnosed Urahara, standing up and approaching the table cautiously.
"I forgot to account for biological absorption. Earth plants are energy sponges. In this environment, its cellular metabolism has accelerated by... let's say... ten thousand percent."
"And what does that mean?" asked Kara, backing away a little.
"It means it has evolved," said Urahara. "From decorative flora... to active predatory flora."
As if it had heard the keyword, the fern reacted.
With a hissing sound, like a snake of leaves, the plant stretched.
It was no longer growing slowly. It exploded.
Green tendrils shot out in all directions.
One of them wrapped around the empty cookie plate and threw it across the room.
Another coiled around Kara's water bottle.
And a third, the thickest and leafiest, launched directly at Kara.
"Watch out!" shouted Urahara.
Kara raised her arms instinctively.
She could have used her heat vision. She could have frozen the plant. She could have ripped it out by the roots with a twitch of her pinky.
But it was her plant.
Her first attempt to care for something living on Earth.
"No!" she shouted. "I don't want to hurt it!"
That hesitation was her mistake.
The tendril wrapped around her waist. It didn't squeeze to hurt. It squeezed to... hug.
The fern loved Kara.
She was a living solar battery. For the mutant plant, Kara was the ultimate sun.
"Let me go!" shouted Kara, as the plant dragged her off the sofa toward the table. "Kisuke! It's doing aggressive photosynthesis on me!"
Another tendril wrapped around her arm. A third tickled her ear.
"Krypto! Help!" she called.
Krypto raised his head, saw his mistress fighting a giant salad, barked once, decided it looked like a fun game, and went back to sleep.
"Traitor dog," muttered Kara.
Urahara, meanwhile, had entered crisis mode.
But not a battle crisis. A domestic crisis.
"Don't move, Kara-san!" he shouted, jumping over the sofa with surprising agility. "If you use your strength, you'll break it! And if you use your heat, you'll set the living room on fire!"
"Then do something!" she shouted, now half-buried under a mountain of green leaves vibrating with happiness at the contact with her skin. "It's licking me! I think plants shouldn't have tongues, but I feel like it's licking me!"
"I need tools!" declared Urahara.
He ran to the kitchen. Drawers were heard opening and closing frantically.
"Sword? No, too much cutting... Flamethrower? No, the rug... Aha!"
He returned triumphant.
In his hand he didn't carry Benihime.
He carried a pair of garden pruning shears. But these glowed with purple runes engraved on the steel.
"The Botanical Discipline Shears!" he announced. "Originally designed for the unruly shrubs of the Fourth Division. I never leave home without them!"
Urahara threw himself into the fray.
The plant, sensing the threat to its food/love source (Kara), reacted defensively.
It launched a thorn-filled tendril at Urahara, knocking his hat to the floor.
"Hey!" shouted Urahara, offended. "That is premium silk!"
SNIP!
He cut the tendril in mid-air.
The plant hissed, releasing a jet of sticky green sap that stained Urahara's shirt.
"Chemical warfare!" he shouted. "Kara-san, protect your eyes!"
"I can't see anything!" replied Kara's voice from inside the bush. "There are leaves in my nose!"
The battle was chaotic, sticky, and ridiculous.
Urahara jumped around the table, cutting tendrils that tried to steal the scissors.
Kara tried to untangle herself without ripping the plant out by the roots, resulting in a kind of clumsy dance where she spun and the plant spun with her.
The fern grew faster than Urahara could prune.
It already occupied half the room.
It was starting to climb up the television.
"Not the TV!" shouted Kara. "It's 4K!"
"Forget the TV!" shouted Urahara, dodging a branch trying to trip him. "It's going for the strategic reserve!"
The plant had extended a long, stealthy branch toward the high shelf where Urahara kept his jars of "concentrated spiritual sugar," the base ingredient for his most potent candies.
If the plant ate that, it wouldn't just grow; it would probably gain the ability to speak and demand the right to vote.
"Oh, no, you don't!" roared Urahara.
He dove across the table, sliding over papers and magazines.
The plant branch was inches from the jar.
Urahara stretched his arm.
SNIP!
He cut the branch just in time.
But the momentum of his jump, combined with the floor slippery with sap, was his undoing.
Urahara slipped.
He crashed into Kara, who had just managed to free a leg.
The impact unbalanced them both.
The plant, taking advantage of the confusion, and perhaps with a vengeful sense of humor, wrapped both of them in a final, tight embrace.
"Woaah!"
THUD!
They fell to the floor.
It wasn't an elegant fall.
It was a tangle of limbs, leaves, sap, and stifled laughter.
They landed on the shag rug (now stained green).
Kara was on her back. Urahara had fallen on top of her, his arms trapped by vines, his face inches from hers.
The world stopped for a second.
They were covered in leaves.
Green sap stained their clothes and faces.
Urahara's hat was somewhere under the sofa.
The plant, having captured its two prey, seemed to calm down, purring (yes, purring) victoriously.
Kara looked at Urahara.
He had a fern leaf stuck in his messy blonde hair. He had a smudge of sap on his nose.
And he was blinking, surprised.
Kara felt a bubble of laughter rise in her throat.
She tried to contain it, but it was impossible.
She let out a laugh.
A loud, clear, contagious laugh.
"It beat us!" she said between laughs. "A potted plant beat us! Supergirl and Captain Urahara! Defeated by a fern!"
Urahara looked at her. Her laughter was like liquid sunshine.
A smile drew across his own face, breaking his surprise.
"It was a brilliant tactical ambush," he admitted, laughing too. "We underestimated its hugging capacity. And its greed for sugar."
They laughed together, the sound filling the room, mixing with the plant's purring.
The physical tension of the fall, the closeness of their bodies... changed.
Suddenly, Kara was very aware of his weight on her. Of the warmth of his chest. Of the way their legs were intertwined.
The laughter faded gently, replaced by shared breathing.
Urahara propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her.
She was disheveled, dirty, and sticky.
And she was the most beautiful thing he had seen in centuries.
"Kara..." he said softly.
Kara looked into his eyes. The gray of his irises looked like molten silver in the afternoon light.
"Yes?" she whispered.
The plant, sensing the mood change (or simply bored that they weren't moving), loosened its grip slightly.
A drop of sap fell from an upper leaf and landed, plop, right on Urahara's forehead.
The romantic moment broke with the cosmic precision of comedy.
Urahara blinked, crossing his eyes to see the drop on his nose.
Kara let out a snort, trying not to laugh again.
Urahara sighed, defeated.
"I think..." he said, rolling off her and sitting on the floor, "that we should first negotiate surrender terms with our new green tenant. And then... shower."
Kara sat up, picking leaves out of her hair.
"Are you going to kill it?" she asked, looking at the plant, which now looked strangely innocent, waving its leaves gently.
"Kill it? Such a vigorous specimen?" Urahara shook his head, pulling a small paper talisman from his pocket (miraculously dry).
"Of course not. But it needs discipline."
He approached the central stem of the plant and stuck the talisman on it.
"Bakudō #1: Sai... modified. Protocol: Watchdog."
The talisman glowed.
The plant shuddered.
It shrank.
It didn't return to its original size, but it reduced to a manageable size, like a large bush.
Its tendrils retracted, organizing into a more compact shape.
And then... it barked.
It was a vegetal sound, like branches creaking, but it was definitely a bark.
The plant "barked" at the front door, then turned to Kara and wagged a leaf as if it were a tail.
"Done," said Urahara, dusting off his hands.
"It won't try to eat us anymore. Now it is... a biological security system. If anyone enters without permission... well, they'll get a very sticky hug."
Kara looked at her new fern-dog.
"It's... perfect," she said, smiling.
She stood up, helping Urahara up.
They were a mess. The room was a chaos of dirt and leaves.
But Kara wouldn't trade this mess for any crystal palace in the universe.
"I'm going to order pizza," she said. "From Gotham. They have the best crust."
"Excellent choice," said Urahara, picking up his squashed hat and trying to shape it. "I'm going to try to save my dignity and my tatami. And maybe... find a shower."
They looked at each other one more time before separating to clean up.
There was no kiss.
There was no declaration.
But in the sticky, sweet air of the shop, in the shared mess of their life, there was a silent promise.
This was real.
And this was just the beginning.
Night had fallen over Kyoto and the pocket dimension, wrapping the house in a cozy darkness.
The living room, scene of the afternoon's great botanical battle, had been restored.
The floor was clean (though it smelled suspiciously of industrial pine cleaner to mask the sap smell).
The mutant fern, now reduced to the size of a large, docile bush thanks to the Kidō talisman, dozed in a reinforced pot by the entrance, snoring softly with a sound of dry leaves.
Kara and Urahara were sitting on the floor, leaning against the gray leather sofa (which had miraculously survived intact).
The low table between them was covered with the spoils of their victory: three empty Gotham pizza boxes, stacked like a cardboard and grease Tower of Pisa.
The air smelled of pepperoni, melted cheese, and victory.
The giant, camouflaged television was on, showing a baking contest.
"So..." said Urahara, holding the black remote control with both hands as if it were a dangerous alien artifact.
"If I press this button... 'Input'... do I change the reality of the screen?"
"You change the signal input," corrected Kara, chewing the edge of her last pizza crust.
"From TV to satellite. Or Blu-Ray. It's not quantum physics, Kisuke."
"It's more complicated than quantum physics," he muttered, squinting at the buttons. "Quantum physics has logical rules. This remote control was designed by a sadist."
Kara laughed, stretching her legs.
She felt good.
She was full of Earth junk food.
She was clean (the shower had been glorious).
And she was home.
She looked at Urahara, still struggling with the remote, frowning in absolute concentration.
It was such a domestic image, so ridiculously normal for two beings who could destroy planets, that Kara felt a wave of warmth in her chest.
It was like an old, comfortable marriage.
"Let me," she said, taking the remote gently. "You just have to hit 'Netflix'."
She pressed a red button. The screen changed instantly.
"Ah!" exclaimed Urahara. "Kryptonian magic."
"Human technology," she smiled.
They settled in to watch a movie.
The atmosphere was calm. Krypto slept on his rug. The fern snored. The ventilation system hummed softly.
It was peace.
The peace they had earned.
And then, the universe decided one day of peace was more than enough.
There was no call. No warning from Urahara's sensors.
There was a sound.
PING.
It was a sharp, metallic, resonant sound, like a giant tuning fork struck in the center of the room.
Then, a roar.
BOOOOOOOM.
The air in the center of the living room, right above the newly installed shag rug, tore open.
It wasn't a clean cut like Urahara's.
It was a space-time explosion.
A tunnel of blinding white light and crackling energy opened violently, spitting sparks that burned the rug and sent pizza boxes flying.
A Boom Tube.
The teleportation technology of the New Gods.
Kara jumped to her feet, eyes glowing red, stepping in front of Urahara instinctively.
"Back!" she shouted.
Urahara was already standing, hand on the cane leaning against the sofa. His face had lost all dinner relaxation. His eyes were ice.
From the tunnel of light, two figures fell.
They didn't land gracefully.
They crashed to the floor, rolling on the burnt carpet, a tangle of armor and limbs.
The Boom Tube closed behind them with a dull thunder, leaving a smell of burnt ozone and hot metal that drowned out the pizza smell.
Kara prepared to attack.
But she stopped.
The larger figure stood up with difficulty.
It was a woman.
Huge. Taller than Superman.
She wore golden and red battle armor, metal scales covering a body built for war. A winged helmet covered her face, but it was dented and broken.
She held an energy staff, the Mega-Rod, but the weapon's light flickered, dying.
"Barda?" whispered Kara, recognizing the warrior.
Big Barda.
The former leader of Darkseid's Female Furies.
But Barda wasn't attacking.
She was protecting.
In her arms, she cradled a man.
He wore a brightly colored suit—red, yellow, and green—that was now torn and stained with a shiny golden substance.
New God blood.
The man was unconscious, his face pale under the mask.
Scott Free.
Mister Miracle.
Barda turned to them.
She took off the broken helmet and dropped it to the floor with a clatter.
Her face, normally a mask of battle fury, was stained with blood and grime. Her eyes were full of wild desperation.
She looked at Kara.
Then she looked at Urahara.
"Shopkeeper," she said, her voice a hoarse croak.
She took a step forward, stumbling, almost dropping Scott.
"You said..." she gasped, fighting for breath. "You said your door was always open for exiles."
She fell to her knees, holding her husband against her armored chest.
"They found us. The Furies. Kalibak."
She looked up, and Kara saw tears in the eyes of the toughest woman in the galaxy.
"We need asylum."
Silence filled the wrecked room.
The rug was ruined. Peace was broken. The war of the gods had arrived in their living room.
Kara looked at Kisuke.
Urahara didn't look at the damage.
He didn't look at the weapons.
He looked at his friends.
His expression of surprise faded, replaced by absolute seriousness.
He dropped his cane.
He walked toward them, ignoring the residual sparks of the Boom Tube.
He knelt beside Barda and placed a gentle hand on Scott's shoulder, checking his vital energy.
"He's alive," said Urahara, his voice calm and firm. "His Mother Box is stabilizing him, but he needs rest."
He looked Barda in the eyes.
"Of course, Barda-san," he said.
"This house is sanctuary. No one will touch you here."
He stood up and turned to Kara.
"Kara-san," he said.
"Close the door. And activate max level seals."
He looked at the spot where the Boom Tube had disappeared, as if he could see through space to the fire pits of Apokolips.
"We have guests," said Urahara, and his eyes shone with dangerous light.
"And I fear those coming behind... won't be so polite."
Kara nodded, her face hardened.
The quiet life had lasted exactly one day.
But as she helped Barda lift Scott, Kara realized something.
She didn't mind.
Because this time, they weren't fighting for the world.
They were fighting for their home.
And in the Urahara Shop, family was not left behind.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Thanks for reading!
If you want to read advanced chapters and support me, I'd really appreciate it.
If you liked the chapter, please leave your stones.
Mike.
Patreon / iLikeeMikee