As soon as Kara returned, she quickly ran off again, heading to a party and having drinks with Dani, whom she hadn't seen in a long time.
Later, it was Perry who called Kara and made all the necessary arrangements.
For instance, Kara's desk had been reassigned to Kate in her absence, so Perry ensured she had a new one. This time, however, he even arranged an office for her.
Given Kara's tenure of just over a year, this was an extraordinary privilege. But her achievements spoke for themselves—she had become one of the shining stars of Planet Daily. It was only fitting for her to have her own office, though it was understandably smaller than Perry's as editor-in-chief.
"You really shouldn't make things so difficult for Perry," Dani finally commented, unable to hold back any longer.
From the phone in Kara's hand, Perry's voice came through: "Dani, feel free to scold her more on my behalf."
Kara let out a hum, ignoring the comment. She hung up the phone with an amused look.
The two women exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.
Perry had always been kind to Kara. Even the interview that landed her the job had been arranged by him. It was clear his instincts were sharp—Kara's talent deserved the special treatment. Her articles on Batman alone had brought significant attention and revenue to the paper.
"How's Jane doing?" Kara asked suddenly, shifting the topic.
Jennifer naturally came up during their conversations. After all, the three women had been close friends for years.
Kara studied Dani's face as she mentioned Jennifer, wondering why Dani looked puzzled.
"Kara, you might have been the first to get a boyfriend, but Jane's overtaken you now. She's even got kids," Kara informed Dani, smirking.
Dani's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Kids? Jennifer? She's only been in Gotham for what, two months? How does that even happen?"
Kara shrugged. "They're Bruce's. Don't you know how much she adores him?"
Dani sighed. "Still on Bruce? But I heard he's the type who bounces between supermodels and movie stars. Can Jane handle that?"
"Not quite, Dani. Bruce plays the part when he needs to, but it's mostly an act. Sure, there were some real moments in the past, but things are different now. It's no longer just Jane pining for him—he's genuinely pursuing her now."
Kara proceeded to recount the events between Jennifer and Bruce, omitting certain sensitive details.
Dani listened in astonishment, her expression mirroring someone watching a dramatic soap opera unfold.
Kara intentionally withheld her own secret identity, not because she distrusted Dani, but to protect her friend. Dani's profession already involved risks, and knowing Kara's truth would only endanger her further.
Jennifer had only learned the truth because of a dangerous situation, and Kara had been strict about keeping her dual identity hidden for years. It wasn't a decision she made lightly.
Their conversation turned to other topics, and the gathering continued until nightfall.
Since Kara didn't have her car, Dani drove her home. They'd waited until they were sober enough to drive, having indulged in some drinks earlier in the day.
As Dani drove home alone, her eyes drifted to the two small ornaments hanging from her rearview mirror. One was a black bat symbol, and the other a white one, identical to the charm Jennifer had.
She pressed the brakes abruptly, staring at the white bat ornament.
"Kara, you sneaky fox. You almost fooled me," Dani muttered, her eyes lighting up with realization.
Kara's stories about Gotham and Oracle began connecting in her mind. Oracle had only appeared when Kara was in Gotham, and her timing aligned perfectly with the Joker's activities and Jennifer's attack.
It clicked. Kara was Oracle.
Dani's heart raced at the thought. Though she admired Oracle, Kara was her best friend, and the revelation left her feeling both proud and protective.
Still, she hesitated to confirm her suspicions. Picking up her phone, Dani considered calling Kara but ultimately decided against it.
She didn't want to risk being wrong, nor did she want to force Kara into revealing something she might not be ready to share.
With a deep breath, Dani put the phone away and restarted the car. She wouldn't call Kara or disclose her theory to anyone else—not even her boss. Kara was her best friend, and she would protect her secret.
As Dani drove off into the night, Kara remained oblivious to her friend's suspicions.
The situation was reminiscent of Clark Kent's double life as Superman—close friends sometimes noticed the patterns, but clever excuses and diversions kept the truth buried.
Kara had been lucky this time. Dani's decision to stay silent spared her from having to confront the truth prematurely.
In a future crisis, Kara would later thank Dani's discretion, realizing how much it had preserved their friendship.
For now, Kara's life settled back into its usual rhythm. Her new column took off spectacularly, exceeding even Perry's expectations. The first issue sold out almost instantly.
Kara had taken a unique approach with her debut column, focusing on teaching readers the secrets of preparing traditional dishes—a surprising yet effective topic.
Kara never thought her latest column would stir such a storm. The idea of writing about cooking pig intestines had popped into her head almost as a joke, a challenge to the norms she saw dominating food culture. Her philosophy was simple: every part of an animal should be valued if it was to be eaten. The nutrients in organs like the heart and liver were undeniable, packed with iron and essentials the human body needed.
But there was a condition—these dishes had to be cooked deliciously. If it wasn't palatable, who would eat it? And therein lay the problem: a certain lack of culinary skill seemed widespread. Some people preferred to stick to lean meats like bacon, ham, and pork chops. But Kara was undeterred, driven to highlight the overlooked treasures of cuisine.
When she submitted her column on pig intestines, the reaction was immediate. Disgusted murmurs spread throughout the newsroom of the Daily Planet. Perry White, her editor-in-chief, almost spat out his coffee when he read the title. Even her colleagues, seasoned journalists with strong stomachs, winced.
"Pig intestines? Are you serious, Kara?" Perry had groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This isn't journalism. This is madness."
Yet Kara remained unshaken. She'd spent hours perfecting her recipes: one for braised pork intestines, rich and glistening with a caramelized glaze, and the other for a stir-fry with vibrant green and red peppers. The accompanying photographs could make anyone forget the ingredients' origins.
"Braised pork intestines," she wrote, "offer a delicious, fat-but-not-greasy experience that's nothing short of extraordinary. Stir-fried pork intestines, when cooked until slightly browned, become an irresistible dish that pairs beautifully with peppers for a balance of heat and flavor."
Kara didn't just stop at descriptions. She included detailed instructions for cleaning and preparing the intestines to remove any unpleasantness, ensuring a perfectly clean base for cooking. "If we choose to consume an animal's life," she concluded, "the least we can do is honor it by not wasting any edible part."
The column was published, and the backlash was instantaneous. Morning talk shows ridiculed it, and online forums were flooded with comments mocking Kara's audacity. The Daily Planet sold fewer papers that day than ever before, and Perry stormed into the newsroom, declaring the column a disaster.
"Kara, this is the worst-performing piece we've ever run! What were you thinking?" he demanded during the staff meeting.
Kara, unbothered, met his frustration with a calm response. "I'm willing to stop the column, Perry," she said evenly, surprising everyone. "I'll pivot to something else tomorrow."
Her nonchalant attitude only further infuriated him. "So, you're giving up just like that?"
"It's not giving up," she replied. "It's waiting. Right now, it might seem absurd. But soon, you'll see."
Perry scoffed but let her leave. The newsroom buzzed with murmured speculation about Kara's confidence. How could she be so sure this wasn't the end of her career?
What no one anticipated was the ripple effect Kara's column would have. That very night, the city's more adventurous restaurateurs decided to take a gamble. Guided by Kara's meticulous recipes, chefs experimented with pig intestine dishes, and the results were astonishing.
In Chinese restaurants, the dish became a hidden gem, introduced cautiously to patrons without disclosing the ingredient at first. The flavor won people over before they knew what they were eating. Soon, word spread: the mysterious dish was cheap to make, delightful to taste, and rapidly gaining popularity.
For low-income families, pig intestines—previously discarded or sold for pennies—became a lifesaver. By carefully following Kara's steps, they transformed this humble ingredient into meals their families loved.
Within days, social media was flooded with photos of home-cooked pig intestine dishes. Comments shifted from ridicule to curiosity, then to admiration. People started asking where they could buy the best intestines and how to cook them.
Perry couldn't believe the turnaround when he saw the new data reports. Sales had rebounded, driven by a surge in public interest in Kara's cooking. The talk shows that had mocked her now revisited the topic, some even inviting chefs to demonstrate the recipes on air.
Finally, he stormed into the newsroom, his face red with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. "Kara!" he bellowed, spotting her typing away at her desk.
She turned lazily in her chair. "Yes, Perry?"
"Explain to me how this happened!"
She smiled. "I told you. Sometimes, the world just needs a little push in the right direction."
For once, Perry had no retort. He simply stared at her, shaking his head, as the newsroom erupted in laughter. Kara had proven her point—against all odds, she'd turned mockery into a movement.
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