Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 335: Crisis In Santos City (Part 7)

Navigating through the horde of agents and reporters was like wading through waist-high mud—slow, irritating, and unavoidable.

The agents weren't outright aggressive, but they weren't subtle either. Every few steps, another one tried to press for details, phrasing their questions in a way that made it seem like answering was just a formality.

The reporters, on the other hand, were worse. Cameras and microphones shoved forward, voices clamoring to be the one that got a response first.

"Don! Charles! Can you comment on what happened inside?"

"How many attackers did you see?"

"Were there any civilian casualties?"

Don had no intention of answering. Charles was the same, though he let them talk for a while before finally getting bored.

"If you people don't back off, I'll be suing for harassment," Charles said, voice loud enough for them all to here.

That did it.

The reporters scattered almost immediately, some turning on their heels, others practically sprinting back toward their cameramen. Any reporter worth their credentials knew the Monclaire name and, more importantly, what their legal team was capable of. Even the thought of a lawsuit from them was enough to kill a career before it even started.

The agents were slower to disperse, but ultimately, they weren't in a position to force anyone to talk. After a few more lingering stares, they backed off as well.

Finally, Don and Charles made it to the parking lot.

It was a mess.

Cars were lined up haphazardly, some blocking others from leaving. Many of the drivers weren't even present, probably still trapped in whatever chaos had erupted inside. Valets were nowhere to be seen, leaving everything even more disorganized.

People were trying to leave, but the process was anything but smooth. Some sat behind the wheel, honking in frustration, while others stood outside their cars, yelling at whoever was in the way.

A few just sat there, too drained to move. Some were crying, heads in their hands, grieving losses they hadn't even processed yet. Others were stained in blood and dirt, their clothes ripped, looking more like they had crawled through rubble than attended an event.

Don took it all in, the sheer weight of the aftermath pressing against his mind.

He felt something for them.

Sympathy, maybe.

Not that he showed it.

Charles, however, was unmoved. He looked over the madness with an almost clinical detachment before turning to Don.

"If it's inconvenient for you to wait, I can have a helicopter pick us up," he offered smoothly. "I'd imagine you want to get back to your family."

Don side-eyed him, trying to gauge the offer. Was it genuine? Or was Charles playing at something?

He didn't have the patience to figure it out.

With a shake of his head, Don replied, "Thanks, but I'm fine. I'll just wait in the car until my friends are brought down."

Charles showed no disappointment at the rejection. Instead, he smiled and nodded. "Very well. Then until next time. I'll reach out to you soon so we can discuss a few things in greater detail."

Don gave a simple nod. "No problem."

With that, Charles extended his wings. Even in the dimly lit parking lot, their radiance was impossible to ignore. Several people nearby turned their heads, staring in silent awe as he took off into the night sky, his figure vanishing above the cityscape.

Don sighed. He could feel some of the lingering gazes shifting onto him—secondhand attention from Charles' departure. He ignored them and walked past the cars, not toward where Donald had parked, but to a dark, secluded area on the outskirts of the lot.

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Away from the eyes. Away from the cameras.

Once there, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

**Beep**

He dialed a number and raised it to his ear.

Don leaned against the cold concrete wall, the dimly lit parking lot stretching out before him.

The phone rang only for a few seconds before the smooth, familiar voice of Gary came through.

"Good evening, sir. I was just about to reach out to you. We've only just now learned what has been happening in the city. Are you alright?"

Don raised an eyebrow. That was an odd way to start. He kept his tone even.

"I'm fine. Were you out of the city?"

"No, sir," Gary replied promptly, his usual calm, polite demeanor unwavering. "Lady Noir and Madam Trixie are carrying out an operation, and I was providing drone assistance in their area."

Don's brows furrowed slightly. "What operation?"

He wasn't the type to demand constant updates on every little thing, but an entire operation? And nobody thought to mention it?

There was a brief pause before Gary sighed, his voice taking on a slightly apologetic edge.

"Apologies, sir. The young madam insisted that I not utter a word about it to you."

That was all Don needed to hear.

Elle.

He exhaled through his nose, his curiosity piqued but his patience intact. Whatever she was up to, she'd tell him when she wanted to—or when he asked her. Either way, now wasn't the time to get distracted.

"I can assure you, sir," Gary continued smoothly, "she and Madam Trixie are more than capable of handling it."

Don let it go.

"Noted."

He was about to get to the real reason he called when his phone buzzed again in his hand.

**Bzzt**

Pulling it away from his ear, he glanced at the screen. A new incoming call—Winter.

He switched back to Gary, speaking briskly.

"Hold on, Gary. I'll get back to you in a bit."

"But of course, sir," Gary replied smoothly.

Don ended the call and tapped the screen, expanding Winter's minimized tab into a full call interface.

"Hello?"

"Voice recognized," Winter's precise tone came through immediately. "Good evening, Don. I am calling to inform you that I successfully stopped an attack on the household and have since reported the incident to the police."

Don's fingers flexed slightly around the phone.

However, Winter wasn't finished. "Several points of the attack seemed peculiar, making me reach the highly probable conclusion that this was a premeditated incident and would likely occur again."

Don's expression darkened slightly. "So you're saying our house was specifically targeted."

"Yes," Winter confirmed without hesitation.

Don pushed off the wall, his free hand slipping into his pocket as he began pacing slowly along the edge of the parking lot. "And the ones who attacked?"

"Escaped," Winter answered. "Because of that, I sent out one of my drones to track the vehicle they left in. Once they arrive at their destination, I shall send their location and incident report to the nearest police station in that area."

"No."

There was a pause. Then Winter's voice returned, slightly confused. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but is that not the safest and most logical course of action?"

"No," Don repeated. Then, more firmly, "When they get to their location, you are to only send it to me."

A beat of silence.

Then, Winter responded.

"Affirmative."

Another pause. Then—

"Clearing records of this conversation ever occurring."

The call ended.