Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 497: Path Chosen (Part 2)

Rain tapped steadily against the wide wall-windows—soft, constant.

Beyond them, the terrace was slick with water, thin streams slipping between the tiles and pattering off the railing. The whole house carried that muted morning weight storms tended to drag in.

Roughly an hour had passed.

Don sat at the dining table, posture relaxed, plate still half-full. Across from him, Samantha remained wrapped in a blanket, the ends pooled around her feet.

Trixie was curled in her lap again, tail rising and falling as Samantha fed her strips of bacon and pieces of scrambled egg.

On the other side of the room, Winter moved quietly between counter and sink, placing used pans into a drying rack, wiping down surfaces in calm, methodical arcs.

The topic of the morning hadn’t been food.

It had been Don’s height.

The moment he stood up earlier, Samantha’s eyes had widened. Amanda’s reaction... less subtle. She’d immediately tried to hang off his bicep like it was a tree branch.

She almost succeeded.

Don had waved it all away with a vague mention of "training."

No follow-up questions.

Samantha accepted it.

Amanda didn’t care.

Trixie was too busy eating.

Breakfast was heavy—sausages, eggs, toast, hash, sliced fruit, two pitchers of orange juice, and a stack of pancakes entirely because Amanda said "it felt right."

Amanda was already halfway through her second plate, chewing like she had no natural limit. Don’s portions were also large, but he ate slower.

Every now and then Amanda, without shame, reached over and plucked a piece of hash or bacon from his plate—pinch, nibble—before going back to her own.

Samantha frowned at the exchange.

"You know," she said, looking between the overflowing dishes, "that’s a lot of food you’re eating in one sitting, Amanda. And expensive too. I get that Donnie’s hungry from growing so fast, but you...?"

Amanda rolled her eyes mid-chew, not slowing down at all. "In case you haven’t noticed, Sam," she said around a mouthful, "we’re rich. Well... Don is. But he doesn’t mind." She leaned sideways, smirking. "Right, Donnie?"

Don froze mid-bite as both girls turned toward him.

He shrugged lightly. "We’re... comfortable."

Winter spoke from the kitchen without looking back. "By national classification, this household is in the financial bracket that does not need to worry about luxury living. Current spending is significantly below average for households in your standing."

Amanda paused long enough to point her fork. "So what I’m hearing is we should be spending more?"

Samantha’s frown deepened. "That’s not what she meant. And what luxury things would you even buy, Amanda?"

Amanda tapped her chin theatrically. "Hmm... what about a farm estate with military-grade equipment and—"

Winter cut in cleanly. "Apologies. There is an important broadcast concerning a flagged figure in the system."

"Flagged figure?" Samantha repeated, confused.

Before Winter could answer, footsteps approached.

A messy-haired Summer shuffled in from the hallway, rubbing one eye with the heel of her palm and her stomach with the other. Her cropped shirt hung loose on her frame, pajama shorts slightly crooked from sleep.

"It means someone you wanna be alerted about when news pops up," she explained mid-yawn. "Like I have Dr. Gadget flagged. Don’t know who added the others." She didn’t break stride, just dropped into a chair and reached for a clean plate like joining breakfast had always been the plan.

The fridge door opened a moment later—clunk~—as she pulled out more leftovers.

Winter continued, "I flagged major persons of interest to the city by default. And those closely associated with members of this household through work, education—"

"Alright, I get it," Samantha cut in, lifting her chin. "I’m not that bad with technology."

The whole table went still.

Even Winter paused her explanation.

Samantha looked around at the quiet faces, frowning. "...What?"

No one answered.

Winter simply turned to the television. "I shall turn on the TV now."

The screen flickered to life—bzzt~—settling onto a morning news segment.

Two photos appeared side by side.

Harold Barclay.

Gerald Richmond.

The headline beneath them sent a ripple through the room:

GERALD RICHMOND SURVIVES MALICIOUS ATTACK AIMED AT HAROLD BARCLAY.

OVER 100 BRUTALLY KILLED.

Rain hit the terrace harder—pat-pat-pat-pat~—as if reacting with everyone else.

To the city, this wouldn’t be normal morning news.

Death tolls like that didn’t land on broadcasts often—especially not tied to millionaire elites.

Even those who didn’t care about politics or money would be asking the same thing.

What the hell happened...?

The atmosphere shifted the moment the headline settled.

The anchor sat framed against a soft-blue studio backdrop, posture straight, expression appropriately grave.

"—authorities have confirmed one suspect is in custody," she said, her voice carrying that polished cadence networks loved. "According to early interrogation reports, the assailants were targeting sensitive information linked to Harold Barclay. We’re told the attackers attempted to breach a secure vault within the Richmond estate but were stopped due to the valiant efforts of Mr. Richmond’s personal security team."

Don didn’t move, but one brow ticked upward.

The anchor continued.

"Mr. Richmond himself sustained injuries during the incident and was subjected to what investigators describe as ’severe coercive pressure’ in an attempt to force the vault open. He resisted until his forces arrived, prompting a retreat from the attackers."

Nothing in her voice faltered.

Amanda kept watching with idle interest, chewing lazily on a strip of bacon. She leaned back in her seat, blanket sliding off one shoulder, more invested in her food than any scoop.

Summer had already tuned out.

Her phone glowed brightly in her hands as she flicked through her feeds, muttering something about "real news" being buried under celebrity ads and memes.

Trixie, seated like a queen on Samantha’s lap, blinked up at the screen as if offended her breakfast break had been interrupted.

Samantha’s reaction stood apart.

She stopped mid-motion—fork halfway down toward Trixie’s plate—and stared at the screen with wide eyes.

"Oh dear..." she murmured. "This city is getting more and more dangerous if even such people can fall victim."

Don watched the broadcast too—but only with his eyes. His mind wasn’t on the anchor, or the false narrative stitched together for public consumption. He swallowed the last bite from his fork and set it down.

"All the more reason to train harder," he said. "Who knows what could happen if you’re caught off guard."

Samantha hesitated. He could see it—her instinct to counter, to argue for safety, peace, normalcy. But the headlines scrolling across the screen stole that argument away.

She finally nodded, quiet.

Breakfast carried on.

Winter finished cleaning and glided past the table to deposit a stack of folded towels in the hallway.

Summer dug into the fridge again for a second helping. Amanda reached for another pancake with the casual greed of someone who believed food grew instantly from thin air.

Samantha kept watching the news, brow creasing now and then as new details scrolled across the screen—most of them wrong.

Don leaned back in his chair, arms resting loosely against the sides, attention drifting. He wasn’t listening anymore—not to the anchor, not to the speculation, not to the citywide panic forming outside these walls.

His phone buzzed once—bzzt~—and he checked it with a glance before responding. Messages. Schedules. Updates.

The rest of the day would follow that pattern.

Homebound.

Calls. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Texts.

Quiet plotting stitched between ordinary moments.

———

It wasn’t until the following day that Don returned to anything resembling a busy schedule.

The compound at SHU felt calmer than usual around this hour.

A little past 4 p.m., the hallways carried only the low hum of ventilation and the faint thud of distant training drills. The lights overhead ran in a clean line toward the far end, where the door to Training Cell Four waited.

Except the door wasn’t closed this time.

It sat partly open—just enough to show the flooring and the faint glow from the overhead fixtures.

Don stood outside it for a moment, rolling one shoulder. His attire was minimal: form-fitting training shorts stopping above the knee, the rest of him bare.

The temperature inside these cells always ran warm enough to make shirts pointless anyway.

Redstar was already there.

She stood near the center of the cell, one arm stretched across her chest as she pulled it tight with the other hand. The red-and-black sportswear she wore matched her usual style—only the pattern had changed.

The colors stayed the same, bold against her skin under the room’s lights.

She didn’t bother turning around when he entered.

"Good evening, uh, miss Red—"

"Just call me Ana, boy."

Her voice hit before he finished the title, straight and dismissive.

Don blinked. "Uhm... you can just call me Don."

She scoffed, finally dropping her arm.

"If you want me to address you properly," she said, placing a hand on her hip, "then earn it."

Don wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He just stepped further inside, the door closing behind him.

Ana shifted her weight, eyes forward.

"Have you decided on the path you want to take?"

"Yes," Don said. "The vanguard path seems most suited for me."

Ana smirked—small, but there.

"Good."

She turned fully toward him.

The smirk paused.

Her eyes dropped a little, scanning him from head to mid-chest, then a fraction lower. Not in interest—more like someone spotting something out of place.

"You’ve grown..." she said.

The tone wasn’t shocked or impressed.

Her gaze lingered for a second longer. Don could tell she wanted to ask. The question hovered there—but she let it die.

She flicked the thought away with a small exhale and nodded instead.

"Alright then," she said, folding her arms. "Let us begin with basics."

The training cell door clicked shut behind them—chk~—locking the world outside out.

And Don stepped forward to meet whatever she had in mind.