Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 542: A New - (Part 4)

Before long, they reached the locker room.

Utilitarian, like everything else. Long metal benches bolted to the floor. Rows of reinforced lockers lining both sides, dull gray with numeric stencils. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and recycled water.

Their lockers were opposite each other, several rows apart.

Don set his bag down and rolled his shoulders again as he opened his. Redstar did the same on her side.

She began to strip without ceremony.

He didn't look.

He was familiar with this. The few times they'd finished together, she'd never treated the space like it required performance. He kept his eyes on his locker, on the scuffed interior, on the towel he pulled free.

"Don't you worry," he asked, tone neutral, "someday you'll find the locker rooms full?"

"Hmph!" she replied immediately. "They know not to use these ones when I'm here."

There was a brief pause. Then, curiosity edged into her voice.

"Why do you ask?" she said. "Want to keep the view for yourself?"

'I wouldn't mind,' he thought.

Outwardly, he said, "Sounds dangerous."

She scoffed. "Nothing worth having is easy."

There was a short rustle of movement.

Redstar finished what she was doing and pulled a towel on in seamless motions. Then she started walking away, only to pause and look back.

"One more tip," she said. "No matter how easy an operation you take on may seem—prepare as much as you can."

She turned and headed toward the showers.

Then stopped again.

"Oh. And," she added without facing him, "no need to always keep your head low like some rabbit when I change. If I minded… you wouldn't be here."

A second passed.

"Think of it as a reward for training so diligently."

She let out something that might have been a chuckle.

Her tone didn't change enough to tell.

She continued on, bare feet carrying her toward the steam beyond the lockers.

Don stood where he was, towel in hand, watching the empty space she'd left behind.

Then he shook his head once and closed his locker.

———

Some time later, Don returned home.

He hadn't even finished stepping inside before Winter was there.

The door slid shut behind him with a muted thump—and the entry lights adjusted automatically, casting a clean glow across the foyer.

Don reached up and removed his aviators as he crossed the threshold, folding them once before slipping them into his pocket.

He wore a black-and-white track top and matching bottoms, the fabric still holding a trace of outside air. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes sharpened when he saw her waiting.

"I got your message while driving," he said, tone even. "What's so important you wanted to talk off-channels about it?"

Winter stepped aside as he toed off his shoes. She picked them up without comment, placing them neatly against the wall before following him deeper inside.

They moved down a corridor and into his bedroom. Don dropped onto the edge of the bed and leaned back slightly, undoing the zipper of his track top. He shrugged it off and tossed it aside, leaving only the vest beneath.

The movement pulled at muscles that were still sore from training.

Winter stopped in front of him. Her hands folded together at her waist, fingers interlaced.

"Well," she began, "a few days ago, I uncovered a breach in my communications." 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Don frowned. Not much—but enough.

"A breach?" he repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

"Do not worry," Winter said quickly. "It is nothing major. At least, not by internal standards."

She shifted her stance and projected a small interface between them—faint, schematic, dense with layered readouts.

"During a routine integrity sweep," she continued, "I noticed inconsistencies within traffic I had already authenticated. At first glance, it appeared normal— harmless metadata. However, certain packets lacked my internal digital mark."

Don's eyes narrowed. "Your signature."

"Yes," she said. "All data I generate or authorize carries it. It is a precaution. These did not."

He straightened slightly.

"I quarantined the foreign elements immediately," Winter went on. "Isolated them from my active systems. There was no propagation attempt, no escalation, no corruption. That was… unusual."

"And?" Don prompted.

"And upon closer examination," she said, "I discovered the data was not random. It was encoded."

She brought up another display—simple strings of ones and zeros, broken, uneven.

"Binary," Don said.

"Yes. Hidden within standard traffic I regularly interact with. The simplest possible form." Her head tilted a fraction. "I only detected it because the formatting was inconsistent. Crude."

"How long?" he asked.

"The first instance occurred several days ago," Winter replied. "Since then, additional fragments have arrived. Each isolated. Each incomplete. Over time, I was able to assemble them."

Don watched her carefully. Not because he doubted her—but because this was the first time he'd heard her describe something slipping past her unnoticed, even briefly.

"What does it say?" he asked.

"The message is… unclear," Winter said. "Likely due to the sender's limitations. The encoding method suggests a primitive device. Or an individual not well versed in concealment techniques."

She paused, then displayed a reconstructed line.

SHQQ compromised

"The second 'Q' is an error," Winter explained. "Based on pattern alignment, it was likely meant to be 'SHQ.'"

Don's jaw tightened.

"And this?" he asked.

"Dr Gadget," she said.

The words had appeared scrambled in the raw data. Reordered. Broken. But the meaning, once corrected, was difficult to mistake.

"Only someone involved in my creation," Winter continued, "would possess the knowledge necessary to insert data into my systems without triggering an immediate alert. Dr Gadget is the most probable source. Or someone very close to him."

She shifted the display again. A string of numbers followed.

"Coordinates?" Don asked.

"Yes. However, they were not transmitted cleanly. Several digits were misplaced. Others repeated. I cross-referenced possibilities and eliminated locations that were implausible or inaccessible."

Several entries were crossed out.

"I have narrowed them down to a handful," Winter said. "Among those, three stand out. All within reasonable distance."

Don leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose.

"Could be him," he said. "Or someone using his name."

"Correct," Winter replied. "As for why the message was sent—I do not know."

She lowered the display.

"I could wait for more transmissions," she said. "However, I would prefer that this back door into my systems be closed. Or at least rerouted to an external receiver. If no further messages arrive, the locations can still be investigated."

Don was quiet for a moment.

He didn't like unknowns. He liked them even less when they involved people who knew how Winter was built.

Still, panic wouldn't help.

"Alright," he said finally. "See if Gary can set up surveillance at those locations. Exterior only."

He met her gaze. "No direct engagement. If this is a trap, I don't want anyone walking into it blind."

Winter nodded. "Understood."

The room settled again.

Don leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes unfocused as he stared at the floor.

This wasn't something he could brush aside.