Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 569: Slow Days, Fast Plans (Part 4)

Ash didn't answer right away.

Not because she felt sympathy.

Because she didn't know what reaction she was supposed to be dealing with.

Don hadn't explained much. No grand speech. No layered briefing. Just instructions. Go upstairs. Get close. Deliver the device.

That was it.

She studied Ashly's face in the mirror for a second longer—panic, confusion, fear all colliding behind expensive mascara.

Then Ash reached into the back pocket of her leather shorts.

The motion alone made Ashly flinch.

She stepped back instantly, spine hitting the restroom door with a dull thud~, breath hitching as if she expected a weapon.

Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

Ash pulled out a small black device.

Flash-drive sized. Smooth. Minimal. Matte surface.

She held it up between two fingers.

"Here," she said. "Take it."

Ashly stared at it like it might explode.

"What is it?" she asked, voice barely steady.

Ash frowned faintly.

She stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

"You don't get to ask questions," she said flatly. "Just do what I say and your boyfriend won't ever know he's sharing holes with his dad."

The words landed hard.

Ashly's face crumpled.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, cutting through carefully applied makeup.

"You don't understand my situation, I—"

"I don't care," Ash cut in.

Another step forward.

Now she towered over her.

She lifted the device closer to Ashly's face.

"All you have to do," Ash continued, voice calm and controlled, "is stick this little thing to Andrew's phone… and his computer. A few seconds."

Ashly grimaced, shaking her head weakly.

"Why? What are you trying—" Her voice rose, cracking under strain.

"You don't need to know," Ash interrupted again.

She leaned closer, lowering her voice.

"All you need to know is this: do it, and your boyfriend won't ever find out about whatever freaky thing you've got going on."

Ashly swallowed hard.

Her eyes darted toward the ceiling, toward the door, toward the mirror—searching for a way out that wasn't there.

Footsteps echoed faintly outside the restroom.

Approaching.

Ash straightened.

"Doesn't look like you're interested," she said with a shrug. "Oh well."

She started to tuck the device back into her pocket.

"Wait!"

Ashly grabbed her wrist with trembling fingers.

"I'll do it," she forced out through clenched teeth. "Okay? I'll do it."

Ash held her gaze for a moment.

Then she pressed the device into Ashly's palm and closed her fingers around it.

"It's magnetic," Ash said. "Make sure it stays attached to the computer and phone for a good minute."

Ashly's eyes flicked up. "But you said only a few seconds—"

"Yeah," Ash replied. "Just sixty."

Before Ashly could argue again, the restroom door swung open abruptly—THUD~—forcing Ashly forward.

Ash stepped aside smoothly, catching the door with one hand.

Two girls paused at the entrance.

"Oh, sorry," one of them said.

"Don't worry about it," Ash replied casually.

She walked past them without looking back.

The club noise swelled again as she exited the corridor—bass pounding through the floor.

She adjusted her earpiece slightly.

"It's done," she said under her breath.

"Good," Don replied immediately. "Let's get out of here."

Ash moved toward the stairs, descending from the VIP level. Eyes followed her again as she passed—curious, assessing.

"Are you sure she's up for the job?" Ash asked quietly.

"Don't worry about it."

Ash frowned slightly at the tone.

But she didn't press.

"Whatever," she muttered.

She walked through the main floor, weaving between bodies and flashing lights, heading toward the exit.

The job was in motion now.

Whether the girl held up her end was no longer Ash's concern.

---

With the first step done, Don didn't make another move immediately.

He waited.

Three days.

No call from Ash. No message from the frightened girl in a champagne dress.

The confirmation came from Winter.

It was mid-afternoon. Partly cloudy skies drifted overhead, but the sun still broke through often enough to warm the terrace.

The large pool reflected shifting light across the surrounding stone. Water rippled gently as Don floated near the edge, arms stretched wide, eyes half-closed.

Amanda and Samantha lay on sun loungers nearby.

Amanda wore a bright red bikini, one leg bent lazily at the knee, sunglasses perched on her nose. Samantha's was a softer pastel blue, modest but flattering, her hair spread across the cushion behind her. Both had drinks sweating lightly on the small side table between them.

Winter approached the edge of the pool.

She did not announce herself loudly.

"It seems Miss Ashly was successful in her task," she said in a low, even tone.

Don lowered his arms and stood upright in the shallow end, water rolling down his chest.

"Oh?"

"I was granted access into most of the Barclay family's private servers," Winter continued. "However, several are linked to cybersecurity firms and are too risky to infiltrate. They appear to manage segments of the family's decentralized currency reserves."

She tilted her head slightly.

"These firms employ layered intrusion detection and active countermeasures. Attempting access would likely alert them immediately."

Don exhaled.

"Well. That rules out stealing all their money."

He reached for the edge of the pool and pulled himself up onto the terrace, water dripping onto the stone—plip~ plip~.

"Did you find additional information we can use at least?"

"Indeed."

Winter's gaze remained steady.

"Although their funds are secure, the methods by which portions of that wealth were acquired are not. Numerous members of the Barclay family—with a few exceptions—are involved in various forms of criminal activity. They are simply careful."

She paused briefly.

"That is precisely why such data is not outsourced to external cybersecurity firms."

Don ran a hand through his wet hair.

"Hmm. Who's among the exceptions?"

"Andrew Barclay. A family lawyer by the name of Beatrice Foster. A cousin to Harold by the name—"

"It's fine," Don cut in. "Andrew will suffice."

He gave a short scoff.

"Didn't expect him to be clean."

Amanda shifted on her lounger, stretching her arms overhead. "What are you two talking about?" she called lazily without opening her eyes.

Don ignored her.

"Find out his schedule for the next few days," he said to Winter.

Before she could respond, Amanda sat up and waved her glass.

"Heeeyyy Winter," she called out. "Can I please get another one of those fruity cocktails you made?"

Don glanced toward Winter.

"Go ahead," he said. "We'll pick this up later."

Without another word, he stepped forward and dove back into the pool.

Water swallowed him in a clean arc—SPLASH~—before he surfaced further out and broke into a steady swim.

---

That same evening.

Steam lingered faintly in Don's bathroom as he stepped out of the shower, towel around his waist. He stood before the mirror, one hand lifting deodorant to his side while the other held his phone on speaker against the counter.

Gary's voice filtered through clearly.

"I see. Since we cannot directly siphon any substantial digital assets from them, this approach is… prudent. But are you certain Andrew Barclay will suffice?"

Don applied the deodorant with unhurried movements.

"If he doesn't," he said evenly, "we'll cut our losses and crush him along with the rest of his family."

Gary chuckled softly on the other end. "Brilliant."

Don tossed the deodorant aside and reached for a shirt.

"When do you intend on acting?"

"Tomorrow night," Don replied.

He stepped into gray sweatpants and reached for a blue shirt.

"Winter says Andrew and his brothers are hosting a fundraising gala for their father. Given the gravity of the cases he's already facing, he's trying to distance himself from family business."

He buttoned the shirt slowly.

"Wise."

"Then I wish you good luck, sir," Gary said. "Unless you require something else of me?"

Don paused briefly as he adjusted his pants.

"In regard to Barclay, I'll manage," he said. "But there was something I wanted you to do for me."

A slight shift in Gary's tone followed.

"I'm listening, sir."