Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 572: Slow Days, Fast Plans (Part 7)

Andrew’s friends looked at him the moment Don mentioned wanting to talk.

Then Don added—

"In private."

His eyes shifted toward them as he said it.

Not aggressive.

Not raised.

Just direct.

It was enough.

One of the men cleared his throat. Another gave a stiff smile.

"Well, we’ll let you two catch up."

"Important matters and all that."

They began excusing themselves almost immediately, glasses lifted in half-hearted farewells. Their movements were a little too quick. Shoulders slightly hunched as they stepped away.

Andrew didn’t stop them.

"Yeah," he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. "I’ll catch up with you later."

By the time they disappeared into the crowd near the bar, only Ashly remained at his side.

Don’s gaze flicked to her briefly.

Andrew noticed.

His arm moved around her shoulders, pulling her a fraction closer.

"What you want to say to me," Andrew said firmly, "you can say in front of her."

Don resisted the urge to scoff.

He simply nodded once.

"Alright."

He shifted his weight slightly.

"Well then. I won’t beat around the bush."

His expression changed—not warm anymore.

"It’s about your father... and your brothers."

Andrew’s brows drew together.

"What about them?"

Don held his gaze evenly.

"Are you aware they’re involved in a lot of illegal dealings around the city?"

Andrew’s jaw tightened.

"Gambling. Match fixing. Laundering. And more."

Ashly felt her heart slam against her ribs.

Andrew swallowed once. His face began to harden.

"You’re crazy," he snapped. "My family is well off. We don’t need to—"

"I have evidence that says otherwise," Don cut in calmly.

Andrew’s breathing shifted.

Anger crept into his posture. His hand tightened around Ashly’s shoulder unconsciously.

"If that were true," Andrew shot back, "then why the fuck are you talking to me and not the police?"

Don smiled faintly.

"Because," he said evenly, "according to the evidence... you’re not part of it."

Andrew blinked.

"So I thought—why not tell you?"

Don gestured lightly toward the hotel behind them.

"After all, we may not be friends. But I assumed since we’re both striving to be heroes... you deserved to know."

He let the words sit.

"That way you could hand in the evidence yourself."

Andrew’s eyes widened just slightly.

He gave a short, disbelieving scoff.

"Say what you’re saying is true," he muttered. "Do you really think I’d betray my own family?"

Don shrugged.

"I don’t know."

His tone didn’t change.

"And quite frankly, I don’t care."

Ashly looked up at Andrew now.

Watching him.

Measuring.

"I just thought," Don continued, "if you were the one to turn it in... you’d be seen as heroic. Image clean."

His gaze sharpened slightly.

"As opposed to getting dragged through the mud along with them."

Andrew’s expression faltered for a fraction of a second.

It was small.

But Ashly caught it.

Fear crept into her stomach.

Don turned his head slightly toward the hotel, toward the upper terrace where Andrew’s brothers could be seen mingling with more influential guests.

"From what I could tell from this fundraiser," Don said calmly, "you’re not even important to your family."

Andrew’s eyes snapped back to him.

"Your brothers were the ones dealing with the major guests. You’re down here playing host."

A small tilt of Don’s head.

"But hey. To each their own."

The words hit harder than the accusations.

Andrew’s jaw flexed.

Don reached into his pocket.

Slowly.

He removed a small flash drive.

Held it between his fingers.

"All the evidence is here."

He extended it toward Andrew.

"If you want to separate yourself from this fake life of yours, you’ll turn it in by tomorrow."

His eyes didn’t waver.

"Or you can get arrested and questioned along with the rest of your family when it gets turned in anyway."

Andrew didn’t take it.

He stared at the drive.

Then back at Don.

"How do you know I won’t just show it to my brothers? Or my father?" he asked. "If they’re criminals like you say... isn’t that dangerous for you?"

A pause.

"Maybe that’s why you want me to do it instead."

Don raised a brow.

Then he laughed.

Short.

Genuine.

He shook his head once.

"That’s a good one."

He stepped closer, just slightly.

"You’re forgetting something, Andrew."

His voice lowered.

"Unlike you... I’m not scared of your father or your brothers."

Without warning—

He tossed the drive at Andrew.

It struck his chest lightly—tck~—and dropped to the grass-covered flooring at his feet.

Andrew looked down at it.

Didn’t move.

Don turned away.

"Let them know," he said casually over his shoulder, "when you take that to them like the good little dog you are."

Andrew’s fist clenched instantly.

A faint crackle sparked around his knuckles—tiny arcs of electricity snapping briefly in the air—tzzt~ tzzt~—before fading.

Ash stepped back slightly on instinct.

Don turned his head toward her.

"Let’s go."

Ash glanced once at Ashly.

Then at Andrew.

Then quickly moved to follow Don.

They walked away at an unhurried pace.

Behind them—

Andrew stood rigid.

Teeth gritted.

Small sparks flickered again at his hand—tzzt~—before he forced them down.

His eyes remained fixed on Don’s retreating back.

And the flash drive still resting at his feet.

---

Three days later—

Don stood behind the living room sofa, one arm resting across the top edge, shoulder leaned into the wall frame. He wasn’t watching television the way most people did. He wasn’t relaxed.

He was standing.

Waiting.

The television filled the room with a steady stream of commentary.

On-screen, bold red letters scrolled across the bottom:

**BARCLAY FAMILY UNDER FEDERAL INVESTIGATION**

The footage shifted to an aerial shot of a luxury penthouse tower near the waterfront. Police vehicles boxed off the entrance below, lights flashing in rhythmic bursts—reflecting across glass balconies stacked high above.

The camera zoomed slightly as two suited men were escorted through the lobby doors in handcuffs. Their hair disheveled. Faces stiff. Reporters shouting from behind barricades.

Another clip followed—grainy phone footage—showing one of the brothers being guided into the back of a black SUV. A hand briefly shielded his face from the cameras.

Too late.

The news anchor’s voice carried evenly over the footage. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"Following the surprise arrest of Harold Barclay’s two oldest sons yesterday, additional charges have been added to what authorities are already calling a substantial case against the Barclay patriarch."

The image cut to a still of Harold Barclay entering a courthouse weeks prior—older, composed, suit immaculate.

"As for Andrew Barclay, the youngest son—and the one responsible for turning over the evidence—sources confirm he is currently cooperating with law enforcement and remains under protective supervision."

The screen shifted again. Andrew’s photo appeared. Not smiling. Not grim. Just neutral.

Don’s lips moved faintly.

Not quite a smile.

The anchor continued.

"Officials state this investigation may expand further as financial records and offshore accounts are examined. More updates to follow."

The footage looped back to the penthouse aerial.

Amanda stood a few feet to Don’s left, arms folded loosely, watching none of it. She leaned her hip against the side table, gaze drifting toward the hallway instead.

"What’s taking Summer so long?" she asked, voice mild.

Don didn’t look away from the television.

"She’ll come."

Amanda let out a breath and glanced again toward the corridor. "You said that ten minutes ago."

On-screen, one of the arrested brothers stumbled slightly while being led forward. A flash from a camera went off directly in his face—click-click-click~—rapid and relentless.

Don had seen the news when it first broke.

He’d watched it live.

Watched Andrew’s name surface.

Watched the timing line up perfectly.

Now every station was replaying it, breaking it down, farming it for discussion panels and reaction segments.

Still—

It didn’t get old.

Footsteps sounded from the hallway. Soft at first. Then closer.

Summer appeared around the corner, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her brows were pulled together, lips pressed flat.

She walked toward them without greeting.

"I was making sure none of my stuff would explode," she said, stopping a few feet from Don.

Amanda’s brows lifted.

"What stuff?" she asked. "And why does it explode?"

Summer’s frown deepened.

She shifted her weight and glanced briefly away, as if mentally cataloguing shelves and drawers.

"It’s legal," She replied before anyone could comment.

Amanda turned toward her slowly. "That wasn’t the question."

"No one said it’s not," Summer added calmly.

She then dropped her arms and gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "It’s just some compounds. Reagents. I had two things reacting slower than expected, so I separated them."

Amanda stared at her.

"...You have chemical reactions running in your bedroom?"

"They’re contained."

"Contained where?"

Summer hesitated.

Don’s eyes finally moved from the television to Summer. "Glass?"

She nodded once.

"Sealed?"

"Yes."

Amanda blinked.

"You’re telling me," she said carefully, p walking toward the hallway "that if I walk into your room right now, I won’t find something bubbling through the ceiling?"

Summer rolled her eyes and moved to intercept her, stepping into her path.

"They’re stabilized. I adjusted the ratios."

Amanda stopped inches from her, studying her face.

"And if you miscalculated?"

"I didn’t."

A second.

Don’s phone vibrated against him—bzzzt~

Amanda glanced toward it.

Don didn’t move immediately.

Summer crossed her arms again. "I triple-checked."

Don then cut in-between both to say, "...Come guys, the surprise s ready"

Summer’s eyes flicked briefly toward Don, "What surprise?"