Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 566: Slow Days, Fast Plans (Part 1)
The following morning, Don woke to a voice—not loud, not urgent, just present.
"Good morning, Don."
He groaned into the pillow.
No alarm. No vibration. Just Winter.
He rolled onto his back and blinked at the ceiling, eyes dry, head heavy. His body felt used. Not sore—used.
He pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, rubbing the back of his neck. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎
"Man..." he muttered under his breath. "To think they’d team up on me two more times..."
He yawned wide enough for his jaw to click. "Did something happen?"
"You left your phone on silent," Winter replied evenly. "You were about to miss a message from Miss Claire."
That got one eye open properly.
Don turned his head toward the dresser. The digital clock glowed back at him.
6:23 AM.
He exhaled through his nose. "She’s really a morning person."
"What does the message say?" he asked, voice still rough.
"She is asking if it would be too much trouble for you to pick her up from her residence at around 10:30."
Don scratched at his jaw, thinking.
"Tell her it’s not a problem," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "Oh—and ask her if she knows any good place I can get golfing attire from."
"Done," Winter replied a second later.
He rolled his shoulders once. "Shall I expect breakfast?"
"Shall I prepare some?" Winter asked.
"Please do."
He moved toward the wardrobe, pulling on track bottoms and stepping into his runners. He kept the black vest from last night. No point changing twice.
"Let me do a quick morning routine in the gym," he added. "Then shower."
"I will have your meal ready upon completion." Winter replied.
---
Some minutes later....
The gym doors slid open with a muted swish~.
Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching dust in the air and laying long streaks across the polished flooring. The scent of rubber mats and metal hung faintly in the room.
Samantha stood near the dumbbell rack.
She turned shortly after he entered.
Form-fitting charcoal sports leggings hugged her legs, the fabric smoothing over her hips and thighs.
Matching runners grounded her stance. A cropped sports top in the same shade fit snug across her chest and midriff, supportive and practical.
She had one foot planted forward on a low step platform, the other back, knees bending and rising as she performed steady lunges—dumbbells in each hand.
After each set, she pivoted into Romanian deadlifts, lowering the weights with careful control, back straight, breathing controlled.
The sunlight caught along her shoulders and collarbone as she moved.
Don walked toward her, gaze drifting openly over her form.
He didn’t hide it.
He never did.
Samantha noticed almost immediately. Her grip tightened slightly on the dumbbells. A faint flush rose along her cheeks.
*He’s staring at my body, isn’t he...*
She finished the rep, exhaled, and set the weights down with a soft clunk~.
Don reached her and opened his arms.
"Morning, Mom."
She stepped into him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his torso. Her chest pressed firmly into him through the thin fabric of his vest.
He embraced her fully, hands settling at her waist—then sliding just slightly lower before stopping.
Not too far.
She didn’t protest.
They held there for a moment, warmth replacing the morning chill.
When she leaned back, she looked up at him with soft eyes. "You’re up early today."
"Yeah," he said. "Have to head out early. I’ll be back around sunset."
He’d been sleeping late lately. Planning. Research. Meetings with Gary and Elle that ran too long.
Samantha lifted her hands and cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks gently.
"That’s wonderful, sweetie," she said. "I’d love for you to actually join us for dinner today. Summer too. Meals together as a family are important."
He smiled faintly and bent down to kiss her forehead.
"You’re right," he said. "I’ll drag her out of her room if I have to. Don’t worry."
She pinched his side lightly, laughing under her breath. "No fighting, you two."
"No promises," he replied.
His eyes dropped toward the dumbbells at her feet.
He tilted his head. "Now... how about I help you with your workout?"
Samantha narrowed her eyes at him, though the corners of her mouth twitched. She pointed a finger at his chest.
"No funny business, mister."
He raised both hands in surrender. "Sure thing."
---
They worked through her routine together.
He stood behind her during squats, hands hovering near her hips—not touching unless she wobbled slightly on the descent. When she lowered, knees bending, he tracked her form "closely".
"Chest up," he murmured once.
She adjusted.
On calf raises, he steadied her shoulders lightly as she lifted onto the balls of her feet. During glute bridges, he knelt near her side, counting reps aloud while she pushed through the final few with visible effort.
She grunted softly on the last one.
He didn’t tease her...
Much.
After about twenty minutes, sweat dotted her forehead. Her breathing deepened, chest rising and falling steadily.
"That’s enough," she said, lifting a hand. "Before you ’accidentally’ add more."
He smirked.
"I was being good."
"Mmhm."
They wiped down the equipment together, returning weights to their racks with soft metallic clicks~.
---
Showered and changed, Don checked himself once in the mirror.
Black slim-fit chinos sat clean along his legs. A long-sleeved white tee fit close through the chest and arms. Aviators hooked neatly into the collar. Black and white runners completed the look—casual but presentable.
He grabbed his keys. And left.
The drive across the city was smooth. Traffic light at this hour. Sun fully risen now, warming the windshield.
As he approached Claire’s residence, he noticed something different.
The gates were already open.
No pause. No security check.
He drove through without slowing, tires rolling over the stone-lined driveway. The path curved gently through manicured greenery—trimmed hedges, sculpted trees, flowers placed with care along the borders.
Water shimmered faintly in a side fountain as he passed, droplets catching the morning light before falling back with soft plinks~.
The house came into full view as he neared the entrance.
His car rolled to a stop near the front steps.
Engine off.
He stepped out, adjusting his sleeves once.
’Golfing, huh...’
He glanced toward the entrance, wondering what kind of morning this was about to become.
A few minutes later, the wide double doors of Claire’s home pushed open.
They moved without hurry, revealing her in full view as she stepped through.
She wore white golfing shoes—clean, structured, practical. White socks rose just high enough above the ankle to meet the hem of a soft navy skirt that fell just above her knees.
The fabric moved lightly with each step, neat and controlled. Her shirt was a crisp white polo, tucked cleanly, layered beneath a fitted light-blue sweater that matched the subtle band around her cap.
The cap itself was structured and minimal, sitting low enough to shade her eyes without hiding them.
Stylish glasses framed her face—thin silver rims catching the morning light.
Behind her stood one of her guards, posture straight, holding a leather golf bag over one shoulder. The bag was dark brown with polished brass fittings, clubs arranged neatly within.
Don walked forward to meet them.
The guard passed him the staff bag without a word.
Claire observed him as he took it.
"You know," she said calmly, "you don’t need a full attire these days at the course. Perhaps just the right shoes."
"Really?" Don replied, popping open the boot of the car and setting the bag inside.
"Really," she said, stepping toward the passenger door. "You would be surprised how many... ’unique’ influencers attend there these days."
Don closed the boot with a solid thud~. "Sounds like a real pain."
"Oh, it is," Claire answered, opening the door and lowering herself into the seat with effortless grace. "Especially when they insist on documenting every swing."
Don walked around to the driver’s side, smiling faintly as he got in.
"Tragic."
The engine turned over smoothly~.
They drove off.
