Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 585: Not As It Seems (Part 10)

Miss Claire stood a few steps behind them.

She wore a tailored cream blouse tucked into high-waisted charcoal slacks, the fabric structured without being overly formal.

A light blazer rested over her shoulders, sleeves pushed slightly upward. Her hair was styled neatly back, understated jewelry at her wrist and ears. Smart casual, as expected. Nothing excessive. Nothing careless.

Her gaze was already on them.

Samantha's expression brightened almost instantly.

"Oh—Claire," she said, relief evident in her tone. "I wondered where you were."

Miss Claire inclined her head slightly before turning toward a passing waiter.

She gestured calmly toward the empty space to Don's left.

The waiter nodded once in understanding and stepped away without question.

"Unfortunately," Miss Claire replied, returning her attention to Samantha, "such events have a habit of attracting individuals I am acquainted with in one way or another. It seemed appropriate to offer greetings."

Samantha gave a small, slightly strained chuckle.

"I can't imagine doing all that with such a composed demeanor."

Miss Claire's lips curved faintly.

"It becomes habit."

The waiter returned, carrying an additional chair. He positioned it where she had indicated earlier—legs sliding softly against the floor.

"Would you like your own side table as well, ma'am?" he asked.

A simple nod.

Within moments, a compact table was added beside the chair.

As Miss Claire took her seat, smoothing her blazer subtly before settling back, Don became aware of it.

The shift.

More than one gaze had turned in their direction.

Men. Women. Parents. Sponsors.

And the unsettling part—

Only a few of those eyes were on Samantha or Miss Claire.

Most were on him.

He ignored it.

Miss Claire crossed one leg over the other, posture relaxed.

"It is best to get formalities out of the way early," she continued. "I did not wish to be disturbed while enjoying my free time."

She paused.

Her gaze lifted toward the holographic screens, following a replay of the fallen student being lifted carefully onto a stretcher.

"Though…"

Samantha glanced at her.

"What's wrong?"

Miss Claire tilted her head slightly, considering.

"I would much rather we watch from the stands should there be a next time."

Don blinked once.

'Does she really mean that?'

He glanced subtly around the deck. Conversations. Calculated smiles. Eyes that weighed more than they admired.

'Considering how often she moves in spaces like this… I probably should have secured a private box in the stands instead.'

He suppressed the urge to sigh.

Instead, he leaned back and shifted the conversation.

"So… have either of you attended events at Sylvia and Summer's school before?"

Miss Claire lifted her chin thoughtfully.

"If I recall correctly, there was a volleyball tournament they played in."

Samantha's expression lit up.

"Oh—I remember that."

She laughed softly, this time without restraint.

"Summer got so mad at the referee."

Miss Claire allowed herself a brief chuckle.

"Yes. And Sylvia kept correcting the referee's calls from the sidelines. It did not improve matters."

Samantha covered her mouth slightly, shaking her head.

"She nearly got benched for arguing."

"And Summer nearly vaulted the net," Miss Claire added calmly.

They both laughed at that.

Below, another match began—impact strikes landing in rhythmic bursts—thump~ thump~ crack~

The crowd roared again.

Yet up here—

Their small circle felt separate from it.

The conversation moved easily from that memory to other minor school events. Fundraisers. Performances. Summer's tendency to escalate trivial matters. Sylvia's habit of defending her regardless.

Don listened more than he spoke.

This wasn't quite what he had anticipated when the day began.

He rested his forearms on his knees briefly, glancing at the screens before looking between the two women seated on either side of him.

As long as he spent time with those closest to him—

The rest didn't matter.

For now.

---

Meanwhile, far from the noise and spectacle at SHU—

Director Graham sat in his office.

The blinds were half-drawn, allowing thin strips of late afternoon light to fall across the floor and stretch toward his desk. His computer monitor remained on, several folders open. Recruitment reports. Budget sheets. Internal memos awaiting review.

He wasn't looking at any of them.

His phone rested in his hand.

The screen lit up.

Blank.

He turned it off.

A second later, he pressed the side again.

The screen returned.

Still nothing.

His thumb brushed along the edge, as if he might will a message into existence through repetition alone.

Call log empty.

No new notifications.

He stared at the display longer than necessary before letting it dim again.

Knock. Knock.

The sound cut through the room.

He straightened slightly in his chair, adjusting his jacket and placing the phone face-down on the desk.

"Come in."

His voice was steady.

Almost.

The door opened to reveal Benjamin.

He stepped inside and paused just past the threshold.

His eyes took in the scene quickly.

The faint bags beneath the Director's eyes. The way his shoulders curved forward more than usual. The faint crease between his brows that hadn't been there weeks ago.

"Is this a bad time, sir?" Benjamin asked carefully.

Director Graham hesitated before answering.

"Is it important?"

Benjamin raised the tablet in his hand slightly.

"Well, a few scouts following the current exchange at SHU highlighted some promising talents. You always say to bring you the profiles of good seeds so…"

He held the tablet up a bit more.

"I've had them compiled."

Director Graham didn't look at it.

He turned his gaze instead toward the computer screen, though his eyes didn't focus on any particular file.

"Good," he said. "Then just have them sent over via email."

Benjamin lowered the tablet slightly.

He watched the Director's profile.

'The divorce is really taking a toll on him,' he thought. 'But it has to be more than that…'

The Director had known his wife's temperament for years. He had spoken of it more than once. Could he truly be this affected?

On the surface, Benjamin kept his tone neutral.

"Alright then, sir."

He turned toward the door, offering one final glance from the corner of his eye.

Before he could fully step through—

He collided lightly with someone entering.

"Ah—"

He caught himself mid-step.

Standing just outside was a woman in UPSDF attire.

Structured dark uniform. Insignia pinned precisely at the collar. Gloves tucked beneath one arm. Her posture was upright without strain.

Commander Miller.

The same woman Benjamin had seen leaving the Director's office some time ago.

She met his gaze without expression.

No apology.

No acknowledgment beyond a brief pause.

Then she stepped around him and entered.

Benjamin watched her for half a second longer before exiting into the hallway.

The door shut behind him with a firm click—thk~

Inside the office, Director Graham shifted his attention toward her.

His expression didn't change much, though he attempted to add weight to his tone.

"What can I help you with, Commander?"

Command Miller approached the desk without invitation.

"A new inventory of equipment has arrived," she said evenly. "I need you to inspect it and authorize storage alongside the main weapons cache."

The Director leaned back slightly.

"Isn't storage scheduled for Fridays?"

She nodded once.

"Yes. However, certain operations have been moved forward."

Her eyes remained on him.

"Do you require direct procedure? If so, I can write to your board. After a meeting and formal vote, perhaps you will decide whether to allow me—"

He raised a hand.

"That won't be necessary."

Her words stopped immediately.

He exhaled quietly through his nose.

"Let's go."

For a moment, neither moved.

Then Director Graham pushed himself up from his chair.

His hand reached for the cane resting against the side of his desk. He gripped it, using it to steady himself as he came fully upright.

He adjusted his jacket, picked up his keycard from the desk, and stepped toward the door.

"Lead the way," he said.

She turned without another word.

—

**A/N:**

Closing this arc was… mildly annoying.

Not because anything explosive needed to happen — but because sometimes the hardest thing to write is *nothing dramatic happening while important things are still moving.*

I wanted to show that the world doesn't freeze just because Don is busy attending exchanges or navigating social landmines,.

Cogs turn.

People make decisions.

Not every event needs to be triggered by the main character breathing in the wrong direction. In fact, I find it far more interesting when the world behaves like it has its own agenda. It makes consequences feel less like plot devices and more like inevitabilities waiting for their moment.

Also, it's more fun this way.

You get to speculate.

You get to connect threads.

Anyway.

Thank you for reading.

As always, feedback is welcome.

You may also send: Constructive criticism, Wild theories, Power stones Or golden tickets

I will accept all offerings equally.

Until the next time.