Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere
Chapter 404 - 404: The Truth (Part 11)

Don raised an eyebrow at the question. That wasn't what he'd expected. He thought she'd just come to pester him, maybe throw a few jabs, and leave.

The request caught him off-guard because he knew she was hinting at some more than just help—not that he let it show much.

He took another bite of food, chewing slowly, thinking.

It was tempting to say yes and agree there and then. But with everyone awake in the house, it wasn't the best idea.

He set the fork down and wiped his mouth again.

"No thanks," he said casually. "I've got some things to do. Can it wait till later?"

Summer's brows drew together, the crease between them deepening. She didn't argue outright—just let out a soft, frustrated exhale, the kind that barely moved her hair.

"…Whatever," she muttered, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I guess that works. But you better not bail."

Don picked up his fork again, gesturing lazily toward her with it.

"I think what you mean to say," he said dryly, "is thank you, dear brother, for agreeing to help me." He took a bite of beans, chewing thoughtfully. "At this rate, you're never getting married."

Summer's expression soured instantly. She glared, her lips pressing into a thin, flat line.

"Like I need some idiot guy to be happy in life," she snapped, her tone sharp. "Why are men so full of themselves?"

Don shrugged, not looking at her.

"Fair point," he said, voice low, a hint of amusement in it. He set his fork down with a quiet clink and leaned back slightly. "Though I doubt a guy would make you any less of a grumpy brat."

Summer's eyes narrowed, the flush on her cheeks deepening. Without a word, she reached over to the fruit basket on the center island and grabbed an orange, her fingers wrapping around it like she meant to squeeze the life out of it.

Don caught the shift in her posture a split second before she threw it.

The orange sailed through the air with a soft whump.

Before it could connect, Don raised a hand lazily, and the fruit stopped mid-air, floating in place as if caught by an invisible string. His fingers twitched slightly, and the orange drifted upward—hovering just over Summer's head.

Her eyes widened, but before she could duck, Don let it drop.

**Thud**

It bounced off her head and rolled onto the counter.

"Grr!" Summer let out a short, frustrated growl, her hands balling into fists as she glared at him. "I'll get you for that!"

Don smirked, lifting his glass of juice and taking a slow sip.

At that exact moment, Samantha entered from the hallway, holding a small green purse. She stopped as she stepped into the living area, her gaze snapping to the scene in the kitchen—the orange rolling across the counter, Summer rubbing the top of her head, and Don, relaxed as ever, watching it all unfold with the barest amusement in his eyes.

Summer's hand quickly reached out again, fingers grazing the edge of the fruit basket, her lips pressed into a determined line.

Before she could grab another orange, Samantha's voice cut through, firm but tired.

"Is it so hard for you two not to fight?" she called out, stepping into the kitchen fully now. The green purse swung lightly from her hand, the sound of the metal clasp clicking faintly as she adjusted her grip.

Don didn't look up. He shrugged once, pointing his fork at Summer without much energy behind it.

"She started it. Assaulted me with fruit."

His tone was flat, as if the whole thing had been a minor inconvenience rather than a childish spat.

Summer huffed, picking up the same orange that had been used against her. She held it up in mock-offense as Samantha walked into the kitchen proper, the thud-thud of her socks on the floor marking her arrival.

"He dropped this on my head using his powers!" she said, her voice pitched slightly higher, a faint blush blooming on her cheeks. "I'm the victim here."

Don rolled his eyes and finished the last bite of his meal. He pushed the plate toward Winter, who took it wordlessly, her focus never breaking from her task as she wiped down the counter with quick, efficient motions.

"Here you go, Winter. I'm done."

Winter accepted the plate without a glance, stacking it neatly with the others. The soft clatter of utensils echoed in the sink as she moved.

Samantha let out a sigh, shaking her head slightly as she moved closer, her gaze shifting between the two of them.

"Both of you, just stop it already."

"Ugh!" Summer let out a frustrated noise, stomping one foot lightly against the floor. She glared at Don, arms folded tight across her chest, hoodie sleeves bunching up near her wrists.

"How come you never lecture Don?" she muttered, her voice sharp but lacking real bite. She spun on her heel, adding with a hmph, "Whatever. I'll leave you with your favorite child."

Her words, though barbed, didn't carry much weight. The family was used to her outbursts—more bark than bite. She'd cool off, probably show up again when the next meal was ready.

Samantha sighed again, her shoulders slumping slightly. She was the only one who seemed to take Summer's comments to heart, her fingers fidgeting briefly with the strap of her purse.

Don caught the flicker of guilt on her face, the way her gaze dipped as if she were already reconsidering how she handled the situation.

He smirked, using the moment to defuse her thoughts.

"Don't mind her," he said, casually wiping his mouth with a napkin. "She probably just thinks I spent the morning with you instead of helping her with whatever in her room."

It worked. Samantha let out a soft breath, a quiet exhale that seemed to release the weight from her shoulders. She shook her head lightly, adjusting her glasses with a quick push of her index finger.

"You're probably right," she admitted, her voice soft, a little sheepish.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a metallic, black credit card.

"Here's your card, honey," she said, holding it out toward him. "I forgot to give it to you earlier this morning."

Don took it, fingers brushing briefly against hers as he accepted it.

"Thanks. I was just about to ask—I need to head out soon."

That small flicker of disappointment crossed Samantha's face again, subtle but not missed. Her smile faltered, lips thinning just slightly as she adjusted her glasses again, the frame slipping down her nose a fraction.

"Oh," she said, voice quieter, "I thought you'd be a little longer. Fabio said he's coming over to deliver some clothes, so I thought we could…"

Her sentence trailed off, fading into a quiet mumble as she waved it away with a small shake of her head.

"Anyways. It doesn't matter."

She tried for a warm smile, but it sat awkwardly on her face, not quite reaching her eyes.

Don could read it easily. The little tilt of her head, the forced brightness in her voice. He knew exactly what she was remembering—the last time they'd gone out shopping together, wandering the Central Mall, her laughing over clothes he never intended to wear.

And then the Nightshade attack.

The day had been a disaster in the end, but he could still picture the moment before—the genuine joy in her eyes.

He smiled softly, letting his voice carry a little warmth.

"It's not silly at all," he said, watching her carefully. "Trying out new clothes sounds fun. And since I know now…"

He paused, tapping the credit card against his palm once, the sound a faint thwack.

"I'm going to go buy a camera. So you can be my very own personal model like I said last time."

Samantha's eyes widened slightly, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. She laughed—light, almost girlish—and brought her hand up to cover her mouth for a second.

"Oh, you," she said, shaking her head. "I know you're just saying that. But thank you, sweetie."

She looked at him with a fondness that practically radiated, her eyes soft and warm.

"What time are you leaving?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

Don checked his watch, the metal catching a bit of light as he tilted it.

"Hmm," he mused, "now seems best. I just need to change."

He glanced at Winter, who was still at the sink, methodically drying a plate.

"Oh, and I'll be going with Winter. Broke my phone, so I need her for communication."

Samantha nodded, stepping in closer. She wrapped her arms around Don in a light hug, her large breasts pressing against him.

"Just be careful," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I will," he replied, voice steady.

As the hug broke, she reached up, thumb brushing across the corner of his mouth.

"You have some sauce here," she said softly, her tone dipping into something a little more motherly, a little more strict. "I better not hear any news about you being in danger, mister."

Don smirked slightly, his hand settling on her waist in a brief, firm and grounding gesture.

"You won't," he assured her, voice low.

Then, leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead—quick, almost perfunctory, but enough.

"Better go get ready," he added, stepping back.