Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don couldn't help but grin, a warm feeling settling in his chest. Having someone who cared this deeply for him was… well, it was something he never took for granted. He chuckled a bit before answering, "To be honest, I wasn't even sure I'd manage to beat that thing. I was planning to test it out a little, maybe even call a timeout if it beat me up. Its hits are no joke. I'm kinda surprised I even won."

Samantha's worry crept through, as predictable as it was endearing. "Oh, Donnie, are you badly hurt?"

The corner of Don's mouth lifted a little higher. Her concerned tone made him feel both cared for and slightly guilty, though he quickly reassured her. "I'm fine, Mom, don't worry. Just a few scratches, some bruises, and a little soreness. I'll take a warm bath when I get home—that should help."

Yet despite his attempt to downplay it, Samantha sounded as concerned as ever. "Alright, sweetie, but try not to push yourself anymore today, okay? No training. I'll give you a massage when I get home."

Don's eyebrows lifted, and a smirk crept onto his face. This was the outcome he'd been secretly hoping for. But he kept his tone casual, cracking a joke. "At this rate, I should probably start paying you for being my private physiotherapist."

Her laugh came through the phone, light and beautiful, and he could imagine the way she'd be standing, maybe leaning against a wall with a hint of blush on her cheeks. "You can pay me by trying not to get hurt every week," she teased.

Don let out a thoughtful "Hmm…" as if he were seriously considering it. "Or," he said after a few seconds of playful silence, "I have a better idea."

As he spoke, he started pacing slowly, glancing occasionally toward the edge of the crowd as the guards continued to push back the enthusiastic fans and reporters. On her end, Samantha was standing outside the conference room, smiling and nodding politely at the occasional passerby.

"What do you say we go on a mother-son trip one of these days?" he offered, trying to keep his voice light.

Samantha chuckled, clearly thinking he was joking. "You don't have to hang out with your boring old mom, Donnie. Besides, do you even think you'll have the time after today? You're practically a celebrity now."

Don scoffed, feigning offense. "Celebrity or not, I'll have you know my mom is an absolute bombshell. When she smiles, ice melts."

He could almost hear her blushing through the line, her laugh bubbling up again, both amused and touched. "Okay, okay, Donnie, stop," she said, trying to rein him in. "Geez, you're making me blush like a little girl."

"Oh really?" he teased, grinning wider. "So, you're saying you don't want to hear about how the sun looks at you and gets jealous?"

Samantha repeated his line with a laugh, "The sun gets jealous?" She shook her head. "You've been reading too many romance novels, Donnie."

Don pretended to be offended. "Hey, are you making fun of my mom again? I've got plenty more lines where that came from."

She relented with a smile in her voice, "No, honey, no more sweet talk. You win. And I really do need to get back to work, so I'll call you when I'm off, okay?"

"Alright, Mom. Talk to you later."

Her tone softened again, a warmth that never failed to touch him. "Alright, sweetie. Congratulations again. I'm so proud of you. Love you, honey."

"Love you, Mom," he said as the call cut off.

Don was about to tuck his phone into his pocket when it buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down to see a message notification.

**Ping!**

The screen displayed a new text from Gary:

*The item you requested is ready to be collected.*

Don's eyebrows raised slightly, and a faint, satisfied smirk appearing on his face.

'Perfect timing,'

he thought.

He tapped out a quick reply to Gary:

*Where and when do I collect them?*

He sent the text, then followed it up with another message to Donald,

*Where are you?*

After slipping his phone into his back pocket, he started moving toward the exit, where the guards had finally cleared a path.

A lone guard stood by the doorway, wiping his brow with a faint sigh of relief as he spotted Don approaching.

As Don drew near, the guard straightened immediately, greeting him with a firm nod. "Greetings, sir. If you're taking your leave, please allow a few of us to escort you out."

Don raised an eyebrow, not thrilled at the thought of being followed around. He knew this was all part of the fame game, but the idea of needing an entourage just to leave a building was… less than appealing. "Is that really necessary?" he asked, frowning slightly.

The guard hesitated, clearly caught off guard by the question. "Well, it depends, sir," he replied, clearing his throat.

"Most people these days know not to approach heroes too closely, and even the media show respect—sometimes. But, uh, I think these people are a bit caught up in the moment. Reporters want to break the story first, and fans are just eager for an autograph, maybe hoping to sell it later." He shook his head, sighing. "It happens every year during evaluations, but it tends to settle down after a few days."

Don nodded, considering the information. "I see," he muttered with a nod, "well then I guess I could use an escort to the car park."

The guard nodded quickly, clearly relieved by Don's acceptance, and spoke into his earpiece.

Within seconds, a small team of guards assembled to flank Don, forming a loose but attentive shield around him as they headed down the corridor.

As they made their way through the building,

**Ping!**

Don's phone vibrated, and he glanced at the screen to see Gary's response.

*Pickup is mobile. Package doesn't need to be too discreet, so I can send it to your location if that works better. Just let me know where you are.*

Don's fingers tapped out a quick reply,

*Student car park at SHU. Send me the plate number so there's no trouble with entry.*

He pocketed his phone again, listening to the guard's brief murmurs through their earpieces as they moved through the building.

Another vibration from his phone, and Don checked to see Gary's prompt reply.

*Not a problem,*

followed by a plate number. Don mentally noted the details before returning his attention to his surroundings.