Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Chapter 687 687: Same City, Different Structure (Part 1)

Miss Claire's estate rested in a hush that Wednesday morning, five days after their arrival.Sunlight filtered through the tall trees lining the grounds, casting long, gentle patterns across manicured lawns still damp with dew.

Guards moved along their patrol routes in organized steps, dark uniforms blending with the shadows of the outer walls as they scanned the perimeter with quiet vigilance.

Inside the main building, maids glided through the hallways with their usual efficiency, adjusting vases of fresh flowers on side tables or smoothing linens on sideboards, their movements soft against the polished floors.

A short distance from the main structure, near the servants' quarters, stood the other gym.

It was not enormous but carried a solid presence, its lines cleaner and more modern than the estate's primary architecture.

Don had noticed the difference immediately upon his first visit—the reinforced frames and specialized equipment spoke to its purpose.

This was a space built for the guards, many of whom possessed superhuman traits that required machinery capable of handling far more than ordinary weights.

Don sat at one such machine now, a black vest clinging to his torso and matching shorts riding up slightly with each motion.

He was at a biceps station which featured thick, padded grips and a weighted stack calibrated for enhanced users, its metal frame gleaming under the overhead lights.

Nearby machines followed similar designs: heavy cable systems with adjustable pulleys, leg presses built to withstand thousands of pounds, and resistance rigs that hummed faintly with each adjustment.

He gripped the handles and pushed through another rep, sweat tracing paths down his arms and chest as his muscles burned in steady rhythm.

Above, mounted along the walls, several screens usually displayed sports highlights or training footage.

Today they carried the morning news. Don kept his attention fixed on the central display while he worked, breath steady through the effort.

The anchor, an older man with a deep, resonant voice that carried authority, spoke clearly.

"City Hall will host a formal announcement later this morning regarding the formation of a temporary governing body tasked with overseeing Santos City's rebuilding efforts until elections can be properly organized." He began.

"Among the confirmed participants are Mr. Xiao, chairman of the Santos City Hero University board, Bernard Monclaire, most noted for his extensive philanthropy and significant stakes in several major companies operating within the city, former mayor Eleanor Hargrove, and the current chief police commissioner, who previously served as deputy." The man paused on an image of the same commissioner.

"Some online voices have expressed skepticism regarding the commissioner due to his handling of a high-profile case several years ago. Also joining is Gerald Richmond, the well-known financier and hedge fund manager."

The anchor continued, shifting to a segment commemorating lives lost during the incident. Don barely registered the names at first—Director Henry Graham of SHU, the former police commissioner, the previous mayor—until the list expanded to include various celebrities, superheroes, and even a handful of villains who had fallen in the chaos.

He switched machines after finishing his set, moving to a leg press station and loading the heavy alloy weight with a metallic clank. Only when the broadcast turned to public reactions did his focus sharpen.

"Protests have already formed near the venue, with many residents voicing frustration over delayed compensation for damages, shortages of essential resources in temporary shelters, and concerns about how reconstruction priorities will be decided." The anchor paused briefly, glancing down at his notes.

"Organizers promise these and other pressing questions will be addressed by the new body during the press briefing scheduled for ten o'clock."

Don kept pushing through the reps, legs burning as the platform rose and fell. The news faded into background noise once more.

He had reached the fourteenth repetition on the next set when the door opened.

Winter entered, now dressed in the black-and-white maid attire matching the rest of the estate staff.

The uniform fit her frame precisely, crisp and professional. She approached the machine without hesitation and extended a folded towel toward him.

"It is about time you begin getting ready."

Don finished the set with a controlled exhale, then stood and accepted the towel.

He wiped the sweat from his face and neck as he headed for the exit, muscles still warm from the session. Winter fell into step beside him.

"Are the others awake?" he asked.

"Aside from you and Miss Claire, no." Winter's voice remained even as they moved through the corridor connecting the gym to the main building.

"Summer and Sylvia stayed up late judging from their internet activity. Amanda will not wake until the afternoon after her extended session with shows last night. Samantha typically rises in about an hour and tends to remain in her room until others are active."

They continued onward. The news still played faintly from the gym behind them, now mentioning a ceremony later that afternoon to honor those who had risked their lives during the outbreak.

Winter kept speaking, offering details she deemed useful. She mentioned his growing online presence—clips from the incident, particularly around Ebon Crest, had circulated widely.

Nothing that dominated headlines, as many genuine heroes had earned far more attention, but those paying closer attention noted his actions.

His traits likely helped shape the reception. Homegrown, young, and capable.

Don said nothing further, simply absorbing the information as they walked.

Half an hour and a shower later, he stood in his assigned bedroom.

He now wore a sharp black-and-white suit which fit his frame perfectly, as expected from something provided by Miss Claire.

Winter assisted with the final adjustments, smoothing the jacket into place. As she did so, a knock sounded at the door and she moved to open it, revealing Miss Claire.

The woman wore a business-oriented ensemble that carried the unmistakable air of old money—elegant yet commanding.

It featured a blazer that sat open with nothing beneath, revealing a tasteful expanse of cleavage, paired with wider trousers, heels, gloves, and a hat that completed the look.

Don turned. "Oh, good morning. I'm almost ready."

"No rush," Miss Claire replied smoothly. "I only wish to arrive early to meet some potential clients and, of course, support a few… friends."

The slight emphasis on the word friends made him doubt the warmth behind it. He stepped toward her. "Well, I'm ready."

She looked him up and down, then closed the distance. Her hands rose to his tie. "Not quite."

With deft movements she loosened and removed it entirely. "It is not a truly formal event, so you could do without the tie. It obstructs your neckline."

Don offered a small smile. "I'll trust your judgment."

Miss Claire gave the faintest of smiles in return. "That would be wise of you to do." She stepped back once the adjustment was complete, her hands falling away. "I shall await you downstairs for breakfast before we depart. Do observe the time."

Don watched her leave, her slender frame moving with elegant precision down the hallway.

Her wide hips and rounded curves drew the eye despite the tailored cut of her clothing. He lingered on the sight a moment longer until Winter's voice broke through.

"I could record the sight for you if you wish to watch it longer in your spare time."

Don glanced at her, uncertain whether the statement carried sarcasm or genuine offer.

Her monotone delivery made it difficult to tell, even with her capacity for more natural inflection. Personal preference, perhaps.

He simply sighed and turned away. "Just pass me my shoes."

——

Several minutes and a quiet breakfast later, Don sat behind the wheel of Miss Claire's Rolls Royce as they made their way toward the city.

The big car glided smoothly along the winding valley roads, its engine a low, refined hum beneath the leather and wood interior.

Sunlight filtered through the trees lining the route, casting shifting patterns across the hood.

Miss Claire occupied the passenger seat beside him, posture straight yet relaxed, one gloved hand resting lightly on her lap as she watched the passing scenery.

Even after they entered the city proper, activity remained subdued.

Construction crews worked in scattered clusters, clearing rubble and erecting temporary barriers along damaged streets.

Military vehicles sat parked at intervals, and soldiers moved with measured steps near key junctions.

Checkpoints appeared regularly, each requiring documentation and brief questions before they were waved through.

The process grew tedious after the fourth stop, but neither of them complained. By the time they cleared the fifth, the tension in the air had thickened noticeably.

Miss Claire exhaled softly, breaking the silence that had settled over the cabin.

The radio played low in the background with a steady murmur of news updates.

"I do wonder how long this shall persist," she said, her voice carrying a quiet elegance. "It seems like only yesterday the city moved at its usual pace."

Don nodded once, eyes on the road ahead. "Now it feels like one big military camp."

"Indeed it does."

Another stretch of silence followed as she turned her gaze back to the streets outside.

They were not entirely deserted—people still moved about—but the usual rhythm had vanished.

Instead of bustling sidewalks and open storefronts, clusters of individuals stood holding handmade signs.

Children clutched cardboard pleas about lost homes and parents.

Near one building wrapped in scaffolding, a pregnant woman sat beside a small child, a simple sign propped against her leg: anything helps.

Soldiers and police patrolled at regular intervals, their presence a clear deterrent after the looting and riots from two days earlier.

Don took it all in through the windshield, hands steady on the wheel. The contrast struck him sharply.

He had come through the outbreak with his family intact, resources secured, and a place to regroup.

Luck, timing, and choices had aligned in his favor. Many others had not been nearly so fortunate.