Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Before Gary could finish, Elle's voice could be heard in the background yelling, "Gary!"

Gary simply gave a warm smile and chuckled lightly. "It seems my services are needed elsewhere. Until next time, Sir Don. Take care."

And with that, the call came to an end, and the tab showing the video feed in Don's augmented reality vanished. Don let out a sigh as he began to remove his contact lenses.

Seeing him do this, Trixie sat up from the bed and looked at him mischievously as she asked, "Are you finally done with your boring world domination thingies?"

"Far from it," Don answered as he placed the contact lenses back in their container along with the earbuds. His mind was still largely on what he and Gary had just discussed. 'I don't know if Gary and Elle coming to the city, even for a brief time, is a good idea, but I guess we'll just see.'

Don chose to brush off those worries for now and focus on more immediate matters. He turned toward Trixie, who was already eyeing him up and down with eager and mischievous eyes. He narrowed his eyes at her and asked, "What are you thinking?"

To which Trixie gave him a big wide smile before asking back, "Do you really want to know?"

Don gave it a quick thought before choosing to shake his head. "You know what, never mind. But on a more grounded note, how knowledgeable are you about magic beings?"

"Magic tricks?" Trixie repeated the word with a bit of dissatisfaction in her tone, as if offended by Don's choice of words. She quickly corrected him, "You mean the arcane?"

'Is there really a difference?' Don thought, but on the surface, he gave a simple nod, not really wanting to drift the conversation into an argument over something as silly as definitions. "Yes, that."

Trixie crossed her arms over her chest before answering, "Yeah. Why wouldn't I know about them? I am one."

'Maybe I should have phrased it better,' Don thought while holding back a sigh. It quickly became clear to him that he couldn't depend on Trixie for general knowledge on magic—or rather, arcane beings.

The way Trixie made it seem so obvious had Don worried that he might come across as too unknowledgeable on a topic that could be more common than he thought. It wasn't at all hard to research the various topics using the internet of this world, but he still wanted to try his luck with Trixie first.

Having failed in that endeavor, he didn't persist and chose to end the topic there. "I see. Never mind then."

"What do you mean, 'never mind'?" Trixie went from looking amused to confused again as Don quickly brushed off the topic entirely.

Trixie was naturally curious and not easily let things go. "No, tell me what you want to ask or say!"

'Why are you being annoying on purpose?' Don thought, but gave a nod on the surface. "You got me, but I also need to go for my afternoon training, so there's that. Anyway, I'll see you later." Don gave Trixie a subtle wave before walking toward the door and leaving the room entirely.

Trixie remained moderately confused as she sat on the bed with her arms still crossed over her chest. "Humans are so weird," she muttered while shaking her head. "Anyway, back to practicing my poses. What more was I on?" She tapped her chin in thought. "Oh right, the child support."

Meanwhile, at the same time, elsewhere, an angry-looking Harold Barclay was sitting in a sleek blue office chair inside a doctor's office.

The walls and marble floor were white, with a large brown desk being the room's centerpiece. On one side of the desk was a large brown chair, bigger than the one Harold Barclay was sitting on.

Directly opposite the desk sat a neat-looking desktop and other stenciled items on the surface, while the walls possessed posters and art pertaining to health. Harold sat on the other side of the desk impatiently, but in the next moment, the door behind him let out a click sound as it was swung open.

An older-looking gentleman in a lab coat walked in. He had a slightly hunched posture and was clearly of older age, with medium-length black and gray hair and an equally black and gray beard.

He walked slowly toward the large brown chair opposite Harold while saying, "Sorry for the delay, Mr. Barclay. Our hospital is still dealing with many of the patients who suffered in the attack on Central Mall, and—"

Before the doctor could continue, Harold gave him an annoyed glance before saying, "I don't care about all that, Dr. Manson. The whole reason I pay you so much to privately consult me is so I don't have to deal with the slowness of public procedure." your-chapter-source-NovelBin

Despite Harold's very rude and aggressive approach, Dr. Manson didn't seem fazed at all. He simply took his seat while maintaining a calm expression as he replied in a low, hoarse voice, "I do apologize, Mr. Barclay. But like I told you before, that only applies during my consultation hours, which you and I had agreed upon.

Right now, I am working as a public doctor, so you have to understand if the procedure is a bit slow now. Speaking of your son Andrew—"

Although clearly angered by Dr. Manson's words, Barclay didn't erupt further. Although he was very angry at this point, he didn't go so far as to damage a relationship that had taken him a long time to cultivate.

Dr. Manson turned his attention toward his computer for a bit as he pulled up a report on Andrew's injuries, which he proceeded to read out loudly for Mr. Barclay. After doing this, he couldn't help but ask, "How did this happen? I thought your son wasn't yet doing fieldwork."

"He isn't," Harold bitterly responded before giving a not-so-true explanation. "He was sparring with one of the other members of the elite hero program, and the bastard went too far."

Dr. Manson didn't show much reaction to the explanation, but he did momentarily give Harold a gaze that showed he didn't fully believe what he was hearing. Having worked for Harold, the doctor wasn't unaware of his habits and traits and so he took the explanation with a pinch of salt.

In the end, however, it didn't matter, so he simply sighed and nodded in understanding. "I see. His opponent was very brutal indeed. It's like they were just targeting the liver. Your son is lucky the broken ribs only punctured one lung."

"You call that lucky?" Harold interrupted in an angry tone, but the doctor was merely stating the facts as he nodded to reaffirm his words.

"Yes, I do. At the very least, he didn't suffer too much internal bleeding. Otherwise, his cells wouldn't have had enough energy to begin repairing some of the damage he suffered there, and he would have arrived here in a much more sorry state."

"Whatever," Harold yelled out before demanding, "Just tell me how much it will take and how long for him to be fully healthy again. I want the best treatments and medicines."

This time it was Dr. Manson who cut off Harold by simply nodding. "Yes, yes, rest assured I will not provide anything less than the best to you, Mr. Barclay."

"As you should have," Harold muttered. Dr. Manson was being professional in his words, but his anger remained, and today he found the doctor to be especially irritating.

Before giving Harold an answer, the doctor decided to lean back into his chair and sighed. "The boy's physical injuries should heal within six months' time naturally, but if you choose to use treatments and medicines, he should be well and good in about three weeks. But as for the mental scars he suffered, that is beyond my area of expertise."

Harold narrowed his eyes at this answer. "What do you mean by mental scars? Does he have brain damage?"

Dr. Manson showed a small but noticeable smile as he shook his head. "I'm sure you know what I mean, Mr. Harold. You've probably seen countless heroes beaten down to the point that they lose confidence in themselves. Such is very common among young aspiring heroes who find out the hard way that confronting individuals with no regard for human life isn't as easy as the media portrays it.

Unless your scans revealed something is wrong with his brain, then I'm sure he will get over it."

Dr. Manson then sat back up from his seat and simply pulled over his notebook, beginning to write something in it. "Like I said, Mr. Barclay, it's not my area of expertise, so I won't disagree with you. I was merely stating an observation I had from seeing countless young heroes in a position like his. At the end of the day, the decision of how you choose to handle it is yours."

After saying this, the doctor ripped off the paper he had scribbled on and handed it over to Harold Barclay, who snatched it aggressively before tucking it in his pocket. "Will that be all?" he asked coldly, but the doctor maintained a small smile before giving a nod.

"Yes."

Saying nothing more, Harold turned and began to walk away. The doctor watched him go and simply shook his head, thinking, 'I have a feeling this won't end well.'