Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

"Y-you mean that?" she asked in a soft, shaky tone.

Even through the video call, Don could see her pupils visibly trembling. He hadn't expected his words to move her so much, but her reaction didn't overly surprise him. He nodded and gave her a soft smile, keeping his gaze locked on her face.

"Of course I mean that, Elle. What? You don't like it?" he asked, sounding puzzled and showing a feigned look of worry.

This caused Elle to panic, and she immediately denied it. "No!" she nearly yelled, almost at the top of her lungs. Any semblance of shyness had completely disappeared. "I love it!" she added with the same intensity, before finally easing up as if snapping back to her senses. "U-uhm, I mean, I… I don't disagree with you. I… I'd really like that… making memories," she said rather softly.

After saying this, a brief silence took over, with Elle processing her emotions while Don just smiled and observed. In the next moment, she sniffed a little and nodded before saying, "Alright, I'll, uhm… talk to Gary about selling the base."

Don kept his smile and praised her decision. "Great. We can start talking about what kind of base we'll make once that's done. Anyway, what else is on your mind?"

Realizing it would be too suspicious to cut the conversation after discussing that point, Don decided to draw it out a little longer to genuinely hear more from her.

———

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Harold Barclay had decided to pay a visit to the hospital where Andrew was staying.

He was currently standing in front of Dr. Manson's office door with a visible frown on his face and an impatient posture, his shoe tapping repeatedly against the marble floor.

The reason for his foul mood was none other than Don's performance during the evaluation. It was already surprising to hear about Don punching Starboy into the air, but Harold had given that story the benefit of the doubt, thinking Starboy was just caught off guard.

However, the challenge against Apex proved something else.

Harold let out an irritated sigh and knocked on the door again, practically banging on it before glancing at his watch and shaking his head. His actions quickly drew the attention of a nearby nurse, who hurried over.

"Sir, could you please stop that, or I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said in a stern tone, though her voice itself was quite soft.

Harold turned his attention away from the door and looked at the woman with an unamused expression, eyeing her up and down as if she were beneath him. She had simple features, a slightly larger body type, and a pair of glasses framing her face.

"And who the hell are you to tell me what I can or can't do here? Not even your boss would be so bold, so I advise you to check how you speak to me," Harold warned.

Although he sounded self-centered and rude, this was him actually showing restraint.

The woman's expression faltered, and she felt a mix of fear and anger hearing his words. Looking at his tailored suit, spotless shoes, and refined fragrance, she could tell he was important.

Even the way he spoke carried a certain poshness. She was smart enough not to argue further, as it wasn't worth the risk.

"Dr. Manson isn't in," she revealed instead, hoping it would deter him from banging on the door any longer. But her words only made Harold's expression grow darker.

"I had an appointment with him that should have started five minutes ago. What's keeping him?"

The nurse didn't like how Harold was talking down to her, but she didn't dare deny him an answer. "He had a family issue come up and just left about fifteen minu—"

Before she could finish, Harold let out an irritated sigh. "Just great, yet another waste of my time."

The nurse said nothing, looking ready to leave as she took a step forward. Suddenly, he asked, "Is my son Andrew still in the same room?"

The nurse paused, seeming uncertain. "Uhm, Andrew Barclay?" she asked, and Harold nodded. "Yes."

The nurse gave a brief, thoughtful expression before nodding. "He hasn't been moved, but I think he has someone else visiting him already."

Harold's face darkened further at this. "Who?" he asked in a low tone.

———

Within Andrew's room, an entirely different atmosphere was present. He lay in the hospital bed with a small, genuine smile on his face—one that could almost fool people into believing he was a nice young man.

Standing near his bed was the reason for his smile: Ashley.

She was a young woman with lovely deep-blue eyes, long, luscious blonde hair, and tanned skin that glistened under the room's light.

Her figure was incredibly well-kept, neither too big nor too small, and she wore an all-white outfit composed of tight-fitting shorts that highlighted her wide hips and a designer top that drew attention to her cleavage and shapely breasts.

She was currently holding a cup of pudding and feeding it to Andrew with a small plastic spoon. "Don't think this means I'm not upset with you anymore for ignoring my calls," she said, feeding him a spoonful.

Andrew kept his smile, using his good hand to hold her waist. "Sorry, Ashley. You know how my father can be sometimes—he just wanted me to get better without distractions."

Ashley scoffed while feeding him another spoonful. "I get that, but the least you could do is tell your bloody girlfriend what's going on. You don't always have to do everything your dad says, you know?" she complained in a mildly irritated tone.

But before Andrew could answer, Harold's familiar voice echoed in the room.

"Is that so?"