Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Chapter 689: Same City, Different Structure (Part 3)

Upon reaching the first floor of City Hall, the shift in atmosphere became immediately apparent.Unlike the more casual gathering below, this level carried a heavier sense of formality.

The original layout of the space had been adjusted for the event—long tables pushed against the walls held refreshments and discreet informational packets, while clusters of upholstered chairs formed intimate conversation circles beneath ornate chandeliers that cast warm, measured light across the polished floors.

Almost everyone here wore formal attire or crisp smart casual, it spoke of quiet wealth and established position.

Even those dressed more simply projected an air of authority or importance.

Younger faces were scarce; the majority appeared to be in their thirties or well beyond, their postures refined through years of navigating rooms exactly like this one.

Don spotted Miss Claire a short distance ahead. She stood within a small circle of posh-looking gentlemen and ladies, most of them older, engaged in what appeared to be careful conversation.

He saw no need to approach. They had come together because their paths aligned for the day, not because he needed to trail after her like some lost dog.

He had his own matters to address on this floor. His gaze continued to wander until it settled on Charles.

Charles stood among a group of younger but equally posh and influential-looking men and women.

He had opted for smart casual today, the ensemble notably lacking his usual flamboyant touches.

A cast encased one arm, and even from across the room Don's Keen Eye caught the subtle signs—small, careful shifts in how Charles gestured while speaking, the faint tension in his shoulders that spoke of lingering pain.

He was not fully healed.

Don moved toward the group naturally. As he drew closer, heads turned much as they had on the ground floor.

The men sized him up openly. A few of the younger ones carried clear envy in their stares.

Among the women, admiration flickered more freely—his height, his build, and features that most would consider far from unattractive drew lingering looks.

He ignored the attention and kept walking.

Charles noticed him and broke away from the circle with a warm smile, far friendlier than the tone he had used with the others. "There you are. I almost thought you wouldn't show."

Don met the greeting with a small smile of his own and clasped Charles's good hand. "I considered it, but… public image and all that."

Charles chuckled and patted Don's shoulder. "You and I both, my friend."

The easy familiarity drew sharp reactions from those nearby.

Someone clicked their tongue softly. "Tsk, he's nothing more than a leech trying to gain influence through the Monclaire name."

Hushed murmurs of agreement followed, but Don kept his gaze forward and paid them no mind. Charles had clearly heard as well, yet his expression remained unchanged.

"Come," Charles said smoothly. "Let's talk this way. I'm tired of all this business talk."

They moved away together toward the quieter side of the room.

As they walked, Don caught sight of Andrew Barclay standing with Ashly nearby.

Andrew's face twisted into a deep frown the moment their eyes met.

Ashly noticed and rubbed his jacket sleeve in a soothing gesture.

Don simply offered a small smile and continued on.

Farther along, Frostbite stood alone by a tall window, gazing down at the protesters gathered outside. He did not consider approaching for even a second.

Charles glanced over as they moved. "So, how have you been these past few days?"

"Not too bad, I—" Don began, but the words cut off as something else pulled his focus.

Not far from him, where Miss Claire stood, a subtle confrontation had begun.

Mrs. Duarte faced her directly, wearing a pristine suit cut in a style similar to Miss Claire's but executed in brighter, more eye-catching colors and accented with noticeably more sparkling jewelry.

Timothy stood slightly behind her in a sharp suit and tie, looking detached from the exchange. Mrs. Duarte maintained a polished smile as she spoke.

"My my, Claire, I do understand that your firm has lost many of its clientele… but this event is no place to… beg for business." She lifted her chin, posture radiating superiority.

"I mean truly, are you so desperate that you cannot wait until the deceased are properly commemorated?" She tilted her head as if trying to recall something, her features remaining annoyingly composed and beautiful.

"Come to think of it, did your firm even bother to give the families of your deceased clients your condolences? Because I spoke to Madam Rochester and she told me you didn't so much as say you're sorry for her loss, despite her late husband being so outspoken about your firm."

Her voice carried just loud enough to draw nearby ears. Murmurs rippled through the small crowd that had begun to listen.

Don's brows furrowed. He started walking in their direction. Charles reached out instinctively. "Wai—" But Don had already moved, and Charles could only sigh and follow.

Miss Claire looked as though she wanted to respond, her lips parting briefly before pressing together again.

She was not the type to engage in open confrontation, and Mrs. Duarte clearly aimed to provoke one.

The woman seemed entertained by the lack of reaction and chuckled softly. "Oh well, such is to be expected from a woman as cold as you. I wonder how your remaining clientele must feel."

Don stepped up beside Miss Claire. She glanced at him with a flicker of surprise in her eyes. "I can't speak for the others," he said evenly, "but personally I feel lucky."

Mrs. Duarte looked him up and down and scoffed. "Of course you would. A boy like you doesn't know any better." Her tone stayed sharp, and she met his gaze without flinching.

Don shrugged. "Perhaps. But what I do know is that Miss Claire lost a lot of people she cared for and has been mourning herself. Despite this, she's helped not only my family but that of her staff. Who are you to say how she should carry herself?"

Mrs. Duarte's frown deepened. She was clearly unaccustomed to being answered back, and it only sharpened her words. Charles stopped short of the group and watched with a small, intrigued smile.

"Listen, boy," Mrs. Duarte said, arching her brows and lifting her head in an attempt to project dominance despite Don's towering frame.

"I suggest you keep quiet when adults are talking. In fact, why am I not surprised she helped her own people but overlooked her clients? And here you stand proud of the fact."

Miss Claire placed a hand on Don's arm and shook her head slightly. "That's enough."

Don didn't look away. A confident smile curved his lips. "Adults?" He sounded almost puzzled.

"A proper adult would understand that different people have different circumstances. A bitter old woman, however, would only focus on the negative and try to turn what was a peaceful conversation into an uncalled-for belittling of others."

He glanced briefly toward Timothy. "If we're talking about being helpful… where was your son, the so-called next great hero of our city, as thousands died? I fought, and many weaker than me did. Even Charles, with his injuries, fought."

Timothy's face darkened with anger, and Mrs. Duarte's expression turned venomous. Don kept his tone level though.

"I could attack him on that, but I'd rather focus on the fact that he has been of help to the city prior to this. So perhaps he had his own circumstances. Why should I make a spectacle of it, to make him seem lesser in front of our peers? No. That is not how I believe an adult should act."

He shook his head with clear distaste and turned to leave. "If you need a 'boy' like me to point that out, then you need to seriously check yourself."

"You bastard!" Timothy moved then, brushing shoulders with his mother as he lunged forward with a punch.

Wind whipped outward from the speed of the motion, his fist cutting through the air—

However… it stopped inches from Don's face.

The hand trembled there, locked in place by invisible force.

Don kept both hands casually in his pockets, his smile never faltering as he regarded the angry Timothy.

The air around the fist shimmered faintly under the strain of the telekinetic hold.

Tension thickened in the small circle as eyes widened and conversations nearby fell silent.

But Don turned away smoothly regardless. "Sorry for interrupting," he said to Miss Claire and her group before walking off.

He released the hold once clear. Timothy stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance.

At the same moment, Don gave a subtle telekinetic nudge to one of Mrs. Duarte's heels. She tipped and fell ungracefully to the floor with a startled sound.

It looked, to all watching, as though Timothy had caused it in his clumsy lunge.

A subtle commotion rippled outward. Heads turned. Murmurs grew.

Mrs. Duarte's face flushed with humiliation as she lay there, jewelry catching the light in undignified sparkles.

Timothy quickly helped her up, but the damage was done.

"Fool!" She snapped at him first, voice tight, before they both retreated under the weight of the gathered stares.

Timothy shot Don a vicious glare that promised this was far from over.

Don stopped near Charles and offered Timothy a calm, knowing smile.

It only seemed to fuel the man's rage further.