Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 584: Not As It Seems (Part 9)

Samantha exhaled and shook her head faintly.

"I don't know about those two sometimes."

Don stepped closer.

Without much thought, he placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her slightly toward him.

"Don't worry about those two," he said. "Just relax and enjoy yourself. Come on. Let me find you a seat with a good view."

Samantha stiffened for half a second before easing into the contact.

Heat rose to her cheeks almost immediately.

She became aware of it all at once—the glances from across the deck. The way a few guests paused mid-sentence to look in their direction. The subtle shift in posture from nearby students who had accompanied their parents.

They weren't only looking at Don.

They were looking at her too.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her glass.

'Are they just curious… or judging?'

She kept her expression steady.

Before they had taken more than a few steps—

A familiar voice carried over from their right.

"Ah, Mr. Bright."

Don paused.

Samantha followed his lead, her gaze lifting toward the source.

Mr. Xiao stood a short distance away, mid-conversation with a pair of well-dressed guests. He wore a fine charcoal suit, crisp and precise, a pocket square folded neatly into place. His posture was relaxed, one hand holding a drink, the other resting at his side.

He offered a small smile.

One that seemed practiced.

He excused himself from his companions and approached.

Samantha leaned slightly closer to Don.

"Is that your director?" she asked in a low tone.

Don's eyes remained on Mr. Xiao.

"He's the chairperson of the school board," he corrected.

"Oh," she murmured faintly.

Mr. Xiao reached them with easy strides.

"And how is SHU's finest faring this fine afternoon?" he asked, voice warm, as if greeting a long-time acquaintance.

Don didn't mirror the warmth.

"I wouldn't know," he replied calmly. "I haven't met them."

A brief pause.

Then Mr. Xiao chuckled.

It sounded light.

Natural.

Yet Samantha couldn't tell if it was entirely so.

"Well played," Mr. Xiao said, lifting his glass slightly before taking a measured sip.

His gaze shifted to Samantha.

"And this lovely lady must be Mrs. Bright."

He extended his hand.

Samantha blinked once before carefully transferring her glass to her other hand. She placed her palm in his.

His grip was light. Controlled.

"You've raised a fine young man," he continued smoothly. "A shame he chose not to compete."

Samantha felt her throat tighten.

"Uhm… thank you," she replied, unsure how else to respond.

Don stepped in before the moment stretched too long.

"Maybe next time," he said evenly. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

His arm returned around Samantha's shoulder, guiding her forward.

She glanced back at Mr. Xiao instinctively.

"Oh—"

The word slipped out softly, more from surprise at the abrupt exit than objection.

But she didn't resist.

They moved away through the clusters of guests, Don's pace unhurried.

Behind them—

Mr. Xiao watched.

He lifted his glass again, taking a casual sip while keeping his gaze on their retreating forms.

A figure stepped up beside him.

Dean Sanchez.

He adjusted his cuff before speaking.

"It really is a shame he didn't compete," the dean said, eyes following Don toward the seating area.

Mr. Xiao's smile remained.

"Maybe not," he replied quietly.

He lowered his glass.

And turned away.

After some minutes passed, most of the guests had more or less settled into their seats.

The events below began in earnest.

It wasn't grand spectacle. Not yet. But it was enough to keep the arena alive. A sprint trial concluded with a burst across the finish line—thud~—followed by a ripple of applause.

A strength demonstration cracked reinforced targets under measured strikes—boom~—sending vibrations through the arena floor.

From the viewing deck, the commentary filtered in through embedded speakers—slightly muted but clear enough.

"And that's another solid time from Westbridge!"

Polite applause echoed upward.

Few in the deck seemed invested.

Business continued in low tones. Laughter here. Negotiations there. A handshake sealed something near the far wall while a sponsor discreetly slid a card across a table.

Don sat near the viewing glass at the front.

Above them, holographic screens projected multiple angles of the arena—close-ups, aerial views, slow-motion replays rotating in midair with faint mechanical hums—whrrr~

The chairs were plush, arranged in semi-circular clusters with small tables between them. Some groups had chosen tighter formations. Others spread out to signal exclusivity. Waiters and waitresses moved with measured steps, refilling glasses before being asked.

Samantha was the only one among them watching closely.

She leaned forward slightly, glass resting near her knee, eyes following each movement below. When a speed competitor launched off the starting line—crack~—she flinched faintly at the sudden acceleration.

Don, meanwhile, heard more than what the speakers carried.

A pair of older men two tables behind him spoke in hushed voices.

"That one in the blue—tight gear, good form. Could be worth sponsoring."

"Depends on how marketable she is."

A chuckle followed.

Not far from them, another group placed bets casually.

"Five grand says he burns out before the final lap."

"You're on."

Chips clicked against glass—tik~

Further left, a trio of suited individuals discussed the benefits of hosting.

"City exposure alone makes it worthwhile."

"And future enrollment numbers."

"Long-term return."

Don kept his gaze forward.

His expression gave nothing.

On the field below, a student with remarkable speed cut across the track, feet barely seeming to touch the ground. The holographic screen zoomed in, displaying metrics along the side—velocity spikes, stamina output.

Then—

His foot clipped the edge of a barrier.

It happened fast.

His body pitched forward.

Momentum carried him through the air before he hit the ground shoulder-first—crack—skid—thud~

Gasps rose from the lower stands.

The screen magnified the tumble. His torso bent awkwardly as he rolled. When he stopped—

He didn't move.

"OUU—!" the commentator blurted. "That had to hurt!"

Medical droids deployed immediately from the arena perimeter—metal limbs extending as they reached him within seconds.

Another commentator chimed in.

"His durability ranks around upper D-class despite that speed, so they'll need to assess carefully."

Samantha's fingers tightened around her glass.

"Goodness… I hope he's okay," she murmured. "That looked very painful."

Before Don could respond—

A familiar voice answered from behind.

"That it does."

Don had heard the footsteps approach earlier—measured, unhurried—but he hadn't turned.

Now he did.