Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Two days passed without drama.

Don trained, read, and let Winter force-feed him briefs on politics and pop fluff until names finally stuck. He wasn't fluent in this world yet, but he no longer felt like a tourist with a map upside down.

By 9 a.m., he sat at the head of the dining table in a plain black vest and gray sweatpants, bare feet on cool tile.

Steam curled from mugs. Cutlery clicked.

The penthouse let in a clean stripe of morning through the tall windows, laying a line of light across the fruit bowl and the jar of juice.

Samantha sat opposite him—glasses on, hair pulled into a neat ponytail, soft makeup set just so. Turtleneck. Work skirt. The whole "don't mess with me in meetings" kit. She buttered a scone with ease, eyes on her plate like the food had a deadline.

Amanda had declared tops optional again—just a bra and gym shorts. She perched halfway on a chair, one leg tucked under, scrolling her phone while stealing bacon with the other hand. "Wow, Sam," she said, grinning, "I forgot how much of a bombshell you are when you dress up all business-like."

Samantha's ears warmed a shade. She looked down, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "It's work," she muttered, but the corner of her mouth lifted.

Summer chewed, pointing a fork at Samantha, then swung it at Don mid-bite. "Are you going back to normal hours? You know you could retire now that Don has millions."

Don swallowed, smirked. "Not everyone hates working like you."

Summer's frown arrived on schedule. She glared at him over the rim of her glass. "Hmph. I'm still not talking to you."

He chuckled, unbothered. Amanda leaned in. "What did you do now, Donnie?"

Don lifted a shoulder. "Beats me."

Summer stabbed a grape like it owed her money. "You know exactly what you did."

Samantha didn't look up. "No fighting at the table, you two."

From the kitchen, cloth moved over granite as Winter wiped down a counter. She moved with her usual calm, sleeves rolled with millimeter precision. "Don," she said, voice monotone, "there is a package for you at the door. Shall I collect it?"

Don glanced her way. 'I really hope this works.' "Sure thing."

"As you say." Winter set the cloth aside, pivoted, and crossed to the entry with that quiet, measured stride. shff~

Summer eyed Don like a prosecutor sniffing a plea deal. "You didn't order some weird, perverted stuff, did you?"

"If I did," Don said, lifting his mug, "you'd be the last person I tell in this house."

"Right—I'm sure you'd show Aunt Amanda."

"Actually," Don said, deadpan, counting on his fingers, "I'd show Mom first, then Aunt Amanda, then Winter, then Sparky, then Charles—"

A banana arced across the table. fwip~

Don didn't blink. The fruit stopped midair, held in an invisible pinch. He reeled it in lazily with his telekinesis, peeled it in front of his face with a thought—strip by strip falling away. shrrk~ shrrk~ He took a bite. "Aww, thanks, sis. How did you know I was craving fruit?"

"Gah!" Summer threw her hands up. "Mom, can we make a rule to not use powers in the house?"

Samantha exhaled like a woman who had already lost that vote. "We can—"

Footsteps returned. Winter reappeared carrying a pet carrier—sturdy cardboard with air holes punched along the sides and a plastic handle that creaked under her grip. The dimensions were tight; the kind you'd use for a small pet on a vet run. crk~

Everyone looked over—everyone except Samantha, who was spreading jam with grim focus until the box intruded upon her peripheral vision.

Summer leaned forward. "What the heck is that?"

Winter set the carrier on a chair by the table, palms flattening the top. "The delivery log stated it was an exotic feline."

Amanda blinked. "A what?"

Summer turned to Don, fork hovering. "You bought a cat?"

The box shuddered once. thmp~

Samantha's knife paused mid-swipe. Amanda's face softened instantly. "Aww, poor little thing must want out of that… thing."

Don stood, banana still orbiting his shoulder like a lazy moon. He took another bite as he circled the table. "Open it."

Winter pulled the tabs, slid her fingers under the lid, and lifted. flp~

A soft meow rose out—high, neat, oddly musical. mew~

Something blurred up and out—one clean leap to the center of the table. It touched down near the jar of juice and the bowl of scones without jostling either. tap~

Samantha finally looked. Amanda leaned closer. Summer's mouth dropped open.

Pink. Cotton-candy pink fur. Bright golden-yellow eyes like painted marbles. A broad black collar sat around its neck like a statement piece.

The "cat" rotated once, surveying the humans and the breakfast spread. The room held its breath as it met each stare in turn, unblinking.

Summer moved first—chair skidding back as she stood, hand already out. "What kind of breed is this—"

The cat launched over her fingers and off the table entirely, a pink blur that landed on Don's shoulder like it belonged there. tap~

It faced Summer and let out a pointed meow. mew~

Amanda clasped her hands under her chin. "Aww, look at that cute little bundle of fur. She already seems to like you."

"That, or she's just scared of Summer," Don said.

Amanda squinted at the collar, then the face. "Oh, it's a she. No wonder she looks so adorable."

Summer shot Don a look. "Bullshit. Let me hold her." The bark in her voice thinned at the edges; Don heard it. Under the brat, a soft note.

'She really likes animals.'

Even Samantha glanced up with a quick smile. "Doesn't she remind you of Mrs. Sprinkles?"

Amanda blinked, then laughed, pointing. "Oh yeahhh. I can totally see it. Let's hope this little one isn't as chaotic though. Heh."

Don slid the cat from his shoulder into his arms. Warm. Too steady for a stray. He and Winter knew the truth—Trixie wearing a new skin.

He'd argued with himself about letting a collared succubus under the same roof as his family; the ledger landed on "worth it." With her changing forms, he didn't need to introduce that particular problem yet.

To sell it, he'd had her "rescued" by an exotic shelter and then purchased. Paper trail clean. Hence the delay.

He offered the cat to Summer.

Summer's blush arrived late but clear as she took her. "Oh my god, she's so light. It's like holding a furry cloud." She tucked the pink body against her chest, stroking down the back with careful fingers. "Who's a cute little girl, you are, yes you are…"

The instant the cat met soft fabric and softer curves, a loud purr rolled out. prrrr~

Then Summer adjusted—too tight, too high—and what had been a cozy cradle turned into a smother. The cat's legs started cycling in tiny, frantic motions. paddapadda~

Summer pulled her away a fraction. "What's wrong?"

"Meow!" Trixie answered, ears flattening.

Summer melted at the sound. "Eeep, she's so cute," she squealed—and hugged again.

"Don, please let me keep her!"

"Not a chance," Don said, flat. "I already gave you Sparky."

Summer froze mid-squeeze, lips pressed, still strangling the affection out of the animal. Trixie's head wobbled, a pink bobble in a death cuddle. The moment Summer paused, the cat kicked once, shimmied, and slipped free. fwip~

She hit the floor and bolted under the sideboard. skrrt~

"Hey! Wait!" Summer grabbed her plate one-handed like a veteran waitress and hurried after, crouching to peer into the shadow. "Come get some tasty food," she sing-songed, waggling a strip of bacon.

Amanda laughed, leaning back to watch the hunt. "Wow. She really reminds me of you, Sam. With Mrs. Sprinkles."

"Who's Mrs. Sprinkles?" Don asked, reaching for his coffee.

Samantha's cheeks colored. "My cat when I was a teenager."

"Best friend, you mean?" Amanda added, eyebrow up.

Samantha cleared her throat, chose not to answer, and stood, smoothing her skirt and tugging her ponytail tight. "Anyway, I should get to work. I don't want to be there long."

Before Don could comment—and before Summer could coax the pink fugitive out—Winter, who had already silently returned to work, tidying plates into a neat stack, stopped and turned toward the wall screen. With a single unspoken command, she turned it on. click~

"Apologies for interrupting," she said, monotone. "But something of importance is being broadcast."