Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don tugged the hem of his black turtleneck into place, the fabric snug against his toned frame. He then reached for a pair of dull blue jeans hanging neatly over a chair, slipping them on with ease. The familiar weight of dark brown boots grounded him as he stomped down, fastening the laces tightly.

His watch snapped into place on his left wrist with a satisfying **click**, followed by his aviators sliding smoothly into his breast pocket. Finally, he scooped up his phone from the nightstand, giving it a brief glance before heading out.
Continue your journey with empire

The wooden stairs **creaked** faintly beneath his steps as he descended. As he was doing so, his phone vibrated just as he reached the third step from the bottom and a message flashed across the screen:

Gary: The directions have been uploaded, sir.

Without pausing, Don typed back with one hand:

Don: Alright, thanks Gary. On my way now.

Before he could lock the screen, another notification popped up—this one from Donald. He dismissed it without a second glance and shoved the phone into his pocket, his pace never slowing.

"Winter, I'm leaving," he called out flatly as he passed the kitchen entrance.

Winter, diligently scrubbing a countertop, perked up at the sound of his voice. By the time she stepped into the doorway, Don had already disappeared through the garage door, shutting it with a soft **click** behind him.

For a brief moment, she stood still, head tilted in mild contemplation. "I suppose I shall do a deep cleaning of the house then," she concluded, returning to her task.

In the garage, Don walked toward the covered vehicle parked in the far back. With one swift motion, he yanked the heavy car cover away, revealing the dark metallic frame of his Ford, now wearing a thin layer of dust.

He rolled up the cover tightly, tossing it onto a nearby storage shelf with a dull **thud**. His gaze swept over the car's rear bumper, noting the faint, jagged dent from a previous run-in and of course the bullet holes. In the rain, it'd hardly be noticeable. 'Should work,' he thought dismissively.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he adjusted the seat back and inserted the key. The car **roared** to life, its deep engine rumbling through the confined space. The radio then blared on, mid-broadcast:

"...a slow start to this rainy Saturday, but don't let the weather dampen your spirits! They'll be a lot of ac—"

Don silenced the radio with a quick tap, slipping his aviators on. The lenses flickered softly as augmented reality interfaces lit up in the corners of his vision—a mini-map hovering faintly in the lower left and a weather update scrolling along the top right.

New Location Uploaded. Set as Destination?

He focused on the prompt, locking his gaze on the Confirm option. Route Set. The GPS marker blinked reassuringly.

"Open the garage door," he ordered.

Command Received.

With a mechanical **whir**, the wide steel door slowly lifted, revealing the stormy gray world beyond. Heavy raindrops **pattered** against the driveway, streaming down in relentless sheets.

Don exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel. Time to move.

———

Half an hour later…

Don's Ford was currently cruising through the rain-slicked streets of Santos City, tires **hissing** against the drenched road. His grip on the steering wheel remained steady as Gary Assist's augmented display guided him seamlessly through winding turns and straight stretches.

He soon found himself on the familiar route toward Old Town, only this time, the GPS directed him farther northwest—deep into lesser-traveled roads bordered by towering trees that swayed violently in the storm's relentless wind.

The rain drummed relentlessly against the car's roof, drowning out the sound of his engine as he cruised through the deserted road. He hadn't even seen another vehicle since taking that last turn.

New Directive: Turn Left in 10 Meters… 9… 8…

Don squinted ahead, scanning the drenched landscape. There was no visible turn, just an unbroken line of forest. His brow furrowed as the next prompt blinked on his display:

Secret Entrance Opening... Prepare to Turn.

His foot eased off the gas as he coasted forward. Suddenly, the earth **trembled** beneath the car, causing the windshield wipers to jerk mid-sweep.

Ahead, trees groaned ominously, their massive trunks shifting like living titans. Ancient oaks twisted aside with precision, roots slithering back into the ground like retreating snakes.

Jagged rocks rolled aside with thunderous **grinds**, exposing moss-covered gears beneath their surfaces. Even the dirt path seemed to ripple and reshape, folding into a visible trail leading deeper into the shadowed forest.

A group of startled birds burst from the trees as this happened, their cries piercing the rain-heavy air as they fled the unnatural upheaval.

"...Woah," Don muttered, his eyes tracking the mesmerizing transformation.

Directive Updated: Proceed Straight for 2 Kilometers (1.24 miles).

Still surprised, Don tightened his grip on the wheel and guided the Ford onto the newly formed path, its dirt surface soft but firm under the tires. As he drove deeper, the trees around him gradually settled back into place.

Two kilometers in, the ground sloped sharply downward, revealing a cavernous tunnel entrance carved into the earth. Jagged stone arches framed the entrance, illuminated faintly by recessed LED strips casting a cold, sterile glow.

A wide metallic platform awaited just inside.

Don's jaw tensed as he drove onto the platform, his tires **clunking** against its reinforced steel surface. The tunnel stretched ahead, dark and foreboding, punctuated by intermittent flashing lights that blinked in a slow, rhythmic sequence.

He pressed on, the tunnel's acoustics amplifying the Ford's steady engine **rumble**. The air smelled faintly of oil and damp metal—a scent common in industrial complexes but intensified in this enclosed space.

After what felt like several long minutes, the tunnel opened into a vast, brightly lit underground garage. Heavy-duty vehicles of all kinds were parked haphazardly—armored trucks, reinforced SUVs, and modified motorcycles, each bearing custom upgrades that suggested combat readiness.

At the far end of the garage, a set of colossal steel doors loomed, their surfaces engraved with faint, unreadable symbols that gleamed under the harsh overhead lights.

Standing directly in front of those doors, hands clasped behind his back, was Gary. His sharp tuxedo seemed untouched by the grime and grit of the setting, his posture military-straight.

Don's augmented display blinked one final prompt:

You Have Arrived at Your Destination.

With a faint smirk, Don pulled off his aviators, letting them dangle casually in one hand. His gaze lingered on the surreal, high-tech fortress before him as a single thought surfaced.

'Well… this is something.'