Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The floor of the Deadly Damsels had taken on a strange kind of quiet. Not the comforting sort, like after a closing shift. This one had more teeth than that.

Winter stood near the main stage now, her expression blank in that unnerving way only she could pull off.

A few of the dancers and Hell Riders had tried fidgeting their way to the edges of the group, but Winter's eyes moved with just enough precision to remind them she'd noticed.

She let the silence hang a second longer. Then, she spoke.

"For those unfamiliar with me," she began, her voice level, not loud but impossible to talk over, "my designation is Winter. I will be interviewing each of you for the purpose of compiling individual psychological, behavioral, and logistical profiles. These will assist in shaping operational policy for this establishment going forward."

She paused, scanning the group slowly—too slowly.

"It is in your best interest to answer all questions truthfully. I am… notably adept at detecting dishonesty."

Someone in the back swallowed hard. Someone else shifted like they'd just remembered their bladder existed.

Winter looked at them a moment longer. Then, "Now. Who would like to go first?"

Nobody moved.

A Hell Rider with a face full of piercings turned slightly, casting a glance toward the bar. He wasn't the only one.

Don was seated alone, elbow resting on the worn counter. The glass in his hand caught the overhead lights just enough to reveal the weak amber liquid inside. He swirled it lazily, then took a sip.

It burned. Not in the good way.

'Drinking this makes me feel like I'm losing health,' he thought, lips twitching faintly. 'Then again… nobody came here for the drinks.'

His eyes wandered to the far end of the bar, where a cracked mirror reflected the distorted shapes of the others still frozen by Winter's presence.

A light above it flickered bzzt-bzzt in fits, never fully dying, never fully functional.

Then came the voice.

It rolled through the ground floor like velvet shoved through a shredder.

"Mr. Bright, what a pleasure it is to meet you."

Don's head turned—slow, unhurried—as the sound of heels on stairs announced Madam Lily's entrance.

She descended with the kind of confidence only people who'd been faking it for years could muster.

Ash followed behind her, posture tight, expression unreadable. She peeled off halfway and merged with the others near the stage, slipping to the back like she hoped to disappear into the wallpaper.

Madam Lily, of course, did the opposite. Her walk had rhythm, her hips swayed like they were performing, and her smile looked rehearsed even as it stretched wider.

"I do so apologize for the state of the place…" she continued, arms spreading slightly in mock contrition. "We weren't aware you'd be gracing us today."

Some of the staff looked at her like she'd just thrown them under a bus and thanked them for it. Others stared with the kind of quiet resentment that didn't need words.

Winter, behind them, noted the reactions. Didn't comment. Just filed the expressions away in the back of her mind.

Don watched Madam Lily's approach without standing. His drink rotated once more in his hand. She stopped just a pace away, eyes drifting over him in a way that made her intent a little too obvious.

Before she could say anything else, a click echoed from the staircase behind her.

Then again. Click. Click. Click.

Mistress Adalena appeared at the bottom of the stairs like a storm cloud. Her walking stick struck each step loudly, her other hand gripping a thin stack of neatly clipped documents.

When she stepped onto the ground floor, her gaze found Madam Lily instantly.

"Bah!" she snapped, voice thick with an accent. "You should be zee zorry. Zee wonderful client here paid zee big price for zhis… duratskaya blyad."

The insult landed. Lily flinched—only slightly—but didn't turn to face the older woman. Her focus stayed locked on Don.

Smile restored, she tilted her head. "Like I said… do forgive us."

Her eyes drifted down to the drink in his hand, the corners of her lips twitching.

"Oh, sir, that liquor is no good. Please, allow me to fetch you something more suited to your status."

Don's smirk came slow. Not wide. Not generous. Just enough.

'Status? She definitely speaks well. I'll give her that.' He took another sip. 'A snake in the truest sense of the word.'

He shook his head once—dismissively.

"No need," he said, his tone casual but with no warmth. "I'm not here to linger. Just came to collect the paperwork… and lay out the next steps for this place."

Her smile wavered at the edges. A flicker. Gone just as fast.

That wasn't what she'd hoped to hear. Not from Don Bright. Not after the rumors. Not after the name-drop upstairs.

To her, this had looked like a godsend. A chance to upgrade, to attach herself to someone poised for power. If she could steer the operation right, maybe even pull off a clean transformation—underground to legitimate. Blend both. Profit.

But his tone told her this wasn't an investment. This was a shift. A pivot.

And one she wouldn't be in charge of.

Still, she kept smiling.

Mistress Adalena approached now, the click of her stick softer on the wooden floor. She said nothing more, but the way she stood—just off Lily's shoulder—was statement enough.

Don didn't look at her yet.

Instead, he turned his gaze back toward the stage.

Winter was still watching the crowd.

For a second, Madam Lily said nothing.

Not out of grace. Not strategy. Just… pause. Don's words hadn't been what she expected.

And while her expression remained perfectly poised—chin up, eyes softly attentive—her brain stalled just long enough to imply the reaction she didn't show.

Mistress Adalena stepped forward then, her walking stick tapping once against the floor as if to remind the building it still owed her rent.

"Here are zee necessary papers for zhis establishment," she said with a smile so tight it looked borrowed.

Her voice, however, took a different shape entirely—gentle, polite. The kind one might use with a pastor or a prince. "Zee organization extends its zhanks for using us… and vwe look forward to zee future business, yes?"

She held the documents out with both hands, the thin stack perfectly aligned. Her eyes, on the other hand, hadn't blinked once.

Don accepted the papers with a short nod, flipping the top few with a practiced thumb. The ink wasn't dry, but the tone was.

"Provided you have what I need," he said quietly, still scanning, "yes. I'll have my people reach out if anything."

It wasn't agreement. Not quite. But it wasn't refusal either. Somewhere in that awkward space where business calls became legal anchors.

Mistress Adalena nodded, slow and almost pleased.

"Good… good…" she said, the smile never quite reaching her eyes.

Then she turned.

As she passed Madam Lily, her gaze shifted sideways—quick, but brutal. A flicker of something sour twisted at her lips. The kind of look that could leave bruises if you stared too long.

Lily didn't acknowledge it. She kept her eyes on Don, her posture adjusted by a fraction as if she were settling into a new role. The former owner, the agreeable guide. A chameleon mid-color change.

If Don had plans, then she needed to find a place inside them.

She stepped slightly closer, hands folded neatly in front of her. Her scent drifted lightly into the air—warm, expensive, just enough to remind the room she wasn't forgettable. Her voice followed.

"About your vision for the establishment, sir…" she said softly, "how may I be of help?"

Professional tone. No seduction, no overt invitation. But every vowel was dipped in silk, every word tailored to imply usefulness. Interest. Maybe even admiration.

Don didn't look amused. He didn't even look particularly present. But inside, a small, wry thought tugged at him.

'She really is something. I've seen knives with less edge than this.'

Still, now wasn't the time to test her. That would come later. For now, groundwork.

He stood from the barstool, setting his glass down with a clink that echoed slightly more than it should have.

"For now," he said, adjusting his sleeves without looking at her, "I think we can both agree this place needs renovations."

She nodded. Slowly.

"I'll organize some contractors and designers," Don continued, stepping toward the exit, "and have them contact you to work on a new look for the place."

The weight behind the words wasn't in the suggestion. It was in the ownership of it.

Madam Lily's stomach fluttered. But she didn't smile. Not fully. Just enough at the edges—barely there.

And then he added.

"When I see something I like, we can move forward to the next step. Until then."

That 'until then' did more damage than any insult could have.

Still, she recovered fast.

He turned without another glance and started toward the main entrance. She followed quickly, the soft click of her heels brushing close behind his footsteps.

"Allow me to see you out," she said, trying to stay beside him without appearing overeager.

Don didn't answer. No nod. No glance.

Just steps.