Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The crushed earpiece cracked once more under Don's heel as he turned.

The air hadn't changed. Still thick. Still rancid. Still humming with whatever tension lingered from the deaths. But he ignored it, eyes shifting toward the stairwell.

Movement.

Down the steps came Gary—quiet, composed—as always, flanked by two of his usual support men. Their boots made more noise than they should've, mostly because they weren't trying to be quiet. They weren't here for stealth anymore.

Each of them had a rifle slung across their chest.

Not theirs.

Don recognized the models instantly—standard loadouts from the team he'd just dismantled.

Gary didn't notice him immediately. None of them did. Until the glow.

Those twin white eyes flicked up through the dark like coals being breathed to life.

Gary stopped mid-step.

His shoulders dropped—not in fear. Recognition. Relaxation.

He glanced back at the two behind him. "It seems our guests have been taken care of," he said plainly. "Begin cleanup. That explosion likely stirred local chatter. Maybe even a few heroes, if they're pulling night shifts."

The two minions gave quick salutes.

"Suii."

Then turned on their heels and jogged back up the stairs, rifles clacking lightly against their outfits.

Gary took the last few steps down slower, one hand brushing the grimy railing. His eyes flicked across the floor—not too fast, not too focused. Just taking it in.

He didn't speak again until he was within a few feet of Don.

"It seems Barclay's ambitions stretch further than we anticipated."

Don didn't reply.

He could've said something—probably should've—but nothing that came to mind felt worth it. Barclay's angle was still too scattered. The players didn't match the board. The cleanup squad was one thing… but the setup? Still a blur.

Gary didn't expect a response. He folded his arms, eyes still scanning the carnage.

"I recognized the insignia on these men."

He reached into the pocket of his sweater vest, pulled something out.

A patch. Faded, but distinct.

Black octopus. Tridents crossed behind it.

Don took it between two fingers. The texture was worn but intact. Not mass-produced.

"Black Ink," Gary clarified, brushing off a speck of ash from his sleeve. "Mercenary outfit. Operate primarily out of Europe. Baltic Sea, North Sea… parts of the Mediterranean, too. Anywhere the waterways stay warm enough for cargo that shouldn't be logged."

Don turned the patch once in his hand, then passed it back.

"Not cheap," Gary continued, tucking it away. "And definitely not used for grunt work. Hiring them to clean up this mess? Odd. Especially with a non-superhuman squad."

He paused, rubbing at his chin with a faint scowl.

"Unless…" He didn't finish.

The theory collapsed halfway through its own birth.

Gary shook his head. "I'll dig deeper. Try to flip this disaster back on Barclay somehow."

Don's voice came finally, low.

"I'll leave it to you then." He turned slightly, gaze drifting toward the area where the first operative had slammed into the concrete. "I'm calling it a night."

Gary nodded once, already pulling out a small tablet from inside his vest.

"Of course. I or Winter will notify you if anything comes up."

Don began to fade, shadows coiling along his arms, boots blurring into the grime.

Then he paused—half-there, half-gone.

"Oh," he said without looking back. "Send funds to our asset in Y2. Enough to sustain her and a core few… but nothing indulgent."

Gary raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering—but he didn't ask.

Just smiled faintly and nodded.

"Leave it to me, sir. Do have a wonderful night."

SSHHFT~

Don's silhouette dissolved, swallowed into the dark like it had never existed.

Only the dead remained.

Several minutes had passed.

Outside, the edges of the city stirred—just barely. Distant tires skidded somewhere across concrete. A few lights blinked back on in corner shops. A drone buzzed past an apartment block and veered off. The kind of movement that didn't scream life… but suggested it hadn't entirely left.

Meanwhile, Don reappeared in his room without a sound.

SSHHFT~

The shadows peeled off him slowly, the suit retracting in thin, smoky coils. They slipped up his shoulders, around his spine, and bled down into the small tattoo etched beneath his wrist. A faint pulse. Then nothing.

He exhaled, low.

It always felt like something was being lifted off his back when the suit left—but something else took its place. A hollowness. Weakness creeping behind the ribs.

He didn't fight it anymore.

Didn't try to name it.

Instead, he pulled off the rest of his clothes in a tired rhythm, tossing them near the chair. Just the briefs stayed. Then came the towel—pulled from the top drawer, worn soft from too many washes. He slung it over his shoulder and stepped into the hallway.

The lights here were subtle. Ambient glows tucked into ceiling recesses and under decorative molding. They caught along the curves of the wood-trimmed walls and glinted against steel doorframes. The place was sleek, expensive. Too modern to feel real sometimes.

Don glanced around as he walked, bare feet brushing over chilled tiles.

In his past life, a place like this would've belonged to someone untouchable. Oil magnate. Crime boss. Whatever.

Now it was his.

And it didn't make anything simpler.

He didn't dwell on that thought. The hallway stretched ahead, and he reached the bathroom without a word.

Inside, the steam did its part. He stood beneath the hot stream longer than he meant to, eyes shut, jaw slack. Ambient noise trickled from the speaker—soft rain layered with distant forest sounds. Some automated playlist Samantha had set earlier.

By the time he stepped out, the mirror was fogged over. He ran the towel across his face, dragged fingers through his hair, then walked back into the hallway again.

Same lights. Same chill underfoot. Same silence.

But just as he neared his room—

"Donnie?"

He'd already heard the soft shuffle a second before the voice. No surprise.

He turned.

There stood Samantha.

She'd changed—or undressed, really. Only dark green lace underwear clung to her lower half, and a cropped silk top covered her chest, if barely. Thin straps hung off her shoulders, sliding a little each time she moved. The fabric shimmered slightly in the low light, shifting every time her body did.

The outline of her perky nipples beneath the top was hard to ignore.

Don paused.

His eyes locked to hers before flicking away, then back. The kind of glance that wasn't meant to be caught.

She gave a soft smile. Adjusted her glasses with a single hand. Her cheeks had gone pink.

The door to his room hissed open at his side—motion-triggered.

He didn't go in. Just waited.

She walked toward him slowly.

When she stopped in front of him, the silence hung again.

Don's skin was still damp, small beads of water clinging to the edges of his collarbone and shoulders. He didn't seem to notice. But she did.

Her eyes drifted once across his torso, lingered.

He caught the look.

He didn't comment.

Then—finally—

"Is that one of the new sets Fabio brought?" he asked, voice neutral.

She blinked. Her smile twitched wider, sheepish now. "No, sweetie. I, uh… I just wear this to sleep sometimes."

She glanced down at herself like she was only now noticing the lack of coverage. "Bit… inappropriate to be walking around in, don't you think?"

Don tilted his head slightly. Shrugged.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind."

Samantha laughed once—quick, breathy.

"Oh, you. Stop teasing me."

Her tone shifted a second later. Softer. More maternal.

"And why are you up so early?" she asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "You slept late, young man. You need at least a few more hours of sleep."

Don shrugged again, this time with a half-step backward toward the doorway.

"I haven't slept."

That killed the teasing immediately.

Her brows pulled tight. The color drained from her cheeks just a little.

"What? Why, honey?" She reached forward, hand brushing against his arm lightly, just above the wrist. "Are you too stressed?" She paused after asking this, then added softly, barely audible, "do… do you need help relieving some stress sweetie?"