Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don didn't turn to look at Charles. He simply lowered his gaze to his phone and opened the message from Gary.

It was short. No punctuation.

———

Sir I think you should see this.

———

A link followed.

Don tapped it and a browser opened to a media player—already buffered, already paused. He hit play and watched.

The video was shaky. Slightly blurry. But not enough to hide anything.

He and Charles were visible—on the casino's ground floor during the attack. The image was grainy, but the figures were unmistakable.

It was as brutal as he remembered it. It looked like a massacre.

And then came the audio.

"Please—help me! I can't—control myself!"

"No—please! I'm in pain!"

"Get it out of me! Don't kill me! Please!"

Voices. Dozens of them. Men. Women. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

It made everything worse.

The footage alone would've been enough to spark controversy. But with those screams?

It turned what was a desperate fight for survival into a televised execution.

Don's stomach twisted.

Even he—a relative outsider to this world's social fabric—knew how bad this was. This wasn't scandal.

It was public damnation.

**Bing** **Bing** **Bing**

His notifications began to flood in.

Messages from Donald. Tori. Summer. Elle.

He didn't need to open them to know what they were about.

He didn't move. Just stared at the screen, still playing on a loop now. The screams kept layering. Repeating. Burying truth under a pile of pain.

Then—

**CRACK**

Charles's phone shattered in his grip, glass splintering into his palm.

Don finally looked his way and saw that Charles looked genuinely furious.

"He's gone too far…" Charles muttered.

Don narrowed his eyes. "Barclay?"

Charles shook his head slowly.

"No."

"My brother."

His tone was dead, but the meaning behind it wasn't. He rubbed his temples and added, "This is very bad."

Don agreed.

He turned back to his phone and started opening the other messages.

Hector:

"Bro you're trending… but like, really not the good way. Dios mío…"

Tori:

"This is bad. People think you're a killer. Like… trending bad."

Donald:

"Dude, you need to see this. They're calling you 'Butcher Bright.' This is nuts. You saved people that day."

And Summer.

Her message cut deeper than the rest.

"What the fuck?? You killed them because they attacked you right? Self-defense?? Fuck. People at my school are losing it over this. They're saying you… just executed them."

Don didn't reply to any of them.

His mind was already moving. 'Do I defend myself publicly? Issue a statement?'

He shook his head. 'No. That's not what I should be thinking about right now.'

He turned his eyes back to Charles—who was now seated stiffly, lost in his own calculations.

"My family might be in danger because of this," Don said quietly.

Charles looked at him and nodded. "Yes. Who's to say someone who lost a loved one in that building doesn't decide to find you? Or your house?"

He turned toward the front of the chopper and raised his voice.

"Change course."

The pilot looked back briefly.

Charles didn't wait for a response. "Head to the Bright residence. Now."

———

Back at SHQ, the halls had quieted after the assembly's adjournment.

Director Graham walked slowly through a corridor, his cane tapping in rhythm against the marble floor. Beside him, his secretary kept pace—heels clicking with every step, her eyes trained on the tablet in her hand as she read aloud the rest of his day's schedule.

"After your 6 p.m. briefing, you have a virtual call with the regional operations board," she said. "And then—"

She stopped mid-step. Eyes widened.

"Director," she said quickly, her voice taut.

Graham paused and turned toward her, brow furrowing. "Hm?"

She turned the tablet toward him.

The image on the screen showed Don and Charles in the casino—grainy video, muted colors, but clear enough. Below it, captions. Scrolls of commentary. Social media reposts. Hashtags.

Then the sound came through.

"Please help me—"

"I'm in pain—"

"Don't kill me!"

The Director's expression dropped. His hand shot out as he grabbed the tablet.

"Where's this from?" he snapped.

"I-I don't know," the secretary stammered. "But it's already viral—it's everywhere and—"

**BZZZ** **BZZZ**

Her phone buzzed violently in her pocket. Graham's own phone vibrated against his jacket as well.

He gritted his teeth. "Damn it."

His jaw locked. His fingers clutched the cane tighter.

"Find out who leaked this," he said. "Now."

He then pulled out his phone. The screen lit up. His eyes narrowed when he saw the caller ID.

"…Fuck."

—

Across the city, in a quiet neighborhood of high walls and luxury hedging, Miss Claire sat in her private home office. It was a refined space—soft lighting, old wood shelves, and a calm scent of cedar and jasmine lingering in the air.

She lounged comfortably on a velvet-upholstered chair, one leg draped over the other, going over a series of financial documents on her tablet. Everything about the room was curated. Cozy, but not quaint. Professional, but not cold.

**Bzzz**

Her phone buzzed softly on the side table. She glanced at the number and frowned slightly.

Mr. Xiao.

She answered without delay, pressing the device to her ear.

"Miss Claire," Xiao said, voice smooth—almost cheerful. "I must say… I'm disappointed."

Claire raised an eyebrow, her voice cool. "And by that you mean?"

A chuckle echoed through the speaker.

"Oh, so you haven't seen it yet. No matter. You'll know soon enough," he said. "I just thought I should be the one to tell you—personally—that due to current circumstances, our agreement with Mr. Don Bright will be terminated."

Claire remained motionless.

Her voice didn't shift.

"Regardless of the reason, I'm sure you're aware that abruptly ending a contract gives me grounds to sue."

Mr. Xiao's tone stayed light. "Only if we refuse to offer a termination package. But one will be sent to Mr. Bright's account shortly. I assure you—it's more than fair."

He let that settle before adding, "And, as a professional courtesy to you, I'll persuade the board to allow him to remain enrolled. Not as a representative of our image, of course—but as a regular student."

Claire didn't blink. "I don't need favors from you."

Mr. Xiao laughed again, smooth and casual. "Then let's call it professional etiquette."

Then came the knife, hidden in silk.

"Though… if I may offer advice," he said, voice now a bit more serious, "If you don't want your own reputation to be dragged into this mess—cut the boy loose."

The line went dead before she could respond.

Miss Claire lowered the phone slowly and her face remained unreadable.

From elsewhere in the house—

"Mom!" A girl's voice, urgent. "Mom! You need to come see this!"

It was Sylvia.

Claire exhaled once. Then stood.

This day… had just gotten worse.

—

The helicopter had now began its descent over the Chanel Hills Community.

From their vantage point, both Don and Charles could already see the movement—lines of people in the distance, slowly but surely marching toward the gated neighborhood.

The crowd wasn't massive. Not yet. But it didn't need to be.

Protest signs. Phone cameras raised. Faces twisted by something between confusion and righteous outrage. Don recognized the signs of a mob forming—rationality dissolving by the minute.

Closer to home, the view was slightly different.

His street was already populated.

Clusters of people stood near the front of the property—pointing. Talking. Some filming. Some shouting to each other, not quite brave enough to approach yet.

Inside the chopper, the mood was colder.

Charles leaned slightly toward the window. "Good," he said. "Looks like we're not late."

Don didn't look away from the scene below. "Yeah."

But the tone in his voice wasn't agreement. It was anger. Low and coiled.

His jaw was clenched. His shoulders taut.

This wasn't just a PR nightmare.

It was a direct hit. Against his name, his work, his family.

It had come fast. Too fast. Just when he thought the mess was behind him.

Charles turned to him, voice lower now. More personal. "I'll make this right," he said. "My brother… and anyone foolish enough to help him? They'll pay for this."

Don didn't answer.

His gaze was down now—locked to the phone still buzzing in his hand.

More messages. More alerts. More noise.

But none of that held his focus.

Because right there, in front of him, a glowing prompt hovered.

—

System Prompt

Achievement Unlocked: Enemy of the City

Reward: +1000 Villain Points

—

His expression didn't change immediately.

But something inside him shifted.

And then—another prompt.

—

System Notification

Multiple Upgrades Now Available

—

Don stared at it.

Not in shock. In thought.

Then he raised his head—slowly.

His eyes met Charles's.

"We," Don said. "We will make them pay."

Charles smiled.

End Of Volume.

———

After Word:

Alright, that's Volume Two done.

This volume was about establishing the dominoes—Don's growth, his alliances, relationships and so on. You've probably noticed I lean heavily into dialogue, slow-burn conflict, and power games rather than constant battles. That's intentional. It's about control, about choice, and about how this all fits into the world.

I'll be real—uploading daily is brutal. Keeping character motivations consistent while developing a believable world? It's hard, for me at least. There are many areas I want to revisit: some exposition came in late, some emotions could've hit harder. But I'm learning.

Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who supported this with stones, tickets, or just dropped a comment.

Volume Two picks up right where this ends.

Hope you're ready.