Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The minions gave one last synchronized nod before jogging around to the back of the sedan.

Thnk—chk~

The trunk opened, quiet and well-oiled.

Gary had already begun turning toward Don—only to find Don standing directly in front of him.

No transition. No blink. Just there.

Gary didn't flinch.

He smiled, slightly.

"When we first acquired the suit," he said, folding his hands behind his back, "I had thought it would suit Madam Elle best. Given the supposed toll it takes on the mind."

Don didn't move. His eyes glowed faintly under the hood.

"But I'm glad to see you're assimilating with it well," Gary finished.

"It still feels like I'm only scratching the surface," Don replied.

His voice was low. Steady. Not tired—just weighted.

Gary nodded, gaze drifting momentarily toward the upper floors of the hospital.

"I'm sure there's more to it than meets the eye," he said. "We were lucky to acquire it when arcane items still weren't considered particularly valuable. Even now, it's not the items themselves people chase…"

He exhaled through his nose.

"…it's the information behind them."

Don didn't ask.

He knew what Gary meant.

Elle.

The questions surrounding her weren't just medical.

"I'm sure the opportunity will present itself with time," Don said. "Best we can do is be ready."

Gary smiled again. "Right you are, sir. Right you are."

The trunk clicked shut behind them.

Thud~

Both minions returned, each carrying a heavy black duffel bag slung over one shoulder. They walked in step—quiet, professional.

Gary turned toward the hospital entrance.

"Well then," he said, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "Let's see what information our friends up there are willing to share."

Don didn't reply.

He was already moving.

"Follow me," he said over his shoulder.

The group entered the building together, boots echoing faintly against old tile and water-warped wood.

The path was broken in places, the walls lined with mold and collapsed insulation. But Don never hesitated.

He didn't need to remember the layout.

He could feel it.

It took only minutes to reach the top floor.

The director's office still reeked of mildew and rot.

The overturned furniture lay in crooked piles—splintered legs, ripped fabric, broken glass from a smashed picture frame.

Gary stepped inside first, scanning the room with mild curiosity.

He looked from the broken desk to the cracked tiles, to the two figures restrained against opposite walls—Sergio on the west, Roberto on the north.

Neither had moved.

But that was about to change.

Don didn't speak.

He simply flexed one hand.

The shadows responded instantly.

The tendrils peeled off the walls, sliding the brothers forward with a disturbing smoothness—no resistance, no sound beyond a whump as their feet thudded against the floor.

They were placed at the room's center, just a few feet from where Gary stood.

Then the tendrils retreated.

Not fully—just far enough to hide.

And that's when it happened.

Both brothers jerked.

Spasms ran through their limbs like someone had thrown a switch. Their eyes snapped open, and before anyone could speak, they lunged forward—reflex, not thought.

Fast.

But not fast enough.

SHNK-KRRK~

Two sets of jagged black poles erupted from the floor, spearing through their lower legs in a wet, blunt punch of impact.

The brothers froze mid-movement.

Mouths open. Eyes wide.

But they weren't allowed to scream.

The tendrils returned in a blink, lashing down from above like snakes—wrapping around jaws, throats, wrists.

MMF—HNHH!!

The muffled groans were made. Shaky.

Both men twitched violently, their bodies instinctively trying to pull away from the pain.

The poles didn't budge.

Gary smiled, removing his blazer with a slow motion. He folded it once and handed it to one of the minions without looking.

"These types," he said, stepping forward, "they're rarely the reasonable sort, sir Predator."

He cracked his neck.

"If they're not willing to share what they know… well."

He glanced toward Roberto, who was trembling from the leg up.

"A little motivation never hurts. Worst case? They die loud."

He shrugged. "We lose nothing."

Don said nothing at first.

A cleaner exchange would've been preferable.

But not realistic.

And the part of him that was supposed to flinch at that… didn't. Not quite.

Somewhere between training sessions and fieldwork, the line had faded.

He didn't know when.

He only knew it had.

"Do what you have to," he said.

Then looked at them—Sergio and Roberto, barely standing.

"I hope whatever Barclay pays you," he added, "is worth dying for."

Silence stretched between them.

But it wasn't peaceful.

Sergio and Roberto's eyes darted between Don and Gary.

Wide. Frantic.

Their legs, impaled by the shadow-made spikes, throbbed with pain that no superhuman endurance could erase. Beneath them, a slow pool of dark red spread outward, staining cracked tile and puddles of moldy water.

They wanted to scream. To plead. To deny everything.

But the tendrils held fast—hands over mouths, coils around wrists, necks, torsos.

So they did what they could: fidgeted. Jerked. Tried to twist away.

But nothing budged.

The minions, silent as the shadows around them, placed the duffel bags neatly at Gary's feet. No look. No hesitation.

Gary accepted his folded blazer from one of them, and then eased out of it.

He sat it on a nearby broken chair, the thing wobbling but holding.

Blood continued to pool. The brothers' superhuman healing had kicked in, but it didn't dull the agony. Their enhanced nerve endings meant every pulse of red stung sharper than it would for a normal person.

They stole glances at each other—eyes meeting for a moment before they were forced away by another tendril.

They couldn't speak.

Gary rolled up his cuffs methodically, exposing forearms pale in the low light. He didn't look at them.

Whrr-click. Whrr-click~

Another drop of blood slipped free, slipping down a shin.

Gary reached into the duffel.

The brothers' eyes followed every motion.

Tendrils tugged them upright slightly, tilting their heads forward—a silent gesture making them watch.

Gary paused as he sank a hand into the bag.

Then he spoke. Calm. Neutral.

"This may become… unappealing, Sir Predator. If you'd rather—"

Before he could finish, Don's voice cut in.

"No need. It'll be faster if I stay and assist where possible."

Gary glanced sideways. A faint smile on his lips—less polite, more satisfied.

He withdrew a set of metal tools—forceps and picks. Clean in the faint light that filtered through cracked glass.

He held them high, twisting the hinge as if testing its strength.

Click… snick… click~

Dull metal echoed in the room.

Gary brought them forward slowly, eyes trained on the brothers.

"Let's begin by testing how much pain they can tolerate. If they're still uncooperative," he said, voice smooth, "we can always escalate."

He leaned in, closer than comfort. The forceps glinted within inches of their trembling faces.

The brothers swallowed. Hard.

Their eyes said everything: fear, regret, confusion.

They'd known this might get ugly. They just didn't think it'd be this ugly.

And now, they were powerless to stop it.

———

What's in or will be on the discord? Links to other projects, NSFW & SFW character art (webnovel deletes nsfw images I try to insert in paragraphs), parody chapters and side stories.