Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

With the training session completed, Don felt the burn in his muscles and the satisfaction of testing himself in a more controlled environment.

He was about to suggest to Miss Claire that they could leave when suddenly, the door to the training room slid open with a mechanical **whirr**. Two figures stepped in—a very tall man with neatly combed blonde hair, wearing a tailored suit, and beside him, a younger man who looked like a younger version of the older, though less polished.

The younger man was around Don's height and his expression was one of disdain.

The tall man, with a stern expression, scanned the room and immediately frowned upon seeing Don. "Sam," he called out, his voice echoing across the room, "didn't I instruct you to ensure no one was present when my son was scheduled to train?"

Sam, the old man who had overseen Don's training, looked visibly flustered. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Barclay," he stammered. "I didn't know—"

But Mr. Barclay cut him off sharply. "Enough," he snapped. "Prepare the course for my son."

Sam nodded quickly, casting a helpless glance at Don and Miss Claire. "I apologize," he said, his tone filled with resignation. "Could you please leave?"

Don could tell this Mr. Barclay was likely a big shot, someone with enough pull to make things difficult. His first instinct was to avoid unnecessary trouble and just leave. But before he could say a word, Miss Claire stepped forward, placing a hand on her hip, her posture radiating confidence and defiance.

"Why should we leave?" Miss Claire asked. "We were here first, and according to the terms of use of these facilities, it's first come, first served."

The younger man beside Mr. Barclay, who had been looking bored up to this point, burst into laughter. "Are you dumb or something?" he sneered, pointing a finger at Miss Claire. "Do you even know who you're talking to?"

Miss Claire's eyes narrowed slightly, and she smiled—a cold, calculated smile. "I must have struck a nerve, considering the lack of manners and the surplus of arrogance. It's quite clear you were both raised with silver spoons but without any sense of class. Or perhaps your... manhood is so lacking that you feel the need to compensate with bluster."

Mr. Barclay's face darkened, his lips thinning into a line. "I suggest you apologize now, Miss, if you know what's good for you," he growled, his voice taking on a menacing tone. "Or else."

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Miss Claire remained unfazed, her expression as steady as ever, but just as she opened her mouth to retort, the doors slid open once more with a soft **hiss**.

A new figure strode into the room with confident steps, her presence commanding immediate attention.

"Or else what?" came the voice—a woman's voice, firm and full of authority.

All heads turned toward the source of the voice, and there stood RedStar. But instead of her iconic hero costume, she wore a tracksuit in her country's national colors.

She walked forward, her gaze directly on Mr. Barclay. "I heard everything," she said, her tone neutral but the irritation in her voice clear. "And the woman is right. Why should they leave the course just because your son is here? Especially when your...

twig of a son," she looked toward the younger Barclay, "can't even handle a little competition."

The young Barclay's face turned beet red. He gritted his teeth, glaring at RedStar. "My father booked the room in advance!" he shouted, his voice shaking with anger. "It's that stupid worker's fault," he added, jabbing a finger toward Sam.

RedStar's eyes flashed dangerously. "Watch your tone," she commanded, her voice dropping a few octaves. The younger Barclay instantly went to his knees, a look of shock crossing his face. She smirked. "Or I'll beat you senseless in front of your father."

Mr. Barclay's composure faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "RedStar," he said evenly, "mind your own business. This has nothing to do with you."

RedStar didn't back down. "Oh, but it does," she retorted, "because I won't stand by and let someone like you bully others just because you have a fancy title." She turned to Don, then back to Mr. Barclay. "You think just because you're the deputy director, you can throw your weight around? Think again, not when I'm around at least."

Mr. Barclay scoffed and shifted his gaze to Don, looking him up and down with thinly veiled disdain. "Why waste valuable time on this course with someone who will never amount to anything more than a sidekick?" he said coldly. "If he had any real talent, I would already know his name."

Don felt his jaw tighten. He was about to speak up, his frustration bubbling to the surface, but once again, RedStar beat him to it. "This boy," she said confidently, "will go further than your son ever will."

Mr. Barclay's frown deepened, but then he composed himself, clasping his hands behind his back. "Do you dare to make a wager, then?" he challenged. "My son against this nobody," he gestured dismissively toward Don. "If your... protégé can last even one minute in a sparring match, I'll admit I'm wrong and even offer compensation.

But if I'm right," he paused, his gaze locking onto RedStar's, "you'll have to reconsider that little discussion we had the other day."

RedStar's lips curled into a smile a she didn't hesitate to answer. "I have no problem with that," she said, turning her head slightly to look at Don. "What about you, boy? Are you willing?"

Don took a moment to think of his options. He knew that backing out now would not only damage his image but also miss an opportunity to prove himself, however unprepared he might feel. The pressure was immense, but he nodded. "I'm in."

With the agreement made, Sam moved quickly, pressing a series of buttons on the control panel.

The walls of the course began to lower smoothly into the floor, revealing a wide, open space that stretched out. Don and the younger Barclay stepped forward into the other room with a now even surface, positioning themselves on opposite sides.

Don's eyes were fixed on his opponent, studying him carefully. The young Barclay, with his blonde hair slicked back and a confident smirk on his face, looked every bit like someone who had grown up with a silver spoon. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes showed a certain arrogance, as if he had already won.

"You're going to regret this," the young Barclay taunted, his voice carrying across the empty space between them. He stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles loudly, as if to try and intimidate Don.

But Don didn't respond. Instead he simply took a deep breath, grounding himself. He may not have had much experience fighting but he felt like he had faced worse situations and opponents more dangerous than this entitled brat.

He knew that if he kept his focus and relied on his instincts, he could handle whatever was coming his way.

From the observation room, RedStar's voice crackled through the intercom system. "This is a sparring match, gentlemen. Only physical abilities are allowed—no powers. If you have any questions, ask them now. Otherwise, we begin at the sound of the buzzer."

Don nodded slightly, indicating he understood. The young Barclay just rolled his shoulders and grinned, clearly eager to get started.

A moment of silence stretched out and Don's heartbeat slowed, his focus narrowing to the boy standing across from him. He could feel the adrenaline starting to course through his veins, his muscles tensing in anticipation. His senses sharpened, every detail in the room coming into crystal-clear focus.

Then, the sharp **buzz** of the buzzer sounded.

The tension in the room was tense as the buzzer echoed, signaling the start of the match.

Almost immediately, the young Barclay launched himself at Don, his movements fast and aggressive. He closed the distance between them with astonishing speed, his fists flying like a bunch of daggers aimed straight at Don's head.

**Thwack.** The first punch caught Don off guard, landing squarely on his jaw. His head snapped to the side, and pain exploded across his face.

He barely had time to recover before the next blow came—a vicious right hook to his ribs that knocked the wind out of him. Don staggered back, his vision momentarily blurring from the impact.

The young Barclay grinned, sensing his advantage. "What's the matter? Thought you could take me?" he taunted, his voice full of arrogance as he pressed his attack, unleashing a barrage of rapid punches and kicks that forced Don to retreat further. reading-here-on-MVLeMpYr

Each strike was delivered with precision and brutal intent, designed to break Don down piece by piece.

Don's instincts kicked into overdrive as he tried to block and dodge the relentless onslaught. But Barclay was relentless.

A powerful kick landed on Don's thigh, nearly knocking him off balance. And before he could fully regain his footing, Barclay grabbed him by the collar and drove a knee into his stomach. **Wham.** Don gasped, the air forced from his lungs as he doubled over in pain.

From the observation deck, Mr. Barclay's laughter filled the room. "Look at him! He can't even last thirty seconds against my son!" he sneered, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

RedStar, her arms crossed, kept her gaze fixed on the scene below. "You might want to look again," she said calmly, her eyes narrowing with keen interest.

Back in the arena, Don's body hit the ground with a heavy **thud**, his breaths shallow and ragged.

The young Barclay stood over him with a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

"What's wrong? Had enough already?" he mocked as he cocked his head to the side, waiting for a response.

Don didn't answer. He just laid there, his body aching. But then, a system prompt flashed before his eyes.

———

**Skill Tree Skills Unlocked.**

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