Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Andrew felt like every part of his body was on fire, pain radiating from every bruise, every.

His back was against the wall, quite literally, and as he stared at Don, hatred burned in his eyes. How could this nobody—a mere footnote in the world of heroes—be beating him? Him! A Barclay! His father's son!

The thought was unbearable, a bitter pill that lodged in his throat and refused to go down. His fingers twitched, his muscles trembling from the anger and pain. He clenched his teeth hard, unable to swallow the taste of defeat.

As these emotions boiled over, his eyes began to flicker with a strange purplish mist, barely perceptible at first but growing more intense with each passing second.

Don, ever-alert with his **Battlefield Awareness (Silver)** and superhuman senses, noticed the change almost immediately. The tension in his muscles immediately increased, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

He could feel the shift in the air, the faint but undeniable presence of something dangerous emanating from Andrew. He decided not to show that he had noticed, keeping his demeanor relaxed as if he were entirely unaware. He needed to defuse the situation quickly, to avoid whatever this new threat was.

"It's my win," Don said casually. "For what it's worth, I learned a lot from this fight."

He started to turn away, feigning disinterest. But his senses were on high alert, every nerve in his body ready to react. He didn't know what kind of power Andrew possessed, but it was clear to him that whatever it was, it wasn't something he wanted to face head-on without knowing what it was.

In the observation room, Redstar's eyes narrowed as she noticed the change in Andrew as well. But before she could say anything, her ears twitched slightly, picking up on a faint, almost imperceptible sound. A small smile then spread across her lips as she crossed her arms and relaxed her posture. She seemed oddly unconcerned.

Miss Claire, on the other hand, furrowed her brow and glanced sidelong at Redstar. "Are you not going to intervene?" she asked, her voice calm but carrying a bit of concern.

"Don't worry," Redstar replied. "Let's see how this plays out."

Back in the arena, Andrew's face twisted into an expression of rage and frustration. He lowered his head, his teeth grinding together as he muttered under his breath, "Shut up… shut up… shut up…"

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The purple mist around his eyes grew thicker, now swirling around his clenched fists.

Mr. Barclay, standing in the observation room, caught sight of the change and immediately frowned. "What does that fool think he's doing!?" he shouted in anger.

Andrew's fists clenched tighter, and he began to charge toward Don with a manic gleam in his eyes. 'I'll make you feel four times the pain you made me feel,' he thought, his mind clouded by rage.

As he got closer, his intention was clear—he aimed to strike Don with a fist coated in that strange, purplish mist.

Just as Andrew closed in, Don ducked his head, avoiding the punch by mere inches. He held his breath, suspecting the mist could be toxic or have some other dangerous property. At that moment, he knew he had to end this quickly.

While ducked, Don used his **Calculated Assault (Silver)** and **Forceful Strike (Bronze)** to throw a powerful kick aimed directly at Andrew's already bruised liver.

**Wham!**

The impact was devastating. Andrew's body folded over Don's leg as he was sent flying back several meters, crashing into the ground with a heavy thud. He instantly coughed up blood, his body wracked with pain, and his vision blurred as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

His ribs had cracked under the force of Don's kick, and he could barely move. Every breath he took was agony.

Andrew tried to speak, his mouth opening, but no words came out. Instead, a pained wheeze was all he could manage. His eyes darted around wildly, filled with disbelief and fear.

"Andrew!" Mr. Barclay yelled from the observation room, his voice full of panic. "Look what that bastard did!" He stormed out of the room and headed toward the control room where Sam, the old man, was monitoring the training session.

Inside the control room, Sam's eyes were glued to a screen displaying the anatomical figures of both Don and Andrew. The figures were highlighted in various colors according to the damage each had sustained, with red indicating severe injury. The area where Don's kick had landed on Andrew was flashing a bright red.

Before Sam could react, Mr. Barclay burst into the room. "Open the door to the arena now!" he demanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Sam hesitated, looking back at the screen. "Sir, I don't think that's—"

"Now!" Mr. Barclay yelled, cutting him off.

With a resigned sigh, Sam pressed the button to open the doors leading into the arena, bracing himself for the fallout.

Before the doors were even fully open, Mr. Barclay went through. He rushed past Don, who stood his ground, eyes still sharp with awareness from the fight.

Mr. Barclay dropped to his knees beside Andrew, who was trembling with pain, unable to stand. "Andrew, Andrew," he called out, his voice still full of panic. "Are you okay?"

His eyes darted back to Don, filled with loathing. "You bastard," he spat, his voice rising. "Look what you did! I'll make sure you—"

But before he could finish his threat, a calm yet authoritative voice interrupted him. "Or you'll what, Deputy Director?"

Mr. Barclay's expression shifted instantly from rage to irritation, though his anger was still visible. Don turned his head to see Director Graham approaching, dressed impeccably in a white suit, his cane tapping lightly against the floor with each step.

Behind him followed Redstar and Miss Claire, with Sam trailing behind, clearly hesitant to get too close.

Director Graham stopped beside Don, glancing over at Andrew's crumpled form, then back at Mr. Barclay. "Let's not escalate this any further," he said, his voice even and composed. "We should end this here."

Mr. Barclay's face flushed with anger. "Are you serious, Director Graham?" he demanded loudly, gesturing toward his son. "Look at what that bastard did to my son!"

Miss Claire, who had been walking slightly behind the Director, took the opportunity to step forward. Her expression was cool, almost amused. "You should choose your next words very carefully, Mr. Barclay," she advised in her smooth, elegant tone.

"Because if my client were to sue, you could be facing multiple charges: slander, intimidation of a program participant, and your son for using superhuman powers in a sparring match where no such powers were permitted."

Mr. Barclay turned his glare on Miss Claire, his eyes narrowing. "Is that a threat?" he asked.

Miss Claire chuckled softly, the sound refined and almost musical. "I don't make threats, Deputy Director," she replied smoothly. "I only make promises."

A bitter laugh escaped Mr. Barclay's lips, his expression turning mockingly amused. "You really think you'll win in court?" he challenged. "Go ahead and try—"

"That's enough," Director Graham interjected sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This is your final warning, Barclay. Your behavior is unbecoming of someone in your position, and it's embarrassing for the agency."

Miss Claire's smile widened slightly as she chimed in, "You'd be wise to heed the Director's advice. I can't imagine what the fallout would be from the negative publicity of someone in your position being involved in such a blatant case of abuse of power."

Director Graham couldn't help but think, 'Damn, it's like she knows exactly what we're worried about.' Negative publicity was the last thing they needed right now, especially with so many issues already on their plate. 'Dammit, Barclay.'

Keeping his face composed, he looked directly at Barclay. "If you continue with this," he said firmly, "I will be forced to submit an official report on your conduct."

Mr. Barclay's face contorted with frustration, his teeth grinding audibly. He looked down at Andrew, who was still groaning in pain, then back up at Director Graham. "Fine," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But this isn't over."

"It is for today," Director Graham replied calmly. "Focus on getting your son treated." As he spoke, two androids with red crosses on their heads entered the arena, pushing a stretcher between them.

Mr. Barclay clicked his tongue in irritation but didn't argue further. He helped Andrew onto the stretcher, the young man groaning with every movement. As they left the arena, Mr. Barclay shot a final, venomous glare at Don, his eyes promising retribution. your-chapter-source

Once they were gone, Director Graham exhaled heavily, turning his attention to Don. "I'm sorry about all of this," he said, his tone softer now.

Don shrugged slightly. "It's fine," he said. "It could've ended worse."

The Director nodded, then glanced at Miss Claire. "To make up for it, how about I treat you both to lunch? A proper apology, if you will."

Miss Claire looked at Don, her eyes studying him for a moment before she nodded. "I think that would be acceptable," she replied.

Don was still processing everything that had just happened but still nodded in agreement. "Sure," he said. "Lunch sounds good."