Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 362: Adjusting To The Unexpected (Part 2)

Four hours. That's how long it took.

Not to formulate a plan. That part had gone by fast—two minds that knew what they wanted and just enough pride to make it click. But ironing out the fine details? That was where time melted.

Now, seated beside a pair of sunbathing chairs that hadn't seen the sun in weeks, Don and Charles nursed the tail end of their second whiskey glass. The moonlight did most of the lighting now—low, clean, unbothered by urgency.

Charles stretched one leg out and tapped the rim of his glass with a fingernail. The sound barely carried.

"If we both handle our parts properly," he said, "we'll have the instruments we need to begin dismantling Barclay before the week's out."

Don leaned back in the chair beside him, head tilted slightly to catch the curve of the skyline. "That's all we can do," he murmured. "As for our image… that's a gamble. And we don't even get to see the cards."

Charles let out a dry exhale, almost a sigh but not quite defeated. "Like you said. Even if it crashes and burns, our reputations are already submerged. Nothing left to lose on that front."

Don turned his head slightly, giving Charles a half-look. "Then we only move forward."

He rose from the chair, slow but with purpose, brushing non-existent dust from his pants. "I'll get started on my part. I'll update you when I've made progress."

Charles raised his glass in a lazy toast, his lips curling into that ambiguous smirk of his.

"Tata," he said in a deliberately posh accent.

Somehow, it landed more sinister than charming.

Don didn't comment. He didn't need to.

And with that, he left.

The door to Charles' penthouse sealed behind him with a soft pressurized hum. A wide hallway stretched ahead—carpeted in deep grey, walls dressed in sleek paneling and low-strip LEDs. He crossed it in silence, letting the rhythm of his steps fill the air.

At the end, his own penthouse door stood waiting. A thin beam of blue scanned across his face the moment he stepped into range.

A green light then blinked once, and the door slid open.

Winter was waiting just inside.

She stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her, posture crisp.

"Welcome back, Don," she said, voice even and smooth. "The transition has been successful. Though, the others voiced their dissatisfaction when informed that you'd pre-assigned their rooms."

She tilted her head. "Your mother and aunt didn't seem to mind. Summer, however, stated—and I quote—'I'm going to give him a piece of my mind later.'"

Don chuckled under his breath as he stepped past her into the entryway. The lights adjusted slightly to his presence, softening to a warmer hue.

"I'll live," he said.

Winter nodded, almost to herself. "This would not be a problem," she added, "if you had allowed me to brief them on the features curated for each room. Some of the complaints would've been neutralized by utility."

She paused, her tone flattening.

"It would also be… problematic if anyone but you were to occupy your room. There are systems in place they would not understand. Or, worse—activate."

Before Don could reply—

"Oh hell yeah! I love this room!"

Amanda's voice tore through the air from somewhere down the hall.

Winter blinked. "I believe she's found the arsenal rack."

Don sighed. "At least they're adjusting."

He stepped to the side and slipped off his shoes. "Have you interfaced with Gary Assist yet?"

"I have," she replied. "There were no compatibility issues. However—" she turned to face him directly, "since you have severed my link to the central cloud, I will no longer receive automated model updates."

Don's brow arched slightly. "But you still can be updated. Physically, right?"

"Yes. With proper engineering support. Otherwise, I remain static."

He crossed the room toward the kitchen island, fingers brushing the edge of the countertop as he walked. 'So, jailbroken android,' he thought. "Risky, but manageable."

He glanced back at her. "It's worth it. Having you completely cut off from any external influence… gives me peace of mind."

Winter's eyes glowed faintly at that. "You've exceeded expectations," she said. "I've reviewed the architecture and protocols in place. I am… impressed."

Don picked up his phone again, locking the screen without looking at it.

"More importantly," he said, "you're free from Dr. Gadget's restrictions. That makes you more effective at protecting them. And helping me."

Her head tilted, slightly robotic but still oddly expressive. "Those functions have been reassigned as my primary operating objectives. You will receive the best of me."

Her eyes flared briefly with soft blue light.

"You have an incoming alert from Gary Assist."

**Beep**

Don's phone buzzed in his hand a moment later. He looked at her.

"You already knew before the phone did?"

Winter nodded once. "My processing speeds exceed any mobile device. By the time a signal is bounced from a tower, through a satellite, and back down to your network node—I am already aware of the incoming data."

Don smiled, just a little.

He hadn't said it out loud yet, but the decision—the whole operation to isolate and repurpose her systems—felt worth it. "What's it say?"

Winter took a half-step forward.

"The Hell Riders," she said plainly. "A substantial number of their escapees have been located. Including several of their upper-tier lieutenants."

Don's eyes narrowed.

"Where?"

Her gaze didn't flicker. "The Deadly Damsels."

Don exhaled slowly, the smile fading. Not out of surprise—out of interest.

Of course they'd run there. Where else would you go when you were armed, hunted, and didn't want the law—or anything resembling it—knowing your name?

He set the phone down again.

"Then it's time I pay them a visit."

—

One hour later.

The alley behind Deadly Damsels was a narrow stretch of filth and brick—too quiet for a club that loud.

Neon from the front sign didn't reach this far. Nothing did. Except a black car wedged between two dumpsters, half-swallowed by the dark.

Its windows were tinted so heavy they didn't reflect light. The hood, matte and still slightly dusted from the drive, gave the illusion of something forgotten. But the whispers circling it said otherwise.

"Suuu... suu…"

The minions moved in scattered pairs, all of them hunched and nodding to one another like paranoid pigeons. Their eyes shifted frequently toward the back entrance of the club. No one spoke in words. Just tones. Just code.

Then—movement.

One of them stiffened. His eyes caught something on the far wall—something that shouldn't have been there.

He raised an arm and pointed. "Suu!" he whispered with urgency, snapping to attention with a sharp salute.

The others followed suit—every head turning, every spine straightening. Their eyes locked on the alley wall where the bricks began to warp.

Not with heat. Not with force.

With shadow.

Thick lines of black started to swirl along the brickwork like ink in water. Tendrils of smoke that didn't move right. They didn't rise. They coiled. Gathered. Then spread into something wide.

Two slits of white light blinked into being.

Eyes.

Then—shhk—Predator stepped out.

The dim glow of a nearby streetlamp caught the edge of his suit, glinting off the gold inlays woven through his pitch-black suit. His silhouette was more shape than man—shoulders squared, arms loose at his sides. Calm. Like stepping out of darkness was routine.

He didn't blink.

"Are they inside?" he asked, voice low and distorted, dragging through the alley like gravel in water.

One of the minions gave a quick nod and bent down, reaching into the black car through the half-open passenger window. A tablet emerged—scratched, but functional. The screen flickered once before stabilizing on a grainy interior feed.

Predator leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowing at the moving image. The room was polished and angular—an office draped in warm red tones and glass panels. Sound came through—low at first, then sharpening.

Inside the frame sat four figures.

Viktor, hunched slightly, thick forearms resting on a table he clearly wanted to break. Ash, legs crossed, a finger tapping against her knee, eyes half-lidded with boredom or calculation—it was hard to tell.

T-Back, slouched in a chair too small for him, expression neutral, eyes bouncing between speakers like he wasn't interested in picking sides unless paid.

And finally—

Madam Lily.

She stood by the desk, arms loosely folded, her long black coat hanging just off her shoulders like a cape that hadn't committed. Her expression was unreadable—lips curled slightly, eyes sharp but not tense. She moved like she owned the room.

"…Impressive," she was saying. "I'll give you that. You've managed to keep my shelves stocked despite your little... fugitive status. Quite resourceful." Her fingers brushed over the surface of a nearby glass decanter, idly rotating it. "Still, your novelty has a shelf life. If we're going to work together longer-term, I'll need to... reduce your profit margin."

Viktor bristled immediately. "What the fuck did you say?"

Ash's foot stopped tapping.

Madam Lily didn't flinch. She tilted her head slightly, then turned her full attention to Viktor like he was an unruly pet.

"You heard me."

Viktor's fist hit the table—**THUD**—rattling the glass on its surface. "You don't call the shots here," he spat. "Johnny's the boss. Not you."

T-Back's voice cut in—grave and warning. "Yo. Chill the fuck out."

But it didn't matter.

Lily's smile was still there—cold now, sharper. "Don't forget," she said smoothly, "your crew was already in pieces before you got arrested. You need me. I don't need half-dead muscle and a reputation people laugh at."

Ash laughed, but it was dry. No amusement in it.

"You think we're your biggest problem?" she said, standing now, her arms stretching behind her as she walked a short half-circle around the desk. "There's a bigger player in Santos City now. A real one. If you want even a chance at keeping up, you'll need my back-channel data."

Madam Lily raised a brow.

"Oh yes," she said, mock-serious. "The ghost made of shadows." She spread her arms in a mock-summon. "How terrifying. I think I'll manage just fine, dear."

The moment she said it, the lights flickered.

**Zzzp—clik**

Then silence.

Every bulb went dark.

Ash's body stiffened. Her eyes widened—not in surprise. In recognition.

Madam Lily straightened. "What in—"

A voice answered her.

Loud. Echoing. Not from the door. Not from the shadows.

From everywhere.

"Is that so?"