Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The three men exchanged nervous glances, clearly torn between their loyalty to their boss and the dread that had crept into their hearts.

The fog around them seemed to thicken, as if swallowing up the world outside. The only sound was the occasional distant caw of crows, and their own heavy breathing.

"Shut the fuck up and get me outta here! You idiots just gonna stand there yappin'? I swear to God, I'll kill you all myself if you don't move!" the boss barked, his voice rising in panic.

His eyes darted nervously in every direction, though he couldn't turn much without sending waves of pain through his body.

He was the one truly helpless in this situation, and that fact terrified him more than anything. The idea of being trapped like this, unable to defend himself, was a nightmare.

The three men shuffled awkwardly, clearly unsure. One of them, the tattooed man, tried to suggest an idea, "Maybe two of us stay here to guard you, boss, and I'll go check the pickup for tools—"

Before he could finish, the scarred man interrupted, "Why you? Why not me? I'm faster."

Buzz Cut also chimed in, "Nah, I should go. You two stay—"

"Are you even listening to me?!" the boss screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of fear. "The longer you stand there, the closer we get to fucking dying! I swear, if one more word comes out of—"

A voice, cool and calm yet entirely foreign, interrupted the argument. "He's right, you know."

The silence that followed was instant and absolute.

The three men froze, their faces draining of color as they realized they weren't alone. The boss's eyes went wide with fear, but he couldn't see anything past the crumpled wreck of the car. His heart hammered in his chest.

"Who the fuck said that?!" the boss yelled.

One of the men, Buzz Cut, started to turn toward the source of the voice, but before he could even get a glimpse of the figure in the mist, a hand shot out of the fog and connected hard with his face.

The sickening **crack** of bone echoed through the air as he hit the ground, unconscious before he could even comprehend what happened. powered by mvle mpyr

"Shit!" one of the other men yelled, fumbling with his gun.

His fingers were shaking as he raised it toward the direction the attack came from, but he wasn't fast enough.

Don's foot struck out like a whip, kicking the gun from the man's hand with a sharp **clink** as it hit the ground and skidded away into the fog. The man stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.

The last man, Tattooed Guy, managed to turn his head just enough to see Don as he raised his hand, and then froze in place. He gasped, feeling his muscles lock up as an invisible force held him in place.

His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. "Fuck! It's a supe!" he screamed, his voice filled with even more terror than his friend. His eyes darted wildly, but his body wouldn't respond to his commands.

In the wrecked car, the boss strained against the pain in his leg, turning his head as far as he could. When his eyes landed on Don, who now stood calmly near the wreckage, he felt a wave of cold terror wash over him. "You…" the boss muttered, his voice barely a whisper, as realization dawned.

Don didn't respond to the boss's words. His gaze remained focused as he executed his next move.

He stepped forward, grabbing the man who had dropped the gun by the back of his head before slamming his face down onto what used to be the hood of the ruined corolla.

**Crunch!** The sound of bone and cartilage breaking was sickening as jagged pieces of metal from the wreckage pierced into the man's face, one shard driving into his skull.

"Ahhh!!" The man screamed, thrashing in agony as blood poured down his face. He tried to pull back, but the shard was lodged deep, and every movement sent fresh waves of excruciating pain through his body.

His screams became choked sobs, his body twitching uncontrollably.

The tattooed man, still held by Don's telekinesis, could only watch in horror. His eyes were wide, filled with terror as he realized what was coming for him next. Don's expression was calm, cold even, as he turned his attention to the frozen man.

"I—please," the tattooed man whimpered, his voice trembling. "I didn't… I was just following orders…"

Don stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he released the telekinetic grip on the man's body. The man collapsed to his knees, trembling and clutching at his throat as he gasped for breath. He looked up at Don with pleading eyes.

But Don didn't hesitate. His boot came down hard on the man's face, driving him into the ground with a dull **thud**. The tattooed man coughed, blood splattering the dirt as he tried to crawl away, his limbs weak and unresponsive from the telekinetic hold he'd been under.

Without a word, Don stepped on the man's leg while using Forceful Strike (Bronze), crushing it beneath his boot with a sickening **crunch**. "Gah! Fu-ck!" The man screamed in agony, his body convulsing as he tried to pull his broken leg away.

Don finally turned to the last man, who was barely conscious after his head slammed into the truck.

He lay on the ground, twitching in pain, his face a bloody mess. Don didn't kill him—not yet. The man was in no condition to run or fight, so he turned his attention elsewhere.

"Try not to bleed out, I'm not done with you fuckers," Don muttered coldly, before turning his attention back to the boss.

In the wreckage, the boss's face was a mix of horror and rage. "You… you fucking piece of shit! I'll—"

"You'll what?" Don interrupted, his voice calm, as he stepped closer to the boss, who didn't yet seem to realize how fucked he was.

The boss's eyes flickered with panic, unable to respond.

Don crouched down beside the mangled car, his eyes cold as he looked at the man who had been barking orders just moments ago.

Then, in a low voice, he said, "Let's have a quick chat." His words were soft, but the implication behind them was heavy.

The boss, already sweating from pain and fear, could feel his heart racing.

He swallowed hard, trying to muster whatever shred of confidence he had left, but the effort was futile. His thoughts were racing just as fast. 'Shit.'

He felt trapped in every sense of the word. He couldn't move, his leg was broken, and now he was face-to-face with a guy he thought was supposed to be an easy target. His mind scrambled, trying to figure out how he'd miscalculated so badly.

"Who sent you?" Don asked.

The boss looked at him, eyes. 'Who sent us?' He thought. 'What the fuck am I supposed to say?' He thought. 'If I lie, this kid will kill me—no doubt about that. But if I tell the truth, I'll get killed for leaking. Fuck'

Before the boss could think any further, Don leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing as he added, "Now isn't a good time to think of lies, especially when I can see right through them."

The boss met Don's gaze and immediately regretted it. Those weren't the eyes of some clueless kid.

They looked like they were the eyes of someone who had killed before, someone who had thought through every step of this situation. 'Shit. Did this kid plan this?' The boss's stomach twisted at the thought. Don had led them out here, far from any help, and now he was systematically picking them apart. 'He knows what he's doing.'

"I… I don't—" the boss started, but before he could even finish his excuse, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. Don's telekinesis snapped the joint, and the boss screamed in agony. **Crack!**

"Argh! Fuck!" Sweat poured down his face as he felt his shoulder dislocate painfully.

"Let's try again," Don said plainly. "Who sent you?"

"Alright, alright!" the boss stammered, his voice quivering from the pain. "I'll talk, but—" He winced, gasping. "You have to promise… get me out of here first and—"

**Thud!** The boss's head slammed into the mangled wreckage of the car, a wide, jagged cut forming across his forehead. Blood trickled down his face, mixing with the sweat, as his vision blurred slightly.

Don remained expressionless. But inside, Don was struggling. His head was pounding from the repeated use of his telekinetic powers. 'I can't keep this up much longer,' he thought, the strain of using his abilities catching up to him. 'If this bastard doesn't talk soon…'

The boss, light-headed from both fear and blood loss, realized Don wasn't bluffing. He was running out of options.

"Okay… okay," the boss muttered, the fight leaving him. "I don't know the guy's name. It was a hit… came through a contact named Johnny Black. He's the middleman. You'll find him at the Deadly Damsels strip club on 5th Street… downtown."

The boss grimaced, knowing he was throwing someone else under the bus, and in his line of business, this could proof fatal. "But you can't just walk in there and ask for his name, kid. If you do, they'll kill you… or worse."

Don nodded slowly. "I see," he replied, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips.

He then turned his head toward one of the two goons still alive. "Any of you know anything more useful than what your boss just said? If not, I'll kill you and spare him."

Panic spread across the goons' faces instantly. The one with the broken leg was the first to crack. "The boss is lying!" he cried out, his voice frantic. "They'll kill you just for walking in there, even if you don't ask for Johnny's name. It's a death trap, man."

Don's eyebrows raised in mock intrigue. "Oh?" he said, as if intrigued by this new piece of information.

The other goon, still dazed from being knocked unconscious, nodded weakly. "That's true… only local gangsters get an invite to that place. If you're not known, they'll kill you on sight."

The boss, seething with anger, spat, "You fucking traitors!" He wanted to lash out, but before he could say more, Don turned back toward him, and with a simple motion, snapped the man's neck with his telekinesis. **Crack!** His head twisted unnaturally, and his body slumped lifelessly into the wreckage.

The goon with the broken leg stared at the now-dead boss, his face white with terror. "You said you'd spare us!" he cried, desperation clawing at his voice.

Don's eyes flicked back toward him. "Whatever gave you that idea?" His voice was steady, almost curious, as if the notion of mercy had never once crossed his mind.

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