Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 482: A Messy Visit (Part 2)

An hour and some minutes later.

The living area looked much the same. Gerald Richmond and Abraham sat opposite one another, glasses half-drained, their conversation drifting between money, markets, and names not meant to leave the walls.

Smoke coiled above them from the cigar tray, rising in steady ribbons that blurred into the dim lights overhead.

On the stage, the duo played on. The girl’s flute whispered through the room in fluid measures while the boy’s violin answered with heavier undertones, their duet shaping a song both fragile and relentless.

Neither looked up. Neither faltered.

The guards kept their posts. Suits along the pillars, rifles steady.

Kasanda stood behind Abraham’s sofa, motionless except for the calm breath in his chest. Han leaned against a marble column, eyes half-lidded but scanning with every slow flicker. Even in stillness, his body tingled with awareness. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Time seemed settled inside.

But outside the mansion walls, the forest shifted.

Beyond the trimmed courtyards and the roaming Defenders, deeper in the thick trees to the north perimeter, a patrol wound its way forward. Three men.

They weren’t dressed like the suits standing guard over the living area. Their clothing was built for the work—dark fatigues, light vests, boots softened by long use.

Flashlights clipped to their rifles lit broken patches of dirt and root, beams cutting through brush. A dog padded ahead on a loose lead, ears perked, nose working the ground.

The men were tall and fit, each frame carrying the bulk of field work rather than show. One’s face was square, nose crooked from an old break.

Another had narrow eyes set deep under heavy brows, his jaw grizzled with stubble.

The third—the fresh face—was younger, skin smoother, his steps showing a nervous energy the others had long worn down.

Their voices carried low through the trees.

"Is this really necessary?" the younger one asked, pushing a branch aside. "Patrolling outside the walls, I mean. Doesn’t the mansion already have enough guards?"

The stubbled one gave a short grunt. "You get used to it."

The broad-nosed man added, voice steadier. "Mr. Richmond meets important people nearly every other day. Every week of the year. If regulations on private superhuman guards weren’t so strict in this state, believe me—he’d have more of them too."

The fresh face didn’t answer, his jaw working as if chewing on the thought. His flashlight swung across moss, stone, the shifting gleam of wet bark.

Then—movement.

A snake slithered across the dirt, scales catching the torchlight.

The younger man stumbled back. His boot caught root, the beam of his light jerking upward into branches. "Shit—"

The stubbled man let out a laugh, low and quick. The dog barked

"Can you guys be serious?" the broad-nosed one muttered, stepping forward. "What if—"

The sound came before the words finished.

Crack~

The broad-nosed man’s skull burst open, blood spraying across the fresh face’s cheek. The body dropped before the sound finished echoing.

The younger man’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening—

Another crack~

The stubbled man’s head snapped sideways, bone and blood sprayed against the bark. He dropped like a rag, rifle clattering into roots.

The fresh one staggered back, torch flailing wild beams across trees. His voice shook out. "What the—"

The dog barked again, hackles raised—

Crack~

Its body twisted mid-sound, legs folding under it as a whimper dragged into silence.

The young guard froze. His senses—sharper than most—screamed in his head. He spun toward the dark stretch of forest, breath caught in his throat.

His pupils dilated as his vision pulled at the edges—until, faint, a glint winked back at him deep in the black.

A scope.

A barrel.

Crack~

His body jerked as the bullet tore through his skull.

"Huh—"

The sound left his mouth without breath behind it. His knees buckled. Torch slipped from his hand.

It clattered against root and stone, beam still burning as it spun useless circles across the forest floor.

———

Meanwhile, deeper in the forest—

The trees thickened overhead, their canopy pressed so tight the moon only spilled down in narrow veins of pale light.

Beneath it, black Escalades sat scattered across the ground, positioned with intent. Two vehicles covered the northern approach, angled nose-out as if ready to bolt. Another pair bracketed the east and west, tires half sunk into the loam. One more rested south, back hatch open, its frame the backbone of a quick setup command station.

At the center of it all stood Gary.

The Escalade’s rear lights burned faint red, casting him in a dim glow as he worked the projected holo-interface spilling from the back.

Translucent screens floated above a fold-out panel, their images faint but precise. A projected keyboard laid out across the tailgate, each keystroke flickering light into the dark.

Gary’s earpiece glowed faint against his cheek. He wore full black tactical gear, armor plates pulled snug over his frame. A balaclava hung loose at his neck, unused but ready. His eyes stayed locked on the displays as his voice carried low, even.

"This is team one," he said into the comm. "Our targets are down. Other teams, how copy?"

One by one, confirmations slid back across the channel.

"Suii."

"Suii."

"Suii."

Gary’s lips tugged faint at the corners. "Wonderful."

He reached forward, tapped a final sequence into the holo, then let the screens fade. His posture straightened as his gaze shifted upward—through gaps in the canopy where the night sky broke through in narrow shards.

"The ground teams on shift beyond the wall have been taken out, Madam," he said, voice clear against the faint static of his comm. "If intel is correct, we have five minutes before mandatory check-in. After that, they’ll realize something is wrong."

Elle’s voice came through a second later. "Copy."

Gary clasped his hands behind his back, the motion slow. His eyes lingered on the stars for a moment longer.

All around him, minions moved with purpose. Dressed in matching black tactical gear, their balaclavas sealed tight, visors reflecting the dim glows of equipment.

Some clustered near the Escalades, checking magazines, whispering last-second confirmations. Others spread outward, weapons slung but ready, marking the perimeter.

Two lay prone on the roofs of separate Escalades. Their bodies melded into the dark, rifles massive and long, barrels pointed outward through the trees. Breathing shallow, scopes steady, their fingers hovered near triggers.

Above it all came the steady thrum of blades—whrrr~

The patrolling helicopter carved a path across the treetops. Its searchlight dragged a wide arc somewhere further out, the beam flashing between trunks before sweeping past again.

Gary didn’t flinch. His voice slipped back into the comm.

"The patrolling helicopter should also be in good position by now."

The words faded, his gaze still lifted into the fractured night. He exhaled through his nose, long and controlled, before tightening his clasped hands behind his back.

———

Meanwhile, in the patrolling helicopter—

The cockpit lights washed the interior in soft green glow. Switches lined both sides of the panel, gauges steady, blades thrumming above. The pilot and co-pilot sat side by side, helmets half-unbuckled, headsets snug over their ears.

The pilot leaned back, hands light on the cyclic, his voice bored. "Easiest job ever. Fly in circles all night, get paid better than half the military."

The co-pilot snorted, flicking a toggle. "Human military at least. But yea, feels like aviation school, just without the instructors barking in your comms."

They laughed, the sound mixing with the endless churn of the rotors.

Then the co-pilot’s breath hitched. His grin faltered. He shivered suddenly, rubbing his shoulders through the flight suit. "Damn... did it get really chilly all of a sudden?"

The pilot chuckled, about to retort. He turned, mouth half open—when a cloud of his own breath fogged into the air.

He froze. His brow furrowed. "What the hell—"

His eyes drifted forward, past the windshield.

And then his throat closed.

There—in the glass—her reflection. A pale girl. Black hair hung over her face, dark clothes swallowing her shape. She stood inside the reflection, yet nowhere in the cabin. The sight ripped a scream from his lungs.

"Ahhh!"

The co-pilot jolted, twisting toward him. "What’s wrong?!"

The pilot whipped his head back to answer—only to see her again. Not in the reflection this time. But outside. Pressed against his friend’s window. Hair veiling her face. Motionless.

His lips parted to shout a warning—

BOOM~

But before he could, the door on his side tore free. Metal screamed as it ripped outward into the night, flung away like foil. The fuselage shook hard, alarms chiming across the dash.

Both men spun toward the gap—eyes wide—

The blur struck first.

Elle.

Black tactical gear wrapped her body, half a balaclava across her mouth and nose. Her form flickered as if she’d taken two steps in a single moment, sliding from the night into the cabin.

Her fingers pressed tight together, pointed like a blade.

One smooth thrust.

The tips of her hand drove through the pilot’s temple—crkshh!—piercing bone with a wet crack. His skull split under the force. Grey matter and blood sprayed across the windshield in a hot fan.

His eyes rolled white as his head snapped sideways, pinned against the seat.

The co-pilot screamed, recoiling, blood splattering across his chest. He fumbled downward, hand clawing for the sidearm strapped at his boot.

Elle flickered again—shffft~—and when his head lifted, her fingers filled his vision.

They speared into both eyes with sick precision—shlk!

"Gghhhhhh!" His shriek tore out raw as blood streamed down his cheeks. His hands clutched her arm, pulling, fighting—but her limb might as well have been rebar. It didn’t move.

Elle’s gaze didn’t waver. She twisted her wrist with one sharp turn.

Crkkk~

The man’s skull snapped. His entire head wrenched off his spine, detaching in a jagged rip as his body convulsed and went limp. The severed head thumped against the console, rolling into the footwell as red painted the controls.

Warning klaxons rang out—BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP!—the console flashing angry red. The helicopter lurched, nose dipping.

Elle slid into the pilot’s seat in one motion, her gloved hands reaching across the panel. She leveled the cyclic, foot pressing the anti-torque pedal to correct yaw, tail rotor whining back into line.

Altimeter warnings blinked, but she steadied the descent with collective adjustments, pulling the bird back into stable hover.

The rotors evened. Whrrr~

The alarms slowed. The bird was no longer diving.

Elle exhaled, lifting her gaze to the bloody mess beside her. She leaned back, pressed her comm.

"The helicopter is secured," she said coolly. Her eyes flicked to the forest below, the canopy shifting beneath. "Moving to phase two. On Predator’s signal."