Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 502: Path Chosen (Part 6)

The image lingered.

For a moment, no one spoke.

A man in the front row—blonde hair, tailored charcoal suit—rose slowly from his seat. His eyes never left the screen.

"Is that..." His voice caught. "...is that what I think it is?"

Director Graham inclined his head once. "Yes. It is."

He shifted his stance, one hand folding behind his back while the other tightened around the handle of his cane. The faint tap of its base against the floor echoed.

"Following this discovery," Graham continued, "the Federal Anomalous Investigation Bureau’s Spec-watch Section was dispatched to assess the site. Alongside them, a C-Class response unit from the Ranger Division was deployed for containment and retrieval."

Benjamin’s fingers moved again.

The screen changed.

The tunnel, closer now. The walls bulged inward, uneven and wet, layers of muscle-like tissue stretched across what should’ve been concrete. Thick, ropey growths crept along the ceiling, drooping like veins.

Another image replaced it.

Human limbs. Half-fused into the walls. Fingers curled stiffly, skin pale and split where the growth had swallowed them.

A few people shifted in their seats. One woman pressed a hand to her mouth.

Benjamin didn’t pause.

The next image showed a body—what remained of one. A local officer by the uniform scraps. His skin was riddled with small, round openings. Inside them, green worm-like shapes writhed, slipping in and out as if breathing through him.

A chair scraped quietly—as someone leaned away.

Another image followed. Blood smeared across the ground in dragged arcs. Deep gouges clawed through stone. A single boot lay on its side, sole torn loose. Shredded fabric clung to a bent railing further down the tunnel.

Benjamin finally stopped.

Director Graham exhaled through his nose and faced the room again, bringing both hands to rest atop his cane. His shoulders sat heavier now.

"As of last night," he said, voice lowered, "half of the C-Class unit is missing within the tunnel network. Along with several local volunteers who joined the search."

He let the words settle.

"The reason I have invited you all here," he continued, "is to request your voluntary operational participation in addressing this matter."

The room stirred.

Low voices spread in uneven waves. Some leaned toward one another. Others frowned, confused, uneasy.

Starboy broke the noise with a short laugh. He raised his hand halfway, not bothering to stand. "Wait—so you want us to volunteer for what? An upper-B? Maybe even A-level mess?" He tilted his head, amused. "Surely you’re joking. Isn’t this what Elite graduates and stationed operatives are for?"

A few heads nodded.

It wasn’t an unreasonable question.

Director Graham didn’t bristle. He looked tired more than anything.

"I understand the confusion," he said. "Believe me, I share it." He shifted his grip on the cane. "Due to circumstances not yet fully communicated to myself or the board, a significant portion of our senior staff has been reassigned to what has been termed readiness evaluation across multiple sites."

Murmurs spread again.

"From what I’ve been told," Graham continued, "we are not the only department affected. Superhuman divisions across other states are doing the same. I’ve already contacted neighboring cities for assistance, but our numbers remain low."

He paused. "And I fear that by the time this receives a standard response... it will be too late."

Another hand rose.

This one steady.

Dr. Gadget stood from his seat, folding his hands behind his back. His eyes moved across the younger faces before settling on Graham.

"Please speak, Dr. Gadget," Graham said at once, respect clear in his tone.

"I am not a child like most of those present," Dr. Gadget said calmly. "I have seen my share of strange operations." He adjusted his glasses. "I have also known you since you entered this institution as an Elite Program Member yourself."

A few looks shifted toward Graham.

"So I know," Gadget went on, "that the circumstances must be severe for such a project to be approved." He glanced toward the seating tiers. "But if we are asking these youngsters to risk grave injury—or worse—I believe compensation should be addressed. If not financial, then at least something of comparable value."

Graham nodded slowly.

"I did not wish to use compensation as motivation," he said. "But yes. It has already been agreed upon. Those who participate will be rewarded for their assistance."

He straightened slightly.

"And I assure you—this will not be ignored."

The mention of a reward stirred the room again.

Low voices picked up, brief comments traded under breath. Some leaned closer to one another. Others sat back, eyes narrowed, weighing the cost against whatever prize might exist at the end of this.

Don didn’t join them.

He sat still, forearms resting on his thighs, gaze forward. Beside him, Charles mirrored the posture in his own way—relaxed, composed, eyes thoughtful rather than restless. Neither spoke. Both were already working the problem from different angles.

A hand rose several rows down.

A young woman stood, trainee attire still crisp from lack of field wear. Her hair was tied back tight, expression earnest but wary. "Director," she asked, "what form would this reward take, exactly? Recommendations to higher units? Placement into better programs? Tutelage under specialized instructors?"

A few heads turned toward Graham.

He didn’t hesitate.

"I will be honest with you," Director Graham said. "At present, neither I nor the board can specify the form such compensation may take." He adjusted his grip on the cane. "And we are not encouraging participation on the expectation of anything grand or guaranteed."

He paused, eyes scanning the room.

"I understand how confusing this is," he continued. "But this is the situation as it stands."

A muted exhale rippled through the hall.

"The operation itself is scheduled to begin Monday," Graham went on. "Preparatory briefings will commence tomorrow. Ideally, those willing to participate should inform us of their intent by twelve o’clock midday."

A few people stiffened.

One man—older, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark formal jacket—stood abruptly without waiting to be acknowledged. "Are you serious, Director?" he said, voice edged. "You expect us to decide something like this in less than a day? Many of us already have full schedules or commitments. Asking this out of nowhere isn’t fair."

Several people nodded.

Graham met his gaze without irritation. "I apologize," he said evenly. "But as I have stated, this extends beyond my discretion."

He straightened. "If you are dissatisfied, you are free to leave this room and proceed as though this meeting never occurred."

The words hung there.

People looked at one another. Quick glances passed. Calculations were made without a single number spoken.

Don didn’t need to read the room for long.

The first chair scraped back—skrrrk~.

Then another.

One by one, people stood. Some avoided looking at the screen. Others kept their eyes fixed forward, jaw tight, as they moved toward the exits.

It wasn’t surprising.

Sister Rose’s actions were still fresh in memory. Trust was thin. Fear wasn’t. The idea of walking into something like that—without seasoned operatives, without clear answers—felt less like duty and more like being offered up.

Canon fodder.

Don watched them go without judgment.

Still, not everyone left.

Seats remained filled. Enough of them.

Don stayed where he was.

So did Charles.

They hadn’t exchanged a word. They didn’t need to. Their stillness spoke plainly enough.

Some of those remaining felt pressure settle on their shoulders. Others felt relief—knowing those two would be present. For a few, it was something uglier: the refusal to fall behind.

Starboy shifted in his seat.

He’d half-turned, clearly ready to stand—until his eyes flicked back and caught Don and Charles still seated. He paused, then leaned back instead, folding his arms like leaving had never crossed his mind.

A few rows away, Frostbite remained seated as well.

She glanced at Don again, her look tight, resentful, loaded with something personal. He felt it. Ignored it.

Eventually, the doors closed on the last of those who chose to walk away.

Roughly forty people remained.

Director Graham looked around the hall. His gaze settled briefly on Dr. Gadget, who stood calmly among the seated group. Then he nodded, a faint smile crossing his face.

"Thank you," Graham said, voice steady, "for choosing to stay."

He tapped the cane lightly once against the floor—tok~.

"A register will be taken shortly. Those remaining will be contacted by the end of the day with further details." He lifted his chin. "This project is fully funded. You will not be required to prepare equipment or resources independently."

A pause.

"Additional information will be provided as it becomes available."

He inclined his head. "That is all for now."