Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 535: Resistance V1 (Part 7)

Far from the center of the ruined town, near the outskirts where the damage thinned out, one medical tent sat apart from the rest.

Inside, Don, Pyro, and Starboy occupied three narrow field beds—reinforced cots built for rapid deployment.

Each of them wore nothing but plain white drawers. Their skin had been cleaned, wounds treated, but the marks of the fight remained: bruising, abrasions, bandaged cuts that pulled when they shifted.

Beside each bed stood compact medical pylons— metal frames fitted with drip lines and small holographic screens. The displays hovered near eye level, cycling through vitals, muscle strain indicators, and recovery metrics unique to superhuman physiology.

An older woman stood between them.

She moved with unhurried pace, eyes flicking from screen to screen as her fingers tapped notes into a digital pad. Her hair was pulled back tight, streaked with grey, her face lined and set into a permanent look of mild annoyance.

She wore a plain medical coat marked with unfamiliar insignia.

Outside, a helicopter descended nearby. The wind surged through the tent entrance, fabric snapping loud enough to rattle the lights overhead.

The woman didn't react.

She finished typing one last note, then looked up.

"Alright," she said, voice rough, edged with a strong Ukrainian accent. "I see no major problems with any of you. However—" her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the readouts, "—you all greatly overexerted your muscles. It is miracle you did not lose limb or two."

Pyro shifted on his bed and winced.

She continued without concern. "I would advise two to four weeks recovery. Injection of N-42 serum would be ideal, but I doubt you are authorized." A small pause. "So. Electrolytes and whatever recovery compound your institution provides will suffice."

Her tone suggested she cared very little either way.

Don glanced toward Starboy. Starboy glanced toward Pyro. None of them spoke.

The tent flap rustled.

All three of them snapped their eyes toward the entrance as it was pulled open.

A stocky man stepped inside.

He was broad through the middle, posture stiff despite it. A thick handlebar mustache sat above a tight mouth, framing a double chin.

He stood around one hundred eighty centimeters, looked to be in his fifties, and wore a formal military uniform in the same dark blue-black camouflage, hat included.

The doctor gave him a casual salute.

"Sir."

"At ease, Doctor Hrytsenko," the man said, waving her off. His voice carried a strong Texan drawl, the vowels stretched just enough to be unmistakable.

He turned his attention to the beds.

His gaze settled first on Starboy—lingered—then shifted to Don, then finally to Pyro.

"These the boys who held off the unclassified hostiles?" he asked.

"Yes," the doctor replied, stepping aside. "They will be fine. With rest. And recovery serum."

The man nodded once. "Good. I'm sure we've got more than enough N-42." He didn't look at the doctor when he added, "See to it these boys are taken care of."

Then he clasped his hands behind his back and faced them fully.

"You did good work today, boys," he said. "Saved a good deal of lives."

His tone was even. Professional.

"I'm sure you'd like nothing more than to head home," he continued, "but we'll need to keep you here briefly. We require full debriefs of what occurred, and we'll be running extensive medical evaluations to ensure none of you are infected or compromised."

A pause.

"We'll also need your agreement on a classified information containment directive," he added. "Standard procedure. What happened here is tragic, but until we understand exactly what we're dealing with, some details remain restricted. Controlled release only. Last thing we need is panic."

His eyes moved across them again.

"That acceptable, gentlemen?"

It didn't sound like a question.

Don was the first to nod.

Starboy followed a second later.

Pyro hesitated—then nodded too.

"Wonderful," the man said, allowing himself the briefest of smiles. "I'll leave you in the doctor's capable hands."

He turned and left without another word, the tent flap falling shut behind him.

The three of them lay there for a moment, listening to the distant thrum of helicopters and shouted orders outside.

No one spoke.

——— 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Several hours passed.

By the time the clocks rolled a little past two in the morning, Havenridge barely resembled the place it had been.

The encampment had pushed outward, swallowing what remained of the outskirts. Floodlights stood in ordered lines now, their beams cutting across shattered ground and broken tree lines.

The earth was scarred with deep fractures that had been filled or bridged with temporary plating. Uprooted trees lay stacked off to the side, trunks cracked and split, their leaves trampled into the mud.

What hadn't been cleared had been marked.

Spray-lit pylons outlined danger zones. Sections of forest were stripped bare, branches torn away, bark gouged where vines had dragged through hours earlier. The smell of churned soil, burned growth, and fuel hung low in the air.

Don sat just outside the encampment's rear perimeter, perched on the trunk of an overturned tree. Its roots were still half-buried, caked with dirt and snapped stone.

He held a white metallic bottle loosely in one hand, lifted it, took a slow sip, then let out a breath through his nose.

His gaze moved across the site without hurry.

Nothing in his expression gave anything away.

A faint snap sounded behind him as a small branch broke underfoot.

Don's ear twitched.

He didn't turn.

Pyro emerged from the trees and stepped into the open, posture slouched, shoulders heavy. He crossed the distance and dropped down on the far end of the trunk with a tired grunt. He held the same white metallic bottle, but instead of drinking from it, he set it down between his boots.

He yawned, rubbing at his face.

"Man… I'm beat."

Don didn't reply.

"These questions they keep asking us," Pyro went on, voice low, "feel more like an interrogation." He exhaled. "But that's the UPDSF for you, am I right?"

Don lifted his head slightly and gave a small shrug.

"Beats me. I'm just glad this whole thing is nearly over."

Pyro nodded. "Bet." He leaned back a little, bracing his hands on the trunk. "Sucks we won't get any public recognition for this, but I've never been a spotlight kinda guy." A faint grin crossed his face. "Still… it'll help when applying for programs and ops once you guys start in a year or two."

Despite the pain and the injuries, Pyro was relaxed in a way Don wasn't. Seniority showed itself like that—less urgency, less edge.

The grin didn't last.

Pyro's shoulders rolled forward as he stared at the ground, fingers rubbing together absently.

"Hey…" he said. "I get that a lot of what happened today surprised everyone."

He trailed off.

Don turned his head toward him.

"But?"

Pyro let out a breath. "I just find it hard to believe backup took this long to get here. Interference or not… it feels delayed."

Don's face shifted for half a second.

Recognition flickered there—then vanished.

He'd thought the same thing. More than once. The response time didn't line up. Neither did the speed at which control had been imposed afterward, especially with a whole town destroyed and too many survivors to keep quiet forever.

But this wasn't the place to talk about that.

"Anything's possible," Don said instead. "We'll probably hear the explanation back at HQ. I can't imagine losing that many people on their end is easy to explain either."

Pyro scratched at the back of his head and finally picked up his bottle, taking a slow sip.

Before he could respond, a speaker crackled nearby.

A woman's voice came through—young, disciplined, clipped.

"Don Bright, please make your way to Tent Five."

Don closed his eyes briefly and exhaled.

"Looks like I've got more questions to answer," he said, pushing himself to his feet.

Pyro glanced up at him. "Good luck."

Don gave a short nod and started back toward the lights.

The tree trunk creaked faintly as Pyro leaned back again, watching him go while the encampment carried on around them

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A/N: These last couple of chapters have really been a learning curve. This was my attempt at doing a large scale conflict, not solely centered around the MC. I wanted to capture the loss, devastation and struggle, as well as show that the MC still has a ways to go. Feel free to let me know before I attempt a large scale fight again what you feel could have been done or presented better.

As usual thanks for reading and supporting this work!!