Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 540: A New - (Part 2)

The garage still smelled faintly of oil and clean metal.

Charles leaned back against the Porsche’s hood, one heel braced against the bumper, cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke drifted upward in lazy coils, thinning beneath the white lighting.

Don stood opposite him near the Ferrari, one hand resting on the cool curve of its roof. He hadn’t moved much since Charles dropped the idea—but his brow lifted a notch as the words finished settling.

"A superhuman group?" Don repeated.

Charles nodded once. Then he straightened a little, pushing off the car and rolling his shoulders back like he was resetting himself. The easy posture didn’t hide the intent behind it.

"Yes," he said. "And not some hobby outfit. Something structured."

He took a half step forward, eyes steady. "As it stands, we’re going to need to build our experience somehow. SHU is good—but at the end of the day, it just prepares us for the real challenge. Field reality. Operations. Consequences."

He gestured vaguely with the cigarette. "With the agency putting us on hiatus, it’s going to affect the timeline we were supposed to start consistent work on."

Don’s fingers slid along the Ferrari’s roof, following the line before dropping away.

"Which hurts our chances of adequate posting," he said, "if we manage to enter and choose to stay within the UPSDF."

Charles nodded again, slower this time. The set of his face changed. Not dramatic—just less hopeful. "Right."

They both knew what that meant.

UPSDF placement wasn’t just about power. It was about history. Metrics. Visibility. Who trusted you. Who’d seen you work. Without consistent operations, you didn’t get put forward. You got shelved.

Don exhaled quietly through his nose.

He’d already turned this over more times than he cared to count. Hell—he’d dragged Gary into it. Winter too. Tried to pry loose some angle he wasn’t seeing.

There were too many variables. Political factors. Internal agency agendas. And the biggest problem of all: Don didn’t have control over any of it.

Not yet.

Having Gerald Richmond in his pocket helped. A lot. A man like that opened doors that stayed welded shut for everyone else.

But one pawn didn’t make a board.

And apparently, neither did Charles’s family.

It had landed in the same place for both of them.

So Charles had gone looking for another route.

A superhuman group.

In theory, it wasn’t a bad idea.

But this world wasn’t comic panels and poster teams.

Here, a "private superhuman organization" lived in the same ecosystem as private military companies did in Don’s old world.

Structured. Contract-driven. Politically useful.

And vicious.

On paper, groups like that were service providers. Security. Containment. High-risk operations. Disaster response. Facility defense. Escort of sensitive assets. Sometimes training. Sometimes recovery.

In practice, they were tools.

Don knew of some such groups here.

Blackwater. Xe Services. Academi.

Organizations that started as private security and evolved into full-spectrum military contractors. They competed for government contracts, foreign and domestic, by offering something standing armies couldn’t always provide: deniability, speed, and specialized labor that didn’t show up on national casualty reports.

They guarded diplomats. Secured oil fields. Ran convoy protection through active war zones. Trained foreign forces. Sometimes they did counterterrorism work. Sometimes they just did what the paperwork politely called "stabilization."

And when things went wrong—

Governments disavowed. Contracts terminated. The company took the blame. Operators vanished into legal gray.

They were useful because they were expendable.

But they were also valuable.

Because if a private group built a reputation—completed operations no one else could, handled situations conventional forces couldn’t touch without political fallout—they became leverage.

Assets.

Transitional anchors when administrations changed. Quiet bridges between agencies that officially didn’t cooperate.

In this world, it was worse.

Because add superhumans to that equation and suddenly you weren’t just talking about security firms. You were talking about mobile strategic weapons that could be pointed without moving an army.

Which meant forming one wasn’t as simple as gathering a few strong people and slapping on a name.

In Don’s old life, private military companies had to register as corporate entities, acquire federal and international licenses, comply—at least nominally—with arms regulations, export control laws, operational oversight committees.

They needed insured personnel. Auditable payroll. Training standards. Equipment permits. Legal teams on permanent retainer.

And even then, they didn’t act until a government body contracted them.

Here, there were superhuman layers on top of that.

Background clearances through UPSDF. Power classification reviews. Mandatory containment protocols. Registered operational doctrine. Insurance bonds large enough to cover city blocks.

And then came the real barrier.

You didn’t get contracts by applying.

You got them by being known.

By having a record. By being the people who’d already done the things no one else wanted their fingerprints on.

Charles understood that. Not because he obsessed over research like Don did—but because he never stopped preparing. Family like his didn’t survive by being reactive.

Their conclusions had just finally matched.

Considering they were both barely into their twenties, the fact they were even discussing it wasn’t insane.

Ambitious, sure. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

But not delusional.

The hardest part wasn’t the concept.

It was legitimacy.

In the current country structure, a private superhuman organization couldn’t legally operate without state sanction. That meant registration under national security law, oversight through UPSDF-adjacent bureaus, and at least one major institutional sponsor willing to vouch for their operational use.

On top of that: minimum personnel thresholds, classified training certifications, bonded infrastructure, and a public-facing mandate that justified their existence without revealing what they were actually meant to be used for.

In other words—you didn’t form one unless the government already wanted you to exist.

Which they didn’t.

Not yet.

Charles’s family could push paper. Open doors.

They could probably clear the bureaucratic scaffolding.

But the core problem would stay the same.

What had this group done?

Nothing.

Don shifted his weight and finally turned away from the Ferrari.

"It’s not a bad idea," he said.

Charles’s attention sharpened a fraction.

"But," Don added, "I’d rather be a sole private contractor."

Charles blinked.

Then his eyes widened outright.

Don watched it register.

A sole private contractor or just private contractor, in superhuman terms, wasn’t a freelancer with a website.

It was a classified civilian asset.

Someone not formally enlisted, not publicly rostered, not visibly attached to any agency—but authorized to carry out operations on behalf of the state, its allies, or its off-book interests.

Black work.

Deniable deployments. Rapid-response insertion. Problem removal. And so on.

In Don’s old world, intelligence agencies had always maintained equivalents.

Deep-cover operatives. Cut-out teams. Individuals who didn’t belong to the military chain of command but were activated through it.

People whose success raised their value regardless of what kind of mission it was.

The more impossible the job, the more useful the contractor.

The fewer witnesses, the better.

Red tape vanished because there was no public framework to tangle it.

The only thing that mattered was outcome.

And the more a contractor proved they could deliver, the more resources quietly bent around them.

Extraction windows widened. Jurisdiction lines blurred. Entire agencies started making space.

But in this world?

With superhumans?

That classification was even more isolated.

And at Don’s age—and current standing—it was almost fantasy.

A private contractor wasn’t recruited.

They were created.

By surviving things no one else could.

By being the answer that worked when every other answer failed.

Which meant Don saying it out loud wasn’t a plan.

It was a declaration.

And he knew exactly what it sounded like.

Charles stared at him for a second longer, then let out a breath and laughed once under his nose.

"Wow," he said. "Alright. That’s... ambitious."

He took a drag, smoke filling his lungs before he exhaled it slowly. "With your skill, I have no doubt you’d excel at that."

Don shrugged, shoulders lifting and falling. "Maybe once I get some actual experience. And UPSDF recognition." His mouth pulled faintly. "But that’s far away."

Charles’s gaze didn’t leave him.

He raised the cigarette again, took another pull, then said, "Not necessarily."

Don frowned.

Not deeply—just enough for one brow to lift as he turned his head toward Charles.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Charles didn’t answer right away. He took another drag from the cigarette instead, shoulders easing as smoke filled his lungs. He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting past Don for a second as if measuring how much to say—and how fast.

Then he looked back at him.

"What if I told you," Charles said, "that I could get you registered as a private contractor."

Don’s brow climbed higher.

"At least a Class C operational level," Charles continued, voice even. "Given your age. And your regional accomplishments. It’s... reasonable."

That did it.

Don straightened, weight shifting fully onto his feet as he stared at him. "Are you serious?"

Charles gave a small nod. Casual. Almost dismissive.

"Of course." He took another pull, ember flaring briefly before dimming again. "Whatever it is you did back there at Havenridge—my father was impressed."

Don’s jaw set.

Charles watched him closely now. "Detached as he is, you still saved his son’s life. That matters to him. For that alone, he’s willing to pull a few strings." A beat. "Just say the word."

That wasn’t how Don expected this to go.

Not even close.

He opened his mouth—

And the world shifted.

A translucent overlay snapped into place in front of his vision, clean and unmistakable.

———

Potential Questline Unlocked: Path of the Rogue

Difficulty: Normal

Rewards:

• System Store LVL 1 unlocked

• ???

Penalties:

• None (if declined)

• ??? (if failed)

Reply YES or NO to accept or decline.

———

Don didn’t blink.

Not because he wasn’t surprised—but because he was already past that stage with the system. If anything, it showing up cleanly this time was the real shock. After Havenridge, he’d half expected it to stay silent. Or worse—selective.

Instead, there it was.

Clear. Functional.

Waiting.

Charles shifted his weight, watching Don hesitate. "You alright?" he asked.

Don inhaled once.

"I’d appreciate that," he said.

The overlay vanished.

Charles smiled.

Not wide. Just enough.

"Not a problem," he said. "Once I form my group, I may even contract you on some operations." He flicked ash toward the concrete. "We need all the experience we can get if we’re going to prep properly for the UPSDF trials."

He crushed the cigarette out against the Porsche’s fender with a dull press—then straightened fully and stepped away from the car.

"It’ll take a bit of time to organize," Charles went on as he rolled his shoulders back. "Once you’re verified, you’ll be required to upgrade your security. That means military-grade."

Don turned slightly. "Meaning?"

"If we get approval around the same time," Charles said, already starting toward the garage exit, "I can have the upgrades fitted directly into Ebon Crest."

Don paused. "Are there any requirements I should be worried about?"

Charles shook his head without slowing. "No. Your SHU assessment and my father’s recommendation will cover what you’re applying for." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Just expect an interview. Formality. Your assigned operator will walk you through what you need to know once the paperwork clears."

He stopped at the doorway, hands slipping into his pockets.

"In that case," Charles said, "let’s get the wheels moving. I’ll contact you if anything comes up."

Don nodded. "I’ll be waiting."

Charles turned and walked out, footsteps echoing briefly before fading down the corridor.

Don stayed where he was.

This wasn’t how he’d expected his day to go.

He exhaled slowly, eyes tracking the empty space Charles had left behind—when the system returned.

No warning this time.

———

Quest Accepted.

New system feature unlocked.

System calculating updated stats...

System updating...

Update complete.

———

A second overlay followed immediately.

———

System Store LVL 1 Unlocked

Features:

• Access to LVL 1 store items

• Store accessible only when system appears

• Idol Store unlocked

• Villain Store unlocked

• Only one store may be accessed per instance

———

And then—

———

Open store now?

YES / NO

———