Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 541: A New - (Part 3)

Don waited until Charles’s footsteps faded completely—until even the echo of them was gone—before he reacted.

The garage felt larger without him. Too quiet for a place full of machines built to roar.

Don leaned against the Porsche again, rolled his shoulders once, and let his gaze unfocus. Only then did he give the system permission.

’Yes.’

The air in front of him shifted.

A translucent panel unfolded into view, more defined than the earlier overlays. The edges locked into place.

———

SYSTEM STORE — LVL 1

Notice:

Only items currently affordable will be displayed. Unavailable entries are suppressed. Prices at this level hidden.

Warning:

Only one store may be accessed per instance (First time use exempted).

———

Below it, two sections resolved.

———

IDOL STORE

Path-aligned enhancements.

Designed to amplify public presence, influence, and symbolic impact.

Purchases draw from Idol Points (IP) and scale with reputation and visibility.

VILLAIN STORE

Predatory and adversarial enhancements.

Designed to improve threat perception, pressure application, and dominance.

Purchases draw from Villain Points (VP) and scale with conflict exposure.

———

Don exhaled through his nose.

"So this is the limit," he muttered.

The system selected for him.

———

IDOL STORE — AVAILABLE ITEMS

• Resonant Voice

Your voice carries intent with greater clarity and weight.

Effects:

– Improved vocal reach and steadiness under stress

– Subtle emotional reinforcement when addressing groups

– Reduced vocal strain during extended speech

Upgradeable through IP investment.

• Aura Farmer (Passive Trait)

Actions aligned with the Idol Path generate increased Aura yield.

Triggers include:

– Public reassurance

– Visible leadership

– Non-lethal resolution under observation

Stacking effect increases with audience size and narrative momentum.

• Public Poise (Minor Trait)

Maintains composure under observation.

Microexpressions stabilize during scrutiny.

Low-tier enhancement.

———

Don scanned the list again. Short. But functional.

"Less than I expected," he thought.

"But not useless."

Anything that multiplied what he already had—even marginally—was dangerous in the long run.

He flicked his eyes down.

———

VILLAIN STORE — AVAILABLE ITEMS

• Malice Sensitivity

Heightened awareness of hostile emotional intent directed toward you.

Effects:

– Detects anger, resentment, fear-based aggression within close range

– Strengthens accuracy of threat prioritization

Limitation: Does not identify source intent beyond emotional vector.

• Pressure Feedback

Provides instinctive feedback when your presence causes hesitation or stress.

Low-resolution. Informational only.

———

Don’s brow tightened slightly.

That was it.

No raw power spikes. No combat hacks.

Just... infrastructure basically.

He leaned his head back against the hood and closed his eyes for a second.

"What’s the ceiling for Level One?" he wondered.

"And what does Level Two look like if this is the floor?"

The answer didn’t come.

Fine.

He made his choice quickly.

One from the Villain path.

Two from the Idol.

"Purchase," Don said.

The panel responded immediately.

———

ITEMS PURCHASED

Villain Path:

• Malice Sensitivity

Idol Path:

• Resonant Voice

• Aura Farmer

UPDATED VALUES

Villain Points (VP): 1050

Idol Points (IP): 1,500

———

The interface dimmed.

Then folded inward and vanished as if it had never been there at all.

Don waited.

A second passed.

Then another.

He flexed his fingers. Shifted his stance. Drew in a slow breath.

Nothing.

He let out a low sigh and reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Figures."

Whatever had changed was subtle. Structural. The kind you didn’t feel until it mattered.

He pushed off the car and started moving toward the exit, boots tapping softly against the concrete.

"I’ll think about it later," he thought.

"Can’t keep Sam and Trixie waiting."

As he reached the doorway, his mouth curved up—just slightly.

This, apparently, was what suffering from success felt like.

———

A good two weeks and some days had passed.

Uneventful, if someone only counted explosions here and there. Busy, if they counted everything else.

Training filled most of it for Don.

The Compound at SHU hadn’t changed. It never did. Alloy, sealed lighting, and rooms built less for comfort than for containment. But the training cell Don stood in now wore the aftermath of recent abuse.

The far wall was crusted in frost that hadn’t been there an hour ago, thick white sheets crawling up reinforced plating.

Beneath it, water crept outward in slow, uneven trails where heat had already started winning.

The air carried two extremes at once—cold that bit the lungs when he drew too deep, and rolling waves of heat that warped the space above the floor in faint, wavering distortions.

Don stood near the center in fitted training shorts. Sweat ran down his ribs and gathered at his waistband. His breathing wasn’t dramatic—but it wasn’t calm either.

Purple and blue marks traced his knuckles. The sides of his hands were raw. One shin showed the early bloom of another bruise beneath reddened skin.

Opposite him, Redstar stood at ease.

She wore a cropped athletic top and tight gym shorts—Olympic cut, built for movement and not modesty. Sweat coated her as well, catching along her collarbone and stomach, darkening the fabric where it clung.

One hand rested on her hip as she shifted her weight side to side in a slow stretch, torso bending, core working even while she "rested."

Her expression, as usual, was set.

Permanent frown. Brows slightly drawn. Eyes steady.

"Private contractor, you say?" she asked. Stern. No curiosity in the tone. Just assessment. "Why am I only hearing of this now?"

Don rotated his wrist slowly, fingers flexing as he worked through the soreness. The motion wasn’t smooth. A faint hitch ran through it, his jaw tightening for a moment before he masked it.

"Well," he said, breath still uneven, "it wasn’t a set thing at first. And I initially just wanted to keep it to myself."

Redstar switched stretches. One arm crossed her body, the other braced against her hip. Then she released, rolled her shoulders once, and lifted both arms overhead, fingers interlacing as she leaned back a fraction.

"What changed?" she asked.

A brow lifted. Her face stayed serious.

Don met her eyes.

What had changed indeed?

Not much. Not in events. But in proximity.

Hours in the same room. Repetition. Bruises traded back and forth... more back than forth but who cared about details. Corrections yelled and drilled. Advice given. Occasionally taken.

Somewhere along the way, asking her questions had stopped feeling like stepping into a minefield. Somewhere along the way, she’d stopped treating every exchange like a challenge.

Casual conversation—limited, clipped, but real—had worked its way in. Something that would’ve been impossible weeks ago.

"I just figured," he said, "you’d have some tips to share."

Her expression didn’t move.

Her body did.

A shift of weight. A slight angle of her shoulders. The stretch slowing.

She didn’t believe him.

She also didn’t care.

With Redstar, he’d learned, the face lied. The body didn’t.

It was something she’d admitted once, half offhand, after he finally asked why she always seemed to be staring at him.

Because you telegraph everything from the neck down, she’d said. Your mouth just tries to get in the way.

She nodded once and stopped stretching, arms dropping to her sides.

"Alright then," she said. "Walk with me to the locker rooms. We’re done for today."

Don blinked. "Seriously?"

Thus far, "done early" had not been a concept she recognized. The one time he’d asked, she’d responded by increasing the tempo until he couldn’t feel his forearms.

Redstar stepped closer, stopped in front of him, and planted a hand on her hip. She looked down at him, mouth curving into something that almost counted as a smirk.

"Oh?" she asked. "You want to train some more?"

He gave a tired smile. "No... no. Just, uh. Curious." 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Hmph."

She walked past him, heading for the exit. "I just have other business to attend to." She glanced back once. "Now then. What kind of tips do you need?"

They moved into the corridors.

The Compound’s interior swallowed sound. Thick flooring muted footfalls. Strip lighting ran in precise intervals overhead, throwing hard illumination.

Occasional glass panels revealed sealed rooms where equipment sat dormant or in use—weights the size of engines, restraint frames, monitoring arrays, inactive drones locked to charging racks.

As they walked, Redstar spoke without slowing.

"First," she said, "don’t think like a hero. Think like a resource."

Don’s gaze stayed forward.

"Private contractors aren’t symbols," she continued. "They’re answers. Which means you don’t take work that looks impressive. You take work that builds records. Containment. Escort. Retrieval. Situations nobody wants uniforms involved in." She glanced at him. "Early on, you want outcomes, not headlines."

A turn. Another stretch of corridor.

"Second," she went on, "don’t rely on power alone. Anyone can hit hard. Fewer people can operate tired, injured, outnumbered, and blind." Her fingers flexed once at her side. "Build redundancies. Tools. Exit plans. Always have a way to leave that doesn’t involve winning."

Don absorbed it.

"Third," she said, "intelligence comes before strength. If you don’t know who hired you, why they hired you, and what happens if you fail, you’re already behind."

A brief glance again. "And if the answers are too clean, assume you’re missing something."

They passed a reinforced junction where the walls thickened and the air cooled slightly, climate control correcting for whatever disaster someone else was running.

"Do you even have a base?" Redstar asked.

"Not officially."

"Then get one. Doesn’t have to be large. Has to be yours." Her pace never changed. "Storage. Med. Secure comms. Somewhere to vanish between jobs."

She angled her head. "You planning on showing your face to clients?"

"Undecided."

"Then decide," she replied. "Because if you don’t, you’ll need identity protocols. Masking. Digital obfuscation. Rotating signatures. Power suppression tech."

She made a short motion with her hand. "There are devices that scramble visual data around active abilities. Distort recordings. Some UPSDF-adjacent labs develop them. Black market does too. Both work. Only one asks questions however..."