Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 549: A Busy Night (Part 1)

El Padrino laughed and tipped his glass back, amber catching the dock lights as he took another sip. He stepped in close and tapped Johnny on the shoulder—firm, familiar, but just short of friendly.

Johnny flinched before he could stop himself.

A second passed.

Then El Padrino smiled.

"You know," he said, voice easy, accent thick but controlled, "the bosses had their doubts about you." He pulled his hand away, adjusted the cuff of his shirt. "But my niece Valeria... she thinks you have potential."

Johnny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

El Padrino exhaled through his nose, almost tired. "Don’t worry. You’ve always been good to Valeria. Since you little kids." He lifted the glass slightly, as if toasting memory rather than the moment. "Helped her secure territory. Helped her prove herself to the family."

He finished the drink, then handed the empty glass to the guard at his side without looking.

The smile faded.

"I like you, Johnny. I really do." El Padrino’s eyes stayed locked on him now. No warmth left there. "But understand this—I am taking a very large risk on you. Valeria is too. And most importantly... the bosses."

Johnny nodded quickly. "Of course. I get it. I—"

"That’s a lot of weight," El Padrino continued, cutting him off. He spread his hands slightly, palms up, as if laying it out on a table between them. "But if your people deliver..." A small smile returned, slower this time. "...then we are all going to be much wealthier men."

Johnny grinned, relief flooding his face. "Don’t worry, El Padrino. All the territorial disputes are settled. The only thing left is to make sure—"

"¡Jefe!"

One of the guards nearby stiffened, eyes wide as he rushed toward them. "¡Policía!"

El Padrino froze.

He took off his glasses slowly, disbelief flashing across his face before hard anger replaced it. "¿Qué?" His jaw tightened. "¿Hijo de puta?"

He rounded on Johnny. "Why the fuck are there police rushing the docks? Didn’t you say you had someone in the force?"

Johnny’s smile collapsed. "I—I do. This can’t be right."

His phone buzzed.

He answered it on instinct. "Valerie, what the fuck is going on? Why are the police here?"

A pause.

His face drained.

"Fuck."

El Padrino leaned in. "What the fuck is happening, Johnny?"

Johnny swallowed. "It’s not the police." His voice dropped. "It’s the FBI."

"Shit," Johnny added quickly. "We need to get out of here—"

"No," El Padrino snapped. "I need to get out of here."

He turned sharply to one of his guards and tilted his head toward the edge of the boat.

The same guard who’d raised the alarm stepped behind Johnny.

Hands locked around his shoulders.

Johnny barely had time to turn before he was lifted and thrown—no buildup, no warning. He went over the railing and vanished into the black water below with a heavy splash—the cold swallowing him whole.

El Padrino didn’t look back.

Near the loading trucks, Valerie was already moving.

She sprinted across the concrete, boots pounding as the dock erupted into chaos. An Escalade burst around the corner ahead, lights flashing through the dark. Another came straight in from the opposite side, engines roaring.

She reached a motorcycle and yanked a helmet on, chin strap snapping tight as she swung a leg over. The engine snarled as she twisted the throttle—VRRRMM~.

Behind her, men slammed truck doors shut, metal ringing as latches locked. Engines turned over. Ford pickups lurched forward, tires spinning as they peeled away.

Above them, men stationed atop stacked containers raised rifles and opened fire.

Gunshots cracked through the night—sparks flying as rounds tore into Escalades. Windshields shattered. Doors flew open as FBI agents poured out, weapons raised, shouting over one another as return fire erupted.

Another Escalade skidded to a halt short of the docks. Agents flooded out, spreading fast, some taking cover behind open doors, others firing up toward the containers as bullets chipped metal and sent fragments raining down.

Valerie twisted the throttle hard.

The bike shot forward, weaving between trucks as gunfire stitched the air behind her. She leaned low, helmet visor catching flashing red and blue as she disappeared down the dock road.

Back on the rooftop, Don balanced the digital pad against his thigh.

Below him, the docks had turned into chaotic scene.

Red and blue lights strobed across water and steel. Vehicles scattered in multiple directions. Figures ran. Some dropped.

Others disappeared between containers or into the dark gaps between warehouses. Gunfire echoed in uneven bursts, sharp reports bouncing off concrete and metal—before being swallowed by distance.

Don swiped across the pad, feeds rearranging instantly. One angle showed the boat where Johnny had been moments ago—empty now, guards scrambling. Another tracked the trucks peeling out. A third locked onto the FBI perimeter tightening like a closing net.

Gary’s voice came through clean and steady. "It appears things are now in motion."

Don nodded once, eyes never leaving the screen. "Yeah. Let’s just hope Johnny doesn’t slip out."

"Even if he does," Gary replied, "the digital evidence Winter introduced into his systems will follow him."

Winter’s voice joined them, calm as ever. "I simply introduced a recursive intrusion architecture," she said. "It mimics a dormant financial exploit. Complex enough to raise concern. Straightforward enough that federal analysts will identify it as a credible threat if allowed to propagate."

Don swiped again, watching agents fan out as another Escalade skidded to a stop.

"It presents as a data siphon," Winter continued. "Account access. Business records. Transaction mapping. It is the type of construct that—if released into public infrastructure—could compromise private and commercial systems at scale."

Gary exhaled softly. "Which obligates them to trace the origin."

"Correct," Winter said. "I adjusted the origin trail so that it does not reside solely within Johnny’s primary servers. Devices belonging to several individuals present at the party now share fragments of the architecture. As do select onboard vehicle systems currently in use by his associates."

Don’s brow lifted slightly. "So it’s not just his problem."

"No," Winter replied. "It is now everyone’s problem."

Gary allowed himself a note of approval. "That," he said, "is true digital warfare."

Don smirked faintly. "I’m sure the FBI will be thrilled to uncover a drug or weapons operation." He glanced at another feed, watching agents drag a shouting man to the ground. "Along with a few dozen bonus headaches."

"Indeed," Gary said. "That provides us with additional leverage. More people means more potential testimony. And from what you described, I doubt the attendees at Johnny’s gathering are particularly resilient under federal pressure."

As he spoke, a new sound rolled in from the distance.

WHUP-WHUP-WHUP~

Don looked up.

A helicopter crested the far buildings, searchlight cutting across rooftops as it banked toward the docks.

He straightened slightly and shut off the feeds. "Looks like our part’s finished."

"Let us confirm whether Johnny is apprehended before we proceed further," Gary replied. "For now, Winter and I will move to investigate the location associated with the coordinates she intercepted."

Don nodded again. "Alright. Good luck."

He shut the pad down and pushed himself to his feet, eyes still on the helicopter as it descended.

"I’ve got something else to check out."