Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 577: Not As It Seems (Part 2)

Gary’s surveillance began the next day.

By 4:00 a.m., a certain suburb was still wrapped in darkness.

Director Graham’s home sat within a gated community lined with trimmed hedges and evenly spaced streetlamps casting soft yellow pools across the pavement. The houses were uniform in distance but varied in design—modern brick facades, wide driveways, double garages. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Graham’s home was modest compared to some others in the district.

Two stories.

Cream exterior.

Warm porch lights left on through the night.

A wooden fence enclosed the backyard, where a large oak tree stood near the center of the lawn. Built around its trunk was a small treehouse—weathered wood, a rope ladder pulled halfway up.

A sign nailed crookedly to its side read: *No Grown-Ups Allowed.*

The house looked lived in.

Normal.

Quiet.

Behind a row of tall shrubs along the fence line, two small figures crouched low.

Minions.

One held a digital data pad, screen dimmed to avoid casting light. The other placed a flask-like metallic cylinder carefully on the grass.

The cylinder emitted a faint mechanical hum—whrrr~

Panels along its sides separated outward with precise movement—click—click—

From within, small metallic spider-like devices unfolded, legs extending with tiny segmented motions. Their bodies glinted faintly under the moonlight as they dropped onto the lawn.

From the top of the cylinder, several fly-sized drones rose upward—bzzt~

One of the minions whispered under his breath.

"Suii..."

The spider drones scattered immediately.

Some crawled toward the house foundation, slipping beneath small gaps between brick and siding. Others navigated along the fence before scaling upward and slipping through narrow openings near window frames.

One found an exterior vent.

Its legs gripped the metal grate and pried slightly.

It slipped inside.

Another flew toward a second-floor window and perched on the ledge before sliding through a small opening where the window seal had worn down over time.

Inside—

One spider drone moved along ceiling beams in the living room before flattening itself into a corner near the crown molding. Its body dimmed to match the shadow.

Another settled behind storage bins in the garage, embedding itself between a wall outlet and stacked toolboxes.

A fly drone attached itself near a smoke detector.

Another tucked inside an air vent grille.

Each device pulsed once—dim blue lights blinking softly—then fading.

Outside, the minion holding the data pad watched as green indicators lit up one by one across the display.

Connected.

Connected.

Connected.

Signal strength stable.

He tapped the screen twice.

All feeds synchronized.

Elsewhere—

Within the Citadel.

Deep inside one of its control rooms.

Darkness dominated the space.

Multiple projected screens hovered in a semi-circle, casting shifting light across metal walls. Camera feeds flickered into existence—living room, hallway, garage, upstairs corridor, kitchen.

All quiet.

Gary stood before them with his hands clasped behind his back.

His posture remained straight.

The glow from the screens outlined his silhouette and revealed the faint profile of a chair positioned behind him—unused.

He observed each feed carefully as additional data scrolled across the lower corners—temperature readings, motion detection grids, audio input levels.

He leaned forward slightly.

"Feeds are all clear," he murmured.

On one screen, the living room clock read 4:17 a.m.

No movement.

Upstairs hallway—lights off.

Garage—vehicle parked, engine cold.

Gary’s eyes moved from one projection to another.

"Now then," he said quietly, "let us begin watching."

The room returned to stillness, save for the faint hum of systems running—hmmmm~

And in a quiet suburban home—

Unaware.

Director Graham slept.

For now.

---

**Surveillance — Week 1, Day 3**

A crawler drone clung to the upper corner of Director Graham’s dining room.

Its frame had flattened itself against the molding where wall met ceiling, casing dimmed to match the paint. A faint lens no larger than a bead faced downward, capturing everything below.

The dining room carried a lived-in warmth.

Wooden table, long enough for six but currently set for three. A bowl of fruit sat near the center. Family photos lined the wall to the right—older ones featuring a smiling woman between Graham and two younger children.

At the head of the table sat Director Graham.

He wore a simple button-down shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. His posture remained upright out of habit, even at home.

On his right sat a young man in his late teens.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Hair cut short. He looked like a younger version of his father, though his expression carried less weight.

Scott.

He wore a red high school sports jacket over a plain shirt. One sleeve bore a stitched emblem—varsity crest.

Across from him sat a younger girl.

Long blonde hair fell past her shoulders. Between ten and fourteen. Her build still slight. She scrolled through her phone with one hand while pushing food around her plate with the other.

Emily.

Director Graham exhaled slowly.

"Would it be too much to ask," he said, keeping his tone even, "for you to put your phone down for a few seconds while we eat, Emily?"

She rolled her eyes without looking up.

"It’s not like we have anything to talk about," she muttered.

Her thumb continued moving.

Then she added—

"With Mom gone and all..."

The words had barely settled in the air when—

Graham’s hand came down against the table.

Bang—

The plates rattled. Silverware jumped slightly against porcelain—clink~

"She’s not gone!"

Emily jerked in her chair, shoulders pulling inward. Her phone slipped slightly in her grip.

Scott stiffened too, eyes snapping toward his father.

The room fell still.

Graham’s chest rose once.

He looked at Emily.

His expression shifted.

Regret crept in.

He inhaled through his nose and released it slowly.

"Sorry. I—"

He paused.

His jaw tightened briefly.

"Never mind."

He leaned back in his chair and waved a hand dismissively.

"You two can eat in your rooms if you like."

Emily hesitated.

She glanced at Scott.

Then down at her plate.

Slowly, she gathered it in both hands and stood.

The chair legs scraped softly against the floor—scrrrk~

She paused near the doorway.

"Uh... good night, Dad," she said quietly. "I didn’t mean to—"

"It’s fine, dear," Graham cut in gently. "I know you didn’t."

She gave a small nod and disappeared down the hallway.

Her footsteps faded.

Scott remained seated.

He looked at his father for a moment longer before lowering his gaze to his plate.

He nudged a piece of meat around with his fork.

Graham glanced at him.

"So," he said, voice calmer now. "How’s school going?"

Scott shrugged.

"You know. Kinda slow. But okay, I guess."

He stabbed the food once without lifting it.

A pause lingered between them.

Then Scott asked, without looking up—

"So... how’s work?"

"Good," Graham replied quickly.

Too quickly.

Scott’s eyes lifted slightly.

He rotated the fork between his fingers.

"Did you talk to Casandra?"

Graham’s expression tightened.

"Focus on your food."

Scott’s jaw shifted faintly.

He didn’t press further.

The only sound left in the room was the faint scrape of utensils and the hum of the house’s ventilation system.

Above them—

The crawler drone recorded everything.

And elsewhere—

In the darkened control room of the Citadel—

Gary watched the feed in silence.

He observed Graham’s reaction time.

Tone shift.

Body language.

The force behind the hand striking the table.

Then the restraint that followed.

Gary’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Emotional volatility," he murmured to himself.

He adjusted one of the screens, zooming subtly on Graham’s face as he lowered his gaze to his plate.

"Noted."