Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don scrolled through the tabs of content, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to faint disgust.

The sheer volume of incriminating material was staggering—not just the expected party photos and transactional messages, but threads of conversations, digital receipts, and names that carried weight in certain circles.

He let out a low scoff, shaking his head.

The sound made Ellen flinch, her already frayed nerves tightening. She frowned, trying to mask her concern. "W-what's wrong?"

Don didn't answer immediately. He waited until the data import completed, then casually tossed her phone back. "Nothing. Just wondering how many people would still work with you if they knew how you used to 'network' your way through the industry."

Ellen's face froze. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she quickly shut them, processing the implication.

It wasn't a secret that some women in her line of work leveraged more than talent to climb the ladder. It was the way Don phrased it, though—like he knew details. Specifics. That made her stomach twist.

Before she could formulate a defense, Don shrugged and added, "Then again, I suppose that wouldn't cause much backlash. Not like if they found out about the other thing—the girls you quietly funnel into certain circles, help get groomed, now that, that's something."

The moment the words left his mouth, Ellen's entire demeanor changed.

Her pupils dilated, her skin paling despite the warm lighting. The slight sway in her posture, the way her grip tightened around her purse—it was the kind of reaction that couldn't be faked. Fear, raw and undeniable.

Don had seen it just earlier. The look of someone realizing they were well and truly caught.

Smiling faintly, he removed his aviators and stepped closer, his gaze sharp. He reached out, almost casually, and brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek. The contact made her flinch, her breath hitching as she fought the instinct to recoil.

"Speechless, huh?" Don said quietly, his tone almost amused. "How does it feel, standing on the wrong side of leverage for once?"

Ellen struggled to find her voice. When she finally did, it was barely more than a whisper. "H-how… how do you know? What do you want?"

She'd started to ask how he knew, but cut herself off. What did it matter? He clearly had evidence. And the fact that he'd dug up some of her darkest secrets in what seemed like mere moments was more terrifying than the blackmail itself.

Don's smile widened, slow. "I want you."

Ellen stiffened, her mind immediately jumping to the obvious conclusion. She'd been down this road before—powerful men, veiled threats, inevitable propositions. It was practically routine by now.

But Don didn't stop there. His hand trailed down from her cheek, the touch light but firm, until his fingers barely grazed her jawline.

"Your life is over," he continued, voice calm, almost clinical. "At least, the life you thought you had. From now on, you only get the life I allow you to have. A life I can destroy with one message... or elevate, if your usefulness proves worthwhile."

Ellen blinked, genuinely caught off guard.

This wasn't the usual sleazy power play. He wasn't asking for a night or wild sex, a crazy favor, or hush money. He was cornering her into something much worse—long-term control. The kind that didn't end when the lights dimmed or the champagne stopped flowing.

Don, for his part, remained outwardly casual, though inwardly he was measuring her response. Unlike Daniel, Ellen had no real backing. From the data he'd glimpsed, her position in the industry wasn't secured by talent or family connections. It was held together by dirt—dirt she had on others. That leverage kept her afloat, but it also made her vulnerable.

To Don, she was a perfect pawn. Disposable, replaceable, yet valuable for as long as she remained useful. Offering her the illusion of potential gains was simply the bait to keep her from lashing out.

Ellen's breathing slowed. The anger, the humiliation, the resentment—it all churned beneath the surface, but the weight of reality crushed any thoughts of defiance. She hated that she had no choice, but she wasn't foolish enough to pretend otherwise.

Her answer came quicker than Don expected.

"Fine," she muttered, her tone suppressed rage. "Whatever you want."

The moment the words left her lips, Don's system prompt flickered into view.

———

Quest Progress:

Allies: 1/3

Pawns: 2/2

———

Don resisted the urge to smile. Instead, he simply nodded, as though her submission was nothing more than expected.

"Well then," he said, tucking his aviators and turning toward the door. "I'll be taking my leave. I'll message you if anything comes up."

Without waiting for a response, Don stepped out, his footsteps quiet against the marble tile.

Ellen stood frozen in place, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her gaze burned into the mirror, reflecting the face of a woman who'd just been outplayed, outmaneuvered, and forced into a corner she couldn't escape.

Her voice, barely a whisper, slipped through gritted teeth.

"How… How did he know?" **Bam!!**Her hand slammed against the counter, rattling her purse. "Fuck!!"

Don exited the women's restroom without looking back, his mind already shifting gears. He didn't need to keep staring at Ellen's seething expression to know she'd stew in anger for the rest of the night. That wasn't his problem. If anything, it was proof the leverage worked.

He slipped into the men's restroom and into one of the urinals and relieved himself, his thoughts idly drifting.

'Well, getting pawns was easier than I thought,' he thought, recalling how he'd honestly thought this would be near impossible task like his main objective. 'But allies? That's going to take more effort… or a clever approach.'

After finishing up, he moved to the sink, twisting the sleek silver faucet. Water gushed out, cool against his hands as he scrubbed them under the stream. 'This place is full of elites. I just need to scope things out and see if any opportunities present themselves—big or small.'

Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, he dried his hands, tossed the crumpled sheet into the bin, and exited the restroom. The sound of conversations and the muffled roars from the stadium below greeted him as he stepped back into the main lounge area.

The lighting had dimmed slightly, likely to heighten the focus on the final moments of the match. Don weaved through small clusters of sharply dressed guests, eventually, he found his way back to the viewing deck.

Hector and Donald stood near the glass railing, both leaning forward as they watched the match unfold on the field below. From the way Hector's mouth hung slightly open and Donald kept muttering under his breath, it was clear the fight had reached its peak.

Tori, however, stood a little apart from them. Arms crossed, gaze unfocused, she leaned against the rail, looking toward the field but not really seeing it. Whatever was on her mind had her so distracted she didn't even notice Don approaching until he spoke.

"Did I miss anything?"

Tori flinched slightly, her head snapping toward him. "Huh?" She blinked, then registered Don standing there and gave a faint, apologetic smile. "Oh… sorry. I was lost in thought. I didn't see you come back."

Don shrugged. He was mildly curious about what had her so zoned out, but not enough to press. "No worries."

Hector's head whipped around at the sound of Don's voice, his hand snapping away from Donald's shoulder as he grinned. "¡Oye, bro! Did you have any luck scouting?"

Don raised an eyebrow. "Scouting?"

Hector's grin widened knowingly. "Sí, bro. I know if it's you, the women are practically throwing themselves at you."

Tori sighed helplessly, shaking her head as though physically exhausted by her brother's obsession with everything in a skirt. She didn't even bother arguing. Donald, for his part, stayed silent and focused on the fight. You'd think he had money on line.

Don, ever the picture of composed disinterest, put on a polite, almost friendly smile. "I just went to sort out some business. Believe me, I'm nowhere near rich enough or popular enough for the women here. And honestly?" He glanced around the room, watching as a group of young women—draped in shimmering gowns and sparkling jewelry—laughed a little too loudly at some old man's joke. "I don't think I want to be."

Tori turned her head toward Hector with a smug look. "See? Not everyone thinks with their dick."

Hector waved off the comment like swatting away a fly. "Man, you gotta live a little, sis. This place has inspired me, you know? No lie—I'm gonna grind even harder and become a millionaire streamer. Bet on it."

Don's mind shifted gears immediately. Streamer. Audience. Influence.

An idea started forming, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.