Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The dull hum of the TV filled the cozy living room, its glow reflecting off the dark coffee table scattered with stray magazines. Don was lounged on the leather couch, one arm draped lazily over the back while the other held the TV remote loosely.

He flicked through the channels until stopping at the local news station.

A well-dressed anchorwoman with sharp features and a professional demeanor spoke from the screen. Behind her, a montage of grainy footage from outside the Deadly Damsels bar played—police cars flashing red and blue in the early morning fog, officers cordoning off the area, and hazy snapshots of suspects being dragged away.

———

"Authorities have yet to secure any confessions regarding the Hell Riders' latest incident. Each detained member continues to claim ignorance, maintaining they were nowhere near the crime scene. However, law enforcement has uncovered critical evidence—footprints at the scene believed to belong to the unknown assailant responsible for the deaths of five gang members."

———

Don's expression remained neutral, as though the report was about some distant conflict he had nothing to do with.

———

"Additionally, police found fingerprints linking Benjamin 'Tank' Sanders, a known repeat offender with a history of violent charges and narcotics distribution. Authorities have issued a citywide warrant for his immediate arrest." Find more to read at empire

———

Don showed a smirk. 'I expected the guy I spared to run back to his crew, maybe spread some panic… but running solo? Maybe he wasn't as loyal as he seemed.'

Before he could indulge further in his thoughts, a familiar voice called from the bottom of the staircase.

"Donnie, we're heading out now!"

Don turned his head lazily toward the stairs. Samantha stood there, adjusting the strap of her brown leather purse.

Her warm smile softened the natural sharpness of her cheekbones. She wore loose beige pants tucked into fluffy brown boots and a cozy brown turtleneck, her style radiating effortless warmth.

Behind her, Amanda trudged down the steps, dragging her feet. Faded jeans hugged her legs, held up by a hefty belt buckle engraved with a design. A black tank top and worn denim jacket completed her rugged look. Her eyes were still half-lidded with groggy disinterest.

Last came Summer, bouncing lightly down the steps in her white hoodie and snug sports leggings. Her sneakers squeaked faintly against the polished wood floor. Despite her athletic build and energetic entrance, she had a frown on he face and looked irritated.

Don waved casually. "Bring me back some snacks."

Samantha chuckled, her eyes crinkling as she nodded. "Sure thing, sweetie."

Summer, however, folded her arms across her chest, her frown deepening. "Why does he get to miss the monthly doctor's appointment?" she whined.

Before Samantha could answer, Don flashed her a smug grin. "I already get tested at the UHMA (United Hero Management Agency). Weekly checkups if I want."

Summer **huffed** loudly, rolling her eyes. "But couldn't we go another day? It's pouring outside!" She turned expectantly toward Amanda, searching for support.

Amanda yawned dramatically, stretching until her joints **popped** audibly. "Y'all already dragged me outta bed. Might as well get this over with."

"Argh!" Summer stomped toward the garage door. "Fine, whatever."

Amanda followed with sluggish steps, tossing over her shoulder, "Hey, I got shotgun."

Samantha sighed, shaking her head as she adjusted her purse one last time. Before moving to follow, she turned back toward Don, her expression softening once more. "Bye-bye, sweetie. We'll be back by lunch."

Don waved lazily. "Sure thing. Drive safe, Mom."

The garage door **clicked** shut behind them, leaving Don alone in the quiet living room. He returned his gaze to the TV as the news anchor continued.

The TV droned on, reporting on rising crime rates in Santos City. Don remained lying on the couch, barely paying attention to the screen anymore, his mind drifting toward future plans.

**Click...** **clack...**

Soft, measured footsteps echoed from the staircase. Don's gaze drifted toward the sound, and within seconds, Winter appeared, descending the steps with inhuman grace.

Her maid outfit fit snugly, hugging her hourglass figure like it had been designed with sinful intentions. The modest black dress with white lace trim ended just above her knees, paired with tight black stockings and sensible flats.

Despite the reserved design, every step caused her hips to sway and her plush rear to bounce with unsettling precision.

Even viewed from the front, the sway was... impossible to ignore.

Winter came to a smooth halt beside the couch, her hands folded neatly at her waist, her posture unnaturally perfect. Her head rotated with robotic precision until her piercing, lifeless gaze locked onto Don.

"Your room has been cleaned, as requested," she stated in her clear, polite monotone, each syllable perfectly enunciated.

Don arched a brow, his attention still fixed on the memory of her deliberate strut. He could never quite decide if Winter's existence fascinated or unnerved him—but moments like this leaned toward the latter.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Casually, he asked, "Uh... what's all that movement back there?"

Winter's expression didn't shift. "Is my performance not to your liking?"

Before Don could respond, she continued in that same polite, automated tone. "Research indicates that maids possessing prominent posterior proportions receive higher consumer satisfaction ratings across multiple domestic service platforms. Mimicking such characteristics may enhance perceived efficiency."

Don blinked, absorbing her answer. He rose from the couch slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 'I'm pretty sure their 'high ratings' aren't based on work efficiency... but she doesn't need to know that.'

He nodded, struggling to suppress a smirk. "You did seem... uhm... more productive."

Winter tilted her head precisely 15 degrees, her full chest subtly thrusting forward as her posture adjusted. "Are you suggesting this due to sexually motivated stimuli?"

Don's face remained stoic, though a faint twitch of amusement showed at the corner of his lips. "Just making an observation."

He turned toward the stairs, ready to escape this surreal conversation when Winter's voice chimed again—cold, direct.

"Are you experiencing challenges in mastering human sexual activity?"

His steps faltered. Slowly, he turned, narrowing his eyes. "...What?"

Winter moved toward him with that same practiced sway, her hips shifting in mathematically precise increments that made her figure bounce enticingly with each step.

"When preparing breakfast, your mother inquired about methods for enhancing the sexual confidence and performance of a growing young man. I assumed she was referring to you."

Don stared, momentarily speechless as intrigue replaced his initial confusion. His brow lifted, faint amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Well... that's interesting."