Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

*"There's a New Prince in Town,"*

*"The Fall of Starboy We Never Expected,"*

and *

"SHU Is About to Become a Powerhouse University Because of This Guy."*

The list went on, and among the people consuming this information was none other than Victor, co-leader of the Hell Riders gang, who was currently at one of their many safehouses.

It was a dinky little apartment in a more dangerous part of town, but the danger came from people like him, so it was actually safer from prying eyes and the police.

Although Don wasn't fully focused on the Hell Riders gang, the impact he had left on them had caused them to nearly halt all operations as they scrambled to find a solution.

Victor was currently seated on a faded lime-green sofa, which had many tears with stuffing sticking out. The floor was littered with all sorts of junk—mostly beer bottles, empty pizza boxes, and fast food wrappers.

The walls were stained, with white paint chipping in many areas, and opposite the couch was an old-looking TV resting on a wooden stool that had seen better days.

Slouched into his couch with a beer can in hand, Victor constantly flipped through the channels, only to keep finding news about the SHU evaluation. Whether he checked sports channels, news channels, or even music channels, he kept catching glimpses of it during breaks between shows, which brought him great irritation.

"Today, let's talk about Don Bright—"

*Click.*

He flipped the channel.

"I don't know if many of you had the pleasure of watching this happen live, but let me tell you, Don Bright is—"

*Click.*

"SHU was in a frenzy today when—"

*Click.*

As he switched to another channel, they were still talking about SHU, and he had reached his boiling point.

"Damn it! Just let me watch my fucking shows in peace!" he angrily yelled out, clenching his fist around the beer can and crushing it before tossing it toward the TV.

Beer spilled out as it flew through the air and struck the TV, doing no damage, which only seemed to make Victor even more furious.

A deep frown on his face, he moved his hand to reach for the pocket of his stained, faded blue jeans to get his phone.

But just as he pulled it out, a large cockroach crawled out from one of the crevices in the couch. Feeling the strange sensation of its legs on his hand, he immediately jumped up from the couch, yelling out as he shook his hand vigorously. "Ahh! What the—!"

Rather than fall to the ground, though, the cockroach took flight, buzzing around the small living room. Without thinking, he grabbed a nearby empty pizza box and threw it forcefully toward the flying cockroach.

However, he not only missed but also accidentally hit the lone, dangling lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. It shattered with a loud

**pop**

, immediately darkening the room, with only the TV providing light.

"Fuck this!" he cursed before quickly walking to the door and exiting the apartment.

He stepped out into an equally lackluster hallway, with flickering lights, peeling paint, and graffiti-stained walls and doors. He didn't even glance around, just flipped his phone open and speed-dialed a number.

After ringing for a few seconds, the phone connected, and without waiting for the person on the other side to speak, he started talking.

"Ash, I can't fucking do this!" he blurted, pacing around near the door, his eyes glancing around the hallway with a look of disgust. In the distance, he could even see a few rats scurrying about.

On the other end, Ash didn't sound too pleased herself, answering with an attitude. "Can't do what, Victor? I'm busy."

"I can't fucking do this!" he repeated. "Staying in this shithole, eating this junk, and hiding like I'm some rat! Hell, a gas station motel is better than this."

Ash was in no mood for his complaints and didn't shy away from telling him. "Well, boo-hoo! Who do you think is enjoying themselves right now, Victor? Nearly all our operations are on hold, we lost so much cargo, we're in fucking debt with the cartel, and what—you want to spend what little money we have left to sleep comfortably? Fuck you, Victor."

Ash's harsh and blunt words only made Victor angrier. He punched the door, his fist denting the light wood as he argued, "It's not about being fucking comfortable—it's about reputation! How the fuck are the other gangs going to see us if we're in hiding? My boys are already telling me the rumors are so bad that even the Frosty Boys are making fun of us. The fucking Frosty Boys!"

As he repeated this, he punched the door even harder, deepening the dent. "How the fuck are we supposed to be respected when a bunch of kids making meth in their garage are laughing at us? You were supposed to find out who's behind this shit! Use your damn connections in the police—you're the one who said we get those connections in first place. But right now, it's not working, so where did all that money we paid them go? To their fucking donut runs?"

Ash had enough patience to hear Victor out completely, but her stance didn't change. "You have no idea how many fucking favors I've pulled trying to get information, but there is nothing. Whoever or whatever this fucker is, they're like a ghost. The police found no prints, no DNA, no CCTV—nothing. The fucker didn't leave a single trail for us to follow."

As much as Victor didn't want to agree, Ash had a solid point. They had exhausted their sources, but still had no leads. Despite this, Victor felt there had to be another way.

"Well, your fucking plan failed, so we're going to do it my way."

"And what way is that?" she shot back with a mocking tone. "Put a hit on a fucker we don't even know? Your style won't work on this Vic."

Victor frowned at her mocking tone but proceeded to clarify. "I don't mean placing a hit, Ash. I mean luring the fucker out. If he wants to ruin our supply, then let's give him the chance—and make sure he regrets fucking with us."

Ash took a long pause, as if weighing the pros and cons. Like Victor, she was also stuck in a crummy apartment, looking for a way to get out of this mess.

With no new ideas, Victor's suggestion didn't seem half bad. With visible reluctance, she agreed.

"Fine, but we're going to need a plan—a really fucking good plan."