Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don's sudden arrival had an immediate effect on Daniel and Ellen—though in very different ways.

Ellen, who had initially looked worried, slowly began to relax as she took in Don's appearance properly.

He was tall, well-built, and carried himself with confidence, but there was nothing about his attire that screamed old money or high society. No designer branding, no flashy jewelry, no excessive polish.

And in Ellen's world, if you weren't visibly dripping in wealth, you were a nobody.

Her smirk returned, slow and self-assured, as she tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in amusement.

She wasn't completely ruling out the possibility that he was well-connected, but she doubted it. He didn't look the part.

Daniel, however, had a very different reaction.

His shoulders stiffened, his breathing shallowed, and a thin layer of sweat broke out along his temple.

Unlike Ellen, Daniel had been watching the floor earlier—he had seen Don walking with Charles Monclaire.

And while Don was already recognizable due to the viral nature of his recent SHU evaluation, it was the sight of him with Charles that really set off alarm bells in Daniel's head.

He and Charles had looked… comfortable. Not just passing acquaintances. Like they actually knew each other.

And if Don had any sort of close ties to Charles, then Daniel had just made a massive mistake.

He could already imagine the fallout if word got back to Charles that he had insulted someone important to him. Offending the Monclaires wasn't just social suicide—it was an active death wish for his reputation.

His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out.

He was too busy scrambling for the right words, trying to figure out how to get out of this without ruining himself.

Ellen, on the other hand, had no such hesitation.

She took a slow sip from her glass before addressing Don directly.

"And who are you?" she asked, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Don met her gaze with an unimpressed tilt of his head, answering bluntly,

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" His voice was calm, but the way he said it carried an unmistakable edge. "I'm the person who invited her."

With a casual gesture, he motioned toward Tori, who—despite the tension in the air—no longer looked as timid as before.

Ellen's smirk wavered slightly. But Don didn't stop there. "Are you slow or something?" he added flatly.

That did it.

Tori let out an abrupt, light laugh, caught between genuine amusement and surprise at hearing someone shut Ellen down so directly.

Ellen, however, wasn't laughing.

Her smile vanished entirely, her expression becoming harsher, more offended.

Very few people ever spoke to her like that—and those who did usually weren't in a position to stay on this floor for long.

She stepped forward, closing the distance slightly, her chin lifting as she stared up at Don with thinly veiled hostility.

"What did you just say to me?" she asked, voice low, her irritation barely restrained.

"I'm—"

But before she could even finish her sentence, Daniel cut in abruptly, his voice rushed and borderline panicked. "She's sorry!"

The words came so suddenly that it even made Don glance his way.

Daniel, realizing he had Don's attention, swallowed and quickly added,

"I'm sorry! We all are, Mr… uhm… Don." He blurted it out, his delivery frantic, almost desperate.

Ellen's head snapped toward him in disbelief, and her friends looked just as stunned.

Don, on the other hand, was mildly surprised himself.

He had expected Daniel to be like the Rolls-Royce driver from earlier—full of bravado and entitled arrogance. But instead, Daniel had folded instantly.

That only meant one thing—he knew who Don was.

Or more likely, he had seen him with Charles and wasn't willing to take the risk.

Don didn't respond immediately. Instead, he just watched Daniel carefully, reading him.

The guy was terrified. Which meant… there was nothing more to gain here.

If he pushed it any further, he'd just be making a scene. So, after a few seconds of silence, Don sighed lightly and said, "At least you're smart."

He let the words settle before continuing. "Too bad you realized a little too late."

The chill in his voice made Daniel visibly tense, as if those words carried a deeper weight than just this moment.

Don let his gaze sweep over Ellen next, who now looked confused and mildly regretful, like she was just starting to process that she had miscalculated.

But Don wasn't interested in drawing this out.

He shifted his gaze to Tori and said, "Let's go."

Tori hesitated for only a second before nodding. She was still slightly confused, but she wasn't going to question it.

Without another glance at Ellen, Daniel, or the others, Don turned and began walking toward the viewing deck, leading Tori away.

They didn't call after them.

Didn't try to stop them.

They could only stand there in silence as Don and Tori disappeared into the crowd.

As Don and Tori arrived at the viewing deck, the match on the field below was already in full swing.

The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium, a deep, rumbling wave of excitement as fans rose from their seats, fists pumping in the air, their voices merging into one collective frenzy.

But up here? Up here, it was different.

The atmosphere on the exclusive floor remained refined, controlled.

There were no screeching superfans, no one sloshing cheap beer onto their neighbors, no one jumping up like a lunatic after every hit landed on the field below.

Instead, the elites on this floor watched with quiet amusement, sipping from expensive glasses, occasionally murmuring to their companions but never breaking the polished ambiance.

Don could appreciate that.

He wasn't a fan of the whole "crowded stadium experience"—being packed shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, deafened by people screaming in his ear, dodging spills from drunk idiots who forgot they were holding a cup.

This?

This was tolerable.

He didn't dwell on the thought, though. Instead, he turned to Tori, breaking the silence between them.

"I see you're making friends already."

His tone was lightly amused, teasing just enough to pull her out of whatever thoughts she was trapped in.

Tori let out a small chuckle, but it was forced, and a sigh quickly followed as she leaned forward against the railing.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, her tone carrying the weight of her earlier humiliation. "Maybe I shouldn't have come. I mean… I don't fit in here."

Don scoffed, taking a sip from his glass before responding, "Neither do I. Don't let them get to you."

He leaned against the railing beside her, keeping his voice casual. "If you ask me, those girls were just jealous of you."

Tori immediately let out a short, disbelieving scoff, crossing her arms as she side-eyed him. "Don't try and make me feel better."

Don shrugged, unfazed. "It's true."

He swirled the liquid in his glass, eyes flicking back to the field for a moment before elaborating.

"Girls like Ellen? They're jealous of girls like you because you haven't had to do what some of them likely did to get where they are."

Tori's brows furrowed slightly, curiosity overtaking her earlier frustration.

Don continued.

"Girls like you get sought after by rich assholes like the guy you just met, while girls like Ellen? They've got history. A deep one. The kind that makes it impossible to truly start fresh. Their best bet is either a rich, ugly husband, or some idiot who's too blind to ask questions."

Tori's expression shifted, her annoyance giving way to thoughtfulness.

She hadn't considered that angle before, but now that she did… it didn't seem far-fetched.

Even everyday people knew the pattern—some aging billionaire suddenly "finding love" in an ex-model twenty years younger, their relationship painted as something other than the obvious transaction it was.

After a few moments, she exhaled softly.

"Well… when you put it like that, I kind of feel sorry for her."

Don glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Not me."

Tori blinked. "Really?"

Don took another sip, his voice carrying no real emotion as he answered, "She does it by choice. And even if she didn't, that doesn't justify her being a bitch to you for no reason."

His words were blunt, but they weren't wrong.

Tori didn't respond immediately, simply staring at the field below, processing.

Meanwhile, Don let his own thoughts drift.

Despite how upstanding his words had sounded, he didn't actually care.

He wasn't the type to get morally invested in other people's choices—especially when he knew that, going forward, his own hands wouldn't stay clean either.

It would be hypocritical to act like he had some high ground.

So, he didn't let the conversation linger.

Instead, he smoothly shifted the topic, taking another sip from his glass before glancing at Tori.

"So," he said, nodding toward the match below, "who are you rooting for?"