Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 330: Crisis In Santos City (Part 2)

For all the chaos gripping Santos City, Chanel Hills remained untouched.

The upscale gated community sat in quiet contrast to the distant plumes of smoke rising over the skyline. Behind high walls and private security, it was as if the outside world didn't exist.

Still, protocol demanded caution.

Five guards were stationed at the gate—two outside, two within and one in the booth. The pair outside stood beneath dim overhead lights, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders. They weren't particularly worried.

They never were.

One of them, Leroy, took a slow drag from his cigarette, watching the faint orange glow brighten before exhaling toward the sky. He let the smoke curl up into the cold air before shaking his head.

"Man, I always hate these emergency deployments." He took another puff, grumbling, "Could've been home, feet up, cold beer in hand. But no—now I gotta freeze my ass off out here."

His partner scoffed, barely sparing him a glance. "Quit bitching, Leroy. At least the action's somewhere else."

Leroy exhaled sharply, a half-hearted shrug following.

Before he could reply, headlights cut through the dark.

A black Range Rover rolled toward the gate, its approach smooth and slow.

Neither of them tensed.

Nothing about it seemed out of place.

Inside the booth, however, Harry—the oldest of the guards—frowned as he glanced at the monitor. He had worked here long enough to recognize almost every car that came through.

This one? He didn't.

Reaching for his radio, he pressed down on the receiver. "Hey, guys, I don't recognize that vehicle. Be careful."

The response?

Nothing.

Leroy didn't even bother answering, already moving toward the SUV with a smirk. He tilted his head back toward his partner, muttering, "Man's getting paranoid in his old age. He's warned us about every car that's passed tonight."

His partner sighed, following him. "Let's just check it out. If we don't, he'll probably write us up or something."

Leroy just laughed, already knocking twice on the tinted window.

A moment passed before it slid down—smooth, slow, controlled.

The woman inside sat poised, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel.

Her pale skin nearly glowed under the streetlights, a sharp contrast against the black aviators she wore. A large, wide-brimmed hat sat atop her head, casting a faint shadow over her delicate but striking features.

She looked like she belonged here—like she could step out of the car and fit seamlessly into the wealth behind these gates.

Leroy's smirk widened, his posture shifting subtly as he leaned in. "Oh, hello, ma'am. You a resident here?"

The woman smiled—a slow, practiced curve of the lips.

"No, darling…" she purred, voice smooth, effortlessly sultry. "I'm here to visit my dear friend, Samantha. But service is down as you know, so I haven't been able to reach her. That won't be a problem, will it?"

Her head tilted just slightly, her lips forming a small, knowing pout. "Please don't tell me I drove all this way for nothing, darling."

Leroy barely registered anything past the way she addressed him.

Not the two dim silhouettes in the backseat.

Not his partner's subtle shift in weight, signaling unease.

Nothing.

He turned toward the booth and waved lazily, grinning like a damn idiot. "All clear!"

The gate buzzed, the mechanical whir kicking in as the iron doors slowly parted.

Inside the booth, Harry's frown deepened.

Something felt off.

And the more he watched Leroy, the worse that feeling got.

Still, protocol was protocol.

Stepping out of the booth, Harry raised a hand, signaling for the vehicle to stop.

It did.

The atmosphere remained relaxed.

Nothing about the moment seemed particularly strange—except for the way Harry's gut twisted tighter the closer he got.

He reached the driver's window, glancing at the woman. His voice remained polite, but his eyes were sharp. "I don't think we've met, miss?"

The woman smiled again—this time, with a hint of amusement.

"Irene, but my friends call me, Medusa."

Harry's brows furrowed. "Right. And your affiliation to this place?"

His gaze flicked to the backseat, where two unmoving figures sat in the dark. "And who are they?"

The woman let out a small, dramatic sigh, almost as if she were… disappointed. "Oh, what a foolish, pesky mortal you are."

Harry's expression barely had time to shift before she reached up—slow—and removed her aviators.

The streetlights hit her eyes first.

A deep, unnatural red, burning with a slow, mesmerizing glow.

Then, her hat came off. A cascade of coiling serpents uncurled, their scales glistening under the dim light, tongues flicking in the air.

Harry barely had time to react.

His pupils shrank.

A sharp breath hitched in his throat. And his body locked.

It started at the edges—his fingertips, his jaw.

A creeping gray overtook his skin, spreading rapidly, crawling up his neck, down his arms

His breath stilled. His chest stopped rising.

Then—

Nothing.

Medusa tilted her head, admiring her handiwork before glancing up at the rearview mirror.

Through the reflection, two sets of eyes stared back at her.

One—feline, slit-pupiled, gleaming green.

The other?

A single, human eye.

Medusa smiled. "Pantheress. Egor." She adjusted her hat back onto her head, smoothing out the fabric with delicate fingers. "Do be dears and take care of the rest, would you?"

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Leroy barely had time to process what he was looking at.

One second, Harry was standing there, questioning the driver. The next, his skin was graying, hardening, before freezing completely in place. His features locked in an expression of confusion, his hand still hovering near his radio.

"What the—" Leroy muttered.

Before the words could fully form, the rear doors of the SUV swung open.

From his angle, Leroy saw a tall, hulking figure step out—and something in his gut immediately twisted.

The man was massive. Not just big, but wrong—as if someone had sculpted a brute with the idea of strength but had no concern for balance or symmetry. His vest barely contained his frame, and veins pulsed across his thick, pale arms.

Chains were wrapped around his forearms, with heavy, rusted hooks dangling from his wrists, swaying slightly as he moved.

Then there was his face.

Or rather, the lack of it.

Where there should have been two eyes, there was only one—a singular, unnervingly human eye, sunken deep in his scarred, misshapen forehead. His thick brow furrowed as he grunted, his lips barely parting, his face twisted into something that wasn't quite an expression.

Leroy's body reacted before his brain did.

His hand darted for his radio.

But…

**FWIP!**

The chain snapped forward.

Leroy's breath caught in his throat as the hook tore through his chest, its jagged tip exploding out his back.

His entire body jerked forward, the force lifting him slightly off his feet. His mouth opened to scream, but all that came out was a choked gurgle, blood spilling past his lips.

His partner had been mid-turn, eyes narrowing as he started to tell Leroy to get back in position—

Then he saw it.

His breath hitched as well and he immediately reached for his gun—

**FWIP!**

The second hook shot out, piercing through his forearm before he could even grip his weapon.

A sharp, pained scream tore from his throat, his fingers spasming as his weapon clattered uselessly to the ground.

His eyes flicked to Leroy—his partner's body twitching, his fingers weakly clawing at the chain impaling him.

Then—

**YANK!**

The Cyclops of a man grunted as he ripped both men forward.

Leroy collapsed to his knees, his body dragged across the pavement, coughing up blood as he clutched weakly at the chain.

His partner had it worse.

He was yanked so hard that his face slammed into the SUV's door, the sickening crunch of cartilage snapping echoing in the night.

He slumped, dazed, blood dripping from his shattered nose.

Leroy barely had enough strength to lift his head, his bleeding lips parting in a desperate plea—

**CRACK!**

The Cyclops stepped down—hard.

His massive boot came down on Leroy's head, and in an instant—it was gone.

A sickening burst of blood splattered outward, painting the ground in a dark, wet stain.

Leroy's body twitched once, then lay still.

His partner—still dazed, still clutching his ruined arm—couldn't even scream.

Not until the chain around his throat tightened.

He choked, his legs kicking, hands scrabbling at the rusted metal biting into his flesh.

It was brief.

A single, brutal twist of the wrist.

The man's neck snapped with a dry, final pop.

His body slumped, head hanging at an unnatural angle.

Across the SUV, the other two guards had their own problem.

The first scream had drawn their attention.

They had turned just in time to see something step out of the opposite rear door.

And freeze.

It was tall.

Slender, yet undeniably powerful.

And not human.

Smooth, pitch-black fur covered its muscular frame, accentuating its sculpted physique. It stood on its toes, digitigrade legs shifting slightly as razor-sharp claws flexed at its fingertips.

The faint moonlight gleamed off its panther-like head, a smooth blend of feline features with an appearance far too human.

Emerald-green eyes stared at the guards, their depth unreadable.

But the smirk?

The baring of fangs?

That was unmistakable.

Then—

A low, rumbling purr.

The sound vibrated through the air, deep and predatory. It was frightening—a sound that didn't just warn.

It promised.

The guards stiffened, their hands hovering over their weapons.

They knew—instinctually, on a primal level—that reaching for their guns meant death.

But the problem was…

Not reaching for them meant the same.

The creature tilted its head, its tail curling slightly, ears twitching as though amused.

Then, it took a step forward.

Claws clicked softly against the pavement.

The smirk widened.

"Run."