Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 355: Thickening Alliances (Part 4)

Hey bro, network's back so just thought I'd check in with you about investing in my streaming. Should I announce it to my audience or wait till everything is signed and stuff?

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Don sighed through his nose. 'I've got bigger things on my mind right now…'

He typed a quick reply:

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Not yet. You'll need to grow some more. Start by looking into better filming and editing gear. Do your research and send me a list.

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'That should keep him busy.' Don wasn't planning to dump money on Hector all at once—he didn't trust him enough for that.

Better to make him work for it. Buy time. Stay useful. Keep him from doing something stupid.

'If I play this right,' Don thought, 'this could be really beneficial for both of us.'

The thought passed. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

**Buzz**

It went off again, but Don didn't check it.

Instead, he leaned back, eyes tracking the horizon as the helicopter glided westward. The skyline began to fade behind them, replaced by forest. Trees stretched endlessly—green, dense, untouched.

Well, almost.

From here, the roads looked like thin grey veins. One of them ran out toward the hazy edges of what was locally still called Old Town. The fog there always seemed thicker.

'This place feels locked in time,' Don thought. 'Surprised no one's tried to bulldoze it yet. Probably protected… or cursed.'

It reminded him a little of the area around their new base, only this part of the forest hugged closer to the cliffs—rocky drop-offs lining the coast, overlooking cold, relentless waves.

The helicopter veered south-west.

Ahead, a clearing came into view—large, uneven, raw. Trees were uprooted, broken. Many leaned at strange angles, as if the land had shifted under them. Large holes had been torn into the earth.

Not clean craters, but wide, jagged mouths. The kind left behind after something forced its way up—or was dragged down.

Don didn't need context.

'This has to be where Elle faced Rose,' he thought. 'Didn't realize it left a scar like this.'

The helicopter started its descent.

The pilot's voice came through the headset. "Ground's too unstable to land. I'll hover low—you'll have to jump."

"No problem," Don replied.

His eyes drifted toward the people below. Near one of the holes, a group dressed in white were collecting samples. Nearby, others in jumpsuits moved with purpose, adjusting rigs and securing climbing equipment.

He barely spared them a glance.

His attention landed on the man at the center.

Charles.

He stood with his arms crossed, watching it all like an artist critiquing someone else's gallery. His silver leather jacket caught the sunlight in flashes, paired with a black shirt and slacks.

Even his boots looked expensive—like he'd stepped out of a fashion shoot and into an ecological disaster.

The chopper drew closer, kicking up leaves and dust.

**WHHRRR—WHHRRRR**

Don squinted slightly against the downwash.

"This is as low as I can go," the pilot called back.

Don didn't wait.

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He opened the door, wind catching his clothes as he crouched and jumped.

**Thmp**

He landed with ease—bent knees absorbing the shock. A few small stones crunched beneath his boots as he straightened.

Dust blew past him as Charles started walking over.

Charles approached at a steady pace. His hands had dropped to his sides now, But his face—his face was what caught Don's attention.

It was serious.

Not in the way most people tried to look serious. Not performative. There was no trace of charm here. Just quiet, visible strain.

For someone like Charles—whose entire personality seemed one theatrics—it was rare to see that face crack into anything unpolished.

Don didn't see this as a good sign.

Charles reached him, stopping just short of arm's length. "I hope I didn't interrupt any important plans you might've had for your morning," he said. His voice was calm. Flat. "But as you can see…"

He didn't need to finish.

Don took another look around. The uneven ground. The torn trees. The holes like ruptured scars. It was enough.

"What happened here?" he asked.

Charles sighed, irritation dragging through the exhale. "That's the thing," he said. "We don't know."

He turned, gesturing for Don to follow.

They walked together, the crunch of dirt and snapped twigs underfoot. Dust still hung faintly in the air from the helicopter's descent.

They reached one of the larger holes—easily wide enough to swallow a van. The edges were cracked, raw, with streaks of disturbed soil clawing outward like something had burst through.

A man was already descending, clipped into a rope rig, clutching a compact case that looked more medical than scientific.

Charles stopped near the edge. "This land's owned by my family," he said. "We don't monitor it much aside from a few weekly patrols. But last night, a city station that picks up seismic activity caught something from here. They flagged it. The local handlers thought it was a glitch—until a sample crew showed up and found this."

Don watched the two men vanish slowly into the darkness.

Charles added, "That's when they called me."

Don scanned the scene again, more slowly now. His eyes followed the line of trees nearby. Some stood at odd angles. One looked like it had been pulled slightly downward before it split.

There were streaks on the bark—marks like claws, but long. Too long.

His mind slipped backward. Cassie's farm. That day.

The creature that had attacked him had left marks like that.

"This was a den for Green Thorns," Don said quietly.

Charles turned his way, one brow rising. "How can you tell just from a glance?"

Don pointed. "The trees. Those marks. But more than that—the scent coming from the hole."

Charles inhaled, frowning. "All I'm getting is the usual. Forest. Dirt."

"It's subtle," Don said. "But it's there. That raw meat smell underneath the chlorophyll. It's a very specific mix. I remember it from the church incident."

Charles said nothing at first. Just stared into the hole.

Of course, he'd read the reports. The church. The central mall. Anything that had Don's name on it was worth dissecting.

That's why he called him here.

Don was sure of it.

Charles didn't invite people for company. He invited them for insight.

And Don knew better than to play dumb. Feigning ignorance would've only made him suspicious. So he spoke plainly—offering enough to satisfy without oversharing.

Charles faced the hole again.

"You're sure?" he asked. "If that's the case… this could be their central lair. In which case—"

"AHHHHHHHHHH!!"

The scream exploded from the darkness below. Raw. Terrified.

Charles froze, eyes snapping wide.

Don didn't.

He simply stared down, his voice clearer now.

"I'm sure."