Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 420: It Doesn’t Always Pay To Be Loyal (Part 3)

Strass currently lay face-up, eyes half open, mouth parted slightly like he’d died mid-plea.

His body had begun to settle, arms limp, one leg twisted under the other. Blood had spread around him in a warped halo, sticky and dark under the harsh overhead bulb.

Gary stood near the edge of that stain, his shoes now rimmed in drying red. He didn’t look down. Just watched the movement around him.

The minions moved quickly—one set rearranging furniture and tossing debris into corners, while another pair carried in a black bag and dropped to a crouch beside Strass’s body.

One of them grunted as he gripped under the dead man’s shoulders. The other took his legs.

Zzzrrk—flop~

The body slid limply into the bag, the sound of it muffled by the thick plastic. The zipper followed. Rrrrrp~

Meanwhile, across the room, two others had begun unscrewing fuel canisters and splashing their contents across the walls and piles of discarded documents. The sharp stench spread instantly—bitter, chemical, hard to ignore.

Gary turned toward them.

"When you’re done covering the place," he said evenly, "make sure the family is moved out."

He watched one of them slosh liquid across an overturned chair.

"Keep them blindfolded. Loosen the knots on their restraints just before you pull away."

The two nodded, barely looking up.

"Suii," one of them muttered with a thumb-up before dousing an old desk that had probably belonged to some long-dead accountant.

Gary checked his watch. The second hand ticked with dull confidence. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

"Ten minutes. That’s how long the fire will take before the authorities show."

Behind him, another pair of minions appeared with a second bag. They approached the body of Strass’s son—still lying where he’d dropped. One of them toed the boy’s shoe, then knelt to start lifting the limbs with a sort of mechanical efficiency. There was no reverence in it. Just process.

Gary began to turn—then stopped.

A soft vibration buzzed through the inside of his coat. He slipped one hand in and retrieved the phone.

Don.

He answered with a calm lift of the receiver to his ear. "Good evening, sir. I’ve just learned some interesting information from our friend Strass. I may need to dig further into a few areas—but some matters might need more immediate attention. Would it be possible to meet?"

Don’s voice came through without delay.

"Of course. Give a time and place."

"Wonderful," Gary replied. "I’ll send you coordinates shortly."

He ended the call, tucking the phone back into his jacket.

He turned to two of the minions lifting scrap off a nearby table. "You two. Come with me."

They paused, nodded once, and followed.

"The rest of you, finish up and return to the base."

Several minutes later...

A black sedan rolled down a dim street flanked by buildings with dead signs and locked shutters.

Most windows were dark. A few still held a flicker of light—security offices, janitorial storage. One building had a guard standing outside, arms crossed, eyes glazed.

The sedan though, turned smoothly into a narrow alley.

It was the kind of alley that had nothing to say. No windows. No cameras. Just loading doors, chained exits, and old dumpsters lining the right wall like metal coffins. A fire escape zigzagged above, its steps crooked and rusting.

The vehicle crawled forward, tires crunching quietly over gravel and broken glass.

Inside, the sedan was all modern calm—soft ambient lights under the dash, air purified to remove even the hint of urban decay.

The driver didn’t speak.

Beside him, the other minion held a tablet—radar-style interface open. The dial swept in slow rotations, a sweeping line that revealed three dots on the grid. Their own position, and two more, steadily pulsing.

In the back, Gary sat with perfect posture, watching a live feed of scrolling data on the screens built into the front seat backs. Lines of code. Movement logs.

The car stopped.

The minion in the passenger seat glanced up, adjusted the tablet, and muttered, "Suii."

Gary took out his phone and placed a call.

The line connected instantly.

"We’ve arrived."

He ended it without waiting for a reply, eyes returning to the monitor.

The minion looked back to his screen—then blinked.

Another dot had appeared.

He raised his head and glanced into the rearview mirror.

Don, or rather Predator, was seated across from Gary now.

There had been no sound. No creak. No click of a door. No shift of fabric.

Just there.

Strands of black trailed faintly from his shoulder to the seat, twitching like shadows unsure of where to settle.

His mask was in place, expression formidable. The aura that surrounded him wasn’t loud—it was quiet in the way a sealed room is. Heavy, still, and suffocating.

Gary felt a wisp of something brush the edge of his vision. He turned his head slowly, eyes meeting Don’s across the narrow space.

His eyes merely shifted, calm as ever, settling on the dark-clad figure now seated across from him.

The shadows still curled faintly around Don’s limbs like they hadn’t quite gotten the message he was done moving.

"Welcome, sir, I hope this evening found you well," Gary said without pause. "I was just in the middle of analyzing and following up on the information Strass gave us."

Predator—Don—tilted his head slightly, the skull-like mask unreadable in expression.

"And Strass himself?"

Gary’s voice remained even.

"He’s been taken care of. Efficiently. I’m hoping that makes others under Barclay grow nervous. Loose threads make noise."

Don nodded once.

"That sounds like the best approach for now. With the way things are moving, Barclay might think Charles or one of his people ordered the hit. That confusion could buy you more room to work."

A flicker of amusement touched Gary’s mouth—more a ghost of a smile than anything with weight.

"Indeed."

He turned then, eyes going to the central screen on the console.

"Now then. To the matter I wanted to discuss."

The screen flickered.

Bzzt~

Click~

Three faces appeared.

The first was a woman’s portrait, clearly taken for official use. Her face was angled slightly, framed by carefully styled red hair.

The image had the sterile quality most government ID photos did, but even through the impersonal lens, her piercing blue eyes held focus. Almost too much.

Next to her were two mugshots.

Both men stared into the lens with the same crooked confidence—shaved heads, hard stares, thick mustaches like caricatures that hadn’t been toned down.

Tattoos crept up from their collars and wrapped around their necks like snakes. Their expressions were smug. The kind that begged to be erased.

Gary tapped the image of the men first.

"These two are the Gonzalez boys. Muscle. The kind you hire when you want something burned, removed, or permanently lost without getting your own shoes dirty. Barclay’s been using them for years."

He leaned forward slightly and adjusted the tablet near his knee.

"With Winter’s assistance, I’ve compiled what little data is floating out there, but unfortunately there’s no digital or paper trail leading back to Barclay. Everything’s been scrubbed or rerouted."

Don’s eyes flicked to the screen.

"So what do we have?"

"They’re operating out of several properties purchased through shell companies. No confirmed ownership, but the patterns are familiar. I’ve mapped the ones I suspect are in use. With your... stealth," Gary said, letting the word hang briefly, "I believe you could get in, observe—or remove them. Either works."

Predator didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he leaned forward just slightly, enough for a few wisps of shadow to drip off the armrest beneath him.

"I’ll try and get it done. Quietly."

Gary nodded.

Then turned his attention to the woman’s profile.

"Victoria Magdalena Scott. On paper, she was Barclay’s former secretary."

He tapped her file once, causing a few pages to scroll across the display—dull charts, empty background checks, a single employment record with dates that felt too convenient.

"I don’t buy it," Gary said simply. "No history. No family. No digital footprint prior to her hiring date. She’s not a ghost—ghosts leave dust. She’s... something else. I think she has powerful backing."

Don sat silent for a moment, eyes locked on the screen. "Then we let Barclay find her first. If he can even do that."

"Agreed," Gary said. "No point chasing what we don’t understand. Not yet."

Don leaned back, the shadows retracting slightly as if on cue.

"That all for now?"

Gary gave a small nod.

"For now."

"In that case," Don said, "send me the locations."

The screen flickered again as Gary began the data transfer.

Don’s form had already begun to fade. Like smoke curling into itself. Darkness slipped up from the floor, folding across his figure until only fragments of his silhouette remained—then nothing.

The shadows were still for a second.

Gary smiled faintly, eyes still on the console.

"Right away," he said softly. "And good luck, sir."