Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 315: Allies? (Part 2)

As Don and Charles ended their handshake, their attention was drawn to the sudden explosion of chants and cheers erupting from the stadium below.

The roar of excitement was immediate, like a tidal wave rolling through the massive crowd.

Both turned their heads casually, their gazes drifting toward the field as the overhead jumbo screen lit up with a flashy cinematic trailer. The display flickered to life, accompanied by the booming voice of an aged professional announcer.

"Tonight's electrifying showdown is brought to you by—"

A quick montage of high-profile sponsors flashed across the screen—luxury brands, cutting-edge tech companies, and of course, the largest superhuman organizations backing the event.

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The audience responded with another round of cheers as the introduction transitioned seamlessly into the first competitor's reveal.

The screen was suddenly engulfed in deep red, flickering like the crackling of a lit fuse.

Flames burst across the screen, revealing a figure dressed in a red-and-black superhero suit, its design following the classic form-fitting blueprint but with fiery embellishments—flame-stylized wrist guards, a blazing belt buckle, and boots with ember-like accents.

His mask, which only covered his eyes, had a faint, smoldering glow at the edges. The man struck a series of exaggerated poses, his muscular frame flexing as if sculpted for the camera. His short blonde hair had fiery red tips, completing the over-the-top image.

"Introducing the blazing champion of the arena… INFERNO STRYKER!"

His name appeared in bold, stylized lettering, flickering like molten steel across the screen.

The crowd erupted again, their excitement shaking the stadium as the screen lingered on the fiery hero's grin before transitioning into an elaborate cinematic of dwindling flames.

As the last ember faded, blue light pulsed at the screen's edges before flashing streaks of energy zipped across it.

The streaks became faster, more erratic, until they collided—forming a swirling blue tornado that sent out a cinematic shockwave. Words were caught in the vortex, spinning chaotically before being flung toward the screen, causing a cracking effect as they slammed into place:

"VELOCITY VORTEX"

The tornado dispersed instantly, revealing a figure in a blue and silver suit. Unlike his opponent, this fighter's design was minimalistic but effective—his full-head mask had no visible mouth, only sharp silver eye sockets that gleamed under the stadium lights. His gloves, belt, and boots all carried the same silver trim, emphasizing his streamlined aesthetic.

The effect was immediate—the cheers surged once more, a clear indication that both fighters had their own devoted followings.

Don remained still, his expression unchanged as he watched the spectacle unfold. He had done some light research before the event, so he already knew who the competitors would be. 'Still… this is a lot.'

The theatrics reminded him of the overly dramatized wrestling matches that had surged in popularity in his past life—flashy entrances, exaggerated monikers, and a crowd that ate up every bit of it. It wasn't necessarily bad, but it wasn't really his thing.

Noticing Don's lack of reaction, Charles tilted his head slightly and asked, "I take it you're not a fan of superhuman showdowns?"

Don gave a light shrug. "Not really. I neither like nor dislike it." His tone was casual, measured. "I'm just not a huge fan of entertainment-focused events in general, but it's necessary to be sociable."

Though it came across as a simple statement, Don had his reasons. He wanted to establish himself as someone who didn't care for the social spectacle—not because it wasn't useful, but because he had no interest in indulging it. Silverwing, on the other hand, thrived in environments like this.

Their partnership would provide opportunities, sure, but Don had no intention of changing how he operated. He had a feeling Charles saw it the same way.

Charles nodded in understanding, a small smile appearing on his lips. "I can understand that. It's mostly non-superhumans who love this kind of sport—if you can even call it that."

He moved to take a seat and leaned back in his chair slightly, his eyes still on the massive screen. "That, and the younger generation of heroes coming after us. Their pursuit seems to be nothing more than fame and fortune."

His tone carried a hint of disdain, though it was faint—almost as if he were indifferent to it.

"I can understand why most seasoned heroes criticize it," he added smoothly. "Unfortunately, it's a gold mine, and it'll only grow from here."

Don gave a slight nod. "True. What you don't do, someone else will—as long as the demand exists."

Charles turned his gaze toward Don at that, his silver eyes gleaming with faint amusement.

It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling for Charles to be understood—but usually, it came from fellow elites, people who had a vested interest in maintaining their own influence. With them, everything had a motive.

But with Don? There was something different.

The research Charles had done on him painted a unique picture—not a pushover, not greedy, sharp, disciplined, a dangerous fighter, and yet, an enigma. Very little was known about his past, which only made him more intriguing.

A rare ally, the kind that didn't come with strings attached.

The kind that made him all the more valuable.

Before Charles could say anything further, Don shifted slightly in his seat and spoke.

"I should go check on the others," he said, his tone even. "And try to mingle."

Charles didn't react immediately, but Don caught the faintest flicker of disappointment in his eyes. It was subtle—so well-hidden that most wouldn't have noticed—but Don did.

It made sense. Though Charles wore the polished mask of a socialite, Don had the distinct impression that genuine conversations like the one they'd just had were rare for him. There was a certain ease in talking with Don that wasn't present in the forced pleasantries of high-society circles.

Don felt a similar sentiment—though in a different way. Charles was undoubtedly smarter than him in social maneuvering, and he was far more well-versed in scheming. Their exchange had been engaging, even enjoyable in its own way.

But Don had no intention of overstaying his welcome.

There was a proverb he had come across recently in one of the books he'd read:

"A man who eats his fill and reaches for more will find only ruin on his plate."

It had stuck with him. It was applicable to interactions as much as indulgence—knowing when to stop, when to pull away before a conversation overextends and sours. The key was to answer the right way, build a connection, and leave while things were still in his favor.

'If I'd known Silverwing would be here, I would've looked into him more intently.'

For all Don knew, this was already a favorable outcome.

Charles, for his part, didn't try to change Don's mind. Instead, he gave a small nod, his composed demeanor returning in full.

"Of course," Charles said smoothly. "I should probably do some rounds as well—mingle with a few people."

As he spoke, he rose from his seat, gesturing toward the door before casually making his way toward it. Don followed a step behind.

The door slid down again with a soft mechanical hum, leading them back into the dimly lit corridor.

Once outside, Charles stopped, glancing at Don before adding, "I'm sure we'll meet again tonight."

Don nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "I don't doubt that."

With that, he turned and walked away, his pace steady, his shoulders relaxed.

He exhaled a silent breath through his nose, just as a flicker of light entered his vision—an abrupt but familiar notification.

A system prompt.

[Quest Progress Update: 1/3 Allies, 0/2 Pawns.]

'So far, so good.'

Without breaking stride, Don dismissed the notification and continued forward, disappearing into the crowd.