Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 316: Allies? (Part 3)

After returning to the main area of the floor, Don's gaze swept across the luxurious space, quickly spotting Tori standing near the viewing deck.

She was leaned slightly against the railing, her eyes fixed on the stadium below as Inferno Stryker and Velocity Vortex made their way onto the field. The massive screens overhead continued their flashy displays, feeding the audience's excitement.

Don was about to approach her when something—or rather, someone—caught his attention.

A young man, dressed extravagantly, made his way toward Tori with two drinks in hand.

He looked like he had walked straight out of a designer campaign—his black suit was tailored to perfection, the silk shirt beneath was left open just enough to expose a thin gold chain, and his wavy brown hair was styled with just the right amount of effort to seem effortless.

His shoes? High-end leather, custom made, no doubt. He even carried himself with a kind of lazy confidence, the type that came with money, connections, and an overinflated sense of charm.

Don's eyes narrowed slightly, but he stayed where he was. Instead of immediately stepping in, he activated his superhuman hearing and tuned in.

"Excuse me."

Tori turned at the voice, blinking in slight surprise as the man offered her a charming smile and raised one of the glasses toward her.

"Pardon me for interrupting," he said smoothly, his voice rich with social finesse. "I just noticed you standing here alone and wondered—what's a beautiful girl like you doing without company? May I offer you a drink?"

Don immediately frowned.

Not because he was jealous—that was irrelevant. But because the man's intentions were clear as day.

His superhuman eyesight focused on the drink in the man's hand, and instantly, he spotted it.

Foreign particles.

Rapidly dissolving in the liquid.

Meanwhile, the drink the man held for himself? Untouched. The fizz looked natural, no interference.

'He spiked her drink.'

Don's expression remained unreadable, but his thoughts sharpened. 'Don't tell me she's actually going to accept a drink from a stranger.'

He shifted his focus back to Tori's face, noting the hesitation there.

"Uhm… I don't know…" she said, her voice uncertain.

The man pressed on, closing the small distance between them.

He let out a sigh, giving a self-deprecating chuckle as he pushed the drink closer.

"Rejected, huh? Fair enough. Can we at least share one drink and chat a little so my friends don't absolutely laugh at me?"

His tone was lighthearted, his body language relaxed—he played the role of the embarrassed but persistent gentleman perfectly.

It was the kind of act that worked well on people who weren't naturally confrontational.

And for someone like Tori, who didn't often engage with strangers or know how to shut them down directly, it was a dangerous tactic.

Even so, Don noticed something—she was uncomfortable.

She might not be able to call the man out, but she was trusting her gut.

"No thanks," Tori finally said, shifting her weight slightly. "I'm fine, really. I'm not feeling too well, so I'm avoiding anything other than water."

She gave him an out, a way to disengage without conflict. "But we can just chat if you want?"

The man's charming smile faltered—just for a fraction of a second.

Clearly, that wasn't the answer he wanted.

But instead of backing off, he stepped in closer, his expression turning just a touch more insistent.

"I'm sure one glass won't kill you," he said, voice smooth but now with subtle pressure. "It's not even alcoholic."

Don had seen enough.

He had already memorized the man's face, his mannerisms, his presence—if needed, he could find him again later. But right now, it was time to shut this down.

Just as he was about to step forward, another voice cut through the moment.

"Daniel! It's so good to see you!"

A group of women approached, their expensive perfume hitting the air before they even reached the scene.

They were dressed for the occasion—luxurious, form-fitting dresses that shimmered under the soft lighting, adorned with sparkling jewelry that practically announced their wealth.

The one leading them was a petite blonde with short hair, her dress a silky champagne color that complemented her fair skin.

The two women flanking her were equally striking in their own ways—one had long brown hair and a curvier frame, while the other, who also had brown hair but shorter and paler, looked petite but not quite as naturally alluring as the other two.

Still, they all carried confidence, the kind that came from status, money, and knowing they belonged here.

Don's eyes flicked to Tori for a moment.

Compared to them, she looked like a high schooler who had accidentally walked into a college party.

That wasn't to say she wasn't attractive in her own right—she was. But the difference in age, presence, and experience was obvious.

The blonde reached Daniel, resting a delicate hand on his forearm.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked with a slight, teasing smile.

Her tone was light, but there was a hint of something else—territorial, perhaps?

Daniel turned his head, his charming act slipping for just a moment as he seemed to recalculate the situation.

Don, still watching from a short distance away, remained where he was.

'This just got a little interesting.'

Daniel barely spared Tori a glance as he turned his full attention to the blonde in front of him, his expression shifting into something overly enthusiastic—the kind of energy a man saved for someone actually worth impressing.

"Ellen!" he greeted with a broad smile. "I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you were still modeling in Paris?"

Ellen, standing with one hand on her hip, gave a seductive smile, shifting her weight in a way that subtly emphasized her curves. Her champagne-colored dress dipped just enough to showcase her cleavage, an intentional move as she let out a soft, knowing chuckle.

"I still am," she purred. "But I'm free until the autumn collection by Pierre Borne drops."

She let the name linger, as if it alone was enough to assert her status.

Then, as if just now acknowledging Tori's presence, her gaze drifted toward her—slow and filled with judgment.

Ellen's perfectly manicured fingers tapped against the glass in her hand as she asked, "Is this your… company for the night?"

The way she said it—so carefully chosen—made it sound less like a question and more like a statement dipped in condescension.

To Don's mild surprise, Daniel quickly denied it, shaking his head with almost too much emphasis.

"No, not at all," he said with a dismissive chuckle. "I just saw her standing alone and thought I'd see if she was okay."

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Ellen's lips curled into a smug, amused smile as she took another slow sip from her glass.

"I'm sure she has her reasons for being alone," she muttered, her eyes flicking up and down Tori's outfit as if assessing every fiber.

Then, with a mocking tilt of her head, she added, "Probably some call girl who got handed tickets and decided to show up in her thrift shop clothes, thinking she'd fit in. Maybe hoping to find some poor idiot who'd buy into her innocent act."

Daniel let out an awkward laugh but didn't even attempt to defend Tori.

Don had heard enough.

He was just about to step in—ready to shut this entire group down—when something unexpected happened.

Tori didn't just take it.

Her brows furrowed immediately, and her hands clenched at her sides.

"Excuse you?" she said sharply, turning to Ellen with narrowed eyes. "I'm not a call girl, or whatever else you think I am. I was invited to this by my friend."

Her tone wasn't loud, but there was an edge to it. A rare thing, considering Tori wasn't the confrontational type.

For a moment, there was a pause.

Then Ellen laughed.

And her friends laughed with her.

It wasn't the kind of laughter meant to be friendly or casual—it was the kind that dripped with superiority, meant to humiliate, to turn Tori's attempt at standing up for herself into a joke.

Don watched, his expression unreadable, though inwardly, he was mildly impressed she stood up for herself.

She still wasn't handling it the best way, but at least she wasn't just rolling over.

Still, this wasn't going to end well if left alone.

And Don had already decided—he wasn't letting this group off easy.

For now though, he casually leaned back against the bar, his gaze flicking over the lavish setting as a waitress passed by, balancing a tray with a sealed bottle of wine and a glass.

Without hesitation, Don reached out and plucked both off the tray.

The waitress stopped mid-step, blinking in mild surprise before turning toward him.

"Uh—sir?"

Don didn't look at her immediately. Instead, he took his time examining the bottle's label, then tilted his head slightly toward her.

"Charles said I could help myself to anything," he said smoothly. "Is this not included?"

The waitress's eyes widened slightly in realization before she quickly shook her head.

"N-no, it is!" she stammered. "Help yourself, sir. Uhm, will you be needing anything else?"

Don gave a slight shake of his head. "Not for now."

With that, he casually set the bottle on the counter, poured himself a glass, and turned his attention back to the scene unfolding in front of him.

Tori now looked visibly upset, but Ellen?

Ellen wasn't done.

She sipped from her glass again before sighing, mock exasperation in her tone.

"I know everyone on this floor worth knowing," she said, her voice carrying the bored confidence of someone accustomed to social dominance.

"Especially the women," she added pointedly.

Then her gaze landed back on Tori.

"And you? I've never seen you before."

She let the words sink in for a second before delivering the final blow.

"So forgive me if I don't believe your little 'friend' story." Her lips curled slightly. "You probably slept your way up here. And even if you didn't," she said, her eyes dragging up and down Tori's frame, "whoever did invite you is definitely expecting something in return."

She took a small step closer, voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial.

"If you ask me, though?" She gave a slow, dismissive glance over Tori once more. "You're definitely not worth the trouble."

The moment those words left her mouth, Don thought to himself, 'Well, that's my cue.'

He could practically feel the anger radiating from Tori, her shoulders tense, her hands curled into fists.

She was either about to cry or slap someone, and frankly, neither was ideal.

So, Don carried his glass and before anyone could say another word, he stepped forward—closing the distance with calm, slow steps.

"I invited her." He cut in

The effect was instantaneous.

Tori's head snapped toward him, eyes wide in relief.

Meanwhile, Ellen's expression faltered—just slightly. Her lips parted, but no immediate words came out.

Daniel, on the other hand, looked like he'd just swallowed a rock.

Don reached Tori's side, his movements unhurried. He then raised his glass once more, taking a slow sip, before turning his gaze onto Ellen.

"It seems you have a lot to say," he said smoothly.

His voice remained calm, but the way he held her gaze was unrelenting.

His next words came with a thin, polite smile—though his tone was rather cold.

"Why not spare some words for me?"