Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 369: Don Vs Everyone (Part 4)
Back in the stadium, the air seemed still.
It wasn't silence. It was anticipation—cranked to the point of static. Every eye was fixed on the stage, as if blinking might be a tactical error.
The announcer's voice came through the speakers with a rehearsed calm that couldn't quite mask the undercurrent of excitement.
"If both sides are ready…" he began, pausing just long enough to draw it out, "you may begin at the sound of the horn."
William stood firm.
His stance was solid—left leg slightly behind, knees bent, fists raised in the standard defensive posture. Not flashy. Just efficient. His breathing was quiet, measured through his nose, and his gaze stayed locked on Don's chest—not his face. Always the chest. It gave away more.
Don?
Still relaxed. Arms loose. Shoulders down. Like someone waiting in line for coffee, not a fistfight in front of millions.
One foot shifted slightly—barely more than a twitch—but enough for those who were watching closely to know he was ready.
Tactical Advance: Activated.
Don's vision shifted—subtly. The stage blurred at the edges as data lined up in neat rows along the edge of his field of view. Heat signatures, stance markers, biometric reads—all focused on one target.
'Winter and Gary's data was correct,' he thought.
William's stance looked solid on the surface, but the scans told a different story. Slight pressure imbalance in the left leg. Torso stability below average for his size. Too much reliance on raw strength. Weak core. Subpar recovery posture.
'Left leg, stomach—got it. This won't be difficult at a—'
**Ding**
A prompt blinked into the edge of his vision.
———
Side Objective Unlocked: Standing Tall
Any good supervillain lives to shatter the hopes of those who oppose.
Use this event to crush their fantasies.
Reward: Impact-based
Penalty for Failure: Further decrease in public image
———
The prompt vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it left behind the faintest curl of Don's lips.
A smile.
William saw it. He didn't like it.
His eyes narrowed, interpreting it exactly how Don wanted—intimidation. Psychological warfare.
Classic villainy.
He adjusted his grip. Just slightly.
**BWAAAAAAAAAAM**
The horn echoed loudly across the arena.
"BEGIN!" the announcer called out.
William didn't wait.
His muscles coiled and exploded, legs driving into the floor with such force that light dust lifted in rings around his boots. His speed wasn't superhuman—but it didn't need to be. It was trained. Refined. C-grade speed done right.
The wind reacted before most people did—whhhfff—rippling past Don's body as William blurred forward.
One blink. That's all it took.
William was there.
Fist cocked. Eyes sharp. Every ounce of motion clean and aimed for Don's chest.
And for a moment—for just a breath—every viewer, every student watching from the edge of the field, thought it might land.
Then—
**Shffk**
Don moved aside.
That's all.
No dodge-roll. No acrobatics. Just a simple shift of posture—and William's fist passed cleanly through air.
William's eyes widened. 'He read it.'
Before the panic could settle, he caught the faint twitch in Don's bicep. The muscle flexing in preparation. A counterstrike was coming.
William didn't hesitate.
**Tap—tap**
He jumped back twice, boots striking the stage with precision, his body dropping into a defensive posture. Elbows tight. Feet spaced.
But Don didn't follow.
Didn't even twitch.
He just stood there, watching him. That same dead-eyed stare. Still and unreadable. Like he hadn't even noticed the attack.
To the audience, it looked like dominance.
To William, it looked like something worse.
Don's mind wasn't on him anymore.
'Combat Reflexes almost fired off,' he thought, his hand flexing once at his side. 'Would've broken his jaw on instinct. Glad I caught it.'
He adjusted his posture slightly—subtle shift in his shoulders, one foot turning just a degree inward. Nothing showy. Just precision.
'I was already going to use this stage to send a message,' he thought. 'Now I just have to be louder about it.'
Beastshift Activated.
He flexed his hands once more.
His arms weren't as thick as William's. Not as broad. But they didn't need to be. The way the fabric stretched over his muscle, the way his suit adjusted to his frame—there was something heavier in how Don moved.
Denser.
Like his power wasn't just contained—it was compressed.
And to William, it looked like pressure. It felt like pressure.
'Careful,' he told himself.
Don didn't give him the luxury.
"I don't want to waste time chasing you," Don said. "And I really don't want to injure you by accident."
He rolled his shoulders once, gaze never leaving William's.
"Save us both the trouble and step down."
A pause.
"You can't beat me."
The tension shattered the moment Don spoke.
Not with an explosion. Not with a cheer.
Just quiet disbelief.
His voice wasn't raised. He hadn't yelled. But his words cut through the anticipation like a buzzsaw through wet paper.
The stadium didn't react at first.
Then—
Gasps.
A few scattered laughs.
One loud "what the hell?"
Even in the VIP booth, Charles leaned back with a soft chuckle, his fingers idly spinning the edge of his phone.
"Audacious," he murmured, almost impressed. "Crude. But efficient."
On the stream, chaos.
[Chat-12-A]
HexDoll: OKAY DON
Killjoy: THE ARROGANCE LMAO
Voidblade: Not even mad. That was COLD.
donLuvr88: My man said 'go home' and meant it
D-Watcher: I'd quit the school tbh
user92: lmao William gotta fight back for his dignity
LinzRiot: Was that a threat or a mercy?
———
On stage, William was still standing—but barely contained.
His fingers twitched once, tightening into fists.
He scoffed. Not loud. Just enough.
"We won't know," he said, voice even, "until I try."
His tone sounded calm. Measured. But the heat in his eyes told another story.
'He thinks I'm stupid,' William thought. 'He's trying to bait me into rushing him.'
He set his stance again. This time lower, more aggressive. No wild rush. No flinching.
'I'll show him. I'll show them all—.'
**BOOM**
William didn't see the motion.
One moment he was staring into Don's eyes. The next—
Don's fist.
It filled his vision like a shutter snap. His reflexes triggered late, too slow to matter. His eyes narrowed instinctively, but by then, the damage was already in motion.
**CRACK**
The punch connected with his cheek, and time fractured.
Wind slammed into his face, forcing his hair backward like it'd been yanked. His jaw jolted sideways, neck twisting violently as his torso followed the momentum.
Every muscle in his body jerked tight—arms flaring slightly as his feet left the ground.
The crowd didn't have time to scream.
William's body shot backward, his boots scraping across the stage for a fraction of a second before lift-off. No flashy slow-mo. Just raw force.
He sailed off the platform in a low arc.
**WHUD—CRASH**
He collided with the first line of students near the edge—three of them went down instantly, taken by surprise. The rest stumbled, hands darting out to catch him, or at least slow him.
Didn't work.
William crashed to the grass with a violent **thmp**, dirt and green blades of grass flying as his body skidded across the field. He carved a long trail, the kind normally reserved for bikes or bodies launched by explosions.
He stopped only after his shoulder slammed into a small slope, his body rolling to a crooked halt.
Silence.
Then—
"Holy shit."
"Was that one punch?!"
"No way—"
William didn't move at first. Not from pain—there was some, yes—but mostly from confusion.
His vision blurred slightly. Dirt itched at his cheek. His nose stung—sharp and wet. He lifted one hand and brushed it across his lip.
Red.
He blinked.
A nosebleed. No broken bones. No cuts. Just a bloody nose and ringing ears. But his entire body buzzed like he'd been electrocuted.
He could hear them.
The students. The whispers. The ridicule.
"That's it? All that hype?"
"Didn't even touch him…"
"Should've stepped down..."
He forced himself up—slowly. Not standing. Just crouching. Knees dug into the grass, fingers bracing on the ground as his body recalibrated.
His eyes trailed back the way he came—along the upturned grass and scattered debris—to the edge of the stage.
Don was still there.
One foot forward. Hand rotating at the wrist as if mildly sore. He flexed the joint once with a flick, then let his arm drop.
That same look.
Detached. Superior.
It twisted something in William's gut.
This wasn't the day he pictured. Not the debut he'd planned.
He gritted his teeth.
Didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
The announcer's voice crackled from the overhead speakers—hesitant. Like he wasn't sure if he should even say anything.
"...The first match goes to Don Bright."
A moment.
"Please select your next opponent."
William didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
'I want another chance.'
And like the world heard him—
Don's voice followed, calm as ever.
"Well?" he called down. "You have two more tries."
A pause.
"Come back up so I can send you back down."
