Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Elle's gaze lingered on the tunnel long after Don's car disappeared into its shadowy depths. The soft echo of the Mustang's engine faded into silence, leaving the garage unnervingly still.

Her expression showed a hint of sadness, her eyes flickering faintly before she exhaled softly.
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She turned to leave, her steps slow, but before she could fully turn away, a puff of pink smoke erupted beside her, accompanied by the faint scent of something sweet and vaguely floral.

"Hey!"

Trixie's sharp, playful voice filled the space as the smoke dissipated, revealing the petite succubus. She stood with her hands on her hips, her tail swishing with lively energy. Her pink hair shimmered faintly under the sterile lights, and her narrowed eyes locked onto Elle with mock annoyance.

"How come nobody woke me?"

Elle turned back, her calm demeanor masking the irritation that bubbled just beneath the surface. She opened her mouth to respond, but Trixie was already stepping closer, leaning into her space and sniffing exaggeratedly.

"Hmmm…" Trixie rubbed her chin thoughtfully, her mischievous grin spreading as she tilted her head. "You don't smell like you had back-breaking sex… so why'd you sneak of—Ow!"

Before she could finish, Elle's fingers latched onto her cheek, pinching it firmly. Trixie let out a sharp yelp, flinching slightly as her tail flicked in protest.

"Is sex all you think about?" Elle's voice was stern but not raised, her gaze firm as she watched Trixie squirm under her hold.

Trixie, her cheek still caught in Elle's grip, gave a casual shrug. "Beats slaving away for colored paper with numbers on it like most of you humans. At least with sex, everyone's happy… unless, of course, y'know—" she paused dramatically, grinning through the discomfort, "you're a guy with a fat ass in jail."

Elle sighed and released her grip, shaking her head in quiet exasperation. She turned on her heel, her voice even as she started walking toward the base interior.

"Come on. We have work to do."

Trixie rubbed her now slightly reddened cheek, pouting for a moment before trotting after Elle. Her pout quickly turned to excitement as she asked, "Ooo… are we finally ordering stuff for the BDSM room I suggested?"

Elle didn't answer, her stride unbroken as she headed toward the tram station.

———

The ride through the base was uneventful, the tram's smooth **whir** the only sound as it moved through the facility's maze of dimly lit tunnels. Minutes later, the duo arrived at another hallway—gray, unadorned, and faintly industrial, like much of the base.

They walked in silence until they stopped in front of a pair of large reinforced doors. Unlike the grand ones in the main garage and command center, these were slightly smaller but no less imposing. Thick metallic frames bordered the entry, and a faint blue glow emanated from the edges, matching the digital tag above.

The tag displayed glowing letters—D.P.I—etched into a black screen embedded in the wall. The text pulsed softly in the dim light, and small indicator bars scrolled beneath, cycling through various readouts in angular, futuristic fonts.

Trixie tilted her head, staring at the letters with visible confusion. Her tail twitched once before she muttered, "Double Penetration and Interracial? Wow, Elle, I didn't know you were kinky lik—Ow!"

Elle's hand moved faster than a blink, delivering a light smack to the back of Trixie's head.

"It stands for Don Protection Initiative," Elle corrected, her tone clipped and serious. She stood in front of the doors, her posture rigid as the scanner on the floor activated.

A thin line of blue light swept over both their figures, scanning them from head to toe. A faint **beep** confirmed their identities, and the heavy doors slid open with a low **hiss**, revealing the room beyond.

Trixie rubbed the back of her head, her pout returning as she muttered under her breath, "It's not my fault it reminded me of the porn libraries back home."

Elle ignored the comment and stepped through the heavy doors, her boots making a faint **click** against the polished floor as she entered. The room beyond was shrouded in pitch-black darkness, the air still and unnervingly quiet.

Trixie hesitated briefly before following, her tail flicking once behind her. "Err… no lights?" she asked, her voice breaking the eerie silence.

Almost immediately, Elle spoke, her tone still firm. "Lights."

In response, the room illuminated abruptly, flooding with a sinful red glow. The lighting was starkly different from the cool, clinical tones used elsewhere in the base. It cast long shadows and gave the space an almost infernal atmosphere.

For a brief moment, Trixie's mind wandered, the lighting conjuring images of the BDSM room she had jokingly mentioned earlier.

Her hopes were short-lived.

The room's contents quickly shattered the illusion.

It wasn't massive like the command center but felt carefully curated, compact in its design. The walls were cluttered with a variety of ominous elements. Two of them were lined with shelves and display cases, each holding an assortment of peculiar, almost macabre items.

A bloodied cloth sat neatly folded in one case, its deep crimson stains long dried. A scuffed, worn-out shoe rested in another, its faded laces hanging limply. Other shelves contained equally baffling objects: a shattered piece of ceramic, an old rotary phone, and what looked like a fragment of burnt wood.

Another wall housed a cluster of mounted digital screens, their displays cycling rapidly through streams of data—coordinates, blurry images, and indecipherable text scrolling in tandem.

But the room's centerpiece dominated the far wall.

A massive holographic display stretched across its surface, bathing the area in an otherworldly glow. The screen displayed a digital version of an investigator's board—an intricate web of connections, images, and notes all linked by thin glowing lines.

At the center of the messy network was an image of Sister Rose, her cold expression rendered in chilling detail. Around her were smaller holograms, each showing snippets of intel: photographs of the church ruins, sketches of symbols carved into stone, and fragments of reports referencing UEs.

Trixie stood beside Elle, taking it all in. Her eyes landed on Sister Rose's image, and she tilted her head slightly.

"Hey, that's the crazy hot nun that tried to off Don, right?" she asked casually. Without waiting for a reply, she gestured with her thumb slicing across her neck, adding a cartoonish **schlick** sound for emphasis. "Are we going to…"

Elle didn't respond and the lack of it caught her Trixie off guard. She blinked and turned her head toward Elle.

"Elle?"

Her playful tone wavered as she froze mid-step. A chill ran up her spine.

Elle stood motionless, her posture unnervingly rigid. Her amber eyes, usually warm and expressive, now glowed faintly with an eerie hollowness. Her lips curved upward in a smile, but it wasn't one of joy or reassurance.

It was a smile devoid of warmth—sharp, sinister, and unsettlingly calm.

"Yes," Elle muttered softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The lights in the room flickered once, their red glow briefly dipping into darkness before returning.

"She… it…" Elle continued, her voice cold and distant, "tried to hurt Don… still wants to…"

Her smile widened slightly, the faint glow of her eyes intensifying. "We can't allow that… can we, Trixie?"

Her tone shifted, the words taking on a faint echo as if spoken from somewhere far away.

Trixie's tail twitched uneasily, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed the shift in Elle's demeanor. She wasn't scared, not exactly. Unsettled, yes—but only because she knew what Elle was capable of when it came to Don's safety.

"Uh… no," Trixie replied, her voice carefully neutral as she rubbed the back of her neck. "Definitely not."

Her smile widened, but it wasn't just unsettling—it was wrong. There was a hollowness to it, as though it were painted on by someone unfamiliar with the concept of joy. It didn't reach her glowing amber eyes, which flickered faintly, reflecting something far colder than her usual warmth

She had seen that look before, and while it unnerved her, she knew better than to question Elle when Don was involved.