Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere
Chapter 406 - 406: The Truth (Part 13)

After stepping off the stage, Madam Lily didn't pause. Her heels clicked against the floor as she strode toward the entrance, each step eloquent.

She turned her head slightly toward the crowd gathered near the bar, lifting her fan and calling out with practiced warmth.

"Come, my darlings. Let's welcome our guest."

The dancers and barmaids stirred like someone had hit a school bell. A few exchanged glances, then shuffled into a loose formation behind her, their efforts to mimic Lily's poise ending in crooked stances and uneven spacing.

Some tried to stand tall, others adjusted their tops or smoothed their hair. It was more awkward than graceful—like a performance with no choreography.

The Hell Riders didn't move.

A few of them turned their heads toward Ash, subtle but obvious enough. The message was clear: Are we supposed to care about this?

Ash didn't answer right away. She sat with her arms still folded, watching Lily walk away in that overdone dress, the back hem dragging just slightly across the scuffed tiles.

This whole show felt absurd. She wasn't sure who they were trying to impress. Whoever this rep from the black market was, Ash doubted they'd care whether the girls stood straight or smiled at the right time.

But she knew the game. Refusing to play it just meant getting kicked off the board.

She stood up, the barstool groaning slightly behind her. With a tired gesture, she waved the others forward.

"Go on," she muttered.

The remaining Hell Riders hesitated, then followed, moving into a vague semi-circle near the entrance. They looked out of place among the makeup and tight clothes—gritty leather jackets, patched sleeves, knuckles covered in old bruises.

Madam Lily said nothing to Ash's gesture, but there was a faint smile on her lips, visible only to someone standing close enough to catch the corner of it. Her fan remained still now, folded against her palm like it had become an extension of her hand.

A moment passed. Then the front door creaked open again.

The Hell Rider who'd previously announced the guest returned, this time with someone walking beside him. Or rather, hobbling.

The old woman that entered could not have looked more out of place in the club if she'd tried.

She was no taller than five feet and hunched forward, her back curved unnaturally beneath a faded black hood.

Her long, greying hair hung like unkempt string around her face, strands sticking out at uneven angles. A pair of thick, round glasses sat on her nose, their lenses slightly fogged.

Her eyes—what little could be seen of them—were pale and narrowed, almost like she was perpetually squinting at something just out of reach. Her skin was deeply wrinkled, sagging at the cheeks, and drawn into a permanent, sour frown.

She wore a long, old-fashioned dress in deep black, the hem dusty and heavy, like it had been dragged across fields rather than city streets. A scarf was draped around her shoulders, knotted once at the chest.

In one hand she held a crooked walking stick that looked less crafted and more snapped off a tree.

The room went quiet.

Not because she radiated authority. No.

Because no one could figure out what the hell they were looking at.

Even the Hell Riders looked uncomfortable.

Ash raised a brow, glancing sideways toward Lily, waiting to see how she'd respond.

And what she saw made her blink.

The shift was subtle, but unmistakable.

Lily's posture had changed. Her shoulders no longer pulled back in confidence but had softened, slouched just slightly. Her chin dipped lower than usual, eyes briefly downcast. The fan in her hand trembled once, barely.

Ash hadn't thought it possible for the woman to look anything other than composed. But now, there was something else underneath—fear, or something close to it.

The hell rider who had escorted the old woman stepped back into line.

Lily took one step forward.

Then another.

She stopped just a few feet away from the old woman, bowed her head slightly, and spoke with a tone far more careful than usual.

"Welcome, Mistress Adalena…"

She paused, swallowing once before continuing, her voice only slightly more stable.

"I didn't think you'd be overseeing such a small transaction."

The old woman's mouth twisted into something resembling a grin. It didn't help. Her teeth were a mess of yellow and brown, jagged in places, a few blackened with rot.

Her voice was hoarse and accented, but clear enough to understand.

"That voice…" she said, leaning on her cane as if savoring the moment. "You must be the previous owner. Madam Lily, yes?"

She didn't wait for a reply.

"Do not concern yourself with my presence. Your buyer paid for zee best possible tranzaction. I am simply here to ensure zhat happens."

She held out a withered hand.

"Now zhen… show me zee paperwork."

———

The city stretched wide and flat around the highway, buildings shrinking into the horizon like background props in a slow-moving film.

Don's Mustang moved along the mostly empty road, its engine rumbling with steady aggression.

He wore a plain white shirt under a brown jacket, dark blue jeans fitting snug around his legs, and heavy boots tapping lightly against the gas pedal. The dashboard glinted under the little sunlight piercing through the clouds, dust moving lazily in the air-conditioned breeze.

Electronic music played on the radio, the beat repetitive but passable. The radio host's voice interrupted every so often, the usual filler.

"And that was 'Sky Breaker' by Echo Drive—up next we've got some local heat. Don't forget to call in, tell us what you want to hear. Your city, your sound…"

Don barely registered the chatter. His focus remained on the open road. It wouldn't stay this free for long—the city's restrictions were slowly lifting. Once that happened, traffic would choke the highways again, leaving this brief freedom behind.

He drove faster than necessary, just for the pleasure of it.

Winter sat beside him, rigid in posture, her hands neatly placed in her lap. Her uniform—black and white with hints of light blue—remained uncreased despite the fast ride. Her expression was neutral, the light from the dashboard screen reflecting faintly in her eyes.

Don broke the silence.

"Can you read out the messages I got?"

Winter turned her head toward him with mechanical smoothness and nodded.

"Of course," she said.

Her eyes dimmed slightly as she processed the incoming data. Then, without moving her hands, she began.

"Donald's messages are simply inquiries about your wellbeing. His phrasing, punctuation, and use of emojis are inconsistent. It suggests he lacks experience with casual texting."

Don let out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt.

"What should I reply with?" Winter asked.

Don thought a moment, eyes still on the road.

"Tell him I'm fine. And that I'm looking to buy some VR-FPS pods, so if he's got suggestions, send them my way."

Winter's eyes flickered.

"Done."

Don glanced at her, one hand on the wheel.

"That was fast. I might not need a new phone after all."

Winter looked forward again, tone flat.

"I am capable of processing and responding to communication faster than most consumer devices. However, I would advise against abandoning your personal phone entirely. A personal device offers privacy, multi-layered encryption options, and can be used independently if I am ever unavailable."

Don smirked.

"I was joking, Winter."

"My mistake. Humor recognition is still a work in progress."

"Well, I think you're learning just fine."

Winter blinked once, then resumed reading.

"Tori's message is a simple 'Hi'. From my understanding, this is a common strategy used by teenage girls and young men to initiate conversation with minimal effort, prompting the recipient to lead."

Don tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow twitching.

"Reply 'hey' and ask how she's doing."

As he took the next exit ramp, easing the Mustang onto a quieter road, Winter confirmed.

"Done."

She continued.

"Hector's message is also asking how you're doing. He states that he has calculated the amount needed for equipment and attached several links to potential vendors. The links lead to identical carts, but with different pricing models and warranties."

Don nodded.

"Right. I almost forgot about that. Draft a contract—something basic. He can't use the equipment for anything but work, can't lend it out or sell it. Send it to him. Once he signs and sends his bank details, wire the funds."

Winter responded instantly.

"Done."

He smiled again. It wasn't fake.

Even in a world full of gadgets and technology, there was still something deeply satisfying about how effortlessly useful Winter was. Everything she did worked, quietly and without fuss.

As they slowed to a red light, he asked,

"What about the emails?"

Winter's eyes flickered.

"Benjamin's email is requesting a visit to SHQ in order to resolve the matter of your suspension. He also mentions potential compensation."

Don scoffed.

"I'll ignore that for now."

"Dean Sanchez's email carries a similar tone. He apologizes and expresses that the situation at the time was difficult and that the school's hands were tied. He has also attached an offer from the school. Shall I read it?"

Don shook his head.

"Later. We're almost there."