Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Benjamin, maintaining his practiced smile, took the card with a nod. Inwardly, he couldn't help but think that Don's chances in the program were slim to none. With the lackluster evaluation Don had, Benjamin doubted the boy would make it far—he'd be lucky to end up as a sidekick to a third-rate hero.

On the surface, though, he kept up the facade of a kind manager. "That won't be a problem," he replied, then turned to Don. "Congratulations, Don Bright, and welcome to the Santos City Elite Hero Program. Unfortunately, a tour won't be possible today, but we can head over to the registry department so you can get your ID.

With it, you'll be able to come and go from the HQ as you please and access most of our facilities."

Don nodded. "That's fine," he said, falling in step with Benjamin as they made their way to the registry. Miss Claire followed them, her steps more composed and graceful.

Once at the registry, Don was handed his ID card, a neat piece of tech that looked as exclusive as the program he had just joined.

After receiving his card, Benjamin went on to add, "You're free to use the training facilities now if you'd like. As for the droids and home security upgrades, I'll need to contact our contractors and Dr. Gadget to schedule when they can be installed."

Don considered Benjamin's word for a bit before replying, "That sounds good, but I didn't bring my own vehicle, so I wouldn't want to delay Miss Claire's plans by choosing to train now."

Don assumed Miss Claire, given her demeanor and position, was likely a very busy person and thus it wouldn't be a good idea to try and waste her time. To his surprise, she responded, "Nonsense. I cleared my schedule today specifically to handle your matter. It's no problem if you want to test out the facilities. In fact, I'm rather curious to see what my newest client is capable of."

Don sighed inwardly. He couldn't seem to catch a break. Instead of seeing this as an opportunity to improve his standing with Miss Claire, he viewed it as something that would expose just how far he lagged behind other elite heroes.

However, backing out wouldn't look good either, so reluctantly, he agreed. "If you don't mind, then okay."

Benjamin clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! Just be sure to get Miss Claire a visitor's card at the reception desk. Every member of the program is allowed to bring up to five guests, though they aren't permitted to use the facilities."

Miss Claire, unamused, responded, "We're aware. We read the terms and conditions, after all."

Benjamin chuckled awkwardly. "Right...," he mumbled before excusing himself, claiming he needed to get back to work.

Watching him leave, Miss Claire shook her head slightly. "What a sleazy man," she muttered under her breath.

Don chuckled softly. "You don't like him very much, do you?"

"I dislike all people who wear fake smiles," she replied flatly.

Don, curious, asked, "Is that why you don't smile much?"

She glanced at him with a faint smirk. "That's one of the reasons." She then turned her attention back to the task at hand. "Let's get on with your training. I'd prefer to be gone by lunchtime."

They walked to the receptionist's desk back in the main lobby, where Miss Claire was issued a visitor's card. With that sorted, they proceeded to one of the training areas. Don, still wary of exposing too much of his abilities, opted to focus on Sensory Overload training and Regeneration Focus so he targeted the area where he could best do that.

Upon arriving at the training area, an old man with a weathered face and thinning gray hair, dressed in staff overalls, greeted them. He had a thick mustache that twitched when he spoke. "Good morning! I'm on duty here today," he said warmly, his voice carrying a slight rasp. "Are you a new recruit?" he asked, looking at Don.

Don nodded. "Yes, I just signed the contract not long ago."

The old man turned to Miss Claire and gave a deep bow, "And who might this beautiful lady be?"

Miss Claire, ever composed, replied, "A visitor. Can we proceed with my client's training?"

The old man nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, of course." He led them to an observation deck, a glass-walled room overlooking a large and intricate training course. "Would you like to give it a go?" he asked Don, his eyes twinkling with eagerness.

"That's the plan," Don replied, scanning the course. It was designed to look like a maze, with dark corners, flickering lights, and narrow passageways.

"Excellent," the old man continued. "I'll keep the difficulty at normal levels. Most new recruits can manage it."

Don nodded, inwardly thinking this would be a good gauge of where he stood compared to the others. "Alright," he agreed.

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The old man's face lit up with excitement. "A lot of the new recruits yesterday put on quite the show," he added, as he led Don to a small room where he could change into a training outfit.

Don suited up and stepped out, feeling the snug fit of the bodysuit designed to monitor his vitals and provide feedback. The old man explained, "If you want to quit at any point, just say so. And remember, the training will automatically stop if your bodysuit detects that you've sustained heavy injuries."

Don nodded, taking a deep breath as he approached the entrance to the course.

The moment he stepped in, the lights dimmed, plunging him into near darkness. Almost immediately, his senses were assaulted.

A barrage of sounds—mechanical whirs, the hiss of compressed air, and low-frequency drones—filled the room, masking any discernible noise. The air was thick with a cloying, musty odor, mingling with the scent of oil and rust.

He moved cautiously through the darkness, relying on his enhanced senses to guide him. But, as he was doing this, the floor beneath him shifted unexpectedly, forcing him to adjust his balance.

As he navigated further, obstacles sprang up from the ground—sudden, jolting walls and shifting platforms designed to disorient him.

Suddenly, **CLANG!** A large metal arm swung towards him. He barely ducked in time, feeling the wind from its swing brush past his face.

He rolled to the side, his senses straining to detect the next threat. The room was filled with too many sounds, meant to overwhelm and confuse.

Then came the droids. Battle droids, heavily armored and wielding blunt weapons, emerged from hidden compartments.

They moved with surprising agility for their size, their mechanical limbs whirring with every step. **THUD!** One of the droids swung a massive arm toward him. But Don narrowly dodged, feeling the rush of air from its swing as well.

He retaliated with a swift kick, aiming for what looked like a weak spot in its knee joint, but the droid absorbed the blow, its armor only denting slightly.

"What the—," he muttered to himself, before quickly picking up a baton near him and tightening his grip on it. He needed to use his senses, trust them.

He listened for the faint whirr of the droids' servos, felt the subtle vibrations in the floor, and smelled the acrid scent of heated metal.

He darted between them, using his agility to his advantage rather than going for brute force. But as he fought, he could feel his body protesting, minor injuries accumulating—bruises forming, muscles straining.

But this was where his regeneration training came in. His body worked overtime to heal the injuries, a sharp, burning sensation spreading through his limbs as his cells accelerated their repair processes anytime he took a moment to catch his breath.

Then, one of the droids proceeded to lunge at him, its bludgeon coming down hard. Don sidestepped at the last moment and swung his baton upward, catching the droid under its chin with a **CRUNCH**. The droid staggered, its servos sparking, before collapsing to the ground.

Another droid advanced, and he used his heightened senses to predict its movements, dodging to the side just as it swung wide. He leaped up, using its arm as a springboard to propel himself onto its back, where he delivered a devastating blow to its power core. **ZAP**—the droid spasmed and fell lifelessly to the floor.

But the course wasn't done with him yet.

A series of vents opened above him, releasing a blinding cloud of gas. His eyes felt like they were burning so he closed them, relying on his hearing and sense of touch.

He heard the telltale click of a hidden door opening, and his ears picked up the faint sound of footsteps approaching—light, almost imperceptible.

"Silent droids?" he wondered, realizing they were trying to catch him off guard.

He held his breath and listened. **Tap, tap…**

Hearing the subtle footsteps get closer, he turned sharply and swung his baton, feeling the satisfying **CRACK** as it connected with something solid. The small and more silent droid crumpled to the ground.

The rest of the course continued to be a mix of the two types of droids in varying numbers while his senses continued to be impaired. Surprisingly, it was less difficult for Don as compared to the training he did in the Oldtown Catacombs.

By the time he reached the end of the course, his body was aching, and his clothes were drenched in sweat. He had taken a few hits, but his regeneration abilities had kicked in, healing the worst of his injuries.

'This course is more technical and but it I don't know, it lacks edge. Maybe it's because of the difficulty,' Don thought as the final door opened. The lights brightened, and he stumbled out, panting heavily.

Miss Claire was standing there, arms crossed, watching him with a critical eye. "Not bad," she said, her tone giving nothing away.

Don nodded, too exhausted to respond.