Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 370: Don Vs Everyone (Part 5)

Don's words hung in the air like smoke from a slow burn.

The students around William hadn't moved much—still scattered, some brushing off dust, others still trying to understand what they'd just witnessed. But their murmurs... those didn't stop.

And William heard every single one.

"Wait, he's supposed to be the top of Category A? We're doomed then."

"He's not even in the same league. This isn't fair"

"No wonder they never let him into the Elite Hero Program..."

That one hit different.

William clenched his teeth. His nails dug into his palms.

**Thmp**

His fist struck the ground like a war drum—once, hard, and honest. The grass flattened under his hand as the impact sent a low rumble outward.

Loose dirt vibrated. Nearby students staggered back or outright dropped to one knee, off balance from the sudden shock.

A few cursed under their breath.

William didn't notice.

His eyes were different now. Arched with fury, blood rising behind the green like floodwater behind a cracking dam. He pushed off the ground in one fluid motion and launched himself back onto the stage, the leap carrying him high over Don's head.

**Whfff—clack**

He landed further behind Don, brushing off grass and dirt from his bodysuit with sharp, agitated swipes.

Don turned slowly. Calmly. No sudden movement, no tension in his frame. Just pivoted and met William's eyes.

No words.

There was nothing more to say.

Too much would ruin the mood.

[Chat-12-A]

donLuvr88: HE'S BACK???

Killjoy: bro took that personally

user92: Okay but the LEAP was kinda cool

HexDoll: pls Don hit him harder this time

LinzRiot: This is so painful to watch... and I LOVE IT

D-Watcher: this some gladiator type disrespect

CorpScan_bot: **Comments flagged for incitement**

———

The announcer, recovering from the last shockwave, cleared his throat audibly before speaking.

"William Barns has decided to have another go. Begin at the sound of the horn."

Another silence rolled in.

Some students were still dusting themselves off from the shockwave earlier. A few glared toward the stage—not at Don this time. At William.

The sympathy was thinning.

Don said nothing. His posture barely changed.

William's eyes stayed locked forward.

His palms were clammy now. His heart thudded loud enough for him to hear it in his ears. He bent his knees slightly, preparing to burst forward the moment the sound dropped.

And it did.

**BWAAAAAM**

The horn roared again, and William surged forward.

**Whhff—thmp**

Muscles fired in perfect order—hips twisting, calves launching, arms pumping. His boots cracked against the surface of the stage as he raced forward, faster than before, more desperate, less calculated.

He was going to land a hit. Had to.

Don didn't move.

William's fist flew toward Don's face, straight and fast.

**Crack**

It never landed.

Don didn't dodge.

He stepped in.

And kicked.

The crack that followed wasn't the stage—it was William's right leg folding at an angle it didn't like. His knee buckled, pain shooting up his side. His punch grazed Don's chest with enough force to make him shift a step back.

But that was all.

Don didn't even wince. He looked down at the pain-staggered William like he'd just been bumped into on a subway.

William grit his teeth hard, one knee on the ground, trying to recalibrate through the ringing.

'Did he aim for my recovering leg on purpose?No, how could he possibly know?' he thought, vision swimming for a second. 'This bastard...'

He raised his head, bloodshot and burning—

—and saw a boot.

**BAM**

The kick snapped his head back with sharp finality. His neck whipped. His feet left the ground again.

**Whff—thmp—thmp—scrrrrk**

He hit the dirt.

Again.

This time, the other students didn't hesitate. They scattered before he landed.

He rolled twice before coming to a stop in a heap of limbs and curses.

The field didn't explode in noise. It didn't need to.

The silence was crueler.

Don strolled to the edge of the platform again, brushing his wrist as if cleaning it off.

"You have one more chance," he said.

His tone was still flat. Still calm.

"Though," he added, "I'm sure people would understand if you gave up."

No smugness. No mockery. Just quiet condescension wrapped in reason.

And that made it worse. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

William stayed down longer this time.

Not from injury. From everything else.

The look in Don's eyes didn't say you're weak.

It said you don't matter.

And that was harder to recover from.

This time, the horn didn't even bother with a delay.

**BWAAAAAM**

The announcer's voice followed immediately. Crisp.

"That round also goes to Don Bright. Six total points for him. Zero for William Barns."

There was no commentary. No pause for effect. Just raw data. The announcer's job wasn't to console egos—he was a glorified scoreboard with a microphone. But somehow, that made it worse.

William was still on the ground, dust in his teeth, grass clinging to the folds of his bodysuit, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His right leg swelling in warning. A reminder that even with enhanced healing tech, trauma had its own schedule.

The pain didn't bother him much.

The silence did.

No cheers. No concern.

Just the whisper-quiet clicks of students taking mental notes on what not to do. Or who not to fight.

He raised his head. Not slow. Not with dignity. Just quick—defiant and desperate.

Don hadn't moved.

Still at the edge of the stage, arms loose, stance casual. Not a scratch on him. His hair hadn't even shifted. He looked like he'd just finished a light jog, not two sanctioned combat rounds.

William's hands curled into fists. His nails bit into skin.

He pushed up, his foot slipping slightly in the dirt before he found balance again. He didn't limp. Not because he wasn't hurt—but because limping would've meant the pain won. He wouldn't give anyone that image.

"I'll fight again," he said, voice confident through clenched teeth.

And the world exploded.

[Chat-12-A]

donLuvr88: IS HE FOR REAL???

Voidblade: buddy please. just stay down.

HexDoll: this is getting hard to watch and I LOVE pain

Killjoy: nah man this pride thing is killing him

LinzRiot: there's brave, and then there's this

D-Watcher: He's gonna get career-ended in 3D

user92: sponsors watching like 👁👄👁

CorpScan_bot: **17 flagged messages. Please moderate content**

———

Back in the VIP booth, Charles didn't even look up from his phone.

He simply crossed one leg over the other, his foot dangling idly. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face.

"A shame it had to come to this," he said aloud, his tone as light as the champagne in his other hand. "I genuinely feel sorry for anyone who invested in William."

He finally glanced up, eyes lazy.

"He really does look like he has potential. It's a pity."

The booth didn't breathe.

"Though now I'm sure his mentality will take a dive… and image-wise—well, we both know sponsors don't like investing in anyone that gets beaten that badly. But who knows?" he said with a soft shrug. "Maybe he'll shine in the other fights."

His gaze drifted sideways.

"Right, Dean Sanchez?"

Dean Sanchez's stomach turned.

He kept smiling. Of course he did. He nodded like someone listening to praise, not a funeral eulogy.

"Yes… of course," he said, his voice a bit too high, a bit too dry. "Of course."

The other board members weren't as composed.

One of them leaned back, brow furrowed. Another muttered something under their breath and scribbled quickly into a tablet.

They weren't concerned for William.

They were worried about bonuses.

Because fewer sponsored students meant less revenue.

Less revenue meant tighter belts.

And no corporate board ever liked that.

They couldn't stop this. Couldn't interfere. Couldn't even look like they wanted to interfere. Not with cameras on them and Charles in the booth like a predator in silk.

Dean Sanchez inhaled, deep and slow, trying to steady the sinking feeling in his gut.

'It's fine,' he told himself. 'Even if William's stock takes a hit, he'll still attract sponsors. He's got raw skill. Charisma. A clean record.'

That thought clung to him like a lifeline.

Unfortunately for Dean Sanchez… he was wrong.

And he'd learn that very soon.