Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Outside the virtual world, the Tex family's reactions to Dominic's defeat yet again played out in a tense display of emotions.

Mr. Tex's face had turned a deep shade of red, his thick fingers gripping the armrests of his seat tightly. Suddenly, he jerked forward and turned his head toward Elliot.

"What in tarnation is your brother doin' out there?" Mr. Tex asked, his voice echoing through the lounge area. **THUMP** His fist came down hard on the armrest.

Elliot sank deeper into his seat, his shoulders hunching as he tried to make himself smaller. Before he could even think of responding, Mr. Tex had already whirled away, his arm shooting out to point at the massive screen where the replay footage showed Dominic's death in crystal clarity.

"How hard is it to check yer goddamn corners?" Mr. Tex's voice grew even louder, causing the others, even the little girl, to look his way. "And them crouchin' positions? These are the fuckin' basics, for Christ's sake!"

**tap tap tap**

Mrs. Tex's manicured nails clicked rapidly against her phone screen as she stared intently downward, avoiding her husband's gaze.

Meanwhile, in the virtual world, Dominic stood rooted in the center of the barn's dusty ground floor.

His virtual avatar's hands trembled slightly as he processed the reality of his situation - down by five points without landing a single kill. The thought made his stomach turn.

"This ain't happenin'," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "This just ain't right."

Despite the overwhelming emotions, his competitive instincts kicked in, overriding his shock. With quick movements, he sprinted toward the wooden ladder leading to the second floor, his boots **THUDDING** against each rung as he climbed.

The hay-strewn loft creaked under his weight as he moved swiftly to the hole in the roof where Don had made his earlier shot.

**Click~**

The familiar weight of his sniper rifle materialized in his hands as he switched loadouts. Dropping to one knee, he pressed his eye against the scope, his breathing steady as he trained his sights on the farmhouse's master bedroom window.

"Come on out, you sneaky son of a gun," Dominic whispered, his finger tensing on the trigger.

Through his scope, he caught the briefest flash of movement - that of Don's figure darting past the window frame.

Dominic's trigger finger responded instantly.

**CRACK**

The shot echoed across the map, but Dominic knew even before the bullet reached its target that he'd been too slow. The round shattered the window glass a fraction of a second after Don had cleared the frame and left the room.

"Dammit!" Dominic hissed, pulling back from his scope.

The sharp **CRACK** of Dominic's rifle also echoed through the farmhouse as his bullet pierced the master bedroom window, sailing through empty space before embedding itself in the hallway wall.

Don, who had just stepped out of the room, spun around and dropped into a crouch in one fluid motion. His assault rifle snapped up, scanning for targets, but found only empty space.

His eyes narrowed as they traced the bullet's trajectory from the hole in the wall back. The angle told him everything he needed to know about his opponent's position.

"Damn, he's quick on the trigger," Don muttered under his breath. "If he catches me in the open, I'm done for."

Without hesitation, Don sprinted for the stairs, his footsteps quick as he descended. He went on to burst into the living room, his eyes immediately fixing on the heavy vintage couch dominating the space. A plan immediately formed in his mind as he holstered his weapon and grabbed the furniture.

"Let's see if this works," he grunted, pushing against the couch. To his satisfaction, it slid across the wooden floor with a drawn-out **SCRAAAPE**. With this confirmed, he maneuvered it until it blocked the front entrance of the house completely, creating an impromptu barricade.

After this, Don settled into position behind the couch, his rifle trained not on the door but on the stairs and doorways leading to the other rooms. He regulated his breathing, keeping his movements minimal as he covered all potential entry points.

Don remained silent, his finger resting lightly on the trigger as he listened in for any noise or footsteps.

He'd created a perfect defensive position - if Dominic tried to force his way through the front door, Don could simply pivot and fire through it. The couch would provide extra protection from return fire. But Don's instincts told him Dominic would opt for a different approach.

The digital clock in Don's HUD showed five minutes remaining. He allowed himself a small smile, knowing he'd forced Dominic into a corner. Either he would have to make a move, or Don would win by default when time ran out.

Through the hole in the barn's roof, Dominic yanked his rifle back in frustration, letting out a string of colorful curses while stomping his boot against the wooden floor.

"Dadgum son of a-" **CRACK** The floorboards beneath him, already weakened by Don's earlier escape, gave way with a thunderous snap. Dominic's eyes widened as he plummeted through the opening, his arms flailing before landing with a **THUMP** onto a pile of hay below.

"Sweet Mary!" he exclaimed, pushing himself up and brushing hay from his body.

His face burned red with humiliation and the thought of Don probably camping somewhere made his blood boil even more. With five kills down and time ticking away, Dominic knew he had to swallow his pride and play the hunter instead of the sniper.

"Reckon I got no choice but to flush out that yellow-bellied varmint," he muttered, reaching for a smoke grenade. With steady aim, he lobbed it toward the barn's entrance.

**HISS** The smoke billowed out, creating a thick gray curtain.

Using the cloud of smoke for cover, Dominic sprinted from the barn, his boots kicking up dirt as he made a beeline for the lone tree in the field. Once there, he pressed his back against the rough bark, bringing his scope up to scan for movement.

Nothing but silence greeted him.

"Slippery as a greased pig," he whispered, dropping to his belly. The dry grass scratched against his chest as he crawled toward the rusted tractor not too far, sliding underneath its massive frame before emerging on the other side, rifle at the ready.

Still no sign of Don.

"Must be in a corner or under some furniture..." Dominic's eyes narrowed as he analyzed the farmhouse. The kitchen window, already broken, offered the perfect entry point with its central counter for immediate cover.

Moving swiftly but cautiously, he approached the window. Glass crunched under his boots as he vaulted through, immediately dropping behind the counter. His breathing was controlled now as he began creeping out of the kitchen in a crouch.

'He's gotta be upstairs,' Dominic thought, his grip tightening on his rifle. 'Ain't nowhere else for him to hide.'

As he emerged from the kitchen, his focus remained locked on the staircase ahead, barrel trained upward for any sign of movement. The old house creaked around him, but Dominic's concentration never wavered from those stairs.

What he failed to notice was the subtle shadow behind him, where Don crouched just meters away, his finger curled around the trigger. The hunter had become the hunted, and Dominic had walked right into the trap.

'This here's gonna be my moment,' Dominic thought, completely unaware of his imminent doom.