Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of one of the few places that stood out in this desolate part of town—a brightly lit building with a marquee announcing itself as

*Theatre of Nightmares.*

The words were spelled out in bold Greek letters above the entrance, giving the place an eerie grandeur. The theater's exterior was decorated with dramatic splashes of color, a contrast to the surrounding gloom, though the garishness only added to the unsettling atmosphere it presented.

The driver stepped out, hastily moving to open Barclay's door. He slid out with a calm smoothness, adjusting his dark suit as he rose to his full height.

His polished shoes made a soft *tap* against the wet concrete, the fog swirling slightly around his ankles as he straightened his cuffs.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, looking around with even more of a frown.

As he began to walk toward the theater, his driver hesitated, calling after him, "Sir, should I escort you?"

Without even glancing back, Barclay replied, "I'll be fine."

He strode forward, his steps steady yet brisk as he crossed the empty sidewalk. He wrinkled his nose at the faint odor hanging in the air—that of rotting meat and stale grease from one of the makeshift stalls he'd passed along the way.

He could feel the quiet eyes of the district's outcasts on him, though he ignored them entirely, keeping his focus straight ahead.

The theater entrance stood before him, framed by dimly flickering lights. Inside, Harold stepped into the theater lobby, greeted by a stale emptiness.

Dust layered the counters where snacks and movie merchandise might once have been displayed, and any remnants of concession signs were worn and peeling.

The silence felt heavy as he moved along a dimly lit path, noting a faded poster mounted to the wall. It showed two girls in ballerina attire, their faces disfigured and unbalanced, captured by a crude artist's hand. The sight was unsettling but brief as Harold continued on, barely glancing back.

The soft strains of a haunting melody drifted through the narrow hall as he ascended the stairs to the theater's main room.

Once at the top, he paused to take in the scene before him. Instead of rows of seats leading to a large projection screen, a small stage sat at the far end, decrepit and creaking with each soft movement.

Under the dim spotlight danced two women wearing delicate ballerina costumes, thought their body and face were hard to look at. One had a sunken eye, her face marred by uneven, jagged features, while the other's limbs stretched and bent at awkward angles, as though someone had tried to reshape her mid-dance with a bat.

Their movements were slow, but strangely graceful despite their deformities.

Harold's nose wrinkled as the musty, mold-ridden air caught in his throat. He coughed audibly, his voice echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

The sound was enough to startle the two dancers, who froze and looked his way with wide, startled eyes. As soon as they recognized him as a normal man, they scurried off the stage while hiding their faces, vanishing into the shadows.

Harold watched them disappear with a brief look of confusion, but his focus quickly shifted when a figure rose from a seat at the front of the darkened theater.

By the silhouette, he could tell it was a woman, though something unusual stood out—the outline of her hair didn't seem quite right. It appeared to move and sway on its own, a movement that seemed too deliberate.

She remained standing as he started walking down the steps toward her.

Without turning her head, she spoke, her voice low and drawn out with an unsettling, hissing quality. "Why, if it isn't Harold Barclay… To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in my little establishment?"

Her words slithered out with an eerie softness, her speech slightly slurred, as though her tongue had somehow lost its usual ease with language. Harold kept his expression hard, eyes scanning the littered floor and the faded seats scattered about the cinema.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked, frowning.

At this, the figure finally turned, her face still shadowed but her "hair" catching the filtered light from the spotlight. As Harold drew closer, he realized with a slight jolt that it wasn't hair at all—dark, coiling snakes writhed and slithered, their crimson eyes glowing as they twisted atop her head.

"Irene." Harold kept his voice steady as he stepped closer, careful not to show the discomfort her serpentine locks stirred within him. "I'm here to talk business."

Before he could take another step, one of the snakes sprang forward, stopping just inches from his face.

Its forked tongue flicked out with a hiss, and its sharp fangs glistened under the dim light. Harold instinctively shut his eyes, his stance remaining still as Irene's eyes flickered with the same red as her snakes.

She didn't hide the rage simmering within her as she approached, her voice sounding venomous. "You have a lot of nerve coming here after what your company did to me!"
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Her snakes hissed in unison, several slithering close, some brushing against his face, their tongues flicking across his skin while others wound their way into his suit's collar, inching inside.

Harold fought back a grimace, feeling the cold, slick bodies of her snakes creeping against his neck and chest. His voice remained calm, though a flicker of disgust was evident in his tone. "Calm yourself, Irene. You know I was only a shareholder. The one with voting rights that led to your… accident is someone else entirely, you know this. And I'm here to offer you a way to get your revenge."

The snakes paused, retracting slightly as Irene's curiosity took hold. She leaned in closer, bringing her face into a faint shaft of light.

Her skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent, with a sharp jawline and hollowed cheekbones that gave her an eerie, skeletal look. Her eyes glowed with an unnatural red, matching the eyes of her serpentine companions, and a disturbing smile stretched across her face.

As the snakes retracted, they gathered protectively around her shoulders as her eyes narrowed. She then tilted her head, her voice low and full of intrigue.

"Go on, Harold," she whispered. "You have my undivided attention…

**hissss**

…"