Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Chapter 658 - 668: Not A Hero (Part 8)

Even through the speakers, Colonel Voss’s voice carried naturally through the hangar. The amplification almost felt unnecessary.Don searched his memory out of habit and found nothing.

No recognition. No prior files.

Just another military officer.

Colonel Voss let his eyes travel across the crowd before speaking again. This time his tone changed slightly. Less formal.

"I can’t imagine how most of you feel tonight." His gaze moved slowly through the gathered civilians and superhumans alike.

"I wasn’t in Santos City when it happened. I didn’t lose friends. I didn’t watch my neighborhood burn. I didn’t crawl through darkness wondering if I’d see morning."

The crowd stayed quiet.

A few people near the front lowered their heads. Others stared at him without blinking.

Don noticed one man clenching and unclenching his bloodied hands beside a woman wrapped in a thermal blanket.

"But I’ll tell you what I do feel."

Voss paused.

"I feel angry."

The word landed hard enough to change the air in the room.

"Angry that this happened. Angry that good people died while others ran. Angry that I’m standing here asking civilians to help clean up a mess that never should have been made in the first place."

Movement spread subtly through the crowd after that. Tightened jaws. Nods. Shoulders straightening.

The Colonel knew exactly what he was doing.

Don watched the cadence carefully. The pauses. The roughness in his voice. The way he shifted from sympathy to outrage without overplaying either side. It wasn’t fake. That was the irritating part.

But it also wasn’t entirely real.

It was crafted.

Leadership theater built for desperate people searching for direction after surviving hell.

And judging by the reactions around him, it was working.

Several men near the front exchanged grim looks with each other. Someone muttered agreement under their breath.

Another survivor wiped at his eyes before crossing his arms again like he hadn’t.

Loss had left most of them cracked open. Voss was simply pouring his words directly into the fractures.

Don understood the mechanism even if it didn’t affect him the same way.

He felt angry too. A little.

Just not enough for speeches to hook into it.

He glanced sideways toward Pyro.

His jaw had tightened noticeably. His eyes stayed fixed on the platform ahead, expression hardening with every sentence.

Something had landed there.

Don didn’t comment on it. Just looked forward again.

Voss raised one hand toward the display screens beside him.

"Here’s what we’re asking. Not ordering. Asking."

The screens behind him shifted immediately, displaying overhead maps of Santos City divided into sectors marked with colored classifications and military symbols.

"We need bodies for already-scouted rescue zones. Going in with military escorts to recover survivors trapped in collapsed structures."

The display changed again. Images of ruined streets. Crushed apartment buildings. Emergency routes marked in red.

"We need debris clearance teams for additional camp expansion. Building sweeps in sectors we’ve already cleared but still need confirmed secure."

Another image appeared. Half-collapsed highways clogged with wreckage.

"We need people willing to distribute supplies. Assist medical transport. Maintain communication relay points between sectors where infrastructure is still down."

Voss paused briefly as another set of images rolled across the screens behind him.

Some of the pictures were bad.

Covered bodies beneath tarps. Burned intersections. Sections of the city that looked bombed flat.

"Some of these assignments sound simple," he continued. "Some aren’t. A cleared sector can still contain infected that were missed. Debris recovery can uncover things you don’t want to find."

His face hardened slightly.

"I won’t stand here pretending this work is safe. It isn’t. But it’s necessary. Every person who steps forward means another soldier can focus on active containment zones."

That settled over the crowd differently.

The emotional swell from earlier began colliding with reality.

People exchanged looks now. Uncertain ones.

A woman near the left side of the hangar folded her arms tightly around herself while staring at the rescue maps.

Someone else quietly backed toward the exits without fully leaving yet.

Voss raised a hand before the uncertainty could spiral further.

"This isn’t mandatory. I want to make that absolutely clear. Nobody here is being conscripted. Nobody is being forced into service."

His eyes swept across the room carefully.

"But your help would make a difference. We’re stretched thin. Every able-bodied volunteer means more ground covered. More survivors found. More lives pulled out before it’s too late."

He paused again.

"And for some of you..." His tone lowered slightly. "Considering current circumstances, these assignments may transition into paid temporary relief work. If you’ve lost your home. Your job. Your support structure. The Defense Committee has authorized compensation for civilian assistance during emergency operations."

That shifted the atmosphere again.

Don noticed it immediately.

People perked up at that part.

Not emotionally this time.

Practically.

Money mattered when your apartment building no longer existed.

Before Voss could continue, a voice suddenly cut through the crowd.

"Wait!"

Heads turned toward the middle section of the hangar.

A lean man in torn clothing pushed slightly forward through the bodies around him. Late twenties maybe.

Athletic build beneath grime and dried blood. His eyes looked bloodshot from either exhaustion or earlier panic.

"What if we want to join the UPSDF?"

Murmurs spread instantly afterward.

"Yeah!"

"We’ve been doing your damn work already!"

"Give us real assignments then!"

"We should be soldiers too!"

The orderly atmosphere started fraying around the edges as more voices joined in.

Don watched Voss carefully during it.

The Colonel’s face barely changed, but a muscle near his jaw tightened once.

Interesting.

Voss raised both hands slowly.

"Quiet. Quiet down."

He didn’t yell.

Didn’t need to.

The authority in his voice cut through the noise on its own.

Once the shouting faded enough, he lowered his arms again.

"I cannot process direct enlistment into the UPSDF. That violates the Harlow Defense Regulation Act regarding emergency personnel designation versus active duty integration."

Half the crowd looked confused immediately.

"Different legal frameworks," Voss continued. "Different oversight. Different chains of command."

A wave of disappointed muttering spread through the hangar.

Then Voss added—

"However."

The room focused again almost instantly.

"Depending on your performance during relief operations, the Defense Committee would absolutely consider direct entry into future recruitment pathways."

That landed hard.

People straightened again.

Even the frustrated ones.

"Regardless of age," Voss continued. "If you demonstrate capability. Discipline. Aptitude. Then yes—there are pathways available."

His tone hardened slightly.

"Pathways. Not promises."

Another voice rang out from somewhere off to the side.

"What about better roles?"

An older man this time. Broad shoulders. Bruised face.

"I’m not dragging debris while soldiers get all the action. I can fight. Put me where it matters."

Several others immediately chimed in after him.

"Yeah!"

"We survived this shit too!"

"Give us combat assignments!"

Don felt his expression flatten further as the complaints spread.

There it was.

Fear twisting itself into ego.

People who’d barely survived one nightmare already trying to negotiate status inside the next one.

He understood the instinct behind it. Control. Relevance. Power.

Still left a sour taste in his mouth.

Voss shut it down immediately.

"No."

The single word cracked through the hangar hard enough to kill the rising noise outright.

The rehearsed sympathy disappeared from his face completely.

"This isn’t a negotiation."

His voice rose slightly.

"Your countrymen are still dying out there."

Nobody interrupted him this time.

"The soldiers you want to stand beside left their families behind to come here. Not because the government pays well—because it doesn’t. They came because somebody had to."

His eyes swept through the crowd slowly.

"So you can help. Or you can step aside. But you will not stand in my hangar demanding special treatment while people bleed in the streets."

The effect was immediate.

Several of the louder civilians looked away. Others folded back into themselves quietly.

Nobody challenged him again.

Voss straightened fully before speaking one final time.

"The announcement is over. Here’s how this works."

He gestured toward several tables arranged along the right side of the hangar where UPSDF personnel stood beside tablets and registration equipment.

"Those interested in assisting—stay behind. You’ll be processed, assigned, and briefed."

Then toward the exits.

"Those not interested may return to the camps. You’ll be cleared to leave Santos City once surrounding sectors are deemed secure. Until then, all designated zones remain restricted. Do not test that restriction."

A man near the back shouted, "How long is that supposed to take?!"

Voss answered without hesitation.

"Days. Maybe longer. We don’t know yet."

Frustrated murmurs spread again, though weaker this time.

Then came the final part.

"If you’re still standing in this hangar in five minutes," Voss said evenly, "it will be considered consent for registration."

The reaction came immediately afterward.

Some people turned for the exits without wasting another second.

Others hesitated in place, speaking quietly with friends or relatives nearby.

A handful already started moving toward the registration tables.

The massive hangar slowly began thinning out as bodies filtered toward different choices.

Don stayed exactly where he was.

He could leave.

Walk back to the tents. Wait for the quarantine to end. Go home afterward.

No obligation.

No responsibility.

He wasn’t military. Wasn’t one of SHQ’s shining heroes either. He’d already done more than enough surviving tonight.

His eyes shifted sideways toward Pyro again.

He hadn’t moved an inch toward the exits.

Of course not.

Pyro looked planted where he stood already. Decision made long before the speech even started.

’One of the real ones.’

Don looked away before the thought could linger too long.

Instead he turned his attention toward the registration tables across the hangar.

His expression gave nothing away.

That irritated him slightly too.

Because he still hadn’t left.

And that meant something.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the borrowed clothes hanging off his frame. Plain shirt. Loose military pants. Boots that still felt stiff around the ankles.

No comms.

No contacts.

No gear.

Nothing except what his body could already do.

’Five minutes.’

Still time to walk away.

Still time to decide.