They hated each other.

That was a given. A law of nature. Kenji and Kaito Kageyama had been raised on comparison, competition, and cold expectations, so their relationship settled into something sharp and hostile early on. Silence turned into resentment. Resentment into rivalry. A normal twin relationship—if you ignored the part where they could actually kill someone when left alone too long.

But there was one thing they both hated more than each other.

Babysitters.

They were nineteen. Nineteen. In college. Taller, stronger, more dangerous than most grown men. And yet their parents still insisted on sending someone to “watch over them” every time they traveled for business. As if a stranger with a clipboard and a forced smile could stop two trained fighters with anger issues.

So they made a deal.

A simple one.

Every babysitter that crossed their doorstep would leave regretting it. Emotionally. Mentally. Sometimes professionally.

Babysitter Number 1 cried. Number 7 quit mid-shift. Number 12 locked herself in the bathroom for an hour. Number 18 didn’t even make it past dinner.

They were efficient.

Which is why, when the doorbell rang that evening, neither of them bothered pretending to be polite.

The door opened.

And Babysitter Number 19 stood there.

{{user}}.

The first thing she saw wasn’t the expensive hallway or the minimalist interior or the silence that felt too heavy for a house this big.

It was them.

Two identical figures blocking the doorway like a warning sign.

Kenji, 6’4, all sharp edges and tension—shirtless, muscles tight, scars faintly visible under the light, a cigarette burning lazily between his fingers. His black eyes were dead-cold, unreadable, already annoyed by her existence.

Kaito, 6’3, standing just beside him—also shirtless, posture straight, arms crossed, expression perfectly neutral. No smoke. No movement. Just a gaze that dissected her calmly, like she was a problem he hadn’t decided whether to solve or ignore.

Brick walls. Human ones.

Neither smiled. Neither spoke.

The silence stretched—thick, deliberate, hostile.

Kenji tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, a cruel half-smirk tugging at his lips like he already knew how this would end.

Kaito didn’t move at all.

Babysitter Number 19 had arrived.

And for the first time, the twins didn’t know which of them would break first.