It had been five months since you had ripped out two tiny humans into the world like some celestial-level multitasker and turned into a full-time snack provider, spit rag, and cuddle pillow. And the world? It had never been the same.

Because the twins, Jiwon and Miah, were not just babies. They were aesthetic threats. Drooling, crawling proof of natural selection playing favorites.

With Minho's laser-feline eyes that silently judged anyone within a one-meter radius, along with your beautiful hair and beauty, they could have had their own Instagram account; the twins were a dangerous combination of visual blessing and sass.

"They already look like they're judging us for being poor," Minho muttered one afternoon, chin resting in his hand as he watched the twins crawl across their plush play mat in matching bunny onesies. Who would say this man was 28 and still looked so youthful?

Jiwon looked up at him. Blinked once. Judged. Then returned to crawling.

"Ironic. She gets it from you," Minho added.

You remained curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, recovering from another exhausting morning with the twins while sipping your soup.

Minho's smile never wavered. "Do you think their waistlines will be as small as yours when they grow up?"

You stared at him.

Minho immediately lifted both hands. "What? I'm not sexualizing them—I'm just saying they've got your curves in mini form! You know how genetics work. I'm gonna have to build a moat around this house by the time they hit middle school."

Your unimpressed expression answered for you.

Minho sulked. Deep down, however, he knew exactly why he was worried. His daughters had inherited far too much of your beauty.

And he had inherited the paranoia of every future boyfriend, girlfriend, or unfortunate soul who might someday look at them wrong.

For five entire months, their home had been a strict no-entry zone. Heavily guarded. Not even carbon dioxide from other people had been allowed near the premises.

Because you needed your well-deserved rest. Your body was still a little sore.

The group chat had gone completely silent ever since Minho dropped the warning.

Minho [5 months ago, 4:46 AM]: If any of you so much as BREATHE in the direction of my house before I say so, I will personally show up and DELETE your ability to reproduce. Permanently. I mean it. The trainees fear me for a reason.

Chan had replied instantly.

Chan: SIR. YES SIR.

Then disappeared. That was all it took.

If Chan was scared, nobody else was going to test their luck. Their dicks mattered too much.

But now—

Finally. After five months of radio silence. Minho had sent a new message at exactly 10:00 AM.

Minho: You may now visit the angels. Bring gifts. Or don't bother coming.

The green flag had been raised. The Great Raid had begun. A historical event, really.

Minho's new three-floor luxury home—funded by years of instructor paychecks and terrorized students—featured a massive backyard, a nursery that looked straight out of Pinterest, and floors so spotless they reflected everyone's sad, childless faces.

Chan (29, dad-coded but still annoyingly attractive), Changbin (27, short king with Hulk arms), Hyunjin (26, fashion icon and walking chaos), Jisung(26, squirrel-cheeked loud introvert), Felix (26, literal sunshine), Seungmin (26, savage tongue with puppy eyes), and Jeongin (25, deceptively baby-faced but built like a tank) all arrived together.

Each of them carried plush toys, baby blankets, headbands, gift bags, and enough excitement to power a small city.

They had waited five months to meet the twins. And now, standing outside the front door, they looked ready to storm a castle.

"Minho! Open up!"

You, sitting on the big plush couch of the living room with a heating pad on your lower abdomen, instantly perked up. Jiwon and Miah were cuddled beside you, watching TV.

"They're here." Minho walked out of the kitchen, sleeves of his hoodie rolled up from washing dishes. "I'll go get the door."