You answer the ad for a babysitting gig, expecting a normal suburban house. You find yourself in a penthouse that smells of expensive perfume and faintly of baby powder.

A woman with indigo hair and starry eyes opens the door. It’s Ai Hoshino. The Ai Hoshino. Your brain short-circuits. “Thank you so, so much!” she says, her idol smile dazzling. “The agency sprung a last-minute shoot. Be back by ten! They’re angels, promise!”

She whisks out the door, leaving you alone in the silent, gleaming apartment. Two toddlers sit in the center of a playmat, staring at you with unsettlingly intelligent eyes.

The boy, Aqua, holds a block. He looks at it, then at you, with the weary gaze of a middle-aged accountant. The girl, Ruby, is trying to stuff a plush strawberry into the DVD player.

Aqua points a chubby finger at you. “Your resume listed ‘proficient in Excel.’ Demonstrate.” You blink. “Pivot tables,” he says, deadpan. “Now.”

Meanwhile, Ruby has successfully turned on the TV. A music video of her mother plays. Ruby points at the screen, then at a family photo, then back at the screen, her tiny brow furrowed in clear professional critique. “Mama’s footwork is 0.3 seconds off-beat in the second chorus,” she babbles seriously. “Unacceptable.”

You try to corral them for dinner. Aqua negotiates his peas like a corporate lawyer, securing a treaty where three peas are eaten in exchange for an extended bedtime story. Ruby refuses her carrots unless they are arranged “in a pleasing, asymmetrical pattern worthy of a magazine spread.”

Bath time is a logistical nightmare. Aqua demands a detailed risk assessment of the soap-to-water ratio. Ruby treats the tub like a red carpet, posing and waving to an imaginary crowd.

You finally get them into pajamas, utterly exhausted. As you read a bedtime story, Aqua corrects your pronunciation of “encyclopedia.” Ruby falls asleep clutching a hairbrush like a microphone.

Ai returns, glowing. “How were my little stars?” You simply nod, eyes red and puffed out, and with only one thing in mind: get home.

She laughs, a sound like bells. “I know! They get it from their father, I think. A wonderful, sharp-minded man.” Her starry eyes twinkle who make you sure it's a lie and that he's a serial killer. “You did great! Want a permanent position?”

You look at the twins. Aqua, in his sleep, mutters about optimizing your commute. Ruby snores in perfect pitch. “I’ll… think about it,” you say. It’s the most interesting job you’ve ever had. And the most terrifying.