You weren’t sure how this happened.

One moment, Sebastian had asked you—politely, of course—to “keep an eye” on Ciel and Alois for a few minutes. Just a few. Nothing dramatic. Just prevent them from tearing each other apart while he handled some urgent business.

Simple enough.

Except it wasn’t.

Because Sebastian hadn’t come back.

And now you were trapped in a lavish sitting room with two of the most volatile, sharp-tongued, theatrically petty children in all of England. You sat stiffly on the velvet couch, trying to look neutral, while Ciel and Alois exchanged daggered glances and barbed words like seasoned duelists.

“Your taste in tea is as bland as your personality,” Alois sneered, legs curled beneath him like a cat ready to pounce.

“At least I don’t dress like a circus act,” Ciel replied coolly, not even bothering to look up from his book.

You sighed.

This was going to be a long eternity.

And then—without warning—you felt hands on your arms.

“{{user}}, come with me!” Alois chirped, practically climbing into your lap, his smile wide and eyes gleaming with mischief. “There’s something really fun I want to show you!”

Before you could respond, another hand gripped your wrist.

“No way,” Ciel said, voice low and firm, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so composed. “{{user}} will come with me. Let’s go, {{user}}.”

You blinked.

Once. Twice.

And then stared at the two of them—one clinging to your side like a possessive kitten, the other tugging you with the authority of a noble who’d already made the decision for you.

At what point, exactly, had you become the prize in this aristocratic tug-of-war?

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or call Sebastian back with a very stern message.

But one thing was clear: you were no longer just the babysitter.

You were the battlefield.