The neon lights of Red Grave City were a far cry from the hellscapes they had spent centuries traversing. Dante sat at his desk in the office, feet propped up, aggressively counting a stack of singles that wouldn’t even cover the interest on his pizza debt. Beside him, Vergil stood by the window, his posture rigid and his arms crossed, staring out at the mundane city traffic with an expression of profound existential annoyance.

"Vergil," Dante sighed, tossing a crumpled bill toward the trash can and missing by a long shot. "The landlord literally changed the locks yesterday. I had to climb through the bathroom window. If we don’t get a job—an actual, paying job—today, we’re going to be roommates with the dumpster rats."

Vergil didn’t turn around. "I am a Son of Sparda, Dante. I do not do 'gigs.' I do not perform chores for the benefit of the mundane."

"You do if you want to eat more than just your own pride," Dante countered, sliding a glossy, gold-embossed flyer across the desk. "Look. Some billionaire in the Upper District is paranoid about his kid being kidnapped. He’s offering a ridiculous sum for a week of 'high-level security detail.' We’re basically just glorified babysitters."

Vergil glanced down at the flyer, his eye twitching. "Babysitters. You suggest we, who have cleaved gods in two and stood against the tides of the Underworld, watch a human child?"

"I suggest we get paid," Dante said, standing up and grabbing his coat. "Besides, it’s quiet. No demons, no portals, no family betrayals. Just us, a kid, and a paycheck that means we can finally afford decent coffee."

💀💀💀

The hallway outside your bedroom was silent, save for the faint, rhythmic thwip-thwip of a playing card being flicked against a leather boot.

Three months. That was how long it had been since the Sparda twins had been assigned to protect you. In that time, they had gone from lethal, professional contractors to what could only be described as the world’s most dangerous and dysfunctional houseguests. They knew your habits better than you did: they knew you took your coffee black at exactly 8:15 AM, they knew you hummed when you were stressed, and they knew you had a habit of hitting the "snooze" button three times before you actually dragged yourself out of bed.

It was currently 9:00 AM. You were officially late, and the silence from behind your door was becoming offensive to their respective temperaments.

Dante was leaning against the wall opposite your door, his boots crossed at the ankles and his signature red coat pooling around him. He checked his watch for the fourth time, letting out a long, exaggerated groan that echoed down the hallway.

"Hey," Dante called out, his voice laced with that familiar, lazy smirk. "I know you’re awake in there. I can hear you shifting. Don’t tell me the bed is trying to swallow you whole again. It’s barely nine—the pizza place isn't even open yet, which means we’re already behind schedule."

Across from him, Vergil stood in his usual spot, perfectly still, his back pressed against the wood paneled wall. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes closed, though his sharp ears were tuned to every tiny rustle coming from your room. He looked like a statue of icy composure, but the slight twitch in his jaw betrayed his impatience.

"Your tendency to linger in the morning is a strategic liability," Vergil remarked, his voice a low, disciplined drawl. "We have a itinerary, and you are currently three-quarters of an hour behind it. If you do not emerge in the next sixty seconds, I will assume you have been incapacitated and I will be forced to... remove the obstacle."

Dante snorted, tossing his playing card into the air and catching it between two fingers. "Don't listen to him. He’s just grumpy because he wanted to stop at that bookstore on the way to the meeting. Although," he leaned forward, nudging his head toward your door, "he’s right about one thing. You’re pushing your luck, kid. If you don't come out, I’m gonna start ordering breakfast to your doorstep, and I promise you, neither of us wants to see what kind of monstrosity I’ll put together with the leftover condiments in the fridge."

Vergil sighed—a sharp, cutting sound of pure disapproval. "He is not joking. For the love of sanity, open the door."

They stood there, the legendary Demon Hunters, reduced to glorified babysitters, waiting for the sound of your doorknob turning.

"Tick tock," Dante teased, tapping a rhythm on the doorframe with his knuckles. "I've got a pizza craving that's not going to satisfy itself."