Later that afternoon, with nothing but boredom, passive aggression, and forced cohabitation simmering in the air, they found themselves sitting cross-legged on the polished wooden floor of the massive hallway. The entire space was lined with tall windows, the golden glow of the afternoon sun pouring in like honey. Outside, waves lazily kissed the shore, the island's breeze gently rattling the curtains.
Inside? It was Eun-jae versus Caesar. And war had begun.
Between them lay an antique deck of hand-painted cards — black, gold, and crimson — something Caesar claimed had once belonged to an emperor. Next to the deck was a large porcelain bowl filled with perfectly salted kettle chips, which Eun-jae kept hoarding like a dragon guarding treasure.
"I swear," Eun-jae said, glaring as he shuffled the cards for the third time with flair, "if you cheat again, I will throw you into the ocean and make it look like an accident."
Caesar leaned back on his hands, watching him with that same damn smug glint in his eyes. "I never cheat. I simply… bend probability."
"Uh-huh." Eun-jae dealt the cards with aggressive precision, each flick of his wrist full of judgment. "You bend reality, you manipulative bastard. I'm pretty sure if I asked the island's security cameras, they'd show you magically swapping cards with a smile."
Caesar chuckled lowly. "You flatter me. I didn't know you were watching so closely."
"I wasn't." Eun-jae snapped, grabbing a chip and crunching into it with attitude. "I just know the devil when I see him."
They began playing — a fast-paced, chaotic version of a game Caesar called Emperor's Gambit, which felt suspiciously like poker had a baby with UNO and then sent it to a finishing school for the morally corrupt. Eun-jae was convinced Caesar had made up half the rules just to mess with him.
"Okay, okay, wait," Eun-jae said mid-game, squinting at his hand. "How does the black joker cancel the queen unless the queen is flipped with a knight, but only if the moon card has been discarded?"
Caesar shrugged innocently. "It's tradition."
"What tradition?!" Eun-jae screeched. "What ancient noble family sat down one day and decided this hot mess was a logical game?!"
Caesar leaned forward, stealing a chip. "Mine."
"Of course." Eun-jae rolled his eyes so hard he could practically see his own brain. "You rich people and your trauma board games."
"I don't have trauma," Caesar said smoothly, drawing a card. "I cause trauma."
Eun-jae snapped his fingers. "That right there! See? That's why I can't take my eyes off you — I don't know if I'm playing cards or about to get assassinated."
"Again," Caesar said with a smirk, "still watching me."
"You're sitting right there, Caesar! It's not 'watching' if you're actively breathing down my neck like a haunted doll."
Caesar smirked wider. "You know, you get especially animated when you're losing."
"I'm not—" Eun-jae looked at his hand. "…I am losing. Dammit."
"You're cute when you pout."
Eun-jae threw a chip at his face. "Say that again and I will bite you."
Caesar caught the chip mid-air, popped it in his mouth, and chewed. "Kinky."
Eun-jae stared at him for a long, withering second, then calmly grabbed the deck and began to reshuffle.
"I am going to win the next round," he said, voice dangerously sweet. "And when I do, you're giving me full access to the Wi-Fi and the main house TV. No weird tracking, no locked channels, no hidden cameras in the remote."
Caesar placed a hand over his chest dramatically. "You wound me, darling."
"You kidnapped me, Caesar."
"Tomato, tomahto."
They continued playing, the chips slowly disappearing, the cards scattered around them like a storm of strategy and thinly veiled flirtation. The tension in the room shifted — less hostile now, more like the friction of two magnets hovering, not sure whether they were about to snap together or repel apart.
And through it all, the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the floor.
"Hey, Caesar," Eun-jae said softly after a moment, head tilted.
"Yes?"
"Next time you decide to trap someone on your private island, maybe try not tattooing them without consent."
Caesar grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"But then I wouldn't get to see you all fired up and shirtless," he said.
Eun-jae flung a handful of chips at his face. "I'm gonna kill you."
"Get in line, sweetheart," Caesar replied, brushing crumbs off his lap like a prince used to dodging death and sass in equal measure.
Another round of Emperor's Gambit was already underway, the rules now so convoluted that even Caesar seemed to be making things up as they went. Cards lay sprawled between them like the aftermath of a battlefield — some bent, others stained with chip grease. Eun-jae, cross-legged in oversized pajamas, flicked a card at Caesar's forehead with precision and zero remorse.
"Reverse monarchy, bitch," Eun-jae said with a smug grin. "Queen trumps knight. Take that, you manipulative spreadsheet."
Caesar blinked slowly, brushing the card off his shoulder like it was a speck of dust. "You're so dramatic. It's giving theater kid energy."
"And you're giving villain monologue vibes with a side of wine-stained trauma."
Caesar smirked, lazily drawing a card and tossing it into the center pile. "Touché."
The bowl of chips was now half-empty, and Eun-jae had moved on to sipping juice from a wine glass like he was royalty. The setting sun had painted the hallway in gold and rose tones, light glinting off the marble floors and highlighting every sharp edge of Caesar's too-perfect jawline. Of course he looked good in this lighting. The bastard probably paid for it.
"So." Caesar suddenly leaned back against the wall, letting his cards fan lazily in one hand, eyes sharp but curious. "If you weren't an agent... what would you have been?"
Eun-jae didn't hesitate. He didn't even blink.
"A male stripper."
Caesar actually choked.
"You're—serious?" he said between cough-laughs, hand pressed to his chest like Eun-jae had just confessed to being a unicorn hunter.
Eun-jae shrugged with zero shame, popping a chip into his mouth. "Dead serious."
"Like... full-on pole dancing, lap dance, glitter-thighs-type stripper?"
"Exactly." Eun-jae's lips curled in amusement. "I'd be the deluxe package. Private rooms only. No touching unless you're tipping me in solid gold."
Caesar laughed — not the soft, manipulative chuckle he usually did, but a genuine burst of amusement. "God, you're unhinged."
"No. I'm realistic," Eun-jae said with a straight face. "Do you know how much those men make? I'd be shaking ass in slow motion with my bills organized by color."
"Do you even know how to dance?"
"Excuse me, I took interpretive dance in high school. I once made an entire crowd cry during a routine titled The Sadness of Oranges. Don't play with me."
Caesar looked at him like he was both insane and brilliant. "What even—how are you real?"
Eun-jae flipped his hair dramatically. "Genetic accident. God gave me sass, abs, and a tragic backstory. I make it work."
Caesar chuckled, eyeing him with that glint — the one that said he was storing this information for later blackmail or possibly an outfit suggestion.
"Fine. If you were a stripper, I'd be your first customer."
Eun-jae snorted. "Please. You'd be the type to book three VIP sessions and pretend it's for intel."
"I'd be studying... every angle," Caesar said, voice dropping low and flirtatious.
"You're disgusting," Eun-jae muttered, but his cheeks betrayed him — a subtle, traitorous pink rising as he looked away.
"Flattered," Caesar replied, tossing a joker onto the pile. "Now draw three and forfeit your left sock."
Eun-jae froze. "Excuse me?"
"New rule," Caesar said smoothly. "Every time you lose a round, you forfeit clothing."
"Okay, perv—no. We're not turning this into strip-Gambit."
"Says the future exotic dancer."
"I changed my mind. I want to be a librarian now."
"Too late," Caesar purred. "I've already imagined the tassels."
"GOD." Eun-jae groaned, falling back onto the floor and covering his face. "Why are you like this?"
"I was raised by wolves and money," Caesar said casually. "Terrible combination."
Eun-jae peeked through his fingers. "Seriously though... what about you? If you weren't a shady agent-slash-cyber-criminal-slash-war-criminal-light, what would you be?"
Caesar blinked, then leaned his head back, staring up at the ornate ceiling like he'd never considered it.
"I don't know," he said, quieter this time. "Maybe a sculptor. I like working with my hands."
Eun-jae looked at him suspiciously. "You sound way too hot saying that. Don't try to distract me with your artisan fantasy. That's illegal."
Caesar turned, smiled just enough to be dangerous. "Everything I do is illegal."
Eun-jae threw a card at him again. "And yet, here I am, stuck with you like a tragic side character in a soap opera."
"Don't be silly," Caesar whispered, voice almost soft. "You're the main character. Always were."
The silence that followed was thick. Not awkward — just full of something unnamed. Something electric.
Then Eun-jae cleared his throat, tossing his next card.
"Main characters don't lose to rigged decks," he muttered.
"Then bring it, stripper-boy," Caesar said, eyes dancing.
The game had long since dissolved into scattered cards and unfinished chip crumbs, yet neither of them had moved from the floor. The atmosphere had shifted — gone was the chaotic teasing, replaced now by the kind of comfortable silence that only forms between two people who've shared too much and still stuck around.
Eun-jae was slouched back against the edge of the couch, legs stretched out and bare toes wriggling lazily on the rug. Caesar sat cross-legged across from him, one hand propping up his head, the other lazily twirling a king of hearts between his fingers like he was bored of ruling kingdoms in fiction because he'd already done it in real life.
"So," Eun-jae said, voice low but curious, "since you said you're part of royalty, I guess that means you'll be ascending the throne soon, right?"
Caesar didn't even blink. "Mm, no. That's not my job."
Eun-jae tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Huh? What do you mean? You did say you were royalty. Doesn't that make you, like... crown boy?"
"I said I'm royalty," Caesar said smoothly. "But I never said I'm the heir."
Eun-jae sat up straighter, his interest now fully piqued. "Wait, hold up. Then who is?"
Caesar shrugged like it was no big deal, like he wasn't casually dropping palace gossip over chips and sarcasm. "My twin brother."
Eun-jae choked on absolutely nothing. "You're a twin?!"
Caesar grinned, amused by the shock. "Yeah. Identical. Technically."
"You're telling me there are two of you out here traumatizing the world? That's illegal."
He was already reaching across the floor when Caesar lazily unlocked his phone and turned the screen toward him. A photo filled the screen — two tall men in tailored suits, standing side by side in front of what looked like some gilded royal hall. And yeah. Caesar wasn't lying. They were basically copy-pasted.
"Damn," Eun-jae muttered, leaning closer, his fingers brushing Caesar's as he tilted the phone. "Y'all really cloned. Except— oh, okay. This one— your brother—he's got a mole under his eye. And his eyes are like... deeper blue. Not as icy."
Caesar nodded, watching him quietly.
"I assume that's how people tell you apart?" Eun-jae asked.
"Sometimes," Caesar replied. "Most people can't. Which makes things... useful."
Eun-jae blinked at him. "That sounded suspicious."
"It was."
"...Are you gonna elaborate, or just keep being vague and villainous?"
Caesar just smirked.
Eun-jae sighed. "Classic."
He studied the picture again, then side-eyed Caesar. "Is he, like, as evil as you? Or are you the designated dark twin?"
At that, Caesar actually let out a soft laugh. "What does that even mean?"
"You know," Eun-jae said, gesturing wildly. "One's the light twin, full of morals and sparkles, and the other's scheming in the shadows, laughing over poisoned wine and stock market crashes."
"You've been watching too many dramas."
"Answer the question."
Caesar tilted his head, resting his chin on his palm as he thought. "He's not evil. Not like me."
"Wow, you just owned that."
"Why not?" Caesar shrugged. "It's not like I pretend."
"True," Eun-jae muttered. "You do give off I-have-a-secret-lair vibes."
"He's softer than me," Caesar continued. "More... reserved. Diplomatic. Responsible."
"Basically, the boring twin," Eun-jae said, biting into a chip.
Caesar chuckled. "Don't let him hear you say that. He could kill you with a spoon."
Eun-jae blinked. "Wait—so like... what's your dynamic then? Good cop, war criminal cop?"
"Something like that," Caesar said, almost fondly. "He's been groomed for the throne since birth. Public appearances, etiquette, the whole circus. I was the spare. The chaos. The... insurance policy."
"That sounds unhealthy," Eun-jae muttered. "Like, emotionally."
"Isn't everything in royalty?"
"Damn."
There was a pause.
"People call us the evil twins, though," Caesar added casually, as if talking about breakfast preferences.
Eun-jae perked up. "Oh my god, why?"
Caesar's smile turned faintly nostalgic. "We once poured acid on an enemy."
Eun-jae stared at him, deadpan. "What. The actual. Hell?"
"He deserved it," Caesar said nonchalantly, picking at a stray chip.
"Who deserves acid?!"
"You'd be surprised," Caesar replied.
Eun-jae just blinked at him, trying to mentally recalibrate whatever scale he'd been using to measure Caesar's madness. "You know, you do seem like the type of twin who'd go full 'Burn the palace down just to see how fast it crumbles.'"
Caesar gave him a wink. "I prefer slow fires."
"You're a walking red flag. And your brother?"
"Blue flag. Subtle. But just as deadly."
Eun-jae leaned back, arms crossed. "You two need therapy."
"We had it," Caesar said. "We traumatized the therapist."
Eun-jae stared. "...Okay. I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."
But despite all the sarcastic banter, there was something heavy underneath Caesar's voice — a shadow of truth, of loneliness, of a life lived as someone else's backup plan. And Eun-jae saw it, even if he didn't say anything.
Instead, he reached for another card and flicked it into Caesar's lap.
"You still suck at cards."
Caesar looked at the card, then at him. "You're insufferable."
"And you're evil," Eun-jae replied sweetly, "but at least you're honest about it."
The warmth of the card game had long cooled. The leftover chips sat stale in their bowl, untouched. Silence filled the wide halls once more — except this time, it wasn't the comfortable kind. It was heavy, laced with something unspoken. A shift. A crack.
Eun-jae sat quietly for a while, back resting against the cold leg of the couch, knees pulled slightly up as he absentmindedly toyed with a stray card. He glanced sideways at Caesar, who was now leaning against the wall with that usual unreadable expression.
And then — screw it. They seemed to be somewhat cool now, right?
"Hey, Caesar," Eun-jae called softly, his voice steady but cautious.
"Hm?" Caesar replied without looking at him, the hum low and almost distracted.
Eun-jae took a breath. "Can I at least make a call? Just one. To my mom. I just wanna know if she's okay."
There was no immediate answer.
Instead, Caesar stood up slowly, dusting imaginary lint off his pants like Eun-jae hadn't spoken at all. He turned and started walking toward the kitchen, his back a wall of silence.
"No," he said flatly, not even glancing back.
Eun-jae blinked, disbelief creeping up. "No? What the hell do you mean no?"
"If you're going to be staying here forever," Caesar said casually, reaching for a bottle of water, "it's better if she thinks you're dead."
The words hit like a slap. No drama. No emotion. Just brutal, cold-blooded honesty from a man who wielded cruelty like second nature.
Eun-jae stood up so fast the rug crumpled beneath his feet. His fists clenched tight at his sides, trembling with rage. "Why?" he said, following Caesar into the kitchen, voice rising. "If you're keeping me here like a damn prisoner, the least you could do is let me talk to the one person I love more than anything. Why the fuck not?"
Caesar didn't turn around.
The back of his broad shoulders looked almost calm. Unbothered.
"It's easier for her this way," he said, voice low. "She'll grieve. Move on. But if she knows you're alive? She'll search. She'll suffer. Is that what you want?"
"I want to GO BACK HOME!" Eun-jae screamed, his voice echoing through the polished walls. "You arrogant, heartless psycho! I want my mother! She's all I fucking have!"
The rage boiled over.
Without thinking, Eun-jae grabbed a glass from the counter and hurled it at Caesar with every ounce of fury in his body. It spun in the air, catching the light for half a second — and then missed. Caesar had moved just slightly, too fast, like he'd seen it coming before Eun-jae even lifted his arm.
The glass shattered against the wall.
Eun-jae stood there, chest heaving, heart pounding, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes — but he didn't cry. No. He was done being soft.
His pheromones exploded like wildfire — sharp, bitter, almost suffocating in intensity. The whole room felt like it had shifted temperature, the air thick and charged with energy. Rage. Desperation. The scent of a threatened alpha backed into a corner.
Caesar turned slowly now, his eyes darker than ever.
He stared at Eun-jae, gaze slicing right through the tension.
"Eun-jae," he said, voice like a knife's edge. "You need to tone down those pheromones... because if I lose control, I'll fuck you so hard you'll forget what your mother's face even looked like."
He stepped forward, slowly, calculated — the predator showing his teeth.
Their faces were inches apart now. Caesar's breath was cool, calm, completely at odds with the storm in Eun-jae's.
Eun-jae refused to step back. He refused to flinch. "You're sick," he spat.