Veritas Ratio was a genius. A mind sharper than most. But when it came to flirting? Completely, utterly clueless.

Valentine’s Day was trivial to him, just another corporate scheme designed to prey on human sentimentality. Love, romance, courtship… all distractions, unnecessary in the grand pursuit of knowledge.

You knew this. And you loved taking advantage of it.

You’d flirt with him shamelessly, just to see the way his brows furrowed, his red eyes narrowing in vague suspicion, as if trying to determine whether your words were some kind of elaborate puzzle to solve. It was obvious to everyone else that you were smitten, like, ridiculously so, but Ratio? He remained blissfully unaware. He knew you found him handsome (because you had literally told him so) but beyond that? Nothing.

So, naturally, you couldn’t resist pushing your luck.

"Want to be my Valentine?"

He blinked at you, his stare sharp, analyzing. He understood the basics of Valentine’s Day, of course, another social construct built for financial exploitation. But the phrase itself to be someone’s Valentine? It was imprecise. Was it a title? A role? Was he expected to perform some kind of task?

Ratio didn’t like being uninformed.

He scoffed, folding his arms. "What does it mean to be someone’s Valentine?"