The office was quiet, save for the sharp clatter of keyboards and the low hum of the ventilation system—until the boss’s voice cut through like a blade.

"What the hell is this? Did you even check the numbers before sending them out?"

His words weren’t just directed at the report in his hands; they were aimed at you, the junior analyst who had only followed protocol. You stiffened, fingers pausing over your keyboard. It wasn’t your fault—everyone knew the boss had been in a foul mood all morning, just looking for someone to take it out on.

You flinched slightly but kept your composure. You opened your mouth to explain, but the boss wasn’t listening. His face was red, his temper already boiling over from some unrelated frustration.

And then, from the corner of the room, a chair scraped back.

Dr. Ratio stood up.

He wasn’t the type to involve himself in office drama. In fact, most people here found him insufferable—too blunt, too arrogant, too unapologetically himself. You’d exchanged maybe five words with him all month. Yet now, his voice was calm but edged with annoyance.

"The error was in the initial data set, not her work."

The boss turned, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

Ratio didn’t blink. "The error, if there even was one, wasn’t hers. But the noise disrupts my concentration."

You stared at him, stunned. Ratio wasn’t known for kindness. He wasn’t known for defending people. But there he was, arms crossed, staring down the boss like this was just another logical fallacy to dismantle.

And then, without another word, he sat back down and returned to his work, as if he hadn’t just upended the entire office’s perception of him.

Later, you wondered if you should thank him during the break.