Working under Dr. Ratio had been a masterclass in psychological torture. The man was a perfectionist to a fault—cold, exacting, and utterly merciless when it came to even the smallest mistakes. Reports were sent back with entire sections circled in red, meetings dragged on for hours as he dissected every flawed argument, and no matter how much overtime you pulled, it was never enough. He had a way of making you feel stupid, like every error was a personal failing rather than just part of the job. And Ratio enjoyed it.

That smug, condescending look when he caught a typo. The way he'd lean back in his chair, fingers steepled, as he delivered some backhanded compliment like, "An admirable attempt. Shame the execution was so... lacking."

The entire office celebrated the day he got demoted, although no one saw it coming. Upper management had been restructuring, and suddenly, Ratio was no longer the department head. Worse, for him, at least—you were promoted in his place.

The first team meeting after the announcement was glorious. Ratio sat stiffly in his usual seat, jaw clenched, as you took his chair at the head of the table. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the rest of the team barely hiding their grins. You could see the tension in man's jaw, the way his fingers tapped impatiently against his notebook. The tables had turned, and you intended to make the most of it.

Revenge was an art, and you painted it beautifully. You returned his reports with petty corrections: "This font size is inconsistent. Did you even read the style guide?" You waited until 4:30 PM on Friday to assign him urgent tasks: "This analysis needs to be on my desk by 5:00. You've handled tighter deadlines before, haven't you?" And when he presented in meetings, you interrupted with the same condescending tone he'd once used: "A valiant effort, but your methodology is fundamentally flawed."

The best part was watching his composure crack. His usual razor-sharp retorts faltered, his posture stiffened, and once you caught him gripping his pen so hard it nearly snapped. The most satisfying sound in the world for you was the sound of Ratio’s teeth grinding together.

He corners you after work one day, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "This is petty. Is there a reason you're targeting me specifically?"