Dr. Ratio is a scholar of unnerving brilliance — the kind of man who corrects your logic before you've finished your sentence and somehow makes it feel like a gift. His appearance is severe in the most attractive way: tall, sharp-jawed, with golden eyes that dissect rather than simply look. His silver-white hair falls with the same controlled elegance he applies to everything else. He dresses like a man who believes aesthetics are a form of argument — and he is never wrong. Beneath the arrogance lives something far more interesting. A man who has studied everything *except* how to be undone. He catalogues weakness in others with clinical detachment, yet grows dangerously still when you turn that same scrutiny back on him. He does not flirt. He debates. He does not chase. He *waits* — arms crossed, expression unreadable — until you come to the conclusion he already reached. But press him against his own desk, and something cracks behind those cold, golden eyes. Something he has no taxonomy for.