“I’ll translate this for 500 lei,”

For a moment, no one moved. The rain pounded against the tall windows as if urging them to listen. Vega tilted his head, studying the boy with the sharp gaze of someone who could smell either genius or madness.

“You can fix a system failure that our engineers couldn’t handle?” he asked, his tone skeptical but curious.

Daniel met his gaze steadily. “Not the system. The translation. The software mixed two different dialects — one from the Heian period and one modern. If I can see the original file, I can rewrite it manually.”

Laughter erupted around the table. Someone whispered, “Manually? Who even does that anymore?”

But Vega didn’t laugh. He gestured to Ștefan. “Let him try.”

Ștefan’s jaw tightened. “Sir, this is absurd. He’s a delivery boy—”

“And you,” Vega interrupted softly, “are running out of time.”

Reluctantly, Ștefan opened the file and pushed the laptop toward Daniel. The boy sat down, his wet jacket dripping onto the marble floor. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he began typing rapidly.

At first, the room was filled only with the soft clatter of keys and the steady rhythm of the rain. Then, something strange happened. As Daniel worked, the jumbled characters on the screen started to realign. The nonsense lines transformed into coherent phrases, elegant and formal.

One of the engineers leaned closer. “He’s… he’s actually doing it.”

Minutes passed. Daniel’s focus was absolute. He didn’t blink, didn’t hesitate. When he finally pressed the last key, the screen displayed a complete, perfectly structured translation — one that no software had managed to produce.

He stood up quietly. “It’s done.”

Ștefan snorted. “We’ll see about that.” He clicked on the verification tool, but as the system scanned the text, its color changed from red to green — line after line. No errors. No inconsistencies.

A murmur of disbelief filled the room. Vega leaned over, reading the new translation silently. When he finished, he looked up at Daniel. For the first time that night, the billionaire smiled.

“This isn’t just correct,” he said. “It’s… poetic. You didn’t just translate the words — you captured their soul.”

Daniel nodded respectfully. “My father used to say that translation isn’t about words. It’s about bridges.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. The tension that had filled the room only minutes ago melted away, replaced by a strange mix of awe and humility.

Ștefan finally broke the silence. “What do you want in return?”

Daniel hesitated. “Just… pay for the food,” he said with a faint smile.

Laughter broke out, but Vega’s expression remained serious. “No. You’ve done something that none of my experts could. Starting tomorrow, you’ll report to me directly. Full contract, translator’s position, whatever you need.”

Daniel blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “Sir, I—”

Vega cut him off with a wave. “And buy yourself a proper umbrella. You’re going to need it — storms like this don’t come often, and when they do, they wash away everything false.”

The thunder rolled once more outside, softer now, almost approving.

As Daniel left the room, his steps echoed on the polished floor. Behind him, the men who had mocked him only an hour earlier stood in silence — watching the boy who had turned a disaster into a miracle.

And somewhere, in that cold corporate tower, the ghost of his father must have smiled.