"Ms. Pruitt. Everyone." My voice came out steady, devoid of hesitation. "Over the last seven years, I've printed thousands of documents, fetched countless deliveries, ordered your coffees, restructured your chaotic proposals, debugged your code, polished your presentations, and translated your vague gibberish into coherent reports."

I let the words hang.

"But you're right. According to you, none of that counts. Just me 'coasting.' I certainly don't deserve a week in the Maldives."

"I don't need more training. And resignation isn't a threat—it's a notification."

"I'll honor the one-month notice period." I swept my gaze across the room, meeting each pair of eyes. "However, I will only hand over duties explicitly listed in my job description."

"As for the data models, strategic plans, source code, and presentations sitting on your computers—the ones bearing your names but built by my hands..."

A cold smile.

"Good luck. I hope you can continue to 'create value' without me."

I turned to Willow. "Ms. Pruitt, thank you for the 'opportunity' these past seven years. Shame I lack the fortune to enjoy it any longer."

I didn't wait for a response. Turned. Walked out.

That afternoon, I submitted my formal resignation to HR and copied the entire company on a single email:

From today onward, I will strictly perform duties within the scope of my job description. Please do not disturb me with unrelated matters. Thank you.

Less than a minute after I hit send, the office began to buzz. Whispers vibrated through the room like a disturbed hornet's nest.

I sat at my workstation, eyes fixed on my screen, but Madison made no effort to hide her disdain.

"Look at him," she muttered. "Acting like some kind of big shot all of a sudden."

William scoffed, hammering his keyboard with aggressive, performative force. "Let him put on his little show. Let's see how long this spine of his lasts."

"Exactly." Madison sneered. "He calls himself a 'person in charge,' but what has he actually managed? Pouring tea, ordering takeout, printing handouts. That's his ceiling."

"Once he walks out those doors, he's nothing," William added.

Jack leaned toward his neighbor, pitching his voice perfectly so I'd catch every word. "Zero talent, massive temper. Give it two days—he'll be on his knees begging Ms. Pruitt to take him back."

I reached for my noise-canceling headphones and drowned them out.