A: "So... you think you've won?"
B: "I don’t think. I know." (flips through the newly revised manuscript with a smug smirk)
A: "Tch. You really believe you’re some kind of god, don’t you? Just because you shaved 500 words off my story? That’s nothing! You’re nothing!"
B: "And yet, here we are. Your bloated, meandering sentences? Gone. Your redundant phrasing? Eliminated. Your overly spelled-out dialogue tags? Obliterated." (leans forward, resting chin on interlocked fingers) "Face it. You never stood a chance."
A: "You arrogant—! My version had depth! It had atmosphere! It had soul!"
B: (tilts head, amused) "Soul? If by ‘soul’ you mean a clunky, inefficient structure that forced the reader to wade through unnecessary words just to get to the point, then sure, it had ‘soul.’"
A: (slams fist on the table) "You act like cutting words makes the story better! But what about the details? What about the nuances?"
B: "Nuances? Don’t make me laugh. Look at this—" (pulls out manuscript) "‘The sky was blue, and the sun glowed with an orange hue.’" (slowly rips the page in half, eyes gleaming coldly) "Weak. Flabby. I replaced it with: ‘The sky was a soft blue, streaked with the orange warmth of dawn.’"
A: (trembling, whispering) "You... you changed my words?"
B: (whispers back, menacingly) "I. Improved. Them."
A: (breathing heavily, gripping the edge of the table) "No. No, no, NO! That’s just wordplay! It’s nothing but a cheap trick! You think you’ve won just because you made it sound prettier?!"
B: (leans back, crossing arms) "Not just prettier. Smoother. More efficient. More immersive. You think readers want to trip over clunky wording? No. They want to be pulled in. And that’s exactly what I did."
A: (grits teeth, sweat forming on forehead) "But... but...!"
B: (interrupts, eyes narrowing) "And then there’s this. Your version: ‘Ichiro sighed as she hung up the phone without saying goodbye.’ My version: ‘Ichiro sighed as she abruptly hung up.’" (taps temple) "Tighter. More natural. No unnecessary hand-holding. Readers aren’t stupid, A. They can figure out she didn’t say goodbye."
A: (clutching head, shaking violently) "No... this can’t be... this CAN’T BE!!"
B: (calmly slides manuscript across the table, voice quiet but deadly) "It’s already done. The edit is complete. Your words... your precious, excessive words... have been erased."
(A stares at the edited version, pupils dilating. The weight of defeat crushes down. He slumps back, mouth opening slightly in horror.)
A: (whispers) "You monster."
B: (soft chuckle, eyes glinting coldly) "I’m not a monster. I’m an editor."
(A's vision darkens. The last thing he sees before blacking out is the final, tightened version of his story—leaner, sharper, unstoppable. The fight is over. The edit reigns supreme.)