Chapter 72 – The Decision
Chapter 72 – The Decision
The knock was firm without being loud.
“Come in.”
Taren opened the door and stepped inside.
The office was quieter than the main floor, with the noise from outside reduced to a faint background hum. The space was larger than the rest, arranged with deliberate care. Shelves lined one side, filled with neatly organized volumes, while the desk at the center remained mostly clear, with only a few documents placed in precise order.
Behind it sat the chief editor.
He finished reading the document in front of him before looking up.
“Taren,” he said. “You’re early.”
“I wanted to discuss a book.”
The chief gestured lightly toward the desk. “Go ahead.”
Taren stepped forward and placed his notes down along with the book.
“It’s a recent work,” he said. “New author.”
The chief picked it up, turning it once in his hand before opening it. He flipped through several pages, his eyes moving quickly, more out of habit than interest.
After a brief glance, he closed it and set it aside.
“Send standard terms,” he said.
The decision came easily.
Taren remained where he was.
“This shouldn’t go through the usual process.”
The chief looked at him again, this time with a little more attention.
“Why?”
Taren answered without hesitation.
“The story is strong,” he said. “It holds interest throughout and doesn’t lose its direction. The characters are distinct, and the progression builds in a way that keeps the reader engaged.”
The chief said nothing.
Taren continued, his tone steady.
“It has clear potential,” he said. “Not just for readership, but beyond that. It can grow into something much larger if it’s handled properly.”
The chief leaned back slightly, his expression unchanged.
“I’ve heard that before,” he said. “Many times.”
He rested his hand on the book.
“Every few weeks, someone brings in something they think stands out.”
His tone remained calm.
“Most of them don’t.”
Taren held his gaze.
“This one does.”
There was no emphasis in his voice, only certainty.
The chief studied him for a moment, then picked up the book again and flipped through a few more pages, still not giving it a full read.
“We don’t change process for assumptions,” he said.
It wasn’t a dismissal.
But it was close enough.
Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Another editor stepped inside, carrying a file. He paused briefly when he noticed Taren, then continued in with an easy expression.
“Didn’t realize you were in a meeting,” he said.
“It’s fine,” the chief replied.
The man placed his file on the desk, then glanced toward the book.
“A new submission?”
The chief nodded. “Taren brought it.”
There was a brief flicker of interest in the man’s expression.
“I can take it forward,” he said. “If it’s ready.”
Taren did not respond.
The chief looked between them briefly.
“It’s under review.”
“Of course,” the man said, nodding. Then, with the same easy tone, he added, “If it’s moving ahead, I can handle the process and get it done quickly.”
Taren spoke before the moment settled.
“This won’t be a standard submission,” he said.
The room grew slightly quieter, subtle but noticeable.
The other editor glanced at him, then back at the chief, a faint trace of amusement passing through his expression before it disappeared.
The chief did not respond immediately.
He looked at the book again, then at Taren, weighing the interruption more than the content.
After a moment, he spoke.
“We’ll review it.”
His tone remained neutral.
He moved the book slightly aside.
“Leave it here.”
It was neither approval nor rejection.
Taren understood that.
He gave a small nod. “Understood.”
The other editor said nothing further, his earlier ease already returning as if the matter had settled.
Taren gathered his notes, turned, and walked toward the door.
No one stopped him or called him back.
Behind him, the office resumed its usual rhythm, as though nothing of importance had occurred.
Taren stepped into the corridor, the door closing quietly behind him.
For now, nothing had changed.
After the door closed behind Taren, the room remained quiet for a moment.
The chief editor did not immediately return to his work.
The other editor glanced toward the door, then back at the desk.
“Should I move ahead with it?” he asked. “Contact the author and start the process?”
The chief didn’t respond at once.
His gaze rested on the book for a moment longer before he leaned back slightly.
“If Taren is that insistent,” he said, “then he sees something in it.”
The other editor remained silent, waiting.
“He doesn’t push like that without reason,” the chief continued. “And he rarely speaks about potential beyond a single book.”
He tapped the cover lightly.
“So, whatever this is, he thinks it can go further.”
The other editor gave a small nod, then let out a short, easy laugh.
“Then we’ll do what we always do,” he said. “Secure it on the best terms we can.”
There was no hesitation in his tone.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
The chief allowed a faint smile.
“Yes,” he said. “Unlike Taren.”
The other editor’s expression shifted slightly, though he kept it controlled.
“He still treats it like it used to be,” the chief added. “That approach doesn’t work anymore.”
He picked up another document from his desk, though his attention hadn’t fully shifted away.
“If this were under the previous owner, he might have been right.”
The statement was casual.
But it lingered.
“Now,” the chief continued, “it’s different.”
The other editor nodded again, though the earlier remark had not gone unnoticed.
His gaze dropped briefly to the book.
“They’ve already printed it,” he said, pointing lightly at the publishing mark. “Crownspire.”
The chief glanced at it and waved it off without interest.
“Probably a small operation,” he said. “Probably printed a limited batch to circulate.”
His tone was dismissive.
“There are dozens like that. Most don’t last.”
The other editor nodded.
“Understood.”
He straightened slightly.
“I’ll move forward with it.”
The chief gave a brief nod.
“Be firm from the start,” he said. “If you give too much early, it becomes harder to control later.”
“Of course,” the other editor replied.
There was a faint confidence in his tone.
“I’ll handle it.”
He picked up the book and left the room.
The door closed behind him.
Back on the main floor, the usual rhythm continued.
The other editor walked directly toward Taren’s desk.
“It’s decided,” he said casually. “I’ll be taking it forward.”
Taren looked up.
“I’ll contact the author and arrange a meeting,” the man continued.
There was no room for discussion in his tone.
Taren held his gaze for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“Understood.”
The man gave a brief smile before moving on.
Taren remained seated.
He already knew how this would go.
After a moment, he stood and walked back toward the inner office.
The chief looked up as he entered again.
“Yes?”
Taren spoke calmly.
“I’d like to be present for the meeting.”
The chief studied him briefly.
It was not a difficult request.
Not one that required consideration.
“If you want,” he said.
That was all.
Taren gave a small nod.
“Thank you.”
He turned and left without adding anything further.
The other editor was already at his desk, flipping through the book again.
Taren stopped beside him.
“I’ll be joining you for the meeting,” he said.
The man looked up, his expression shifting briefly before settling back into something easy.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I can handle it.”
Taren did not move.
“The chief has already approved it,” he said.
The words were calm.
The other editor paused for a moment, the flicker of irritation passing quickly across his face before it disappeared.
Then he smiled.
“If that’s the case,” he said, “then there’s no problem.”
His tone was light, but his fingers tapped once against the book before going still.
“We’ll go together.”
Taren gave a small nod.
“Understood.”
The exchange ended there.
But the air between them had shifted, even if only slightly.
By midday, the office had settled into a slower rhythm.
Taren stepped out for lunch as he usually did, heading toward the same small restaurant a short distance away. It wasn’t crowded, and the noise stayed low enough that conversations didn’t carry beyond their tables.
He had just taken his seat when the two newer employees approached, hesitating slightly before stopping beside him.
“Sir… would it be alright if we joined you?” the young man asked.
Taren looked up, then gave a small nod. “Go ahead.”
They sat across from him, still a little unsure, as if they weren’t certain how far they could speak.
For a moment, the conversation didn’t start.
Then the young woman glanced at him.
“Can I ask something?” she said.
Taren nodded.
She hesitated briefly, then continued, “Is the company always like this?”
The question lingered for a moment before she clarified,
“I mean… the way things are handled. It feels like the focus is only on how much can be taken from the authors.”
Taren didn’t answer immediately.
He looked at the table for a moment, then said,
“No.”
The word was simple.
“It wasn’t like this before.”
The two of them leaned in slightly, listening.
“Under the previous owner,” Taren continued, “the approach was different. The work mattered first. If a book had value, it was treated accordingly.”
His tone remained calm.
“The company made money, and so did the authors. The terms reflected that. It worked because both sides benefited.”
The young man nodded slowly.
“So, what changed?” he asked.
Taren’s gaze shifted slightly.
“He passed away,” he said.
There was a brief pause before he continued.
“After that, his son took over.”
He didn’t elaborate immediately.
He didn’t need to.
“The priorities changed,” he added after a moment. “The focus moved toward securing as much as possible from each deal. Rights, terms, control. Everything shifted in that direction.”
The young woman frowned slightly.
“And no one said anything?”
“Some did,” Taren replied.
“Most of them left.”
The answer settled between them.
The young man exchanged a glance with her before asking quietly,
“Then… why didn’t you?”
Taren exhaled slowly.
For a moment, he didn’t respond.
Then he said,
“The previous owner helped me when I needed it.”
His tone didn’t change.
“More than once.”
He looked at them briefly.
“So, I stayed.”
There was no emphasis in his voice.
Just a simple statement of fact.
The young man frowned slightly.
“But you’ve already done enough,” he said. “Everyone knows it.”
He hesitated, then added,
“We’ve heard… you were supposed to be the chief editor.”
The young woman nodded quietly beside him.
“And instead of being promoted to chief editor, you’re still doing the work of a junior editor,” she said.
Taren didn’t respond immediately.
His gaze lowered slightly, not in avoidance, but in thought.
After a moment, he said,
“Things don’t always move the way they should.”
It was neither agreement nor denial, just acceptance.
The conversation slowed after that.
The young man let out a quiet sigh.
“With your experience, you could have moved to another company by now,” he said. “You’d probably already be a chief editor somewhere else, with better pay.”
He hesitated briefly before adding,
“It’s a pity.”
The young woman nodded in agreement.
Taren looked at them for a moment, then gave a small smile.
It wasn’t dismissal.
Just acknowledgment.
“Let’s eat,” he said. “I’ll treat you today.”
The shift in tone was gentle, but clear.
The conversation moved on to simpler things, mostly about how they were adjusting to the company and the work.
The young man spoke first, mentioning a few difficulties with the workload and the pace, while the young woman added that some of the processes were still unfamiliar to them.
Taren listened without interrupting.
“It takes time,” he said. “You’ll get used to it.”
He paused briefly before adding,
“If you run into anything you’re unsure about, come to me. I’ll help where I can.”
The two of them exchanged a quick glance, then nodded.
“Thank you, sir,” the young man said.
Taren gave a small nod in return.
The rest of the meal passed more easily after that, the earlier weight of the conversation fading into something lighter.