The clock was nearing 5 p.m., and the AC in the meeting room had finally stopped feeling cold.
Not because it was fixed——
but because the collective rage had heated the air itself.
“We’re out of time.”
The screenwriter shook out their wrist and snapped a keycap back onto the keyboard—who knows how many times it had popped off from all the pounding.
“Two days. We don’t have time to think.”
“You want drama? You want something viral? Fine——let’s throw in a morally repulsive plotline!”
Before he even finished speaking, the art lead was already sketching. On the paper: a long table, a crowd of people, and a half-smeared family tree.
As they drew, she muttered:
“Father-in-law with father, brother with brother, father with son——everyone gets a round.” “Explosive enough for you?”
“People today have seen it all. Incest?
That’s barely a bump in the road.”
The screenwriter’s tone was as casual as reading out a dinner special.
"We need at least one death, right?"
Upon hearing that, the art lead immediately scrapped the long table sketch and started drawing a bathroom scene instead.
“I’ve got enough fake blood. Don’t worry.”
They added a neat label next to the bathtub:
Blood: minimum 5 liters.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The manager stood by the conference table, still trying to use their briefcase as a last line of sanity.
But seeing the others spiral into collective madness, he slowly nodded and added:
“Physical tension and twisted relationships alone won’t cut it.”
"There needs to be love——and a tragic misunderstanding."
...The director looked up.
He’d been checking studio rental times——
only to look up and realize the conversation had left him behind entirely.
“W–wait, hold on,”
he tried to cut in——
but the screenwriter was already too far gone.
“Okay—two childhood friends. Boom—parents get married. Bam—they’re stepbrothers now!”
“Then patricide! Only to realize the dad wasn’t even his biological father!”
“Feeling the pressure yet?”
“I’ll add a prop list for you.” The art lead’s eyes were practically glowing.
“We need a police car, a bar, blood packs, sealing talismans, and a lighter!”
“A real one. The kind that explodes.”
The manager was already on page three of their notes.
“Remember——they have to be in love.”
Start off hating each other, fall in love painfully in the middle, and then…”
He trailed off——
because the boss finally cracked.
“W-wait, hold on, hold on——!”
“You… can you even write something like this?”
His voice trembled like someone who’d just rolled down a mountain.
“We’re a legit company…”
The room collectively decided he didn’t exist.
“Is incest shocking enough?”
“How’s the blood? Enough impact?”
“Is the forbidden love tragic enough?”
The boss had no rebuttal.
He could only stare, helpless, as the creative team he’d carefully nurtured
burned themselves alive——
choking on a white smoke made of artistic brilliance and sheer stress.
He quietly shrank into a corner, small and powerless.
Sliding back into the seat next to the director,
he pulled out his phone.
The screen lit up: a photo by the sea.
A rabbit leaned against a man, the sunlight glinting off her ears——
like they’d gone to some other universe just to fall in love.
His eyes stung.
And finally, he broke.
“Huuuu… I miss my bunny and golden retriever so much…”
“When are you two coming back…”
Beside him, the director said nothing——
he was too busy un-liking the photo, just in case someone traced it back to him during the meltdown.
And so, as the overworked crew snapped and the boss finally broke down——
a script was born.
No one decided the plot.
No one wrote an outline.
It simply happened, like an earthquake.
Born from a creative space crushed by impossible deadlines.
Born from a reality where “no” was never an option.
Born from grief over a lost OTP,
and the despair of starting something new.
One word says it all——Guiltbound.
