The meeting room door is slightly ajar.

  A head cautiously peeks out.

  “……”

  All eyes turn toward the doorway at once.

  The screenwriter immediately ducks back inside again.

  Leaning back in her chair, the art lead rolls her eyes.

  “You can stop checking. The boss is really gone.”

  The director takes a small sip of coffee.

  “So why did you call us in? I’ve never seen you hesitate like this.”

  The screenwriter returns to the seat as if walking to the stand to be judged.

  Clearing the throat, speaking in a voice barely audible—

  “Let me preface this first… what I’m about to say is important. It’s just…”

  “After yesterday’s meeting, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

  I couldn’t even eat properly all night—”

  “It wasn’t until midnight that I finally caught it!”

  A hand strikes the table once, voice rising with excitement:

  “It’s a prequel to Moon & Dawn!”

  Silence hangs in the air for a moment.

  The director raises a brow. The art lead frowns. The manager’s expression is unreadable.

  “Hear me out!”

  The screenwriter quickly adds, afraid of being kicked out on the spot.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Once that idea clicked, their story just started unfolding wildly in my head…”

  “If I didn’t write it down, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.

  And once I finished writing, I realized… not filming it would be letting them down!”

  Words spill out faster and faster, emotions rising with them.

  Halfway through a gesture, the art lead catches the hand mid-air.

  “Alright, alright. I get it.

  You got summoned by your characters and couldn’t help yourself.”

  “So—where’s the script?”

  Looking sheepish, the screenwriter pulls a few thick bundles of script pages from the bag and hands them out like prized treasure.

  The manager takes the script, brows knitting at the sight of the title.

  “? …Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling…”

  The screenwriter avoids his gaze.

  “Mm… just read it first. I don’t even know how to explain…”

  Soft rustling of turning pages settles over the meeting room.

  Ten minutes later, silence still hangs in the room.

  The screenwriter starts bouncing a leg, unable to sit still.

  “…Y-you’re all done, right? It shouldn’t take this long, right?”

  The art lead slowly lowers the script and draws in a deep breath.

  “Are you a demon?”

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t dare have the boss here! But don’t you feel it?”

  “If really has a prequel, it has to be like this!”

  The director closes his eyes and rubs at the bridge of his nose, trying to accept the harsh reality.

  “…That’s true… but if the boss finds out the prequel is like this…”

  His gaze drifts toward the manager.

  “This time… I might not really be able to smooth it over.”

  The manager closes the script, uncertain as well.

  “My heart already hurts just reading the script…

  If the boss—the original devotee of this pairing—sees it… who knows how he’ll react…”

  The art lead shivers after saying it.

  Once more, air sinks into dead silence.

  At last, the director grits his teeth and slams a palm against the table, making up his mind.

  “We’re filming it!

  We’ll pretend this never happened—we’ll deal with it when he sees it for himself!”

  The screenwriter’s eyes gleam, like a prisoner just pardoned.

  “I knew you’d say yes!”

  The director ignores him and issues orders to the manager.

  “Lock down all production news. Nothing goes up on the internal network.

  Change the post-production team’s name for now.”

  The art lead rises, gathering her things, still talking tough.

  “We’ll shoot it, then… Hmph. Like I’d be scared.”

  And just like that,

  a tragedy born in secrecy is quietly set in motion,

  beneath a chill hush and guilty unease.