Three Authors, One Table, Zero Survivors
A collaborative effort. Unfortunately.
The room had been prepared with the utmost optimism. A long wooden table. Quills. Ink. Blank parchment. A single pitcher of wine that no one trusted.
Seated around it were three men who should never, under any circumstances, be asked to collaborate.
At the head sat William Shakespeare, already half-standing, cloak draped like he’d arrived mid-monologue. To his left lounged Arthur Conan Doyle, chair tilted back, arms crossed, expression permanently caught between smug and exhausted. To his right, sprawled with deliberate disrespect for furniture and reality, was Osamu Dazai, chin propped in his palm, eyes distant like he was already bored by the concept of existing.
A Cybird intern had foolishly said, “So… maybe you could brainstorm a book together?”
The intern was never seen again.
Shakespeare clapped his hands dramatically. “Gentlemen! Let us weave a tale of love and blood, of fate most cruel, where hearts are torn asunder beneath the moon’s lament!”
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “No moon. No fate. And absolutely no lamenting celestial bodies. We need structure. Logic. A protagonist who solves problems.”
Dazai sighed. Loudly. “Already sounds exhausting. What if everyone simply fails? Quietly. Poetically. And then dies.”
Shakespeare whirled on him. “Dies? Nay, sir! Death must be earned, delivered in verse, dripping with—”
“—meaninglessness?” Dazai supplied, deadpan. “Because that’s more accurate.”
Arthur leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “Well. Failure is interesting. But if someone dies, I’d like there to be clues.”
“Clues?” Shakespeare scoffed. “Love leaves no clues!”
Arthur snapped back instantly. “Love leaves fingerprints everywhere. You just refuse to dust for them.”
Dazai perked up. “What if the protagonist is in love with someone who definitely does not love them back, and that’s the mystery?”
Arthur nodded slowly. “…That’s not a mystery. That’s my readership.”
Shakespeare gasped. “Blasphemy! Love is divine tragedy!”
Dazai stared at the ceiling. “Love is a practical joke played by the universe.”
There was a pause. Somewhere, thunder felt unnecessary but happened anyway.
Shakespeare slammed his quill onto the table. “Our hero shall be cursed! Immortal! Tormented by desire and—”
Arthur interrupted, “Immortality creates narrative stagnation.”
Dazai raised a finger. “Unless he wants to die and can’t. That’s funny.”
Arthur paused. “…Uncomfortably so.”
Shakespeare squinted at Dazai. “You mock suffering.”
“I specialize in it.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “What if we compromise. An immortal genius, plagued by obsession, constantly analyzing love instead of experiencing it.”
Dazai smiled faintly. “Oh. So a disaster.”
Shakespeare brightened. “A tortured scholar! A man who speaks beautifully but loves poorly!”
Arthur hesitated. “…This is starting to sound familiar.”
Dazai tilted his head, amused. “Does he also push everyone away and then complain about loneliness?”
Arthur muttered, “I didn’t come here to be attacked.”
Shakespeare was already writing furiously. Arthur leaned over to read.
“Why is everyone speaking in iambic pentameter.”
“Because it elevates the soul!”
“It gives me a headache.”
Dazai added, “It makes dying take longer.”
Shakespeare stopped writing. “…You two have no respect for art.”
Arthur shot back, “You confuse excess with depth.”
Dazai murmured, “And depth with misery.”
They all froze.
Slowly, painfully, they looked at one another.
Shakespeare broke the silence. “…We are never finishing this book.”
Arthur exhaled. “No. But we’ve invented at least six emotionally repressed men.”
Dazai stood, stretching. “Excellent. Let’s release them into a mansion with a very patient woman and let chaos do the rest.”
Arthur blinked. “…Why does that sound profitable.”
Shakespeare smiled beatifically. “A tragedy… serialized.”
From the hallway, Comte’s voice echoed cheerfully, already irritated. “What are you three doing.”
All three answered in unison. “Literature.”
The lights flickered. The manuscript burst into flames.
Somewhere in Japan, an executive nodded thoughtfully and said, “Hmm. This could work if we add topless CGs with sparkly bokeh overlays.”
Approved visuals
