"Director Edward's New Work The Grudge Goes Online! Over Three Thousand People Hospitalized in Just One Day From Fright!"
"Sudden Surge in Second-Hand Housing Sales—Why Are All of Them Single-Family Houses? The Truth Behind the Trend!"
"Do Horror Films Require a New Rating System? Director Edward Throws an Enormous Challenge at the Industry."
"Nowadays, these media outlets are getting better and better at spouting nonsense. Even I didn't know I was this powerful."
While eating his breakfast, Edward scrolled through the headlines on his phone and shook his head helplessly. He truly hadn't expected that he apparently had such… terrifying influence.
One single movie had supposedly pushed forward the sale of second-hand houses.
Of course, Edward admitted that when shooting The Grudge, he had deliberately chosen a type of house common in the Pokémon world—your average detached single-family home. But that was only to better reflect everyday life. After all, he understood a crucial truth: the closer horror came to daily, ordinary settings, the deeper and more penetrating the fear it invoked would be.
It was the same principle behind a short horror clip he had filmed earlier.
Before The Grudge officially released, Edward had made a little short film as a gift for Mr. Yanister. It was filled, as always, with jump scares and sudden musical stings. In some sense, yes, such scares could feel cheap and abrupt. Yet ironically, they worked extremely well—at least Edward himself found them effective. For wild Pokémon, such shocks were more than enough to terrify them senseless.
His only regret was that Gengar hadn't been cast in this particular horror film. Edward felt that was truly a pity.
If Gengar had appeared, the effect would have been even greater. After all, its abilities were perfectly suited for horror. Edward had even run a few experiments—his short clips showed traces of the Master-level Cinematography effect. Because of that, he was quite curious: once this short film began official broadcasts, how much "Fear Points" would it harvest?
Just then, the old butler, while clearing away Edward's empty dishes, spoke up respectfully:
"Young Master Edward, a message came late last night from the prison. Zinnia has requested to meet you."
Edward's brows furrowed slightly.
"Zinnia?"
Yes—one of the Draconids.
He had seen her before. She had been secretive, evasive, and uncooperative, which had soured Edward's interest in dealing with her further. He wasn't someone who enjoyed throwing his enthusiasm against another's cold indifference. Yet now, unexpectedly, she was asking to see him. That sparked his curiosity.
"Alright, I know." Edward nodded. Still, he had no intention of rushing over immediately. Whatever Zinnia wanted, it would likely be the same tired talk about meteors. And he already had contingency plans prepared for that matter.
Even without her cooperation, he felt it didn't matter. Aside from knowing where Rayquaza was located and how to summon it, she had little else to contribute.
So, after leaving home, Edward first went to his company. On the way, he noticed a city bus drive by, its side plastered with a The Grudge poster.
At his request, the poster displayed neither Kayako nor Toshio. It simply bore the ominous characters for "The Grudge"—two words that by themselves carried a strange, unsettling weight. Staring at them, Edward rubbed his hands together unconsciously, remembering a certain prize he had yet to claim.
Yes, an unclaimed reward.
After Alien had finished calculating its accumulated Fear Points, he had earned a chance at a draw. He drew once, and the reward was issued—but he had never claimed it. Even now, he hadn't touched it. Why? Because the prize was… a little too absurd.
[Nightmare Fruit]
[Nightmare Fruit: Grants the summoner a random special evil spirit to work under them. The spirit cannot harm others, retains all of its original supernatural abilities, and can only appear inside the Haunted House attraction.]
The description had been enough for Edward to understand: this was effectively the ability to hire a real ghost as staff in his haunted house. In a way, it felt straight out of those old novels from his past life.
But he had refrained from using it. Because—what if it didn't summon something cool like Sadako, but instead just some petty little ghost child? Wouldn't that be a massive loss?
So, his plan was to wait until the new amusement park was finished. Then he would enter the haunted house and use the item to see what he got.
By the time Edward arrived at Ghost Films, it was already nine-thirty. But as the boss, naturally, no one would ever dare complain about his "lateness." There were no clumsy young girls crashing into him in the lobby either—just staff greeting him respectfully, stepping aside politely as he passed.
"Boss, here are the latest company work reports, as well as documents from the Prayer Wall Foundation."
Zoroark came in quickly as soon as Edward sat down, its voice rapid as it placed several thick folders on the desk.
Edward skimmed them, then set them aside.
"How's the construction of the new amusement park? Have Mismagius and the others been settled in?" he asked.
Zoroark immediately handed over another report. Edward glanced through it.
Thanks to Ghost Films generous funding, the rides and facilities had been prepared at remarkable speed. Everything was already in place. The only steps left were inspection and minor finishing touches, like airing out paint fumes.
If all went smoothly, in just a few days Edward could be cutting the ribbon at the grand opening. Meanwhile, Mismagius and the others were still happily living in the mansion at Petalburg Woods. The staff member assigned there also seemed to enjoy that life very much.
Edward was satisfied. He was already itching to test out his "evil spirit employee." The sole reason he hadn't yet claimed the prize was to avoid unforeseen problems. If no haunted house existed yet, what if the summoned ghost simply followed him around everywhere?
He had no desire to wake up every morning with a ghost's face looming inches away. That was a test of cardiac endurance he did not want.
"Boss, regarding The Grudge's release, our customer service department has received a large number of complaints." Zoroark added.
Ghost Films did, in fact, have a small customer service team. Normally, though, very few ever contacted them—after all, they were a film company, not a retailer. Most of their "customer service" consisted of processing submissions or miscellaneous matters.
But ever since The Grudge premiered yesterday, the phones hadn't stopped ringing. The team had been logging tickets nonstop since morning.
"Oh? Complaints about what?" Edward was curious. The film's horror intensity had indeed maxed out, but that was expected. The Grudge was, after all, a top-tier horror movie by nature. But what exactly were people complaining about?
"Most complain that the movie is too scary, causing physical discomfort. Others say they're now too afraid to return home, or too afraid to sleep in their own houses overnight, and demand compensation." Zoroark flipped through its notes as it spoke.
Edward's scalp tingled. He hadn't anticipated such… imaginative complaints. There was even one claim from a couple: they had gone on a date to see The Grudge, planning to check into a hotel afterward. But both had been so terrified they spent the night trembling under the covers instead—so they were demanding damages.
Black lines practically appeared on Edward's face. His entire expression collapsed.
"Just log the complaints and apologize. We already prepared disclaimers." He waved his hand dismissively. He wasn't worried. Before release, he had consulted Ghost Films legal department to minimize any risk of lawsuits.
So no, he didn't fear serious problems. Still, apologizing was polite.
As for whether the film might literally scare someone to death? Edward wasn't worried. If that happened, perhaps it might even trigger the Master-level Cinematography—which erased all adverse effects from watching his movies. In theory… wouldn't that include death too?
It should… right?
"…I can't exactly go find a test subject." He pinched the bridge of his nose.
…
Meanwhile, elsewhere—unbeknownst to him—a darker scheme was forming.
"Brother, isn't this… going too far?" a middle-aged woman frowned at her younger brother.
He scowled in irritation. "Big sis, drop the act. If you really disapproved, you'd have called the police already."
She pouted, then glanced down at the cinema tickets in her hand. Her eyes flicked toward the elderly father beside them, clueless and frail. Greed glimmered in her gaze.
She knew: Edward's new film was said to be so frightening it had knocked countless people unconscious. Their father, though not terminally ill, was already old and frail—living each day as it came.
If they brought him to see The Grudge and he died from fright, they could demand massive compensation from Edward. After all, he was heir to the Devon Corporation—filthy rich. Would billions in damages be too much to ask? If not, they could always make a scene until they got it.
"Hey, I'm only worried about Dad." She feigned concern.
Her brother rolled his eyes and went to buy tickets. But even that caused trouble.
The ticket clerk, seeing the old man, hesitated. Horror films could be risky for the elderly. But when challenged—"Show me the League regulation that forbids it!"—the clerk had no choice but to insist on a signed waiver. Without signing, no entry.
And astonishingly, the man signed without hesitation.
So, the tickets were sold, with the clerk sternly warning them to watch the old man's condition. If anything happened, they should seek help immediately—Nurse Joy staff were on site. That precaution had been Edward's personal request, to minimize risks.
The man merely nodded perfunctorily, then returned beaming with the tickets.
"You signed?! How will we get compensation now?" the woman hissed.
"You know nothing. Edward's a rich man. Courts always side with the 'weaker' party like us. Even if the paper says no liability, we can still stir trouble." He smirked.
Though annoyed, she kept quiet, tempted by the thought of fortune—and freedom from their useless old father. Together, they led him inside.
During the movie, neither sibling really watched the screen. Their eyes stayed glued to the old man.
And sure enough, partway through, he shuddered violently, then slumped in his seat, motionless. No breath. No pulse.
The siblings nearly laughed aloud with glee. They quickly confirmed it—yes, he wasn't breathing. Finally!
Relaxing at last, they began whispering about how to stage the aftermath. But as soon as their guard dropped, they too became engrossed in The Grudge's cursed story.
By the time the credits rolled, both were screaming in genuine terror, clutching their chests and gasping for air. The woman suddenly remembered their "main plan" and quickly put on an act of panic.
"Dad! Dad! What's wrong?! Don't scare me, please!" Her shrill cries drew everyone's attention.
Nurse Joy staff rushed in immediately.
"What happened?!"
"My dad—he's not breathing! Someone help! A doctor!" the brother wailed, tears streaming down his face. Together they wept and wailed like two models of filial devotion.
The Nurse Joy at the front grew grave. They had worried this might happen, given how intense the film was. Now it had.
She strode past the two sobbing children straight to the "corpse." She reached down to check—
"Eh? What's wrong?" came a frail voice.
The old man opened his eyes.
The entire theater fell silent. The "dead" father was very much alive.
The siblings froze, faces stiff with embarrassment.
"You ruined it!" the woman snapped angrily at him. Their perfect scene, destroyed!
"How was I supposed to know? Should've tested the old coot first, damn it!" the man grumbled, scratching his head.
But no matter. They weren't giving up their plan to strike it rich. They would just take him to another theater, not this one. Staying here would be too obvious.
And so, dragging their still-living father, the pair slipped out quickly.
(End of Chapter)