Although Officer Jenny Cross had a vague feeling that something might be off about Edward, she couldn't quite find proof. After all, apart from Edward, the only people who could be considered Ritchie and Rimi's greatest enemies were no one else.
Those two siblings were, in essence, failed blackmailers. They hadn't actually succeeded in their schemes. And outside of Edward, they had no real grudges with anyone. Yet the entire incident was strange from beginning to end, riddled with a sense of eerie peculiarity.
It didn't look like something that an ordinary person would be able to pull off, and that was precisely one of the main reasons Jenny Cross harbored her suspicions about Edward.
It wasn't that she had any personal bias against him. Rather, she simply knew that the means available to ordinary people were quite limited. In most cases, if someone lost their temper and wanted revenge, the most they could do was grab a knife. If they had a car, they might use it to ram someone.
That was the extent of what ordinary folk could manage.
Only someone like Edward—wealthy, resourceful, and well-connected—would have the ability to orchestrate something more elaborate, more refined, and nearly flawless.
It was like this: if in a homicide case the victims all died due to exotic chemical reagents that couldn't be purchased on the open market, the average working-class person would never even be considered a suspect. Only those with deep knowledge of chemistry and the ability to synthesize such reagents on their own would make it onto the investigation list.
If this incident had been a simple act of someone who had watched the siblings' videos online and then came knocking on their door to "deliver justice," it would have been nearly impossible to reach such a level. After all, this was a large hospital they were admitted to, with complete facilities and proper security measures. Even ordinary Ghost-type Pokémon would have had a hard time slipping in unnoticed.
There was another reason why Jenny Cross was certain it couldn't have been some vigilante who had acted: even now, the internet was perfectly calm. No one knew the real reason why the siblings had been hospitalized. Their ordeal hadn't been exposed. People who deliberately act to "serve justice" online are usually also the type who crave attention and put on performances. The absence of such noise was suspicious.
But since there wasn't a single shred of evidence against Edward, Jenny Cross couldn't say anything. After chatting with him for a while and exchanging contact information, she eventually left.
"Boss, the film festival is about to start." Zoroark, who had been waiting silently, only spoke after seeing Officer Jenny Cross leave. He reminded Edward gently. Edward nodded, then glanced at her retreating figure.
Perhaps because he had become a director, Edward had developed an especially high standard when it came to acting. Over time, he had trained sharp eyes for detail. Even small flaws in an actor's performance didn't escape him. And from his perspective, Officer Jenny Cross had not truly let go of her doubts.
But Edward didn't care. Yes, this incident had indeed been orchestrated by him, but its true foundation lay in the miraculous power of the system. Unless Jenny Cross could drag Arceus down from the heavens, she would never find anything tangible, no matter how long she investigated. As for those two "filial children," Edward didn't spare them a thought.
Their fates were already sealed: permanent residents of a psychiatric hospital, spending the rest of their lives as lunatics. Every day, they would still have to endure Miss Kayako's affectionate "greetings." The only question was how long they would last before they broke completely. Would they even try to take their own lives?
But those cursed by The Grudge didn't find suicide so easy. From what Edward could tell, anyone haunted by the curse who attempted to kill themselves would always be stopped at the last moment by Miss Kayako. She would preserve their lives—only to personally end them herself, ensuring that their deaths fell under the shadow of the Grudge.
This detail was supported throughout all past installments of The Grudge: not once had there ever been a true suicide. No matter the unfortunate soul, their end always came directly at Kayako's hands. Even in The Grudge 2 (the American version), when the former female protagonist appeared to leap from a building, the framing revealed that Kayako was clinging to her as she fell. In truth, it was Kayako who had caused her death, not her own will.
So, Edward concluded that Ritchie and Rimi wouldn't even have the privilege of suicide. Miss Kayako was a stickler for her principles: if she said she would kill you with her own hands, then she would ensure it happened that way. And if she didn't act personally, she would have Toshio or Takeo Saeki carry it out.
"Come on, let's go. Today's film festival should be quite interesting." Edward chuckled and followed Zoroark into the car. Naturally, Zoroark slid into the driver's seat.
"Boss, you mean that R-rated art film, Lost Dreams?" Zoroark started the car, her expression a little odd as she asked the question. Edward immediately broke into a smile.
"Exactly. An R-rated art film. The director dresses it up with fancy words, but the market's reaction…" Edward propped his chin on his hand, watching the scenery outside the window, his lips curling in amusement.
At first, he hadn't even intended to come to this festival. After all, he had already secured the League's grand prize, and other awards didn't matter much to him. Besides, almost every League region had its own version of a film festival. Too many, really—an annoyance more than anything.
What Edward had his eye on now was next year's League Best Picture. Winning that would basically mean he had reached the peak of cinematic honors. The only exception would be if his critics stubbornly insisted he needed to take home some artsy, "literary film" prize as well.
Art films were a unique, niche, and somewhat eccentric category within cinema. Unlike the usual commercial blockbusters, art films usually had tiny box office returns and limited screenings. Unless there was a complete drought of better options, most theaters would rather schedule even a low-quality, borderline horror flick than take the risk of showing an art film.
Still, art films did have their own fixed audience—a small but loyal circle. And because they were relatively easier to push for awards, some investors were still willing to bankroll directors to make them, gambling on the chance of snagging recognition.
But the truth was, even though the art film circle was so small, the competition inside it was just as vicious. Most audiences only ever heard of the breakout works—films that clawed their way into the spotlight or those backed by famous directors with strong promotion. Countless other art films faded into obscurity unless they had a shiny award attached to them.
At this particular festival, one art film had caught Edward's attention. It was the reason he decided to show up in person, partly out of curiosity, partly for amusement.
This festival had another nickname: the "Debate Festival." During award deliberations, the judges would openly quarrel, shout, and curse at each other on stage. For the audience, that spectacle had become just as entertaining as the films themselves—a defining feature of the event.
The film Lost Dreams was the one that intrigued Edward. It was labeled an art film, yet the sheer boldness of its erotic content and the number of explicit scenes made him wonder whether a small adult-film studio had mistakenly submitted it. Yet somehow, this "art film" had even secured a nomination. That alone piqued his curiosity.
"Anyone with eyes can tell this is just a sex-driven film, thinly wrapped up with a pretentious title like Dreams of Youth. But I admit, I'm curious what the judges are thinking." Edward grinned. He had watched it himself, given how hotly debated it had become in the film world.
All he could say afterward was that it felt like he'd sat through some bizarre softcore flick: a young man who had four springtime dreams in succession, each with a different heroine. Edward even suspected the actor playing the male lead was one of the financial backers. The amount of physical contact, the scale of the explicit shots… and yet the director had the audacity to claim it was all cleverly staged illusions. If nothing else, that man was certainly a "talent."
"If that kind of movie wins an award, the industry is truly doomed," Zoroark muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
Edward's lips twitched as he watched the passing street through the window, eyes glinting with playful amusement.
"You never know. Some people thrive on being contrarian, flaunting their so-called uniqueness."
Online, reviews and headlines were already erupting:
[Lost Dreams's victory would be a tragedy for the entire film industry!]
[Lost Dreams: A groundbreaking masterpiece focused on youth mental health!]
[Didn't understand it? Perfect. Let professional critics explain its true meaning.]
[Genuine innovation or cheap sensationalism? A critic's honest thoughts after three back-to-back viewings.]
The next morning, Edward sat on a plane back to Rustboro, shaking his head as he scrolled through his phone.
Yesterday's awards ceremony had been far more entertaining than any of these write-ups. The judges nearly came to blows on stage, and Edward found it exhilarating. That spectacle was far more fun than the trashy action flicks flooding the market.
As for the Lost Dreams crew, they had shown up with only the director, the male lead, and a handful of irrelevant staff. Not a single one of the four female leads appeared, which left many in the audience disappointed.
"This is what people call a movie? Madness, the lot of them!" Zoroark fumed. Edward shot her a glance.
This was just the beginning. What he noticed in this festival was a faint trace of "political correctness." It wasn't overwhelming yet, but Edward remembered all too well how in his past life, films became increasingly unbearable the more he watched them.
A mermaid being turned into a black mermaid—that said it all.
Though when he thought carefully about it, perhaps it was a sort of historical "realism." In those centuries, the people mermaids would most often see falling into the sea were, in fact, of darker skin…
"Bah, a joke. But having a topic like this stirring up noise is useful." Edward pocketed his phone. The plane now had Wi-Fi, so browsing wasn't an issue, but he didn't like doing it too long. It was a terrible time sink, leaving one with an empty feeling afterward, as though half one's life had vanished without achieving anything.
"Boss, are you talking about the recent news surrounding The Grudge?" Zoroark asked curiously. Edward nodded.
Lately, well—how to put it?
The Grudge had gone on a killing spree. It had killed so wildly that it was practically unstoppable.
Takako Fuji and several minor supporting characters from the film had seen their popularity skyrocket overnight, proving once again Edward's uncanny ability to catapult people into fame. It was said that now, some of Takako's friends couldn't help but shiver when they saw her in a white dress.
And with box office success came massive waves of public opinion. Criticism, neutrality, support—all voices poured onto the internet. Using it as a stage, wielding keyboards as weapons, netizens battled until rivers of blood flowed.
This time, the haters were particularly numerous. An investigation by Devon Corporation revealed that a chunk of the online trolls were actually hired by various real estate companies across the League. Their goal? To smear Edward. The reason? His film The Grudge had severely affected their housing sales.
In this Pokémon world, detached houses—single-family homes—were immensely popular. They were expensive, yes, but far easier to sell than apartments. For countless people, owning one was the ultimate dream. Naturally, real estate companies relied heavily on this market. Then along came Edward, dragging The Grudge with him.
The cursed house in the movie looked exactly like the typical single-family homes in this world: two stories tall, with a garden, a closet, and a ceiling crawlspace above the closet. After The Grudge became popular, countless viewers developed psychological shadows. They were terrified of stairs, scared of closets, shuddered at the thought of Kayako tumbling down from the attic.
It might sound absurd, but it wasn't.
The influence of a hit movie on brands and industries was enormous. Think back: when that one actor joked "cheap knockoff" in reference to a certain clothing brand, it dealt measurable damage to sales. Or when a Hong Kong film quipped "Oh, you drive that car? No wonder you're stuck in traffic," it tarnished an entire automobile line. The power of cinema to shape perception was frighteningly real.
And now, with The Grudge, audiences had been pulled into such an immersive terror that many had literally wet themselves in theaters. The memory was wiped afterward, but deep down, the fear lingered. Whenever they stepped into a similar house, the terror of Kayako crawling onto their faces resurfaced vividly. Across the League, a wave of dread toward single-family homes swept over the public.
Some demanded architectural redesigns for such houses. That was manageable for projects not yet built. But for real estate companies who had already invested in finished homes, planning to sit back and count profits, it was a disaster. No wonder they had hired trolls to smear The Grudge so ferociously.
Fortunately, the arrival of Lost Dreams had drawn some fire away, diverting attention from him.
"Boss, speaking of which… even some of our company's own employees have stopped living in their houses and moved into hotels," Zoroark remarked, his expression odd.
Edward was speechless.
"What? They were part of the production and they're scared too?" he asked helplessly.
Zoroark nodded. In fact, it wasn't just some employees. Even she herself had abandoned the house Edward assigned her and relocated to a hotel.
Anyone who hadn't actually watched The Grudge couldn't possibly understand the despair of having Kayako crawl right onto your face. Watching her descend with her unnatural gait left your legs weak. Watching her draw closer left you hollow, as though your entire being had been drained. And when her face was only inches away, it was as if your very soul was being pulled from your body.
The trauma wasn't something that could be shaken off in just a few months.
"Looks like you guys just haven't seen her enough yet. Next film, we'll continue with The Grudge," Edward said, shaking his head. He felt it was just a matter of desensitization. With enough exposure to Kayako, people would stop being so afraid.
Zoroark gave his boss a strange look. In her heart, she wanted to tell him: Boss, be human for once.The Grudge was already terrifying enough. And now he wanted to make a sequel? Did he intend to bring down the entire Hoenn real estate market?
(End of Chapter)