Sitting inside the theater, Zion still looked a little frustrated. But since they were already here, and he had to complete the League's assignment, he had no choice but to watch the movie seriously and prepare a proper critique. After some hesitation, he finally began watching Buried in earnest.
Before he knew it, Zion found himself completely immersed.
Heathcote glanced at his student. Zion's gaze had become focused—gone was his earlier impatience and discontent. In its place was growing tension. He even began scratching at his neck subconsciously.
Was he feeling short of breath?
The thought crossed Heathcote's mind.
Before coming to the theater, Heathcote had done some research. It was known that when people start to feel suffocated or breathless, they may unconsciously scratch at their necks.
"My time is running out…"
On screen, Daniel—one of the characters—grimaced in pain as he picked up the weapon the terrorists had given him. With one brutal swing, he chopped off his own finger. The scene made Zion shudder, and he instinctively clutched his own finger as if it had been severed, too. The air seemed to grow heavier around him, and an overwhelming sense of suffocation set in.
Zion's breathing turned rapid. Each inhale seemed inadequate, like he was sealed inside that dark wooden coffin himself, waiting helplessly for death to come.
"Zion, how are you feeling?"
Just as his discomfort peaked, someone shook his shoulder. It jolted him out of the daze. He blinked in confusion, looking at his teacher, eyes still filled with lingering fear.
"I…" Zion fell silent.
He remembered why he was there—to assess Edward Stone's new film Buried on behalf of the League. Yet, against all expectations, he had become completely absorbed in the film—and affected by it.
Heathcote looked at his student. The cold sweat on his forehead and the way he still held his finger told him everything he needed to know. Zion had indeed been influenced by the film—so much so that he even experienced phantom pain.
Though he had suspected it might happen, Heathcote was still surprised to see it so clearly.
His gaze turned back to the screen.
As a psychology professor and doctoral advisor, Heathcote approached the film from a different perspective. To him, Buried appeared to be a fairly standard movie. There was nothing particularly abnormal in the cinematography, sound design, character expressions, or pacing.
Heathcote had studied how skilled directors could use visual cues, like color palettes or framing, to deliver subliminal messages. But such effects typically had minimal influence unless the screen was dominated by a single tone, triggering a specific emotional response.
Edward's Buried didn't employ any such intense color manipulation—just standard dark tones with occasional warm and cool accents.
There were some subtle cues, but none strong enough to cause such visceral audience reactions. Heathcote was confident in his expertise.
But still—something about the film felt… off.
He had watched it carefully, trying to identify any underlying psychological tricks. But he found none. The atmosphere and sound design were excellent—but those alone shouldn't be enough to cause mass immersion and panic… unless the audience was predisposed, like those with claustrophobia.
Yet earlier, he'd observed the entire theater.
Everyone—everyone—was absorbed. Even his student.
Only Heathcote remained unaffected.
When the lead actor cut off his own finger, Heathcote had glanced around and noticed something chilling: at that exact moment, almost everyone in the theater had clutched their own fingers, as if it were they—not the character—who had suffered the injury.
It was astonishing.
Was I just not immersed enough?
The question flickered through Heathcote's mind.
It made sense. He'd spent most of the movie analyzing the film and observing others instead of truly watching it. Perhaps if he set all that aside…
…
By the time the movie ended, two people stood outside the theater, gulping in the fresh air.
"Professor, is there something wrong with this movie?" Zion asked while adjusting his breathing. It was the first time he'd ever been that emotionally affected by a film—he genuinely felt as if he'd been Buried.
"There's nothing technically wrong with it, but it's…" Heathcote had already recovered, using basic psychological suggestion to calm himself. Still, he had some serious concerns.
There were no obvious visual cues. No hypnotic colors. And yet, he couldn't help but feel exactly what the protagonist felt. Why?
As he allowed himself to become immersed in the latter half of the film, he noticed the shift. But he hadn't panicked. He wanted to observe what kind of state he would enter—and how to handle it.
What shocked him was not that he got pulled in—but that he couldn't explain why.
"There really weren't any colors, motions, or psychological cues?" Zion still couldn't believe it. He knew that some advanced psychologists could use colors, language, and body movements for subconscious suggestion.
"Zion, you're studying psychology too—you should know that even I can't hypnotize an entire theater full of people," Heathcote replied, glancing sideways at his student.
Zion fell silent. He knew it was true.
Mass hypnosis, especially in a public setting like a movie theater, was extraordinarily difficult—borderline impossible. Not even Professor Heathcote could pull that off. And honestly, calling this "hypnosis" didn't even feel accurate. It felt more like… metaphysics. The effect was just too powerful.
Toward the end of the film, Heathcote had really felt buried alive. Felt the soil suffocating him.
"Let's go," Heathcote said, standing. He planned to request a sample reel from the League for deeper analysis.
…
Two days later, Heathcote sat in his office, clutching his head.
There was nothing wrong with the film. Not a single thing.
He'd even invited a university professor specializing in film theory and direction to review it. That professor said the cinematography was strong, and the performances were impressive—but there was nothing strange about it. It didn't seem like Edward was deliberately trying to scare people.
But then they rewatched it—seriously—together. And that professor also fell silent.
He had felt it too.
Heathcote couldn't understand it.
He even went back and watched several of Edward's other films—no similar issues. Nothing suspicious.
With no better leads, all he could do was submit his investigation report to the League.
…
"The film has no technical issues. The film is fine.
But the viewers—they're the problem?"
Edward stared at the message on his phone, his expression twitching slightly.
He was currently filming Alien, and production was going smoothly. The xenomorph and Pikachu-xenomorph were now rampaging on screen. Edward had envisioned all sorts of creative death scenes, and they were being faithfully executed—so much so that one prop department girl vomited after witnessing one particular demise.
Edward wasn't bothered. That was the whole point of xenomorph horror—creative, brutal deaths and the overwhelming helplessness of humanity. If anything, it proved the film was hitting the right notes.
Of course, this meant the film would need to be rated properly.
Luckily, the Pokémon world had a formal film rating system. As long as Alien passed through that, there was no need to censor or sanitize the film for younger audiences.
Edward was very satisfied with the League's approach. Without it, most of his films would require major edits—something he really didn't want to deal with.
Still, when he saw Secretary Kennedy's email, he couldn't help feeling a little speechless.
"Boss, what's up?" Zoroark peeked over while dragging over a mountain of card booster packs she was opening.
"Nothing, really. Just that Buried has drawn the League's attention," Edward rubbed his forehead in exasperation.
He had expected this to happen. After all, so many viewers were reporting the same strange symptoms. It would've been weird if the League hadn't looked into it.
But he hadn't expected them to bring in professional psychologists to evaluate the film.
"Wait—Buried is going to be pulled?" Zoroark was shocked. She thought the movie was brilliant. It would be a real shame if it got banned.
"Nah, not that extreme. The psychologist said the film had no issues. He just couldn't explain why everyone who watches it experiences that same suffocating sensation." Edward shrugged helplessly.
The League's approach made sense. If they'd banned Buried outright—saying it caused health issues—it would have only made it more legendary. People would have been obsessed. A banned film always draws attention.
Centuries from now, it'd still be referenced in movie discussions as "that film the League had to ban."
Instead, the League simply mandated that all theaters showing the film had to have a certified Nurse Joy on standby, for emergency medical support. That policy would remain in effect until the film finished its run.
"Eh?" Zoroark was still a bit confused.
Edward shook his head, then looked at his system.
[Buried – Fear Points: 113,211]
Even before the film went off-screen, its fear points had hit a record high. Edward was thrilled—but also hesitant to draw any more prizes from it. The abilities he'd unlocked were already a bit outrageous.
At this rate, if the abilities got any stronger, viewers really would get pulled into the movie world and Buried.
Still, not drawing was also torture.
With 100,000 Fear Points, he could draw twice. Each draw cost 50,000.
[You obtained: Immersive Audio (Intermediate): Your films will now feature even more realistic sound effects and make it easier for audiences to focus.]
"Whoa! Legend of Otherworldly Spirit!" Zoroark shouted excitedly, shaking Edward's shoulder hard. Edward felt a bit dizzy—Zoroark's strength was no joke.
[You obtained: "Cinematography (Master Level)"]
"?" Edward slowly typed out a question mark.
He had drawn plenty of times before, but this was his first time getting a Master-level skill. He'd assumed abilities needed to be unlocked progressively—not granted outright.
[Cinematography (Master Level): Your films will become deeply immersive, drawing viewers in while removing any physical discomfort caused by the film.]
Edward rubbed his eyes. The ability was almost absurdly powerful. It even removed the viewer's physical distress—perfect for dealing with his current situation. This way, no one would suffocate while watching Buried, and the film wouldn't be permanently banned.
Talk about perfect timing.
"Boss! Look! Legend of Otherworldly Spirit!" Zoroark shouted again, still thrilled. Edward glanced at her. He was really was lucky—if not for Zoroark's touch, he might never have gotten such high-tier skills.
"You're insanely lucky, Zoroark. Are you sacrificing your lifespan to draw cards?" Edward joked.
But then he remembered—Zoroark was a Ghost-type Pokémon. She didn't have a normal lifespan. Technically, what she had might be "spirit-years," not "life-years." No one really knew how long Ghost-types lived anyway.
Zoroark gleefully continued opening card packs, while Edward yawned and called for a break.
It was time for lunch.
(End of Chapter)