"Boss, when did our company register a patent like this?"
Zoroark stared at the patent in its hand, eyes filled with surprise.
Edward, however, looked unusually calm when he heard the question. Though, truth be told, he had once been just as shocked as Zoroark when he first saw it. But that was then, and this was now. At this moment, he had already calmed himself and was considering how exactly to deal with the matter.
"Earlier—well, to be precise, just today." Edward answered casually. He picked up the documents and skimmed through them. The file contained some details about the patent he had supposedly spearheaded and developed.
The introduction wasn't overly detailed, mostly filled with dense technical jargon: things like "multi-response mechanism based on retinal cells" and "locking onto neural granularity to complete docking within the fifth quadrant."
The words themselves were familiar, yet strung together like this, Edward could make neither head nor tail of them. He frowned.
Fortunately, he didn't actually need to understand the science behind it. What mattered was whether this thing had universal applicability or not. So, he read carefully.
And when he finished, his scalp prickled slightly. From the looks of it, this patent seemed to be tied to him on a fundamental level. Was this… some kind of inherited legacy from his father?
After all, his old man had once used his life to help the League capture Rayquaza. And now, Edward, through the power of another Legendary, had created a revolutionary technology of his own.
"Registered today?" Zoroark muttered under its breath. Before it could ask more, its phone suddenly rang. It hurriedly stepped aside to answer, leaving Edward massaging his temples with a sigh.
His phone vibrated too. A message from Secretary Kennedy.
It said that the president of Hoenn League Studios wanted a meeting with him. Not just them—two of the region's other top film company heads also wanted to see him.
Even several mid- and low-tier company bosses had tried to set up meetings, but Secretary Kennedy had turned them away. After all, if Edward agreed to see everyone, he wouldn't have time to do anything else in life. He'd be stuck entertaining visitors all day, every day.
Edward knew the truth. This "secret" of his was never going to stay hidden for long. In fact, he hadn't even considered it much of a secret. Especially not after the League meeting where he'd been questioned. With all those officials present, many of whom had family or close ties across the region, it was inevitable that word would spread.
Sooner or later, everyone who needed to know would know. The rest would only find out when the League issued its large-scale press releases.
And indeed, the League had already launched its publicity campaign, clarifying rumors. Wild theories online had spiraled out of control—some people were even claiming that Edward had hypnotized the entire populace to prepare for world domination. Naturally, the League had to step forward to deny all of that, publicly stating that it was nothing more than a new form of technology.
The clarification had calmed the rumors somewhat. But it also sparked new debates. Countless voices emerged, speculating on what Edward's "innovation" meant for the future of the world. The chaos was enough to make anyone's scalp numb.
"Ah, what a headache." Edward exhaled heavily. To be honest, solving this problem seemed… difficult. Perhaps very difficult.
The technology was too far ahead of its time. It delivered a dimensional-crushing blow to traditional filmmaking. Worse, the device currently existed as a single prototype—one camera, operable only by specialized engineers, and, most absurd of all, powered by energy provided directly from Groudon.
Which meant, in practice, that only Edward himself could use it. The charging couldn't be interrupted, and he had to be present at all times.
The explanation sounded far-fetched, but what could anyone do? That was how the "technology" worked. And with a registered patent, no one could argue otherwise. Understanding it wasn't required; acknowledging it was enough.
Still, Edward knew the truth: unless he drew more rewards from his system, those loopholes would remain.
But life in society meant constant interaction. There was no avoiding people. So, Edward had no choice but to grit his teeth and return call after call. Filming Alien for the day was out of the question.
He gave the crew a break, reminding them not to wander too far.
Fortunately, in the Pokémon world, entertainment was plentiful. The crew wouldn't be bored.
By the time Edward finally finished answering the last phone call, the sky had already darkened.
"I'm completely speechless," he muttered, rubbing his aching forehead.
The calls today had been nothing short of soul-draining. None of the company bosses were fools. Even if they were, their top executives weren't. Everyone realized the immense impact this patent could have on the traditional film industry.
Pokémon society already had VR technology, but it was crude. The graphics looked fake, immersion was shallow, and the impact minimal. It had only given small studios a new way to shoot action flicks.
But Edward's innovation was something else entirely. A true revolution. Films with such powerful immersion would soon replace traditional cinema the same way color films had replaced black-and-white.
Especially now that the news had broken publicly. The entire Pokémon League would know that Ghost Films Production's movies offered unparalleled immersion, drawing audiences deep into the story itself. What a monumental leap forward! Edward could even raise ticket prices overnight, and most people wouldn't complain.
After all, everyone understood that research was costly. Spreading those costs across products was the norm for any scientific enterprise.
The companies aware of the danger began offering everything they could.
Some came with blunt financial offers. Others appealed emotionally, or suggested mergers—on the condition they got shares in his company. Some even went as far as offering their daughters, speaking of their "youth" as if that were a bargaining chip.
Edward could only twitch at the absurdity. He wasn't about to become anyone's live-in son-in-law. Besides, when it came to marriage, he already had someone in mind.
When persuasion failed, they switched to brute force—drowning him in money.
"One day's rental fee of fifty million… even I'm tempted," Edward sighed.
Not purchase—just rental. One company offered fifty million for a single day's use of the camera. Which meant, even if he did nothing else but rent it out, he could pocket over a billion a month. Pure profit.
After all, he hadn't spent a single coin developing the device—it was simply drawn from the system. No research costs. No overhead.
So renting was nothing but gain. The higher the price, the more he'd earn. Far more than filmmaking itself, which involved shooting, editing, distribution, and splitting revenue with theaters and investors. This, by contrast, was monopoly profit.
If he wanted, he could keep the camera rented out year-round, making companies bid against one another for the single machine.
And yet, Edward refused. The thing was too troublesome to use. It required him to be physically present at all times. He couldn't simply hand it over.
His refusal left many with bitter thoughts, though they kept smiling politely thanks to his Devon Corporation heir status. On the surface, all they could say was, "We look forward to future cooperation."
Devon had once crushed Mauville's Great Purple Company to rise as the League's leading enterprise. Competing with Devon's scale was no easy feat, let alone for film companies.
"What a pain…" Edward muttered, rubbing his temples again. He could only hope his father returned soon.
Managing Devon alone had been exhausting enough. Now, with this world-shaking technology added to the pile, he couldn't imagine how busy he would become. If his father recovered, at least some of the weight would be lifted.
Thankfully, Secretary Kennedy had already realized the strain and promised to reduce Edward's workload within Devon. Unless it was something requiring his personal judgment, most matters wouldn't be sent to him anymore.
"Zoroark!" Edward called.
The Pokémon, who had been sprawled out playing a cellphone battle game, instantly shot upright. It had spent the whole day gaming, shifting between excitement, triumph, and explosive rage like someone with a split personality.
"Contact a security company," Edward instructed. "Hire several professional teams."
Zoroark tilted its head in confusion. Wasn't its boss a filmmaker? Why was this starting to feel like a covert operation?
But when Edward simply muttered the word "patent," Zoroark understood.
It knew the basics of its boss's "invention." Since Edward had rejected all rental offers, protection was necessary. Thieves and saboteurs would surely come sniffing. Business competition was always dirtiest in the shadows.
Forget stock market duels or flashy press conferences—real commercial warfare could be brutally simple. Hiring thugs to cut the power, pour boiling water, sabotage locks, get someone drunk, block traffic… physical force was often the first resort.
Edward had to be prepared.
"Boss, I've made the calls. The security teams will be here tonight to set up defenses," Zoroark reported.
"Good." Edward nodded. At least he could feel a little safer.
And sure enough, the very next morning, as he prepared to resume filming Alien, the hired security team came strutting in with trophies of their "victory."
"You actually caught them?" Edward gawked at the six bruised, battered thieves lined up before him. He didn't know whether to laugh or sigh.
"Mr. Edward," the hulking security captain explained, his arms thicker than Edward's head, "these men tried to break into the set last night. So…"
Edward nodded, understanding the message. Hiring them had been the right decision. Pricey, but pocket change for him.
"Thank you for your hard work," Edward said with a smile. He couldn't even be bothered to deal with the thieves—he simply instructed the guards to hand them over to Officer Jenny. Let justice take its course.
"Would you like us to interrogate them first?" the captain asked carefully.
Edward blinked. Wait, that's part of the service?
The man gave him a friendly smile. After all, their team included former investigators—they knew their way around interrogations.
"Ask them, but don't leave marks," Edward decided, rubbing his chin. He wanted to know who had hired these idiots. Once he found out, he would blacklist the culprits permanently. He had no intention of working with reckless fools.
"Understood!" the captain said cheerfully, dragging the unlucky men away.
Edward didn't interfere. Professionals should handle professional work—that had always been his motto.
"Let's finish Alien as soon as possible," he muttered to himself, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "I'm curious to see just how immersive it'll feel."
Would the audience vomit right in the theater? The thought almost made him laugh.
Clearly, a film rating system was no longer optional. Without it, passing review would be impossible. Not that Alien was ever a movie children should watch anyway.
(End of Chapter)