"Boss! Buried's box office has already broken 1.5 billion!"
Zoroark, holding its phone in hand, shouted the news so excitedly that Edward almost dropped the megaphone he was holding. He jolted in shock, nearly letting it fall to the ground. But once he registered what Zoroark had said, he couldn't deny it—he really was surprised. After all, it had only been one single day, and yet the box office had climbed so high already?
"1.5 billion?" Edward let out a sharp "tsk," then turned to look at Zoroark for confirmation. Meanwhile, Alien's filming was still progressing steadily with no major setbacks; overall, the schedule was smooth and on track. The only real headache Edward had right now was Pikachu.
This little fellow, as though its nature had been completely unleashed, acted far too wildly during performances. On several occasions it had nearly bitten the actors for real. Edward had no choice but to ask the Pokémon's Trainer to rein it in. After all, while Pikachu had been transformed into an Alien Pikachu, it absolutely couldn't be allowed to actually bite people.
Everyone knew Pokémon bites were a troublesome issue. Not only could they carry unusual diseases, but they could also cause nasty wound infections. Every year, the League devoted a portion of its medical resources to treating Pokémon bite incidents. They even ran repeated public service announcements urging people to seek immediate treatment if ever bitten by a Pokémon.
Because no one could ever be sure whether a biting Pokémon might be carrying some dangerous pathogen. Take rabies for example—a terrifying, deadly disease that still existed even in the Pokémon world. Its fatality rate was so extreme that the very name of it sent chills down the spine of many League members.
"Yes! And projections say total revenue could even break three billion!" Zoroark's voice trembled with excitement as it shoved the phone into Edward's hands. Edward glanced at the screen and saw a headline blaring:
"Buried Box Office Surpasses 1.5 Billion With Unstoppable Momentum! Edward Stone Delivers the Harshest Blow to the Traditional Film Industry!"
Edward's eyelid twitched violently.
The article read:
"With the unveiling of Edward's revolutionary new technology, offering audiences an experience far beyond traditional VR, Buried has once again shattered single-day box office records! Nearly every showing is sold out. Using groundbreaking, disruptive technology, the League's so-called 'Money-Making Tiger' has left the entire film industry trembling."
"Eh? Wait a second. What's this 'Money-Making Tiger of the League'? What kind of ridiculous nickname is that supposed to be?" Edward scowled. He knew many self-media outlets within the League loved giving people weird titles—but that? It made him think back to those old gangster films he'd once watched.
"Boss, this outlet is literally famous for inventing odd nicknames. Look, just last issue they wrote about some mogul named Musk and gave him the title 'The Internet's Savage Dragon.'" Zoroark said it with a perfectly straight face.
Edward rolled his eyes. What a joke.
Still, after skimming through some of their older pieces, Edward sighed and let it go. There was no point being angry at such nonsense. After all, their whole brand recognition relied on these bizarre nicknames. And yet, knowing he was being called the League's "Money-Making Tiger" still left him feeling utterly uncomfortable—like he'd been dusted head to toe with itching powder.
"Forget it. Still… I didn't expect they'd actually hire a professional forecast team." Edward shook his head, dropping the nickname issue, and focused instead on the data analysis in the article. What he saw truly surprised him.
Weird as the outlet was, their numbers were solid. They'd hired real professionals to test audience responses and ticket sales trends. Their conclusion? If Buried's momentum continued as it had today, its final gross could easily exceed three billion. In the world of Pokémon, that figure was astronomical.
Especially considering—it was a horror film. For a horror movie to rake in over three billion? That could only mean Edward's cutting-edge technology had become a major draw. People were desperate to know: just how immersive was this League-developed high-tech device really?
Even those who originally had no interest in a thriller like Buried were buying tickets out of sheer curiosity. With the media frenzy spreading, more and more people would flock to theaters just to see what the hype was about.
So in truth, three billion might not even be the ceiling. With momentum building, the final number could climb even higher.
"Boss, this time you're really going down in film history!" Zoroark cheered, nearly bouncing with excitement. By now, the rest of the crew had caught wind of the news as well, and they rushed forward to congratulate Edward. He could only smile wryly, but inside, he was deeply stirred. After all, such massive box office returns also meant vast numbers of viewers.
Which meant—an enormous harvest of fear energy.
At that thought, Edward's heart raced. He still owed the system a large amount of fear points. If this run could push his total past 200,000, he'd be able to trigger another lottery draw. Right now, the lottery cost had risen to 50,000 points per pull, and who knew how much the next tier would demand?
"Alright, alright, I get it. Everyone's excited. Take the day off—I'll treat you all to a bonus red envelope." Edward clapped his hands, dispersing the noisy celebration. In truth, with the atmosphere this festive, filming wasn't happening today anyway. And with news reports like these, he could already foresee what was coming: an avalanche of partnership calls flooding his phone again.
If such a niche horror-thriller could pull in numbers like this, then what about mainstream genres—the truly popular storylines in the Pokémon world? The market potential would be enormous.
Edward suddenly felt the heat of countless envious, greedy eyes fixed upon him. They were staring at him as though he were a living treasure cauldron—a cornucopia from which wealth would endlessly pour.
A cornucopia?
Edward froze, realization dawning. Of course—that must be why they called him the "Money-Making Tiger." Just like the beckoning cat statues holding golden treasure pots, he was seen as a beast clutching an endless fortune.
"What a pain," Edward muttered, stuffing red envelopes while quietly powering down his phone. He'd had enough of people blowing up his number. From now on, he wouldn't be using this SIM anymore. He'd use the excuse of being busy with a film shoot and retreat into seclusion for a while.
True, that might cause trouble—impatient folks might come banging on his door. But at least he'd be spared from endless calls for the short term. Edward figured it was time to get two separate numbers: one for business, one for family and friends.
"Zoroark, go get me a new phone number," Edward said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Most messages didn't require replies, but some did. Certain acquaintances—and especially the leaders of the major film conglomerates across the League—couldn't be ignored. To brush them off entirely would be too disrespectful.
So, resignedly, Edward picked his phone back up and started sorting through which messages to answer.
Such was the helplessness of adult life.
"Got it, Boss," Zoroark nodded, shooting him a sympathetic glance. Being a rich, high-profile boss didn't seem so great after all. Zoroark made plenty of money too, but still had its freedom. Edward, meanwhile, barely had any time to himself—his every spare moment swallowed up by obligations.
Still, once those major companies learned that Edward's new technology required Groudon's presence for constant charging, most leaders dropped their demands immediately. After all, while the fact that Edward controlled Groudon was a "secret," it was only secret to outsiders. High-level League insiders already knew. And none of them wanted the risk—or responsibility—of unleashing a Legendary's wrath by interfering.
So, it was only the lower-tier bosses, the ones not in the loop, who continued pestering him. Their messages piled up in his inbox, which Edward had little desire to answer. But to avoid burning bridges and complicating future collaborations, he eventually just blasted out a single group message to everyone. That would do.
And so, time slipped by. Edward pressed forward with Alien's filming, while the media churned out daily updates on Buried's phenomenal box office.
Before long, Alien was finally finished. In the climactic final scene, Alien Pikachu and the xenomorph itself were blasted out into space by the heroine, sucked away into the void. When the shot wrapped, Edward clapped his hands together and shouted, "Cut!"
"Finally wrapped!" Edward rubbed his hands together in exhilaration. He had been waiting for this moment far too long.
"Boss, should we hold a wrap party?" Zoroark yawned, rubbing its tired eyes, its voice thick with drowsiness.
"Yeah, let's prepare one," Edward said, though his voice was weary. The shoot had dragged on far longer than he'd expected. With Zoroark and the other special effects Pokémon, he'd assumed the process would be faster. But in reality, problems cropped up constantly.
Pikachu, for one, had exposed too much of its true nature. At one point, Zoroark even argued that they didn't need to use illusions at all—Pikachu in its natural state was terrifying enough. But under the pleading eyes of Pikachu's Trainer, Edward insisted on cloaking it in illusion anyway, and quietly deleted the outtakes where Pikachu's "character integrity" collapsed entirely.
Once Pikachu's issue was resolved, other troubles arose: props malfunctioned, shots ruined, endless retakes. By the time Alien was truly complete, three whole months had passed.
"So, Buried's final box office actually hit 3.7 billion?" Edward stretched lazily. Alien was finally wrapped, and in the meantime Buried had officially ended its theatrical run. At least publicly—it had also been shortlisted for several award competitions.
The final gross stood at 3.7 billion. A number that far exceeded not only Edward's expectations, but those of many veteran filmmakers as well. Horror films rarely reached such heights, given how many people were too scared to watch them at all.
As for Edward's fear value, it ultimately stopped at 142,312—not quite the 150,000 he'd hoped for. Likely because repeat viewers didn't contribute additional fear points after their first time.
"Buried doesn't really count as a pure horror movie anyway," Edward admitted. Its suffocating dread and sense of despair, magnified by his system's buffs, felt painfully real, but still fell short of the raw terror of a true horror film.
Alien, though, would fare better. Its unique blend of sci-fi and horror offered a fresh, unsettling experience for audiences.
Even so, Edward felt slasher-style gore wasn't ideal either. The best, in his mind, were Eastern ghost stories—the kind that gnawed at the nerves with supernatural dread.
"Next up… Ju-On: The Grudge," Edward mused, stroking his chin. He had already decided what film to make next.
Ju-On had always divided opinions. Some saw it as horror perfected—pure, distilled fear. And truly, it was terrifying. In his past life, it would have easily ranked among the top ten scariest films ever made.
Others criticized it as nonsense—scares for the sake of scares, devoid of logic. A failure in horror cinema.
But whatever people thought, Ju-On had undeniably reached a peak in horror filmmaking, inspiring countless imitators. Even decades later, it was still revived again and again.
Edward believed if he released Ju-On now, it could paralyze entire swaths of the audience with terror. If not for his Master-Level Cinematography skill—which ensured viewers would forget all discomfort caused by the film once it ended—he would never have dared to release something so extreme.
"For now though, I need to finish editing Alien and get it into competitions quickly," Edward said, standing up. He wasn't ready to shoot Ju-On yet—he still had to deal with the awards process for Buried.
"Let's see… the Hoenn Golden Apple Awards, and the Pokémon League Annual Film Awards. Only two, but not bad at all." He grinned at the invitation messages on his phone, rubbing his hands together in excitement.
Though he had been a director for some time now, he had never competed in awards before. This would be his very first entry.
And to be nominated directly for the League's Annual Film Awards? That was no small honor. If he could win Best Director, it would silence the doubters once and for all.
Unfortunately, Edward wasn't overly optimistic about his chances.
After all, when making Buried, he hadn't yet had Master-Level Cinematography. His expression through the camera had still fallen short.
But now? With his new mastery, Edward felt confident that his next works would be unstoppable.
(End of Chapter)
Ju-On: The Grudge – a 2002 Horror/Mystery Film