Smiley was not the type of person who smiled easily. Edward had started following this particular video creator ever since watching his review of Batman: The Dark Knight.
The man had solid analytical skills, sharp commentary, and occasionally covered niche comics that most people had never even heard of. To Edward, he was the kind of content creator one could casually watch to pass the time—unpretentious yet genuinely entertaining.
This time, however, Smiley was doing something quite different. He had gone to the cinema early to attend the premiere screening of Shutter, Edward's latest horror film.
[Good heavens, is this really Smiley's livestream? Where the heck has he wandered off to?]
[LOL, Smiley has officially turned into an Edward-shaped creature!]
[But seriously, it's been forever since Director Edward last made a horror film.]
"Hey everyone, it's Smiley here. Today we're attending the premiere of Director Edward's brand-new film, Shutter," he said cheerfully to the camera, smiling with that practiced ease of a seasoned streamer. He was live on air, and at the same time, recording footage for a future video review.
As for why a content creator from the comics and manga category had suddenly started covering movies, the reason was simple: out of all his previous uploads, the ones about Edward's films had the highest view counts. Edward's name carried weight—his movies always stirred conversation, controversy, and curiosity. And even though Smiley was mainly a comics commentator, he was still human—and humans, after all, needed to eat.
So, naturally, he decided to branch out. Reviewing films seemed like a practical way to diversify his content and supplement his income.
"Although Director Edward hasn't released many films recently," Smiley continued, "he's still written two screenplays in a row—one for Batman: The Dark Knight, and the other for Carrie, which stirred up quite a bit of debate."
Edward, watching the livestream, raised an eyebrow.
Carrie.
That film remained one of Ghost Films' most controversial productions to date—perhaps the most divisive, without exception. The script had delved into several sensitive social issues, and public opinion had split sharply. Some praised it as a biting satire of school culture and bullying; others condemned it as a dangerous influence, fearing it might inspire copycat acts among unstable youths.
This, of course, was also the biggest controversy surrounding Carrie.
Even in Edward's previous world, the original Carrie had sparked fiery debate when it first premiered. Some argued that such a story shouldn't have been made at all, claiming it glorified school violence. Others believed that restricting it would be an attack on artistic freedom. Still others thought it served as a necessary warning against bullying—showing how cruelty can push a person to the brink.
In the Pokémon world, however, Carrie caused far less uproar.
[If Carrie had studied under a League-certified teacher, none of that would've happened.]
[Still, her revenge scene was so satisfying! All that bottled-up anger finally exploded—pure catharsis.]
[Exactly! The more you relate to her earlier suffering, the more thrilling that final act becomes.]
The barrage of comments scrolled across the screen, most of them discussing the movie. Indeed, the film had briefly drawn public attention to school life and safety. But teachers across the regions quickly reassured everyone: nothing like Carrie could ever happen here. After all, Pokémon League educators weren't ordinary people, they were certified trainers, most of them possessing at least eight Gym Badges or tournament credentials.
Some schools even employed retired Gym Leaders as teachers. Their strength, both in spirit and in Pokémon battles, made them more than capable of maintaining order.
As a result, the debate soon died down. Still, it had caught the attention of the League itself, prompting them to pay closer attention to school-related issues. In a way, Edward's controversial film had made a small but meaningful contribution to the world.
"Ahem," Smiley cleared his throat. "Anyway, let's not get too heated about Carrie. What we're here for today is Shutter, and maybe… some hidden Easter eggs?"
Edward perked up slightly.
Easter eggs?
There were none.
It was a horror movie, he hadn't even planned for any hidden scenes. Adding one would've been pointless. Yet Smiley was confidently promising "Easter eggs," so where on earth had he gotten that idea?
"Well, about that 'Easter egg,'" the streamer said mysteriously, "it's not a major spoiler or anything, but those who've been browsing the film forums lately might've heard—remember that director who once had a public feud with Edward over Batman: The Dark Knight? The one nicknamed Ben Sox? There's been a new development."
Edward raised his eyebrows.
Ben Sox?
Of course he remembered. That man's temper, arrogance, and overall attitude had left quite an impression. After their spat, Ben Sox had posted one final rant online, deleted his account, and vanished. For a time, Edward even wondered if the man was secretly playing some kind of genius-level "4D chess" move—sacrificing his reputation to achieve a greater scheme.
But when Ben Sox failed to reappear, Edward lost interest and moved on. Now, suddenly, the name resurfaced in Smiley's stream.
[Director Ben Sox? The scammer? Didn't someone try to sue him for fraud?]
[Yeah, I remember he deleted everything and ghosted the internet.]
[That's karma. I bet Edward secretly ruined him.]
[I saw his parents crying on a livestream, begging him to come home. He never did.]
[Scum of the earth, seriously.]
Edward skimmed the chat but didn't react. Sure, Ben Sox had annoyed him once, but after seeing that ridiculous animation project and those outrageous statements, Edward realized the man wasn't worth any anger.
So, he had stopped paying attention altogether.
"I got a message from a friend," Smiley continued, "saying that Ben Sox was spotted in a luxury casino recently. He lost everything, got kicked out, and is now back home begging his parents to sell their house to pay off his debts."
Edward sighed. "If that was supposed to be a story of a cunning strategist, I might've applauded it. But gambling? Really? That's just pathetic."
He couldn't help remembering that absurd animation and Ben Sox's delusional confidence—it all made sense now. Once a gambler, always a gambler.
Still, to confirm, Edward messaged Zoroark to investigate Ben Sox's current situation.
Zoroark worked quickly. "Boss, it's true. He owes a massive gambling debt and is trying to convince his parents to sell their home."
Edward clicked his tongue. What a waste. He had briefly hoped for some redemption arc—something worth respecting but Ben Sox had chosen the lowest path imaginable.
Gambling addicts were not to be pitied.
"Spread the news," Edward ordered. "Make sure the League sees it."
In the Pokémon world, gambling was strictly illegal and unprotected by law. For a public figure to engage in it was an even greater offense. A few years behind bars might actually save Ben Sox from self-destruction.
Edward knew from experience: once someone fell into gambling, escaping was nearly impossible. He'd seen too many lives ruined that way in his previous world.
So, ironically, prison might be the best cure. He even planned to have Devon Corporation's legal team file additional charges—to ensure the heaviest sentence possible.
He also wanted to reach out to Ben Sox's parents.
Unexpectedly, they were more than eager. They practically thanked Edward for helping and even said, "The longer you can lock him up, the better—twenty years, if possible!"
Edward was stunned. Twenty years was practically a life sentence. What had Ben Sox done to make his own parents so furious?
"That unfilial brat," Ben's father had said, his voice trembling with anger. "He begged us to take out loans, to go into debt just so he could gamble again and 'win it all back'!"
Edward could only sigh. The man was truly beyond saving.
So, he agreed to help the parents.
By the next morning, the headline "Director Ben Sox Bankrupts Himself—Massive Gambling Debts Exposed!" dominated the trending lists, even surpassing Shutter in popularity.
"Boss, why did you…?" Zoroark asked carefully. It couldn't quite understand why Edward was so intent on punishing Ben Sox, especially since the man's parents were complete strangers.
Edward didn't answer immediately.
He was remembering his past life.
Before his reincarnation, Edward had been born into a well-off family—not filthy rich, but comfortable. His parents were shrewd merchants in the 1980s, carrying sacks of cash to buy wholesale goods, and they had saved enough to buy dozens of properties if they'd wanted. Their relatives often said that his family was the wealthiest in their generation.
By all rights, Edward should have lived the easy life of a second-generation rich kid.
But his father had fallen into gambling.
He lost everything—every cent, every asset. Overnight, Edward's life became a struggle mode. In primary school, he went hungry. In high school, his mother had to borrow money and work odd jobs to keep him in class. Even then, his father hadn't stopped gambling. He pawned off his wife's jewelry, promising every time that his next "lucky streak" would change everything.
It never did.
By the time Edward reached university, he owed his education entirely to the kindness of distant relatives.
That was why, after graduation, he had worked with almost desperate determination—pushing himself harder than anyone else on every film set, burning his youth to change his fate.
"I hate gamblers," he finally said, his voice low and firm. "From the bottom of my heart."
That was why he'd helped Ben Sox's parents. Not for money, not for fame—just for peace of mind.
"For closure," he whispered.
Zoroark hesitated. "Then… should we push for a heavier sentence?"
Edward was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. And set up a charity foundation—call it the 'Gamblers Die Miserably' Fund. It'll support families ruined by gambling addiction. But any gambler who receives aid will also face full legal prosecution."
Zoroark scribbled the note but winced inwardly. That name would never pass approval—but with the boss still fuming, now wasn't the time to argue.
Meanwhile, Edward opened his phone and checked the latest news.
Shutter had exploded in popularity—its ratings were all over the place. Some viewers had been so scared they jokingly left rock-bottom scores.
[1 star—because I nearly died of fright.]
[1 star—I have cervical spine problems.]
[2 stars—The ghost crawled down the stairs upside down! Her skirt defied gravity. Even physicists can't rest in peace after that.]
"These people…" Edward chuckled. He knew they were just teasing. Soon enough, those joke ratings would adjust to normal.
He was used to it by now—every one of his horror films went through the same pattern.
Still, he felt that Shutter, while terrifying, wasn't quite as intense as The Grudge. Unless someone carried guilt deep in their heart, they probably wouldn't be that scared.
(End of Chapter)