"Sometimes you really have to admire these people. If it were me, the moment I saw something like this, I would've run away immediately. Then I'd call the police and let the Officer Jennys handle it."
Zoroark sighed softly as she spoke. In her opinion, the script truly was quite impressive—at least, that was how she felt about it.
Edward also nodded. This was exactly why horror films had increasingly struggled in recent years. After all, every possible trick had already been used. And if the protagonist was too smart, then the script simply couldn't progress. So, every once in a while, you had to insert characters who were indescribably foolish—only then could the plot move forward smoothly.
Edward continued reading the script in his hands.
After thinking for a moment, Ji-woo still used the key the administrator gave him to unlock the door. When he stepped inside, he immediately saw many strange strips of cloth hanging around, and also noticed a large cabinet.
In front of the cabinet sat a tape recorder. Ji-woo walked over with confusion, picked it up, and pressed play.
The administrator's voice came from the speaker.
It turned out the administrator had never actually been an administrator. He and the man wearing the hat had originally been accomplices. They both lived here, though the administrator had stayed for a particular reason—the treasure left behind by the leader of the Guanglin Cult.
The administrator had somehow learned that after the Guanglin cultists had died, their treasure remained hidden somewhere within the Guanglin Apartments. So, he came to this place intending to find out where it was. Later, they arrived at Room 1504, where they discovered the cult leader's corpse.
At that time, the man with the hat also saw the cabinet. It was locked tightly. He also noticed strands of a woman's hair inside. When he pointed his flashlight at it, the hair retreated back into the darkness.
Then, the man with the hat followed the administrator and saw the corpse of the cult leader. The leader had already become a dried-up mummy. There was a string of bells attached to his foot. His mouth was slightly open, revealing his teeth, and there was a white bandage with strange symbols wrapped across his face.
The administrator felt no fear at all. He walked straight up, pried open the leader's mouth, and found a key hidden inside. Then he happily used the key to unlock the wardrobe.
When the wardrobe opened, it revealed nothing but pitch-black darkness—so deep and endless that not even a flashlight could penetrate it. No matter how you shone the beam inside, it illuminated nothing. All you could see was a black abyss, eerie and chilling.
Even the flashlight couldn't brighten it. And yet, the administrator boldly reached his hand inside and began pulling out piles of cash. Overjoyed, he started stuffing the money into his pockets, convinced he had found the Guanglin Cult's treasure.
But the man with the hat felt increasingly uneasy. He kept hearing footsteps—along with the jingling of bells. Since he had seen the cult leader's corpse earlier, he was terrified, thinking perhaps the cult leader had come back to life. He nervously pointed his flashlight toward the sound.
And that moment was when everything went wrong.
He didn't see anything unusual. But when he turned his head again, he realized the administrator—his boss—had completely disappeared.
Shocked, he hesitated. But since he had already come this far, and since the cash was still piled near the wardrobe, he stuffed several stacks into his bag, planning to take them and leave.
Just then, he heard the footsteps again—along with the bells.
He lifted his flashlight and pointed it toward the cult leader's room—only to see the cult leader's feet.
Terrified beyond belief, he screamed and sprinted away.
He ran all the way to their car, panting heavily. But now he realized a huge problem: he didn't have the car keys.
The car keys were still with the administrator.
While he was panicking, the administrator suddenly appeared, knocking on the car window. Without thinking, the man opened the door and let him in—but the administrator's expression was extremely strange. He stared at him and murmured:
"Do you want to know what I saw inside the wardrobe?"
His voice was eerie and distorted. The young man trembled violently. He could already sense something was very, very wrong.
Then he heard the sound of bells—inside the car.
He lowered his head. What he saw wasn't his boss's feet.
They were the feet of the cult leader.
The young man snapped his head up—and saw the mummified cult leader lunging at him. The car shook violently, accompanied by the young man's agonized screams.
Back in the present, Ji-woo finally understood what had happened here. He wanted to escape, but when he turned around, the cult leader was standing right behind him.
Shocked out of his mind, Ji-woo stumbled backward—straight into the wardrobe. The doors slammed shut instantly.
Ji-woo couldn't get out.
The cult leader disappeared.
Now, the administrator walked forward. He looked at Ji-woo, who was desperately begging from inside the wardrobe, and smiled.
"I've really enjoyed spending time with you these past few days. From now on, I'll live your life in your place."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Ji-woo stared in despair, only to realize that the administrator had transformed into him. His appearance, clothing, everything was identical.
Meanwhile, Ji-woo himself was trapped in the wardrobe, swallowed by endless darkness—and died.
The ending showed Ji-woo's assistant entering the Guanglin Apartments later. She saw "Ji-woo" talking, but sensed something off. Instinctively, she stepped back. The cult leader's horrifying smile surfaced—and "Ji-woo's" eyes turned pitch black.
With that, the entire script ended.
"Not bad. Pretty interesting." Edward chuckled. This movie really was entertaining. Although it had a few flaws, they were minor enough to overlook. And as a whole, the film was very fresh and innovative.
Segmented horror films had already been played to death in his previous life, but in the Pokémon world, segmented horror was still a major novelty. The overall story also felt similar to the "Ghost Mansion" anthology Edward had watched before.
Later works often followed a similar pattern—deranged writers or manga artists driven insane by deadlines, seeking horror stories; serial killers unable to sleep unless they heard frightening tales; or other bizarre setups that all eventually turned into "storytelling festivals."
You never knew why these people wanted to listen to horror stories.
You never knew why, after hearing something terrifying, they would still insist on listening further.
But none of that mattered.
The listeners almost always died in the end.
"Boss, I really don't understand. Ji-woo already sensed something was wrong—so why did he insist on digging deeper?"
Zoroark looked puzzled. She felt the script forced the character to act stupid, which shouldn't have happened—but did anyway.
"It says so right here," Edward replied. "He used to be famous and had his own assistant. But afterward, his inspiration dried up. Once you're used to luxury, going back is difficult. This was his chance to rise again, so he didn't care about anything else."
Edward also thought it was a bit forced, but it was still acceptable.
To be honest, most movies didn't make perfect logical sense.
But real life was the same. There were many famous incidents in history that people insisted were "illogical" or "impossible," yet they happened anyway.
Like Zhuge Liang's Empty Fort Strategy—many believed it made no sense at all, yet it worked.
Precisely because the illogical happens, such cases become fascinating.
Zoroark still felt something was off. Edward glanced at her.
"Zoroark, you need to remember: the world itself is full of things that are unreasonable and illogical. Aren't you the same?"
Zoroark froze. Her eyes widened. And when she thought about it, he was right.
By all normal logic, a human transforming into a Ghost-type Pokémon shouldn't be possible at all. It contradicted every evolutionary theory held by Pokémon Professors. And yet—it had happened.
Edward smiled and dropped the topic. Instead, he looked at the online discussions about Harry Potter. For now, the debate still centered around one question:
"Did Director Edward Stone lie in the trailer?"
The comments made Edward speechless.
"These guys…"
He felt both amused and helpless. He never expected people to think he was committing trailer fraud.
Then his attention shifted to a certain film critic—a man known for his sharp, biting reviews. He had even criticized Edward's The Grudge 3, though his arguments were always well-founded. Edward found the man interesting and paid extra attention to his comment.
"Forgive my bluntness: I don't think this film is actually a horror movie. After all, this time the film was rated suitable for all ages. If we don't trust Director Edward, we should at least trust the rating board—unless they were all bribed by him."
The comment was short, but received thousands of likes.
Edward scratched his head.
Honestly, the guy had a point—there wasn't much more to say.
At the end of the day, this whole controversy was simply a topic people wanted to discuss. The "suitable for all ages" rating clearly proved that the film wasn't terrifying. Otherwise, the rating board would never allow children to watch it.
After all, the League had once faced a major scandal—
A film with obvious gore and violence had mistakenly been rated "Suitable for ages 8+."
During the screening, a ten-year-old fainted from fear. The parents sued the League's Film Review Department and won 1.8 million in damages.
One-point-eight million.
Even for a League department, that was no small amount. Since then, the Film Review Department became extremely cautious—they would never take risks again.
If Harry Potter was rated "All Ages," then it truly was safe.
No rating board would gamble their reputation and finances, just for Edward.
"But thankfully, people in the Pokémon world are relatively normal," Edward sighed. "At least I've never seen the type of parent who blames everything on unrelated things, like those who scream 'Please shut down all games!' as if that would magically turn their kid into a genius."
As though without games, their child would suddenly get into Harvard or Princeton.
Parents played a critical role in children's development.
Yes, children lacked self-control and needed limits regarding games. But blaming everything on games and throwing their child into the hands of some quack professor—that was truly irresponsible.
Some people's actions would forever be nailed to the pillar of shame in history. Edward wondered whether, when they grew old and helpless, they would fear those very children pulling the oxygen tubes from their beds—in vengeance.
Time passed day by day.
Very soon, the release date of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone arrived.
Although many still suspected Edward of trailer fraud, the film's "All Ages" rating made countless children curious. To them, Edward's films were legendary, movies that only adults were brave enough to watch.
In their minds:
Watching a Edward film = being a grown-up.
If I watch it = I'm also a grown-up.
And as everyone knew, children always held a stubborn desire to "grow up," believing that adulthood meant freedom to buy whatever they wanted and do whatever they pleased.
Yet countless adults' biggest dream was to return to youth—laughing in classrooms with friends, hugging still-young parents, and enjoying a life without worries.
People were never satisfied with what they had.
But what shocked everyone the most was the movie's premiere schedule—
The first showing was set for 8:30 AM.
There were no midnight screenings at all.
"Seriously, I could cry. Director Edward is doing everything he can to keep us from staying up late and dying suddenly!"
A film critic posted on social media. He had fully prepared to stay up late for the premiere—only to discover it was moved to the morning.
But in a way, this was good.
At least they wouldn't be scared half to death at night and unable to sleep anymore.
(End of chapter)