As for Zoroark's mention of complaints, Edward did not care much at all. After all, this wasn't the first time he had been complained about. Having been complained against so many times already, he had gradually built up plenty of experience.
Moreover, every time The Grudge had to go through official review before release. As long as it met the requirements of the film review board, the League wouldn't bother themselves with trivial complaints.
After all, there were always warnings before screenings, along with clear audience guidelines. The League had strict prevention measures and reminders in place. If people still chose to go watch a horror film after all those warnings, then it meant they had already prepared themselves to bear the risks. Edward actually quite liked such laws, because they prevented people with weak hearts, who still insisted on watching horror films, from coming out afterwards to make trouble for the film studio after being frightened.
If the laws were to go further—demanding movie companies compensate under the guise of protecting vulnerable groups—then there would be no point in making films at all. No matter what kind of film was made, someone would always find an excuse to file a claim.
"Horror films that aren't scary—what's the point of even calling them horror?" Edward was in a good mood. For The Grudge, being able to terrify audiences was exactly the effect he wanted. And with the success of The Grudge 2, he would be able to naturally introduce the other classics in the series, like the western The Grudge 1 and The Grudge 2.
Those two were considered classics, inheriting some elements from the theatrical releases while also explaining the origins of the The Grudge curse itself. They were full of classic terrifying sequences, representative works of the series.
However, as more and more sequels were churned out, the quality of The Grudge steadily declined. In the end, it fell into the category of bad films. This was simply the nature of capital's exploitation of an IP—utterly unreasonable. As long as the series could make money, investors never cared what the fans thought.
The worst of them all was undoubtedly The Grudge: The Final Chapter. Just from the name, Edward had naïvely believed that this would truly be the final installment of The Grudge. Back then, he had even been curious: how could such a terrifying and unsolvable curse ever be resolved?
So, Edward had followed the film seriously all the way to the end. But in the final scene, when a character grabbed an unlucky victim and said, "The curse of The Grudge will never end, you know," Edward nearly laughed in exasperation. It was like reading a novel that had supposedly reached "The End," only for the protagonist to suddenly declare, "This story will never truly end, you know." Exactly the same ridiculousness.
Feeling deceived, Edward had unhesitatingly left a one-star review.
Of course, he could also understand the situation. For the sake of profits, capital never respected the director's intentions. As long as they could find someone to write scripts and exploit fans, that was enough.
But Edward himself had no such concerns. He filmed whatever he wanted to film. He was the capital, and he had no need to squeeze an IP dry to its last drop of value.
"Alas, the audiences of the League are truly fortunate," Zoroark sighed, gazing at his boss. To have a director who only cared about scaring audiences—what a blessing for moviegoers. Edward just chuckled and said nothing.
Films, at their core, were always about enriching people's lives. Of course, some films tried to deliver deeper meaning or satirize aspects of reality. But most of Edward's horror movies were purely about giving audiences a fright. After all, if a horror movie wasn't horrifying, there would be no reason to call it horror.
Once he had finished writing the script for The Grudge 2, Edward instructed Zoroark to begin casting. A movie like The Grudge required many supporting roles due to the large number of characters involved. For Kayako, however, Edward had already chosen the actress in his mind—Fuji Takako, whom he believed to be the most suitable choice.
As for Suzumiya Kyoko and Mrs. Kitada, Edward thought it best to let the crew select some beautiful, skilled actresses.
After all, Kyoko was supposed to be attractive, and if Mrs. Kitada's looks were elevated too, then while audiences were being terrified, they could at least receive a bit of psychological comfort. At least, that was how Edward saw it.
When Kayako sent audiences screaming in fright, they could catch a glimpse of a pretty face here and there to ease the tension in their hearts. In Edward's opinion, that was him being far too kind.
Surely, the audience would be grateful.
"By the way, boss, there's some new information about the Ghost Amusement Park." Zoroark came back in holding a stack of documents. Edward glanced at him and noticed the faint smile in his eyes. Clearly, it wasn't anything troublesome. If it were something serious, Zoroark wouldn't be smiling like that.
Having worked with Zoroark for quite some time now, Edward had come to understand his small habits. When faced with serious matters, Zoroark's expression would be stern, his gaze sharp. But when he smiled like this, it usually meant the matter was lighthearted, or even amusing.
"What happened?" Edward rubbed his temples. The Ghost Amusement Park had many sources of income and was frighteningly profitable. Though it had only been open for a short while, thanks to Tomie's well-managed haunted house, the park had developed a unique charm. It was now considered one of the top three amusement parks in the entire Hoenn region.
The first was the League Amusement Park. The second was the Dreamland Amusement Park, which specialized in theme parks and had many outstanding ride designs. And the third was Edward's Ghost Amusement Park. To have clawed its way into the top three was no small feat.
"You'll see once you read this." Zoroark chuckled as he handed over the documents. Edward flipped through them, first seeing a profit report for the Ghost Amusement Park, along with data comparing visitor numbers.
Edward was no uneducated second-generation heir. Though he had never gone to college, he had studied under many great teachers arranged by his father since childhood. When it came to business management, he was already highly skilled. Just one glance told him exactly what Zoroark wanted him to notice.
The haunted house tickets at the Ghost Amusement Park were selling like wildfire—so much so that reservations were required. People were extremely curious about the park's ultra-realistic horror experience, flocking from all over to visit, which left the park overcrowded.
This was a good thing. To enter the park, visitors first had to buy tickets, and while waiting in line they would often try other attractions as well. The park had already recouped its costs and was now firmly profitable.
Furthermore, the park's "unmanned amusement" model had earned praise. Though some visitors occasionally complained that the ghostly staff reacted slowly, such cases were rare. Secretary Kennedy had also arranged for professional training. Overall, the park had quickly outgrown its dependence on Edward's funding and was now supporting itself.
"That's good. And about salaries…" Edward paused. Salaries?
Of course, Ghost Pokémon also received wages. But since they didn't have much use for money, most of it was spent on buying "scare permits" or specialized ghost-type poffins from the League.
So, raising their pay didn't seem very useful. For Ghost Pokémon, frightening humans was their greatest joy. With the park filled with abundant fear energy, they were already feasting happily. They hardly needed money.
"…Later, I'll prepare ten liters of Fear Juice for you. Deliver it to Mismagius. Tell it that this is an end-of-year benefit, to be distributed quarterly." Edward said seriously.
Zoroark stared blankly at the large jug of juice, then swallowed hard. She could feel the powerful allure radiating from it—it was so tempting, even she struggled to resist.
Edward cast he a sidelong glance. Oh, right. Originally, Zoroark had been Shizuka after her death, transformed into a Pokémon. With part of her soul, she had been immune to the temptation of Fear Juice. But now that Shizuka and Zoroark had separated, she was no longer immune.
"Do you want to drink it?" Edward asked with a half-smile.
Zoroark's throat bobbed, her eyes locked on the massive bottle, burning with desire.
"…And yet, I refuse!" Zoroark declared solemnly.
Edward raised his brows. This fellow could resist even this temptation? How interesting. Still, he didn't mind. If Zoroark wanted to drink, she only had to ask. Edward had more Fear Points than he could even count—enough to drink for an eternity.
Watching Zoroark leave, Edward settled into his seat and continued flipping through the files.
Fear Juice would certainly be immensely attractive to ghostly employees, but Edward was prepared. It was his way of giving staff benefits. Still, only Mismagius could be trusted to handle the distribution. If given to any other ghost, they might just hide it away for themselves.
Only Mismagius, the responsible leader, could be trusted to divide it fairly.
"Has the comic division been purchased?" Edward smiled as he looked at another report. Hoenn Comics had now been bought by him and renamed Stone Comics. The departments remained intact—the writers, editors, and coordinators unchanged.
That was Edward's deliberate decision. And now that he owned the comic company, he could finally begin laying out plans for a superhero universe. He intended to start with DC, beginning with Batman and Superman.
Originally, he had planned to open with Superman, since Superman as the starting point would grab readers' attention on a grander scale. But considering his preparation for filming Batman: The Dark Knight, Edward decided to develop Batman's storyline alongside Superman's, hoping to build up fans for both.
He was confident. After all, in his previous world, these works had become globally beloved due to their unique charm. In the Pokémon world, where there were no such superhero comics, Edward was excited to see the reception.
"As for the comic itself…" Edward hesitated. He knew how to draw it, but he simply didn't have the time. He was far too busy, and even if he had spare time, he didn't want to commit to drawing. These two series were extremely long—he couldn't possibly afford the time.
So, he would hand the job to someone else.
But given the bright future of these comics, he had to ensure the artist signed a kind of "contract for life."
Of course, not literally. But he needed to guarantee that the artist stayed with his company, and that the adaptation rights and copyrights remained firmly in his hands. In return, he would pay handsomely. If the artist created stories that satisfied him, Edward was even willing to grant them partial rights to certain characters.
Still, he wasn't well-versed in legal matters, so he called in the head of the legal department to discuss.
"Boss, Richie and Rimi, the brother and sister, have already been detained. Their assets have been left for their spouses and children, with some set aside to support their father," the department head reported upon entering.
Edward blinked, then realized—ah, he was talking about those two "filial children," Richie and Rimi.
They had once tried to blackmail him by bringing their father to a screening of The Grudge. But thanks to Edward's masterful use of cinematic language, they had failed. Edward had cursed them and left the matter to the legal department, never bothering about it again. He hadn't expected to hear the aftermath today.
"I wasn't asking about that. Here's what I want to know." Edward briefly explained his idea. The department head listened quietly, then quickly gave his response.
It could be done. A contract would simply need to be drafted.
"In that case, all that's left is to find a comic artist." Edward felt much more at ease. And finding a comic artist—that was the easy part.
The comic industry was highly competitive, endlessly cutthroat. The income gap between creators was wider than the gap between man and beast. Top-tier comic artist or mangaka earned over a millions a year effortlessly, while those at the bottom struggled to survive each month.
What's that? You say you draw very well, and are even willing to color your own work?
Sorry. There are countless others who draw better than you. And coloring isn't just filling in areas—it requires mastery of tone, gradients, and light effects. Can you compete?
This was simply the nature of the industry—hypercompetitive, relentlessly exhausting. And above all, it needed stories. If the story was compelling, even rough artwork could sell, sometimes even attract adaptation offers.
So, for Edward, finding a comic artist was no trouble at all. There were plenty of people eager to draw for him.
(End of Chapter)