"How did you feel about today's performance?"
That evening, while having dinner, Edward asked casually as he ate from his boxed meal. He sat across from Daniel, chatting as they both dug in.
This had long since become a habit of Edward's. He liked to talk with his actors from time to time to hear their opinions. After all, as the director, the things he saw from behind the camera weren't always the same as what the actors felt during the shoot.
Sometimes, having these little conversations led to unexpected insights.
"Boss, I think today's performance went pretty well," Daniel said between bites. "And this script is excellent. It's just that the ending—when Vijay confesses after being persuaded—feels a bit… delicate. Don't you think?"
Both of them were eating the standard boxed meals from the film crew. Neither Edward nor Daniel was the type to put on airs. Edward could've easily had a private chef cook for him, but honestly, that was too much trouble. A boxed meal was simple, quick, and perfectly fine.
"That's unavoidable," Edward replied, his lips twitching slightly. "Letting him go doesn't sit right, but neither does punishing him too harshly. The only thing we can do is make it believable enough for the audience to accept."
He hadn't expected Daniel to notice the same issue he did. But it was true — no matter how much they discussed it, Sherlock Holmes was, at its core, a detective series. And Sherlock Holmes had always stood firmly on the side of justice. It wasn't possible for him to act too radically without breaking character.
At least in this version, the protagonist turns himself in. Holmes exposes his lies, yes, but the man confesses voluntarily — that makes it a bit less controversial.
"Sometimes, in pursuit of storytelling, we can't make everything morally perfect," Edward continued, his tone thoughtful. "Back when I was filming Rear Window with Director Kirk, I noticed the same issue. The story had moral problems — voyeurism, for one — but the old man insisted on keeping it that way. He said that only by showing the imperfection could he express what he truly wanted."
Now, Edward understood that sentiment far more deeply than he had back then.
"Boss, there's a strange phone call asking for you."
Zoroark walked over, looking puzzled, holding out a phone. On the screen was an unfamiliar number. Edward raised an eyebrow before taking the call.
This wasn't his private phone — it was Zoroark's work phone, which very few people had the number to.
"Hello?" Edward asked calmly. He didn't know who was calling, but anyone who could get hold of this number had to have some sort of connection to his company. It wasn't a line open to the public.
"Edward, Mewtwo's with you, isn't it?"
The voice on the other end was low and hoarse. Edward froze for a second, blinking in surprise. What kind of call is this? Was it Team Rocket? Giovanni himself, perhaps? They actually suspected that Mewtwo was with him?
Edward wasn't particularly shocked by the accusation. It wasn't exactly a secret that he'd helped Mewtwo — not one that could stay hidden forever. Team Rocket had been chasing Mewtwo for ages; it was perfectly reasonable that they'd piece things together eventually.
Still, did they think calling him directly like this meant he couldn't do anything about it?
Maybe in the past, he wouldn't have been able to. Before, he'd have just handed the matter over to the Pokémon League to deal with. But now? Now Edward had plenty of ways to handle it.
He murmured silently in his mind, sending a signal to Kayako and Toshio. The two immediately faded from sight.
Kayako and Toshio were efficient killers, but when it came to anything involving phones, there was someone even more fitting for the job — Mimiko Mizunuma .
After all, Edward had once filmed One Missed Call. He knew exactly how to summon her.
Activating the skill Shadow Companion, Edward watched as the air before him rippled. Moments later, a coughing, wheezing girl appeared — pale-faced, her breathing raspy, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Edward looked at her quietly.
Mimiko Mizunuma — the vengeful spirit from One Missed Call. In later films, it was revealed that Mimiko wasn't the true origin of the curse; that had been another entity. But Mimiko was still the most infamous face of the haunting.
"Edward, are you really going to oppose us for the sake of one Pokémon?"
The voice on the phone grew agitated as Edward remained silent.
He smirked faintly. "They're getting impatient already?"
He met Mimiko's gaze. She tilted her head slightly, then nodded with a sweet, eerie smile. Her eyes gleamed faintly — a predator's glint.
"Sorry," Edward said flatly, "I don't know any Mewtwo."
And he hung up.
At that exact moment, Mimiko 's small hand closed gently around the phone.
…
Meanwhile, inside one of Team Rocket's secret bases.
"Seriously, what's that guy's problem? Think he's untouchable just because he's rich? So, what if he's from Hoenn?!"
Two Team Rocket grunts were muttering angrily in a dimly lit control room. One of them, a man named Philos, was clutching the very same phone that had just connected to Edward.
Beside them, a Porygon sat motionless on the desk, its geometric eyes flickering faintly with unreadable light.
"Of course he's untouchable," the other grunt, a man named Afel said quietly, pulling out the SIM card and destroying it immediately. "That man's a billionaire. If this weren't a direct mission from HQ, I wouldn't even think about provoking him."
Porygon was a rare and valuable Pokémon, prized for its digital manipulation abilities. The organization didn't have many left, most of their supply had been seized by the League. The few remaining were vital assets, so they handled each one with extreme care.
"Tch. Billionaire, billionaire. So what?" Philos sneered. "We're Team Rocket! Even the League can't find us. Who cares how rich he is? As long as he can't locate us, what can he do?!"
He leaned back smugly, arms crossed. "We're the most powerful organization in Indigo. No one dares touch us."
Afel frowned. "You should still be careful, Philos. Higher-ups might not care, but if something goes wrong, we're the ones who take the fall. It's not worth it to provoke someone like him. Let's just keep our heads down and finish the mission."
"Ah, Afel, you worry too much," Philos snorted. "This is a direct order from the boss himself. What could possibly happen?"
To him, it was just another day's work. The call was already over, the SIM card destroyed, and the line disconnected. Plus, with Porygon's help, even the League's tech division couldn't trace them.
But as Philos finished speaking, a strange, unsettling melody suddenly drifted through the room.
It wasn't quite a ringtone, nor a song — just a dissonant, eerie tune that made the skin crawl.
Philos froze, glancing around.
"What's that sound? Your phone?" he asked casually, pulling out his own. No calls. No messages. Everything was normal.
When he looked up, Afel's face had gone pale. The other man was staring at his own phone — equally silent.
"Not yours?" Philos frowned.
Afel shook his head stiffly.
Then they both turned toward the desk.
The third phone — the one whose SIM card had been removed and power shut off — was glowing faintly on the tabletop. The screen flickered with a string of random numbers, flashing repeatedly, and from it came that uncanny ringing sound.
Philos swallowed hard. His throat felt dry.
That phone was off. The SIM card's gone. This isn't possible.
"Porygon!" Afel barked sharply.
Porygon's eyes flared as it scanned the device with precision. For a moment, it stared silently — then shook its head, as if indicating there was nothing abnormal.
"What do you mean, nothing wrong?" Philos demanded, a bit hysterical. "It's ringing! You see it ringing, right?!"
Afel's expression darkened. He understood what Porygon meant.
"There's no network interference," he said quietly. "No signal infiltration. According to Porygon… the phone's completely normal."
Philos froze. Completely normal? The phone was ringing, the screen flashing, and that was normal?
He stared in disbelief, unable to comprehend.
The ringing continued for a while before finally cutting off.
A robotic voice followed:
[You have one new voicemail.]
Philos and Afel exchanged uneasy glances.
"Are you sure you turned it off?" Afel asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"Positive," Philos said quickly, pulling the destroyed SIM card from his pocket to prove it. The card was bent and cracked — completely useless.
"Then… what's playing the message?" Afel whispered.
They hesitated, then approached the desk together. The phone had somehow turned itself on again. Across the screen flashed a notification:
[New Voicemail Received.]
"Normally, once the SIM card's gone, a phone can't do anything except call emergency services, right?" Philos muttered, puzzled.
Afel nodded. "Exactly. That's why we use old models — no smart functions, no network features. Once the SIM's out, it's basically a brick."
In theory, this should've been impossible. Yet here they were.
Philos's hand trembled slightly as he tapped the message.
'Playing voicemail. Timestamp: May 15th, 4:43 PM.'
Static. Then—
"How is this possible?!"
"That bastard better not think—"
"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
The recording cut off abruptly.
The two stared at each other, faces pale.
Afel slowly glanced at his own phone. The date on the screen read May 14th.
"…That message was from tomorrow," he whispered.
Philos blinked, trying to process. "Wait. That voice— it sounded like me."
Afel nodded gravely. "It was you."
Philos's mouth went dry.
"That's— That's impossible. Must be some kind of prank!"
"I don't know," Afel said quietly, unease twisting in his gut. "But this… feels familiar somehow."
Philos swore under his breath and stormed off to confront the supplier who'd given them the phones. But the man swore up and down that it wasn't a prank. Furious, Philos smashed the phone to pieces and ordered his Houndour to burn the remains to ash.
"These idiots… what kind of sick prank is this?" he growled, his voice trembling despite himself.
"Philos," Afel said suddenly, his tone deadly serious, "come look at this."
Philos turned. Afel had pulled up a movie commentary video on his tablet.
As the playback began, Philos's expression shifted from confusion to horror.
The voice from the recording — that same chilling tone — was unmistakable.
"It's from One Missed Call," Afel said grimly. "The cursed ringtone. The death message from the future."
Philos's hands began to shake. "That's… ridiculous. That's just a movie! There's no way—!"
But his voice faltered. Deep down, a seed of fear had already taken root.
Afel's face was pale too. "Could this be Edward's doing? Some kind of ghostly revenge? But bypassing Porygon's detection… that shouldn't even be possible."
Just as he was about to speak again—
That eerie, distorted ringtone echoed once more through the room.
Both men froze.
The sound was coming from directly behind them.
(End of Chapter)