"It's easy to tell that you've been deeply moved by your work at the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation, isn't it?" Edward said, pouring a cup of tea for Kode — an act he did entirely of his own accord.
Ever since Kode had come to the foundation, he had truly devoted himself body and soul to its work — the very definition of giving everything until death. He was constantly busy, and most importantly, he managed everything with strict discipline.
Because of this, the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation had become something of a miracle: even after growing into a vast and powerful organization, there wasn't a single trace of corruption or malpractice within it.
That in itself was extremely rare. After all, once any organization or institution grows large enough, it's nearly impossible to ensure that every employee is a good person — it's inevitable that a few bad apples will appear sooner or later.
But Kode had somehow managed to keep the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation utterly spotless. The fact that the foundation had developed so rapidly into what it was today was, without a doubt, thanks in large part to him.
His insistence on public financial transparency and open donation records had earned the trust of the entire League, making everyone realize that the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation was genuinely devoted to helping others.
As a result, the foundation began receiving more attention, more donations, and more requests for help.
Edward's decision to personally pour Kode a cup of tea was his way of showing respect — because, truthfully, without Kode, the foundation might never have grown so fast.
"There's definitely been a lot to take in, Boss. You have no idea. These past few weeks, whenever I get ready to rest at night, I have to hypnotize myself just to fall asleep," Kode said wearily, holding the cup of tea in both hands as he slumped into the sofa.
He was an Alakazam, after all! For a Psychic-type Pokémon like him to be so exhausted that he needed to force himself to sleep — that spoke volumes about how hard he'd been working.
Edward knew very well what kind of creature Alakazam was — tireless, endlessly energetic, and capable of multitasking with ease. Yet even someone like Kode was completely worn out, which only proved how demanding and mentally draining the foundation's work had become.
"You've really worked hard, Kode," Edward said sincerely.
Though he'd never personally taken part in the foundation's day-to-day affairs, just looking at Kode's state told him everything. It also sparked an idea in his mind — he planned to have one of the directors from Ghost Films shoot a short promotional video for the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation. Well, not exactly a public-service announcement, but more of an advertisement.
On one hand, it would promote the foundation; on the other, it might help reach more people in need. After all, most people only learned about the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation by searching for it themselves or through doctors and fellow patients.
It was like how, if you weren't involved in a certain field, you'd never know how that industry worked or what organizations existed within it.
For instance — if you weren't in civil engineering, would you know how many construction bureaus there were, or how engineer ranks were divided? Of course not.
That was the limitation of information.
Humans, after all, were only human — not Psychic Pokémon who could know everything. They couldn't possibly learn or master every subject; people naturally focused only on their own field.
Edward's goal, therefore, was to make the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation known to as many people as possible. Only by increasing awareness could the foundation gain more donors and, in turn, help more lives.
"Still, it's not all bad," Kode added with a faint smile. "Sometimes the work can actually be quite heartwarming. Some families, after their loved ones recover, even donate part of their spare money back to the foundation."
Edward smiled at that — he genuinely thought it was a beautiful thing.
"What? You want me to film a commercial for the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation?" Director Sanders looked at the Zoroark in front of him with visible surprise. Of course, he knew who this was — the personal secretary of the company's big boss, Edward. But even so, hearing the request firsthand left him stunned, and he couldn't help asking again just to make sure.
"Yes, Director Sanders," Zoroark said warmly. "The company intends to film a promotional video for its subsidiary, the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation. According to your résumé, you've had experience shooting commercials in the past — that's why you were chosen."
Though surprised at first, Sanders readily agreed once he saw the generous compensation being offered. He'd been planning to buy a small car for his wife, and with this bonus, he could finally afford it.
Besides, he was genuinely good at filming advertisements — it was an area he understood well, and the project wouldn't be difficult.
Soon after, Sanders set out on his own. Before every shoot, he liked to personally visit the company or product he'd be filming — to observe, get a feel for the atmosphere, and decide on the visual tone. It was a personal habit of his, and Edward didn't mind in the slightest. As long as Sanders produced good results, Edward didn't care how he worked.
So, Sanders spent over a week — almost two — staying at the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation. When he finally returned to the company, he went straight to Edward's office, where the boss was buried in paperwork.
"What? You're saying you want to make a documentary instead?" Edward looked up, genuinely taken aback.
The man standing before him was almost unrecognizable — Sanders's beard was unkempt, his eyes ringed with dark circles, and he looked utterly sleep-deprived. But what truly stunned Edward was the proposal itself.
For a moment, he even wondered if he'd misheard.
"Boss," Sanders began earnestly, "I don't think a short advertisement can really convey what the foundation stands for. Over these past few days, I've been following them everywhere, witnessing how they operate firsthand. I believe a documentary would do far more justice to their work."
Edward frowned slightly. He knew Sanders was right — a documentary would better showcase the foundation's mission. But as a businessman, Edward also had to consider another angle: the audience.
In today's fast-paced, impatient world, everything revolved around three core principles — shorter, faster, simpler. The rise of short videos, express delivery, and on-demand entertainment proved that people preferred quick, digestible content.
Long-form media like films had their place, but documentaries were a niche within that — they had dedicated audiences but far less mass appeal. Even though major networks had special documentary channels, their reach was limited.
A hit documentary and a viral advertisement simply weren't comparable in promotional impact. Even something as popular as the "A Bite of China" series from his previous life couldn't match the exposure of a well-placed ad.
After all, ads appeared everywhere — on TV, in mobile apps, during prime hours. People saw them constantly. A documentary, on the other hand, demanded focus and time, and not everyone had that.
Still, looking at Sanders's passionate expression, Edward could tell this wasn't a casual suggestion — he had truly thought it through.
"All right," Edward said after a pause. "You can make the documentary. But I still want a short advertisement too. Keep it concise, and include the documentary's title at the end. The people who are genuinely interested will go and watch it themselves."
He didn't want to discourage Sanders — in fact, he agreed that both could be done. Besides, it would also serve as a morale boost for the foundation's staff. After all, human beings — even the most selfless — needed emotional fulfillment. Feeling that one's work had social meaning was a kind of spiritual satisfaction, and Edward understood that well.
"Yes, Boss!" Sanders said excitedly. Though he still had to film the commercial, being allowed to make the documentary filled him with motivation.
He admitted it — when he first joined Ghost Films, it was for the pay and benefits. Edward's generosity was famous throughout the industry, and he treated even his lowest-level employees fairly. Many people in the film world dreamed of working for him.
This project had originally been just another job — a way to earn enough to buy a car for his wife. But after spending time at the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation, Sanders's mindset changed completely.
The Prayer Wall Charity Foundation, he realized, was a place where people with the purest hearts worked tirelessly for others. That was the deepest impression it left on him.
"Why did you suddenly decide to make a documentary?" Edward asked with a smile. Beside him, Zoroark poured Sanders another cup of water, then stepped back quietly, curious to hear the answer as well.
"Boss… you wouldn't believe what I saw there." Sanders's voice softened, his gaze distant.
He had always considered himself a hard worker — until he came to the foundation. That was when he realized he didn't even know what hard work truly meant.
"I met a girl named Diane Song," he said slowly. "She only sleeps five hours a day — the rest of her time is spent running around on investigations. And even those five hours aren't proper rest — sometimes she sleeps on buses or planes between destinations."
Zoroark's mouth fell open slightly. Five hours of sleep a day — with some of it on public transport? That was barely human.
Edward raised an eyebrow.
He was sure he'd never assigned such punishing schedules to foundation staff. In fact, he prided himself on humane management — nine-to-five working hours, no unpaid overtime, and triple pay for official overtime. The foundation, as far as he knew, had no need for such things.
"I asked Diane if she was working overtime," Sanders continued, his tone distant.
He recalled that moment vividly — they were on a plane, heading to another city to evaluate a patient's case. The girl had been sitting beside him, eyes closed, trying to catch a bit of sleep. When she heard his question, she opened her eyes — bloodshot, weary, but burning with determination.
"Every hour we rest could mean another patient dies without treatment," she'd said.
That look in her eyes had shaken Sanders to the core. In that moment, he saw a kind of conviction he'd never encountered before — the kind that said, I would rather die myself than let someone else suffer.
Even when there were no pending assignments, Diane would actively seek new cases, constantly pushing herself until she was caught overworking and forced to rest. Kode had to personally order her to take mandatory leave, and for the first time, Sanders saw that unbreakable girl cry.
She cried because she still wanted to keep working.
Only then did Sanders learn the full story — once, Diane had been responsible for reviewing the case of a terminally ill child. Because she'd left at nine that morning, her visit was delayed slightly — and that delay meant the child didn't receive treatment in time. The child passed away. The guilt from that incident never left her.
That was why the foundation had since implemented a "mandatory rest" policy — to prevent devoted employees like her from literally working themselves to death.
"It changed me," Sanders said, his voice trembling slightly. "After witnessing everything they do… I just want to contribute something — anything — to the foundation and to those people."
Edward was silent for a long time.
He'd always known that the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation was both a sanctuary for the sick and a crucible for those who worked there — a place that tested one's humanity to the core. But he hadn't realized the extent of it. Even the policy of forcing employees to rest, like the one for Diane, was something he hadn't known about.
In a world where most companies demanded endless overtime, the idea of an organization that forced its workers to take paid leave was almost unheard of — and yet, that was the kind of place the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation had become.
Zoroark quietly wiped at its eyes and turned away.
"…All right," Edward finally said, his tone resolute. "Do it. Submit your requests — staff, equipment, budget — I'll approve everything."
He thought of Kode again. The man had only ever mentioned small details, brief statistics in his reports. Never had Edward realized the reality was this harsh. Perhaps he truly had been too detached. Maybe it was time he visited the foundation himself.
"Yes, Boss! I swear, I won't let everyone's efforts go to waste!" Sanders said, bowing deeply.
This time, he wasn't doing it for money, nor for fame — but purely for the heart and spirit of the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation that Edward had built with his own hands.
(End of Chapter)