". . . Boss, what do you think of this documentary?"
Three months later, Sanders — now unshaven and looking utterly worn out — sat across from Edward, his eyes filled with expectation as he asked for feedback. Edward, however, didn't answer immediately. Instead, he slowly lifted his gaze to look at Sanders.
Compared to three months ago, Sanders now looked… well, as if he might drop dead at any second. That was the impression he gave, and it honestly made Edward a little nervous.
But at the same time, he couldn't help feeling helpless about it. He had told Sanders to go film a documentary, right? Yes, that was right. He remembered it clearly — a simple documentary. So why did Sanders now look like he had just transcended life itself?
"Not to be rude, Sanders, but how exactly have you been sleeping these days?" Edward asked, a strange expression crossing his face. These past months, he had been preoccupied with company affairs, as well as handling DC Comics-related projects.
Even The Grudge 2 had been delayed and hadn't premiered yet. He hadn't expected Sanders to have actually finished filming the documentary first.
"I've been following the foundation staff every single day. Whenever they wake up, I wake up too. The whole crew's been doing the same," Sanders said with a grin — a grin that revealed his teeth and carried a hollow sort of laughter.
Edward fell silent. He picked up a document from the desk — a report Zoroark had sent him earlier. According to the information, the entire film crew Sanders had brought along had requested leave for today to rest at home.
Edward had naturally approved it. After all, they had finished filming, and rest was well-deserved. But hearing Sanders's words, Edward felt that one day of rest wouldn't be nearly enough. Three days, maybe. That sounded more reasonable.
"I'll give your team a bonus — six months' worth of salary," Edward finally said with a sigh. Sanders nodded, showing little reaction. He simply kept staring at Edward, clearly waiting for his evaluation — a judgment on the documentary they had worked so hard on.
Edward was quiet for a while.
He had just finished watching it. It wasn't particularly long — only three episodes in total, each running a full 120 minutes.
"It's very good. Excellent work, actually. Watching it felt as though I had personally taken part in the foundation's work myself," Edward said sincerely. Hearing that, Sanders broke into a wide, toothy smile, genuine happiness lighting up his face. Edward felt a faint sigh rise within him at the sight.
He truly did want to do charity work — he had donated money, a lot of money in fact — but to work with the same dedication and selflessness as those people? Edward had to admit, he couldn't do it. Maybe it wasn't even possible for him. The sheer difficulty of such a life was beyond what he could handle.
Sleeping only a few hours a night, traveling constantly, pushing yourself that far — that kind of effort reminded him only of his final year in high school in his past life. Now, however, Edward had grown accustomed to a life of comfort.
"Boss, the team discussed it, and we've decided that we want to donate our entire bonus to the foundation," Sanders said earnestly.
Edward blinked, surprised. Half a year's salary — that wasn't a small amount — yet they wanted to donate all of it back to the foundation?
"No need. I'll donate an equivalent sum to the foundation in your name. You've all worked hard enough. Just take a good rest," Edward said, knocking on the desk lightly. He didn't plan to let his employees donate their own money. They had followed the foundation's staff day and night, worked themselves to exhaustion — they deserved to relax and enjoy life for a bit.
Sanders froze, then bowed deeply in gratitude before walking briskly out of the office.
Watching his back, Edward sat quietly, holding the master copy of the documentary in his hands.
Originally, he had only planned for a short promotional video — just something to raise awareness of the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation. But somehow, it had turned into a full-fledged documentary. Still, he didn't really mind. In fact, the finished result was even better — more meaningful, more powerful.
"Zoroark, raise the bonus to one full year's salary," Edward said suddenly after a pause. Zoroark nodded and noted it down.
"It's not easy… I just have to spend money, but those people — they're truly something else." Edward trailed off, unable to find the right words. He wasn't even sure what he could say.
Some of the employees at the foundation were truly remarkable — their dedication and drive were enough to move anyone.
"Looks like I'll need to talk to Kode again." Edward pulled out his phone and sent a message, asking Kode to come by for a meeting. He wanted to discuss restructuring and management issues within the foundation. Its rapid growth wasn't bad per se, but there were hidden dangers in such intensity. Edward didn't want to see his staff ending up hospitalized from overwork.
"Wait… maybe we should build a hospital while we're at it," Edward murmured as another idea came to mind. When he'd watched the documentary, he'd noticed something — many patients, after falling ill, were too poor to even go to the hospital.
They simply stayed home waiting to die. It was only when compassionate League officials or foundation volunteers stepped in that they received help at all.
When the rich could afford monthly check-ups and injections worth millions just to extend their lives, the poor were dying quietly in their own homes. This world had never been fair — not truly.
So, Edward decided: he would build a hospital. A chain of hospitals, in fact. Start in the Hoenn Region, then expand across the rest of the League. Of course, building hospitals was easier said than done.
He quickly sent a message to Kennedy.
"Zoroark, go with Kennedy later. Calculate the approximate cost of building a general hospital and prepare a report for me," Edward said as Zoroark returned. The Pokémon nodded and jotted it down.
Edward leaned back in thought. Hospitals were incredibly expensive to run — that much was undeniable. Even though the Pokémon world's existence lowered some costs, it didn't eliminate them.
Medical devices, in particular, were outrageously expensive. In fact, the most dangerous thing you could do in a hospital was accidentally touch one of those machines — one punch could cost you tens or even hundreds of thousands. Maybe even millions.
Go to a hospital once, and you could go bankrupt overnight.
Still, Edward planned to leave the details to Zoroark and Kennedy. He wasn't going to get personally involved in logistics he didn't understand. His job was simpler: make more movies and earn more money.
"If I really want to make more money, then horror films probably won't cut it anymore. I'll need to shoot more commercial movies," Edward mused.
In his previous life, commercial blockbusters were the biggest money-makers. Later, of course, emotional and sentiment-driven films had also found huge success — the kind that tugged at people's hearts or resonated with social trends, earning box office gold by making audiences cry.
Those films were everywhere. But Edward wasn't interested in chasing that sort of fad. Sure, they could make money — but they depended too much on timing and luck, on riding the market's emotional waves. Edward preferred something more stable — superhero films.
After all, superhero franchises came with a hidden goldmine: intellectual property.
In his past life, both Batman and Superman were absolute money-printing machines — the licensing alone could fund an entire cinematic universe, creating a self-sustaining loop of success.
He glanced at a report on his desk. His current focus was indeed on DC's superhero lineup, all set in a modern backdrop — perfectly suited for drawing in massive corporate sponsorships later.
"Hmm… the sales numbers for Stone Comics are quite good, almost catching up to the League's Shonen Comics. Superman's popularity even surpasses Batman's for now…" Edward noted as he read.
Both Superman and Batman — these mature IPs — were now shining brightly in this world too. Seeing this, Edward made his decision: he would direct The Dark Knight.
It would be a massive box-office hit, he was sure of it — and it would further elevate Batman's global fame, creating the same positive feedback cycle he wanted.
The only risk was whether the film's quality and the audience's taste would align — but Edward had confidence. The Dark Knight had been a success even in his past world; there was no reason it couldn't work here.
Meanwhile, in a quiet university dormitory somewhere—
A young man sat in his chair, scrolling through his computer with a bored expression. "There really aren't any good documentaries lately… it's all the same stuff over and over."
His name was Jax. Since childhood, when he first stumbled across the League Documentary Channel, he had become an avid documentary lover. He was now a college student majoring in broadcast media, with dreams of working in the documentary industry himself.
"Hey, Jax, can't you just play a game for once? You watch documentaries in class and after class too!" his roommate complained.
"There's nothing else interesting! Oh, wait—?" Jax refreshed the page and spotted something new — a company name that wasn't exactly familiar, but somehow rang a bell.
[Ghost Films Pictures Presents: The Prayer Wall Charity Foundation]
Three episodes. Each 120 minutes long.
"Huh? Ghost Films Pictures made a documentary about their own foundation?" another roommate, who was browsing the PoképokéTV site, noticed the same update. Jax leaned over to look.
[Ghost Film Studios]
['Hello everyone, this time our studio brings you The Prayer Wall Charity Foundation, a unique documentary showcasing the daily work of our company's own foundation. The full series is now free to watch online. We hope you enjoy it.']
Short and simple, as usual. But the comment section below was already exploding — fans asking about the next season of Sherlock Holmes series, begging for new releases, or even sending selfies to apply for acting roles.
But everyone's curiosity was piqued — what kind of documentary could Ghost Films possibly make?
After all, the studio had done movies, dramas, and short films — but never a documentary. Naturally, people were curious. Jax and his friends clicked in.
"Please… please save my husband! My child's only three years old — he can't lose his father!"
The opening scene was chaos — a distraught woman kneeling on a hospital floor, eyes swollen red, her cries raw and desperate.
[Her name is Diane Song, age 26. After graduating from university, she joined the Prayer Wall Charity Foundation as an application review officer. She is responsible for processing the overwhelming flood of requests that arrive daily.]
The camera panned to a young woman in a sharp, professional outfit. A Machamp stood silently behind her as she filled out forms, jotting notes on a report sheet.
"Ma'am, please calm down. The foundation has its procedures. As long as the application meets the requirements, approval will go through," Diane said softly, her voice hoarse but steady.
"Such a shame," one of Jax' roommates muttered. "She's so beautiful, but she seems so cold."
Jax didn't respond. Truthfully, he thought the same.
[Diane has been in this position for one year. In that year, she has slept a total of 2,000 hours — averaging only about five and a half hours of sleep per day.]
The room fell silent. Everyone's curiosity deepened — what kind of life did this girl lead?
The footage continued. Diane visited hospitals, checked medical records, interviewed doctors, and then drove out to applicants' homes to conduct field inspections. The conditions were appalling — broken walls, filthy surroundings, suffocating poverty.
"The applicant has already sold everything they could, including their home. They're all living here now," an League worker said, eyes red as she explained. Diane simply ticked boxes on her report and made notes of what she saw.
[After completing the inspection, Diane submitted her report to her superiors before heading to her next destination — another hospital across the city, where two more applicants awaited her arrival.]
As the narration continued, the next shot showed her asleep on a bus, her head resting against the window.
[This is one of the few moments in her day when she can rest. Diane always takes brief naps during transit to make up for her lack of sleep — often sleeping only three to four hours at night.]
The dorm room was utterly silent now. One of the roommates quietly turned his head away, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes.
He had once been in that same position — kneeling, begging someone to save his father.
(End of Chapter)