The Pokémon Care Center was the same as always—quiet, gentle, and warm in its simplicity. Or perhaps, this little place would always remain this way.
After all, every city had a welfare center like this—not just to take in the city's stray Pokémon, but also those wandering in from nearby towns and villages. Not every rural area could afford the resources to care for abandoned Pokémon, so the regional league typically established just one center in a given district, with each care center taking responsibility for the surrounding areas.
"The number of abandoned Pokémon still hasn't decrease much, huh? Even with the league constantly running awareness campaigns, the results are… disappointing."
Headmistress Lillian sighed softly as she spoke, her eyes full of weariness but also compassion.
Edward, who was visiting that day, could only shake his head at her words. "Yeah… some things can't really be helped."
After all, abandoning a Pokémon was simply too easy to do.
Resting his chin in one hand, Edward gazed at Lillian as she tended to the injured and frightened Pokémon. A Dragonite lay quietly in the corner, watching over her like a gentle guardian. Lillian's expression was soft as she cradled a small Rattata in her arms, speaking to it in a soothing voice, her hands moving tenderly over its fur to comfort the trembling little creature.
"Headmistress Lillian really is a kind person," Edward murmured sincerely. Rattata might be one of the most common Pokémon species out there, but Lillian still treated it with endless patience and care.
After chatting with her for a while longer, Edward finally took his leave. He still had a mountain of work waiting for him—specifically, writing the script for Sherlock Holmes Season 3. The story structure was still a little rough, and he needed to make several adjustments before it could move forward.
"Sooo… Sherlock Holmes Season 3, huh? Following tradition, at least three episodes minimum… So, the first one should be…"
He leaned back in his chair, chin propped on one hand as his eyes stared blankly at the computer screen. His mind churned as he tried to piece together what direction the next story should take.
There were many Sherlock Holmes stories, of course—but a large portion of them were short cases. Turning a short story into a full-length drama episode was always difficult, and sometimes it required trimming or rewriting parts to make the narrative work.
"This time…" he muttered, tapping his fingers against the table, "maybe I can borrow some structure from existing mystery films and merge them into one strong storyline."
He paused to think for a moment longer. "The Ghost of Baker Street? Hmm… No, no, that one's from a Sherlock Holmes fan work, not the original. Still… maybe I can adapt the Jack the Ripper case into an episode. Make it about how Holmes solves the murders."
The idea made his eyes light up. It was, after all, inspired by one of the most iconic films from Detective Conan—or as Edward always called it, The Little Reaper Elementary School Student.
Of course, there were many other Conan movies, but to Edward, most of them weren't that great. Their logic tended to feel forced, and for some reason, every movie had to blow something up—if it wasn't an exploding skyscraper, it was a Ferris wheel, or even, in the later films, the entire city of Tokyo.
The spectacle was huge, sure, but repeating the same formula over and over made the series feel exhausting. The longer Conan dragged on, the more desperate the production team became to "do something big," leading to wilder stunts and weaker mystery writing.
He even remembered watching a movie called The Million Dollar Pentagram, which had absurd character motivations and plot logic—it felt more like an action blockbuster than a detective story. The mystery element had been watered down so much that key clues were practically handed to the viewer on a silver platter. Edward found that kind of storytelling deeply disappointing.
In contrast, The Ghost of Baker Street stood out as one of the few Conan films that managed to balance mystery, tension, and emotional depth. Its story was thoughtfully constructed, its twists genuinely clever, and its use of the Holmes legacy elevated the whole experience.
"Hmm… maybe I should go with a movie-style approach instead."
With that thought, Edward opened a blank document and slowly typed a title across the screen:
"Drishyam"
Then he hesitated, adding a question mark at the end.
Drishyam, known in English as The Accidental Murderer, was an Indian film Edward happened to like quite a lot.
Generally speaking, a typical movie ran about ninety minutes—maybe two hours at most for a blockbuster—but in India, films often started at two hours minimum and could stretch far longer. It wasn't uncommon for an Indian movie to last three, even four hours!
The reason, of course, was cultural. In India, movie tickets were expensive, and audiences wanted to feel like they were getting their money's worth. The result: movies that were long, dramatic, and sometimes utterly exhausting.
But, as Edward often said, length alone didn't make a film bad. If the story and execution were good enough, two hours could feel like a breeze. The problem was when a movie dragged on without purpose—then even one hour could feel unbearable.
The Accidental Murderer, however, was a clear exception. It was sharp, emotionally gripping, and full of brilliant tension. The story had since been remade in multiple countries, including
China, where it was retitled The Invisible Guest essentially starting the "Drishyam" adaptation trend.
The plot was deceptively simple: a father accidentally kills a man while defending his wife and daughter, then works to conceal the truth and protect his family. But beneath that simplicity lay layers of moral struggle, love, guilt, and intellect.
The sequence of reversals was masterful. First, the audience learned the man they thought was dead had actually been buried alive. Then, when the police found supposed "evidence" and dug up the burial site, they discovered… nothing.
What left the deepest impression on Edward was how the protagonist ultimately hid the real body underneath the police station itself—forever buried during the construction. It was both poetic and chilling.
The original version ended with the man and his family continuing their lives in peace, never caught, but the Chinese remake chose to have the father surrender in the end. Edward understood the change; it fit the domestic moral framework better. The moment where the father noticed his daughter's corrected exam paper—realizing that his lie had already tainted her innocence—was a perfect emotional conclusion.
"Even if Sherlock Holmes ends up solving the case, it'd still be nice to use it to explore deeper human emotions—family, guilt, paternal love…" Edward nodded, satisfied with his own reasoning. "Perfect. That's one episode down. Maybe I can even stretch it into a two-parter if I play it right. Then I'll only need one more plot."
As for the third story, he'd already decided—it would feature Jack the Ripper. But this time, he planned to weave it into the main storyline. Holmes's investigation would bring him close to uncovering the identity of "Malamar," setting up his eventual appearance. Malamar's arc, in turn, would serve as a bridge to Moriarty's grand introduction.
"Moriarty… or should I say, Giovanni?" Edward mused aloud. "I wonder what Giovanni's been up to lately."
Thinking of Giovanni inevitably reminded him of Team Rocket—and of Mewtwo. That poor Pokémon had suffered terribly at their hands. Edward hoped, at least, that Mewtwo had managed to resolve things with them by now.
Time, as always, slipped away like a student's vacation break—you think you have forever, but in the blink of an eye, it's already over.
The Grudge 2 had finished its theatrical run, grossing an impressive 1 billion in total box office revenue—a solid number by any measure. Yet before audiences could even catch their breath, Ghost Films immediately released another film: RULE#1.
Unlike The Grudge 2, this one wasn't directed by Edward himself—it was based on his script.
The film industry was buzzing with mixed opinions. Some were confident that "anything Edward touches turns to gold" and promised to support it without question. Others were skeptical—after all, without Edward's personal direction, could it really reach the same level of quality?
Online discussions exploded:
["RULE#1— Did You Really Understand It?"]
["A Psychological and Sociological Dissection of RULE#1: A Perspective from a Former Sociology PhD Who Went to Prison"]
["Is Director Edward's Talent Finally Spent? — The Rise and Fall of a Star"]
Edward scrolled through the trending posts, a weary smile tugging at his lips. "Seriously? The Grudge 2 just ended, and they're already talking like I've retired?"
Sitting across from him, Zoroark replied with perfect seriousness, "Well, boss, you basically devoured the entire horror market. The others can only sip whatever's left. They were waiting to snatch some box office scraps after The Grudge 2, but before they could, you dropped RULE#1. You don't share the meat, you don't even leave them soup. You're lucky they're not trying to strangle you."
Edward's mouth twitched. He rubbed his temple and sighed, absentmindedly patting the little Mimikyu in his lap. "What do you mean 'not leaving them soup'? I'm not monopolizing anything… I even take breaks between releases!"
"Today's the premiere for RULE#1, right?" Edward asked after a moment, yawning lazily.
"Yes, boss," Zoroark nodded eagerly. "Do you want to go watch it?"
If Edward agreed, that would mean a free trip to the cinema—and a day off.
"Nah," Edward waved dismissively. "I already know the story. I wrote the script myself, remember? Watching it again doesn't really do much for me."
Instead, he turned his focus to two other things.
First was the glowing status panel in his system:
[RULE#1: 43,257 Fear Points]
The fact that the counter was increasing confirmed what he had hoped—it didn't matter if someone else directed his script. As long as the story was his, the "fear points" would still accumulate. That alone made him grin with satisfaction.
The second thing on his mind was his comic division.
"Has the single-volume sales data come out yet?" he asked his assistant, Fortune.
Fortune quickly refreshed the page, and the real-time statistics appeared.
3.21 million copies.
Edward narrowed his eyes. Not bad—but still below his expectations. After all, today marked the release of both Superman and Batman's standalone volumes.
Both series had been wildly popular in serialization, frequently topping the weekly rankings. It was only natural that their collected editions were now selling briskly.
Good sales meant stronger recognition for the heroes, and that, in turn, meant future box office potential for the live-action Superhero Universe he was building. These weren't just stories—they were long-term investments.
"With numbers like these, I can start planning The Dark Knight next," he mused aloud. "Maybe I'll let Roda handle it. His narrative style fits perfectly."
Just as he was about to check the data again, his phone buzzed in his hand.
It was a message from Mewtwo.
[Check the internet.]
Confused, Edward opened his browser—and froze.
A brand-new article, barely ten minutes old, was already breaking the internet with over a hundred million views.
[The True Identity of Team Rocket's Boss — Giovanni Sakaki Viridian City's Gym Leader!]
"What the hell—Giovanni's cover got blown?!" Edward shouted, nearly spilling his tea. "How?! Who exposed him?!"
A storm of disbelief churned in his mind. Could it have been… Mewtwo?
(End of Chapter)
TN: I'm gonna start lowering the money earnt from the movies just between 800 million – 2 billion with 2 billion the max. The old ones I mess up because I never check the raws it was on yuan and chatgpt keep adding another zero at the end.