When it came to the future direction of horror films or whatever lofty theories people liked to bring up, Edward indeed had a few thoughts of his own. Only, those thoughts weren't too many, nor did he dwell on them deeply.
In truth, to him, most of these concerns weren't really worth paying attention to anymore. And as he thought about this, a certain idea began forming in his mind. Looking at the things before him now, he finally decided: he would use "The Victim" as the piece that symbolized the return of true horror films.
Although "return" might not be the right word — after all, Edward was exhausted.
Filmmaking, at this point, no longer meant much to him. He already felt he had given horror films to this world. The only remaining task, perhaps, was merely to broaden horror film techniques a little, then leave it to future generations to figure out how to solve the problem of horror becoming less frightening.
And when it came to this problem, Edward did have some ideas, such as his iconic "Extraordinary Lens". This device made viewers feel as though they were personally inside the scene. But precisely because of this, the audience's fear threshold would continue rising and rising. If things went on like this, what would the future become?
Edward himself had no idea. Thinking of this, he almost felt like laughing. His original plan was to leave something different to this world, yet unexpectedly, he had personally opened the grave of horror films — digging it deeper and deeper.
Still, it depended on when people would grow tired of horror altogether. Edward had already decided to retire boldly. So, with that thought, another idea came to him as he looked at everything before him: what should he film as his final work?
Calling it "retirement" sounded exaggerated, he was still very young. But it was true that he no longer had the heart to continue. Mainly, he felt he had already filmed nearly everything. He didn't believe he could film anything meaningful in the future. All the classic horror films historically renowned, he had already remade them. And some horror films, limited by their era, simply weren't worth adapting at all.
Thinking of all this, Edward realized he truly was ready to retire. After finishing "The Victim," he would shoot one more project, then step down from the director's seat altogether. He would become a company owner, stir up storms in the business world, and enjoy life.
But the question of what that final film should be… Edward had absolutely no answer yet. It was simply too difficult. Nevertheless… he still intended to try.
"Shutter, The Grudge, One Missed Call, A Wicked Ghost, Ring, Ghost Office, Annabelle these are all pretty much done. Even Thai horror, I've already dipped into it a bit. Trying to find something suitable to shoot now is honestly difficult. If that's the case, then there's nothing more to say. But the problem is… a final work must be truly shocking. But what sort of film is shocking enough?" Edward mused, his expression complex.
This question had bothered him endlessly. He wanted to finish the film soon, he had decided that after "The Victim," he would end his directing career. But the issue was: all the classics from his previous life had been filmed; many other horror movies had already been made by filmmakers in this world too — things like Whispering Corridors for example.
So how to film something new? That was the real challenge. Still, Edward wanted to attempt it. He had ideas, but the problem was always how to implement them. With a yawn, he fell into deep thought. If he wanted to film the scariest horror film of all, then what exactly made horror truly terrifying?
Actually, most horror films, once watched, gave viewers a sense of relief because people would realize: "I'm not living in a world that dangerous." Naturally, this sense of contrast and safety was one of the reasons people enjoyed horror in the first place.
But if he flipped the logic — if in the end the audience couldn't walk away feeling safe, couldn't pull themselves out of the fear, and instead remained unsettled afterward… then wouldn't that achieve the effect Edward wanted?
He thought it could. But how to achieve such an effect… that was a much more difficult question. As he pondered, he felt a bit troubled. Turning an idea into reality was a true test. Thinking of it made his scalp prickle. If he wanted the audience to "not be able to leave," he would have to break the fourth wall, meaning the horror inside the film would need to seep into the viewers' real world. And speaking of this, Edward suddenly recalled a very classic school legend, one that once frightened countless elementary schoolers in a certain island nation, to the point of becoming a national social phenomenon.
The legend of Toire no Hanako-san.
Well, some clever child might ask: "How could a mere school legend scare so many kids into not daring to attend school?" But such a question only comes from adults. Adults naturally find such things ridiculous and fake. The problem is, this particular school legend was specifically targeted at elementary schoolers — a perfectly engineered scare for that age.
Of course, children were terrified. And these stories eventually turned into all sorts of bizarre little rumors. But why could such an obviously fictional tale spread so widely and be discussed for so long? Because it represented something people instinctively feared: "a problem that could happen to us in real life."
In other words, it transformed from fictional horror into "fiction that feels real."
Naturally, people became afraid.
Hanako's appearance varied slightly, but the popular version described her as a little girl ghost wearing a red skirt, with a doll-like bob haircut. She appeared in the girls' bathroom — specifically in the third stall.
The tales of her death differed: some said she encountered a criminal and was killed in the bathroom; others said she was locked inside and starved to death, turning into an earthbound spirit; still others claimed she was caught in a bathroom fire and burned to death, becoming a vengeful spirit afterward. As for summoning her, there was a method:
Knock on the door of the third stall three times, calling:
"Hanako, come play with me."
Then Hanako would open the door and drag the summoner inside and the summoner would vanish.
In some regional variations, Hanako could even grant wishes but the price was a terrible fate. That was essentially the Hanako legend. It didn't seem much, but because it represented that eerie feeling of "fake reality," it frightened countless children.
So, by analogy, if Edward could construct such a "fake reality" within a film, he could create the same effect. And movies like Coming Soon or Incantation attempted something similar with their "cursed footage" concept, hoping to make viewers feel physically uneasy even after they returned home, as though misfortune might follow them.
But people largely rejected that curse-focused style, and those films were heavily criticized. Edward felt there was still something worth exploring in the concept, something that could be pushed further. If so, he had a particularly interesting idea: the concept of the "Brain in a Vat."
This is a thought experiment often used in sci-fi — some people discuss it, though not many. The idea goes like this: Suppose a scientist removes your brain, places it in a vat filled with life-sustaining fluid, and connects it to a supercomputer capable of simulating all sensory inputs. Essentially, like being trapped inside a perfect virtual world. But that world is fake.
So, the question becomes: How can a person determine whether they are real, or just a brain in a vat? This question dates back to Descartes' "evil demon" hypothesis, later developing into major discussions in skepticism and virtual reality theory.
Films have used similar concepts. The most famous is The Matrix, which suggested that humans live inside a simulation, existing only as virtual beings, never seeing the real or the unreal. But The Matrix didn't truly create fear, people mostly thought the idea was cool. It was still far from the kind of terror Edward wanted. This gave him a headache. Still, he believed the concept could be reworked: the challenge was how to fuse it with horror.
But for now, the priority was still to begin filming "The Victim." Edward threw himself into the intense preparation work.
Meanwhile, Hachiko, A Growlithe's Tale continued trending, generating many discussions among audiences. What surprised Edward, however, was that the film unexpectedly gave him fear points and quite a lot at that. This left him stunned. What on earth happened?
Why would this film generate fear value? It wasn't even a horror movie! He couldn't understand it, but seeing the enormous 100,000 fear points, he decided to compress and refine them. He set it to yield a fixed-draw opportunity, aimed toward the concept of "lingering impact on the audience," and activated it.
[You obtained: "Cinematography (Grandmaster Level)"]
[Cinematography (Grandmaster Level): Your films leave audiences profoundly absorbed, enhancing immersion and emotional resonance, while ensuring viewers do not suffer psychological collapse afterward.]
Reading this notification, Edward froze. What was this? He actually drew a grandmaster-tier skill. It delighted him a little. He had always worried that developing such immersive techniques might trap viewers in the emotional haze of a film and cause someone's thoughts to spiral. If that ever happened, he would carry a heavy burden of guilt. But with this new skill, the issue was resolved. His mood brightened significantly. His future plans could proceed more safely.
Later, he gained another 20,000 fear points from Hachiko, and upon redeeming them, another grandmaster-level skill appeared, one that allowed viewers to "live a second life" within the film. Seeing this, Edward paused, then slowly smiled.
"Old friend… looks like even you can tell I'm planning to retire." His voice carried a soft laugh. What a strange, unique life. But Edward felt genuinely happy.
The evening sun cast a warm golden glow over a uniquely styled cinema. Its unusual exterior drew the attention of passersby. The building resembled a giant Growlithe sitting quietly at the street corner. Its walls were painted in soft browns and whites, imitating Growlithe's fur. The creature's warm eyes had been transformed into two large, bright windows gazing at every visitor who approached for a film.
At the entrance stood a massive bronze statue of Hachiko, solemn yet endearingly playful. Its head tilted slightly, as though listening gently to each person's heartbeat. Its tail curled upward in its familiar welcoming pose. Visitors stopped here, some taking photos, some rubbing the statue's head for good luck before the movie.
Stepping inside, one would see a spacious lobby. Star-like lights hung from the ceiling, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Staff at the ticket booth wore matching uniforms embroidered with Growlithe patterns. They greeted guests with warm smiles.
This place was, after all, a Hachiko Themed Cinema, a venue whose manager had personally secured official IP authorization.
(End of chapter.)