A refutation never spreads as fast as the rumor itself.

Even though Zog had secured the front-page headlines of every newspaper in the city, the effort to clear Raul’s name was still not going smoothly.

When the newspapers published something that matched the onlookers’ expectations, they would think, ’See? I told you so. None of those rich people are any good.’

If the content went against their expectations, their opinion would become, ’Lapdog media. Another trash newspaper controlled by the rich.’

At the end of the day, people tend to believe what they want to believe. That’s why there’s always a market for conspiracy theories, while the less-than-dramatic truth rarely gets any attention.

The idea of a noble kidnapping a little girl, brainwashing her, and framing someone was just too cliché. It felt like something that had happened countless times over the past few hundred years.

Besides, the law wouldn’t actually touch the nobles. When their ancestors followed the Lionheart King, they had already endured all the hardships necessary.

Therefore, even though the complete chain of evidence was laid out in the newspapers, people still fabricated a version of the Raul incident that they preferred to believe.

Now, Raul wasn’t just the perpetrator who assaulted a little girl; he had also kissed the nobles’ asses. That was how he’d earned their protection and avoided being thrown in jail.

He’d rapidly transformed from a rising star of the common people into a traitor to the commoner class.

After all, he’d made a fortune from *Holy Mountain Journey*. ’There must be something fishy going on.’

While isolating him, people were also jealous. ’Why couldn’t such good fortune happen to them?’

And so, things went from bad to worse for Raul’s already difficult life.

Now, when he went out to buy groceries, the vendors would rig the scales. People threw garbage at him. His house was splattered with paint every few days. On the street, people would deliberately bump into him, then turn around and threaten him menacingly.

These people weren’t doing it for some so-called "fight against evil." They were just looking for someone to vent their frustrations on, and now they had finally found a "perfect victim."

If they were really so righteous, they could have taken it out on the droves of nobles strutting through the city every day. But no one dared to actually bump into them, probably because the nobles were truly willing to be vicious.

Fortunately, the members of the Mixed Giant Beast Corps and the students from his acting class continued to support him.

Zog couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted to assign War Axe to be Raul’s bodyguard again. ’If someone bumps into him, bump them right back. Fine, let’s play that game and see who can take it.’

But Raul politely refused, saying that he was a grown man who’d been getting by for years; he couldn’t always rely on others.

Zog had also asked Furin if there was an Illusion Technique that could project Magic onto the moon. That way, he could trap the entire city in an illusion and then apply an ideological imprint.

Furin said there was something seriously wrong with his brain.

Life returned to its usual tranquility. In short, it was time to go to work.

When he saw the backlog of feature testing requests, Zog fell into deep despair. ’I was only gone for a few days, does it have to be like this?’

’Why are all those old geezers working so hard? It makes me feel bad for slacking off... Wait a minute, I’m the oldest one here.’

’Can’t they show some consideration for an old Dragon?’

He was mentally exhausted. Even a peerless Ancient Dragon would question the point of his own existence amidst the day-to-day grind.

It seemed that super-strong motivation and boundless energy were the true top-tier talents for research. He’d been a fool to believe that "sleep four hours a day" motivational fluff.

When you’re at work, everything unrelated to work seems so interesting.

For example, Zog was currently filing his claws. Because his claws were so hard, the small file he used was made of Refined Gold. The filings had to be collected in a small vial. This stuff could be sold as Dragon Horn at an Alchemy Shop—the composition was similar, anyway. It sold for several Gold Coins per gram and was rumored to be an aphrodisiac, so it was always in high demand.

"Huan and Raul are here." Elsa rescued Zog from his spiraling mental exhaustion.

"Excellent, excellent! Send them in, quickly." Zog practically skipped to the reception room.

"Have you finished testing my feature yet?!" Furin’s irritable shout came from behind him.

Her hair was clearly created with a Transformation Technique, so why did it look like it was starting to thin? ’Is going bald from programming some kind of Rule System ghost story?’

"I have important business to attend to now, HMPH!"

Arriving at the reception room, Zog enthusiastically shook hands with Huan and Raul. "You’ve come at just the right time! I’ve been waiting for you."

Huan was baffled by this sudden enthusiasm. He knew who was responsible for the disappearance of quite a few nobles from Twin Tower City overnight. The government covering it up with the excuse of an accidental fire was even more bizarre.

And now, the Dragon spokesman for this mysterious group of incalculable power was shaking his hand so vigorously it was a blur.

"Could it be that you already know Shepherd and the Mixed Giant Beast Corps want to co-produce a Shadow of Evil?"

"A Shadow of Evil! Excellent! I love a good Shadow of Evil! Do you have a script? There won’t be any delivery guys living in river-view apartments this time, right? Is it still a comedy?"

"Not this time," Huan said, scratching his head in embarrassment. He would never write something so detached from real life again.

"This story is based on Mr. Raul’s experience. I don’t think he deserves this kind of treatment, so I want to speak up for him. This is a draft of the script, please take a look."

In any world, the real "daddy" of a film crew is always the producer. They’re usually the investor or someone directly responsible to the financial backers. The film industry is a money-burning business; without money, you can’t film jack squat.

Of course, there are exceptions. Some directors with outstanding achievements and a proven track record might become their own producers, or have investors lining up to serve them.

But Huan was clearly not in that position right now. He even had to rent his cameras from Zog.

Currently, the cameras were only available for rent, not for sale. The rental also included a goblin operation team. Given the development trend of cameras here, one couldn’t expect the profession of "cameraman" to emerge anytime soon.

Zog took the script. It didn’t have a title yet. After a quick flip-through, it was easy to see that it was much more mature than his previous work. The ending was also very cold and hard, even cruel.

The character played by Raul is ultimately exonerated, but he is never accepted by his own people and even nearly dies at their hands.

The overall atmosphere could be described as despairing. It was a very bold attempt. The common dramatic forms of the day, even tragedies, were supposed to give the audience a sense of comfort—the kind that was sorrowful but not truly wounding.

"It’s very good. How do you plan to film it?"

"I want to use a lot of scenes from Mr. Raul’s daily life. It would be best if we could film him secretly, documentary-style."

"You could use it to strike back at the people who are isolating Raul now. A good idea."

"No, I won’t strike back at specific people," Huan denied hastily. "I just want to satirize the phenomenon itself. None of the people who appear will have their faces shown. That’s a lesson I learned on the streets."

"The audience is our bread and butter, after all. If you present the phenomenon in a generalized way, you can still get them to identify with it, and if you’re lucky, maybe even bring about change. But if you get specific with people, it will only make them more extreme and push them into complete opposition, even if they’re in the wrong."

Huan smiled honestly. "This is just something I figured out on my own. I don’t know if it’s right."

"I underestimated you." Zog was now certain he could make this Shadow of Evil well. As the first Shadow of Evil to be truly produced by a local, it was amazing how much life had changed Huan.

"So, will you be using Mira?"

"No," Raul answered before Huan could.

"It might be the only way to truly clear your name," Zog said, his tone a bit leading.

"Even so, I won’t. She’s just a child. She shouldn’t be put under that kind of pressure," Raul hesitated for a moment. "I want to adopt her. She could be a companion for Marin."

Zog’s expression shifted. Even though Mira was also a victim in this incident, she had, after all, been the one to directly harm Raul.

’Anyone who holds others to such high moral standards must be a massive hypocrite themselves.’

But Raul was doing this of his own volition; no one was asking him to. He deserved respect. The world would always need people like him—truly good people, even if many disliked them.

"I’ll provide for all of Mira’s living expenses," Zog said.

’The rich should be the ones to bear social responsibility, not the poor. That just doesn’t make sense.’

Besides, the money he’d "liberated" that day was enough to raise ten thousand Miras.

"By the way, what are you planning to call your Shadow of Evil?" Zog asked, pointing at the still-blank title on the script.

"We haven’t thought of one yet."

"How about I suggest one? Let’s call it *Hunting*."