When people think of Japanese horror movies, one title immediately comes to mind for many of them: Ring.
And when they think of Ring, there is one scene in particular that is almost impossible to forget.
A cold, dim Japanese house.
A television sitting silently in the corner.
A cursed videotape flickering with ghostly images.
A chill slowly crawling up your spine.
Then, from inside the television, Sadako—the pale, slender vengeful spirit dressed in white and walking barefoot begins crawling out of the screen, her body twisting at unnatural angles.
Yes.
Ring.
It was an unavoidable classic in the history of Japanese horror cinema.
One could even call it a peak that Japanese horror films between 2000 and 2010 struggled to surpass.
There was a very simple way to understand its popularity.
Ring became a six-film franchise in Japan.
There was the first film, Ring; the second, Ring 2; the third, Spiral; the fourth, Ring 0: Birthday; and later Sadako 3D and Sadako 3D 2.
There were even overseas remakes.
Regardless of what one thought about the stories of the later installments, the fact that the franchise managed to produce six films was already an achievement many Japanese movies could never hope to match.
It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that an entire generation of Japanese viewers lived under the shadow of Sadako crawling out of a television screen.
All kinds of rumors circulated at the time.
One claimed that Ring had been so terrifying that it had to be urgently reworked almost immediately after its theatrical release.
Another claimed that some viewers were so frightened after watching the movie that they wrapped chains around their televisions and refused to turn them on for an entire week.
But the most outrageous rumor of all claimed that someone had suffered a fatal heart attack from sheer terror while watching Ring in a movie theater.
Putting those rumors aside, whether Ring was truly terrifying enough to scare someone to death was debatable.
Its cultural influence, however, was undeniable.
Even in his previous life, Sadako’s image remained everywhere.
Social media was filled with comics and illustrations inspired by her, while independent creators from countries all over the world continued producing their own versions of female ghosts crawling out of television screens.
Creators simply couldn’t resist that iconic image of a Japanese onryō.
But in this world, Ring did not exist.
So Tsukasa thought it over from every angle.
Then he slapped the table and made his decision.
He would draw Ring himself and unleash it upon his dear Japanese friends.
Yes!
The days of making Japan tremble in fear were about to begin.
Despite all the bizarre rumors surrounding Ring, the basic structure of its story was actually quite simple.
Viewed from the perspective of later generations, it followed a straightforward progression: someone dies, the protagonist investigates, the protagonist recklessly digs deeper, discovers that something is terribly wrong, and finally searches for the truth behind the tragedy.
Each part of the story led naturally into the next.
The plot was clear, tightly paced, and constantly pushed the central mystery forward—a classic style of Japanese storytelling.
The countdown made the tension even stronger.
If the protagonist failed to uncover the truth before the allotted time ran out, the vengeful spirit would kill them.
That simple, brutally direct deadline created a sense of urgency that practically reached through the screen and grabbed the audience by the throat.
As the investigation unfolded naturally, fear slowly crept deeper into the viewer’s heart, layer by layer.
Everyone wanted to know the same thing.
When the deadline finally arrived, what exactly would be waiting for the protagonist?
Then came the climax.
Sadako crawled out through the television screen, and all the foreshadowing and gradually accumulated dread suddenly took physical form.
Countless Japanese viewers trembled beneath the shadow she cast.
There were no scenes drenched in blood and gore.
There was no soundtrack constantly trying to startle the audience.
The fear simply seeped into the heart little by little.
The screenplay, cinematography, and music of Ring had all been excellent.
But ultimately, Ring was a movie.
Manga had neither cinematography nor background music.
Without music and moving actors, adapting Ring into manga would inevitably cost the story some of its impact, particularly the audience’s sense of immersion.
For Tsukasa, however, that wasn’t a problem at all.
He glanced at the system interface floating in his field of vision.
Skipping past his name, physical attributes, and the other entries, his gaze settled on his primary skill.
Primary Skill: Emotional Resonance — Viewers can experience the joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness of the characters in your artwork through brushstrokes infused with genuine emotion.
Put simply, whenever Tsukasa activated this skill, anyone looking at his artwork could feel the emotions expressed through the characters’ actions—tension, sorrow, happiness, fear, and more.
It was the ultimate form of immersion.
It could drag a reader completely into the world of Ring.
They would experience the characters’ terror and despair as though they were there themselves.
Tsukasa had used this very skill earlier that day while drawing Miko’s full-body portrait.
The result was obvious.
Miko had been so thoroughly captivated by the drawing that she had looked almost possessed.
And that was also why Tsukasa had only mailed his Ring manuscript to Urashima Publishing a few days ago.
The version of Ring in his hands was simply too frightening.
Even Tsukasa, the person who had drawn it himself, sometimes felt an inexplicable chill creep up his spine when he looked through the pages.
Unease would rise from the bottom of his heart until even he felt thoroughly unsettled.
That overwhelming sense of horror—the feeling that the story could reach through the page and drag the reader directly inside—had managed to intimidate even its own creator.
It was no exaggeration to say that his manga was no less frightening than the film version he remembered from his previous life.
In terms of immersion, it might even surpass it.
For someone especially timid, needing company just to go to the bathroom afterward might be the least of their problems.
Tsukasa could already imagine some of his dear Japanese readers buying enormous chains and locking their televisions shut, living in terror beneath the shadow of his horror manga.
There was really nothing else to say.
Even when Tsukasa had been preparing to mail the original manuscript to the publisher, he had hesitated for quite a while.
But after wavering back and forth, he eventually slapped the table and made up his mind.
He had already gone through all the trouble of drawing it.
If he didn’t submit it—if he didn’t use it to torment his dear Japanese friends, wouldn’t all that hard work have gone to waste?
Besides, there had always been a certain kind of person in the world.
They were terrified of practically everything, yet somehow loved horror stories more than anyone else.
In that case, why not use this opportunity to help cure them of the habit?
Otherwise, one day they might encounter something genuinely terrifying and suffer a heart attack.
Better to let Sadako from Ring torment them first and train their courage a little.
A win-win situation.
Still, Tsukasa needed to think carefully about Urashima Publishing, the company to which he had submitted Ring.
If making manga ultimately proved unworkable, he would have to find another way to earn money.
Maybe he could imitate those so-called “masters” from his previous life and start splashing ink around.
Or perhaps he could carry a mop to Shibuya Station and scribble some incomprehensible “masterpiece” in public.
He could do that too!
And he could guarantee that every splash of ink would be both beautiful and accurate.
Combined with the original Tsukasa’s handsome appearance, he could at least attract a crowd of young girls.
If he got lucky, he might even make the Tokyo news and land an interview.
After all, the tricks people had invented back in China came one after another.
His innocent Japanese friends had surely never witnessed anything like them.
If necessary, he would broaden their horizons himself.
Although his current circumstances were difficult, Tsukasa remained fairly optimistic.
Before worrying about any of that, however, he first needed to sort out his present situation.