Ever since Jongbin became the second Korean director in history to win the Palme d'Or, his value in the industry skyrocketed overnight.
You could practically hear the phones ringing off the hook—producers, studios, investors—all wanting a piece of the man who brought Shoplifters to life.
But here's the thing: it wasn't just Jongbin who was in the spotlight.
Jihoon, the one who handed him the script, found himself quietly but undeniably elevated as well.
Because as much as Shoplifters was beautifully directed, no one could ignore the power of the story behind it.
Sure, a good director could frame a scene with breathtaking precision—using lighting, camera angles, and visual language to enhance the film to perfection.
But if the script had been something like Mickey and the Mouse Save Christmas—would Cannes have still handed over their top prize?
Highly doubtful.
A great film starts with a great story.
And Jihoon didn't just write a good script—he crafted one that stirred hearts, sparked debate, and made people reflect.
He wasn't just the screenwriter.
He was the architect of the emotional core.
So now, JH Pictures wasn't just a company with one internationally celebrated director.
It was a studio with two award-winning filmmakers, both capable of delivering critically acclaimed work—and one of them happened to be the company's founder, scriptwriter, and creative backbone.
To people in the industry—directors, writers, editors, even interns—JH Pictures was starting to look less like a studio and more like a dream workplace.
A place where good films weren't just produced—they were born.
Back in the office, after Jongbin's dramatic entrance and emotionally charged gratitude speech that felt like it belonged in its own movie, Jihoon was still a little dazed.
He hadn't said much throughout the whole outburst, mostly because he was too busy being shaken—physically—by Jongbin's wild excitement.
Eventually, Jongbin calmed down enough to sit, and Jihoon handed him a cup of tea.
They settled into the chairs across from each other, finally breathing normally again.
Jihoon smirked and leaned forward. "Alright then, storyteller. What's your next move? Want me to whip up another script for you, or do you finally have your own story in mind this time?"
Jongbin scratched the back of his neck, his confidence suddenly taking a slight dip.
"About that…" he hesitated.
"I, uh… actually do have a story I want to shoot for my next project."
His voice was sheepish, as if he'd just asked to borrow Jihoon's car for a year.
The truth was, Jongbin felt more than a little guilty.
Since joining JH Pictures just a little over a year ago, his career had gone supernova.
He'd won a Palme d'Or, directed a film like 200 Pound Beauty that shattered box office expectations, and thanks to Jihoon's generosity with revenue shares, he had cleared his student debt and was now eyeing a sleek apartment in Gangnam.
And now, here he was—asking to direct his own script, which would most likely still need JH to fund.
But to his relief, Jihoon didn't look the least bit annoyed.
If anything, he seemed intrigued.
"Oh?" Jihoon asked, his eyebrows lifting with interest. "What's the story?"
Encouraged by the genuine curiosity in Jihoon's voice, Jongbin straightened in his seat and began explaining.
"It's about a crackdown on organized crime syndicates in Busan during the 1980s," he said.
"The main character is a corrupt businessman named Choi Ikhyun.He gets arrested for embezzling billions from hotel construction companies, and the prosecutor—Jo Beomseok—is charging him with everything from drug trafficking to kidnapping and assault..."
As he spoke, his energy returned.
He described the 80s gritty streets of Busan, the rise and fall of dirty money, the shifting loyalties, betrayals, and morally gray characters clawing for survival in a corrupt system.
If he hadn't come straight from a surprise visit, he probably would've brought the script draft with him.
Jihoon listened quietly, letting Jongbin paint the story.
But somewhere around the halfway point, something clicked.
He knew this story.
In his previous life, the film would eventually hit theaters in 2012 under the name 'Nameless Gangster: Rules of the Time'.
It had done well—scoring a 7/10 on IMDb and earning a respectable 75% on Rotten Tomatoes.
Critics praised its raw portrayal of 1980s Korea, and the performances were tight, nuanced, and impressive.
From a filmmaking perspective, the movie had its strengths.
The tone was consistent.
The characters felt real.
The world was immersive.
But Jihoon also remembered the critiques: some found the editing jarring, the pacing sluggish, and the plot less captivating than it could've been.
It was a good crime film—a popcorn flick worth watching on a Friday night—but it didn't quite reach "classic" territory.
Certainly not Die Hard status—the kind of film Jihoon always rewatched during slow Christmas holidays, when everything else on TV felt stale.
But no matter how you looked at it, the story had serious potential. It might not have been flawless yet—but with a few edits and the right polish, Jihoon could see it becoming a true classic.
So, without hesitation, he leaned forward and gave his honest thoughts as soon as Jongbin finished explaining the plot.
"Hyung," Jihoon began with a thoughtful smile, "I've got to say, the concept is excellent. It's got real weight. It's definitely worth exploring further."
Jongbin beamed at the praise, but Jihoon wasn't done.
"Just from how you described the flow, though, the pacing feels like it might drag a little. Maybe not gripping enough in certain parts. Nothing serious—but something to keep in mind."
He paused for a moment, giving Jongbin time to process that before continuing.
"I'm not trying to interfere with your creative process, hyung," Jihoon said gently, "but if you're open to it, why not share your draft with the new screenwriting team we just set up at JH?"
He leaned forward slightly, voice casual but sincere. "Some of the writers we brought in have been in the industry for years."
"They're great at shaping narratives, tightening pacing, and adding emotional layers."
"Let them take a look—maybe suggest a few structural tweaks or help elevate certain scenes."
"Honestly, with the right input, I think your story has the potential to go from great to truly unforgettable."
Jongbin's smile faltered just slightly at first—he respected Jihoon's opinion more than anyone, so any hint of critique made him nervous.
He had been half-expecting Jihoon to say the story wasn't strong enough to pursue.
But as Jihoon went on, that sinking feeling lifted. His eyes lit back up.
Jihoon wasn't dismissing the project—far from it.
"So… Jihoon-ah," Jongbin asked cautiously, "does that mean… you'll let me direct it?"
Jihoon smiled and gave a reassuring nod. "Yes, of course."
That little spark of hope in Jongbin's eyes flared into something brighter. Encouraged, he ventured further—this time a little more hesitantly. "And… would JH be willing to fund the project too?"
Jihoon let out a small laugh and leaned back. "Of course, hyung. Like I told you back when you first joined JH—we're not just here to clock in and out."
"We're here to grow. If your idea shows promise and is worth the investment, we'll stand behind you every step of the way."
He added with a shrug and an easy grin, "And if it's not quite there yet, no worries. You can always refine it with the writing team until it's pitch-perfect. That's the whole point—we build things together."
Before he could even finish his sentence, Jongbin was already half out of his seat, excitement flooding his face.
"Of course! I totally get that! Who doesn't want the perfect script for their movie?!"
"Hyung, chill!" Jihoon laughed, holding up his hands. "It's not a big deal. Just go work with the writing department, tweak the flow, and once it's approved—you're off to pre-production."
"I know! Thank you, Jihoon! Seriously, thank you!" Jongbin jumped to his feet, arms wide, clearly gearing up for a dramatic hug.
Jihoon's eyes widened. "Hyung! No hugs! I'm straight!" he yelped, taking a quick step back like he was dodging a projectile.
Jongbin's hand was still suspended in mid-air.
He froze, but his eyes followed Jihoon as he took a cautious step back, Jihoon's words still echoing in his ears.
And in that moment, realization dawned on him—the kind of realization anyone who's ever been left hanging in a hug attempt would instantly recognize.
If someone had to name it, they'd know exactly what it was.
And if Steven He were here, he'd probably give it the proper scientific label: Emotional damage.
"LEE JI HOON!!!" Jongbin howled as loud as possible, his pride injured more than anything.
Meanwhile, not far from this very dramatic scene, a janitor stood frozen near the stairwell, mop in hand, eyes wide.
Deja vu.
It was happening again.
Not long ago—just last year, around the same time of the year—she had been sweeping the floor at SM Entertainment one evening when she overheard shouting, just like this.
Back then, she'd rushed toward the commotion, only to witness what she dramatically presumed was a stressed-out trainee who is dangerously close to the edge—both literally and emotionally.
That experience alone had convinced her that working in such a high-pressure environment might not be the safest choice.
So she switched jobs, hoping for something calmer.
Now, here she was at JH Pictures, thinking she'd found a peaceful place—only to hear another all-too-familiar outburst.
It wasn't the exact words or tone that struck her, but the raw frustration behind them.
That, she recognized.
"…Maybe it's time to change my work environments again," she muttered to herself.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Night_Adam, OS_PARCEIROSand Daoistadj for bestowing the power stone!]