After Jon Stewart wrapped up his opening bit, the crowd clapped politely as he gestured toward the wings.
"Let's welcome tonight's first presenters—Rachel McAdams and Owen Wilson!"
A wave of applause rolled through the Dolby Theatre as the pair strolled onto the stage, each holding one side of a sleek gold envelope.
The two looked as if they'd just stepped out of a movie set—Rachel in a flowing champagne gown, Owen in a perfectly tailored tux, that signature lopsided grin on his face.
Normally, the Academy liked to choose presenters who had won a similar category in the past year.
Tonight was no exception—both Rachel and Owen had tasted awards success before.
But beyond the credentials, the pairing worked.
Rachel carried that bright "young Hollywood" elegance that made the audience lean in, while Owen's easygoing humor kept things light.
Together, they felt like the perfect duo to set the tone for the night.
The first award of the evening: Best Supporting Actor.
In the nominee section, men in perfectly pressed suits smiled stiffly, their hands resting on their knees, hiding the tension in their fingers.
Some leaned forward, others sat back trying to look casual, but everyone's eyes were fixed on that envelope.
To Jihoon, though, the winner wasn't a mystery at all.
Jim, sitting beside him, glanced over and whispered, "So… who do you think's taking this one?"
Jihoon didn't even blink. "No Country for Old Men. Javier Bardem."
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'm thinking maybe Tom Wilkinson from Michael Clayton. He's been in the game forever—done some real classic work. That kind of career gets noticed in this category."
Jihoon only gave a polite nod. "Could be." He wasn't about to explain how he knew exactly what was coming.
On stage, Rachel stepped forward with a warm smile. "Good evening, everyone. We're honored to be announcing the first award of the night."
Owen leaned into the mic with that casual drawl of his. "Yeah, and before we do—can we just say—these guys really brought it this year. Incredible performances all around."
Rachel nodded. "The nominees for Best Supporting Actor have given us characters we won't soon forget. And now…" She slid a perfectly manicured finger under the envelope flap.
The paper made the softest tear, and she drew out the card.
For dramatic effect, she paused. Two seconds. Three.
Then she looked up with a bright smile. "And the Oscar goes to… No Country for Old Men—Javier Bardem!"
The theater erupted. Cheers, applause, even a few whistles. The camera found Bardem as he stood, a mix of pride and disbelief on his face, before making his way to the stage.
Jihoon clapped along with everyone else, expression calm, while Bardem took the mic and began a heartfelt, tear-filled thank-you—praising his co-stars, the Coen brothers, and his family back home.
Jim turned to Jihoon, eyes wide in disbelief. "You nailed it. How the hell did you know?"
Jihoon gave a light shrug. "Not bad, right?"
If he wanted to, he could predict the rest of the night's winners without even trying. Ever since his rebirth, every detail from his previous life had been etched in his mind—sharp, unshakable, flawless.
And sure enough, as the ceremony moved on, the results fell neatly into place, just as he remembered.
Best Original Score.
Best Cinematography.
Best Editing.
Best Animated Short Film.
Different years might shuffle the order a bit, but the overall rhythm never changed.
The first half of the Oscars was always reserved for technical and artistic categories—the craft awards.
The second half was where the "big" ones came out: Best Screenplay, Best Actor, Best Director, Best Picture.
So far, from the first award of the night to now, nothing had strayed from Jihoon's memory.
Each winner matched exactly what he remembered from his previous life.
And yet, as the ceremony moved forward, an uneasy thought crept into his mind. "Could it be… I won't be getting any this time?"
There was no reason for him to doubt himself, but the feeling lingered.
Something about the way the second half unfolded gave him an odd sense of uncertainty, like the air in the room had shifted.
He remembered clearly: in his previous life, the 80th Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay had gone to Diablo Cody for Juno—a sharp, witty indie about a pregnant teenager navigating an unexpected future.
In Jihoon's view, the film had its strengths, but it also raised some questions.
From an upbringing and moral standpoint, he wasn't sure it was the kind of message the younger generation needed to glorify.
If not for Ellen Page's breakthrough performance and the film's fresh, comedic edge—which gave audiences and critics something memorable—Juno might never have made it to the podium.
But that year, the Academy seemed eager to make a cultural statement: honoring a solo female winner for Original Screenplay while also sparking conversations about adoption, abortion, and teenage pregnancy.
The timing worked in the film's favor.
Society was already buzzing with debates over those themes, and Juno slipped neatly into the middle of that dialogue—encouraging young people in similar situations to face their problems head-on.
Still, Jihoon couldn't ignore the other side of it.
Teenage pregnancy wasn't just a plot device—it was a real, life-changing event.
High school graduates should have their futures wide open: work, study, travel, explore.
Those years of youth were meant for exploring—figuring out who you were, what you wanted, and where you might go next.
They weren't meant for shouldering responsibilities that could lock doors before you'd even had the chance to open them. At that age, such burdens simply didn't belong.
Comedy or not, Juno carried a message that, in Jihoon's eyes, was… complicated.
If there had to be a winner that year—and it couldn't be him—Jihoon would rather let Ratatouille win instead.
At least the animated tale about a rat with a passion for cooking didn't challenge moral boundaries or risk influencing young audiences in ways that could carries a wrong message.
It was simply a well-told story with heart, humor, and a wholesome message.
At least, he thought, a rat learning to cook wouldn't change the course of a teenager's life in the real world.