Death Proof was, in Jihoon's memory, the strangest kind of beast—a film born from the Grindhouse double feature, soaked in Quentin Tarantino's signature madness.
In Jihoon past life, he remembered clearly: Miramax—back when it was under The Weinstein Company—had poured roughly $30 million into its production.
From a financial perspective, a mid-budget film that burns through $30 million only to claw back $31.1 million worldwide isn't a victory.
It's barely a break-even on paper, but for Hollywood accounting, it's a loss.
A box office dud. A theatrical flop in simple English.
But technically, Death Proof wasn't meant to be a conventional moneymaker anyway.
It was Quentin being Quentin—an experimental film made because he felt like it, not because any spreadsheet demanded it.
And knowing Quentin Tarantino, this was exactly on brand.
The man was a daredevil filmmaker in the purest sense.
He had the guts of a red-eyed gambler sitting at a Vegas table at 3 a.m., betting everything he had because folding simply wasn't in his DNA.
Creativity first, bank account later.
That was Quentin for you.
He looked rough on the outside, like he was one argument away from beating someone with a vintage VHS tape—but inside, he was basically a soft care bear wrapped in a leather jacket.
When it came to directing, though?
He transformed into a stubborn bull.
Show him a red cloth, and he would charge it again and again just to prove no one controlled his artistry except himself.
Still, regardless of Death Proof's artistic intentions, smearing Buried just to elevate it?
That was low. Dirty. Despicable.
A classic Harvey Weinstein move, honestly—swinging at someone smaller because he could, because he felt threatened, or simply because he was bored.
The irony?
Death Proof wasn't even a threat to anyone.
That was why Jihoon dared to tell Jim so casually that the smear campaign wouldn't affect Buried at all.
In Jihoon's mind, it was simple:
He hadn't even made a move yet, and his opponent had already collapsed on their own weight.
That didn't mean Jihoon would let it slide, though.
He wasn't the type to sit back and let someone throw punches at him for free.
If they wanted to play dirty?
Fine.
Then he wouldn't be playing nice either.
Who said only the other side could attack? Retaliation wasn't illegal—especially in Hollywood.
And besides, Buried's box office wasn't just JH's concern.
Fox had skin in the game, and not just a little.
Even though Fox didn't own much equity in JH, they knew very well that JH's HCU films weren't purely about theatrical revenue.
The HCU meant stock value, public image, long-term brand strength, and market leverage—all things that could be liquidated into corporate advantage.
Jihoon knew that if Miramax was dumb enough to poke the bear, Fox would absolutely respond in ways that could make Harvey's bank account wheeze for air.
That was the power of a Big Six Hollywood studio.
Anyone who dared challenge their supremacy—or dared to create even a minor dent in the railway of their financial pipeline—would be met with punishment.
Retribution was part of their DNA.
That was why Jihoon stayed completely unbothered when Jim first mentioned who was behind the smear campaign.
Fox was no peanut; in fact, Harvey was the peanut—loud, round, and crushed easily under a studio boot.
Jihoon actually found Harvey kind of clownish sometimes.
A loud clown who didn't know his place.
Right now, Jihoon had bigger priorities anyway.
The Departed was set to release at the end of the year, and Inception had just finished its SFX pipeline.
Both he and the Fox team had evaluated the VFX, green-lit the final cut, and set the film on track for a summer release.
With these two heavyweights—combined budgets exceeding $400 million before marketing—Jihoon couldn't afford to waste energy on petty matters.
The Departed and Inception were monsters.
They demanded his full focus.
Back on set, the cameras rolled, and Jihoon continued filming The Departed.
After completing a tense shootout scene, he stepped aside for a break.
Sweat still clung to the back of his neck as he took a deep breath and decided to make a call before he forgot about it entirely.
The phone rang only once before being picked up.
"Boss… what do you need?" James answered immediately.
"James," Jihoon began, not bothering with small talk, "what's going on your end? Why is the budget for Saw 2 at $10 million?"
James lit up instantly, his excitement practically vibrating through the speaker.
"Boss! I really think your cinematic universe idea—the foundation you're building—is incredible. For the post-credits scene, I want to make—"
And then came the flood.
He began explaining his complete vision—how he wanted to build the Saw franchise into something bigger, more intricate.
A series where each sequel, each Easter egg, each standalone segment connected into a web of mystery and overarching narrative.
In short, James wanted to build his own universe inside Jihoon's universe.
It was ambitious, almost reckless—but undeniably brilliant.
It was basically the same concept Jihoon was developing for the HCU, and what the MCU was doing in Jihoon's previous life.
The Easter egg scenes in the HCU were already gaining massive attention, sometimes rivaling the hype of the movies themselves.
Fans were creating compilation videos, dissecting frames, theorizing online.
That mysterious vibe was gold.
And James wanted to bring that same energy into Saw 2.
Technically Saw was part of the HCU, but Jihoon had already promised him that if the standalone sequels worked—if they made money—Saw could spin off and become James's own IP to command.
After listening to everything, Jihoon blinked.
He genuinely hadn't expected James to think that far ahead.
Especially since Saw 2 would be his first film.
Was it confidence?
Or arrogance?
Jihoon couldn't tell.
But he wasn't going to reject the idea.
He knew from his previous life that Saw was originally James's crown jewel.
If anyone deserved to gamble on it, it was him.
And with JH and Fox backing him now?
His chances of success were much higher than before.
Jihoon sighed, considered the risks, and finally said:
"Alright. I'll have Mara approve the $10 million budget. But listen carefully—no going over. This is your first and only chance. If you fail this time, Fox ain't gonna let it slide. And if Fox cuts you off… you're done in this industry."
The line went dead silent—then: "Hiss—"
A sharp inhale.
James was clearly spooked.
After a few seconds, a steadier breath followed.
"Alright, boss. I know what I'm doing. I won't let you and Fox down. I swear. My filming plan is detailed. Ten million is enough."
Jihoon hung up, clicking his tongue.
He thought he was already aggressive in his decision-making.
But James?
James was insane.
That man was willing to gamble his entire career for one movie.
However, if Saw 2 really succeeded, it would be a huge win.
It would strengthen the entire HCU.
It would give Jihoon another pillar.
Another creative force like Peli.
Jihoon smirked to himself.
"Tsk. Bringing James into the company was absolutely the right move. His initiative is insane. If he survives this trial and comes out intact, then I can really explore more possibilities."
With that thought, his mood lifted.
And somehow, filming The Departed that afternoon felt smoother than ever.