đ¶I just want to sleep forever.
đ¶ never see tomorrow,
đ¶ or lead or follow,
đ¶ I don't want to work forever,
đ¶ know what I know,
đ¶ or beg or borrow.
---
The song Sleep Foreverechoed through the theater as the credits began to roll.
Unlike the usual premieres of the HCU seriesâwhere fans of Jihoon's work stayed glued to their seats until the very last frame, desperate for the signature HCU post-credit easter eggsâthis screening was supposed to be different.
Jihoon had made it clear during the promotion tour that Inception was not part of the HCU universe.
No shared lore, no hidden crossover, no cryptic clues tying the film to the larger cinematic world he had built.
And yet⊠nobody moved.
Even without an easter egg, Jihoon's audience remained frozen in their seats, as if their bodies refused to obey the decision their minds hadn't even finished processing.
The haunting melody washed over themâcalm but eerily heavyâand it held them captive.
Just because this film wasn't tied to the HCU didn't mean Jihoon had taken a break from being, well⊠Jihoon.
He had written Sleep Forever specifically for the end credits, weaving it into the film like a final whispered message to the audience.
The song sounded emotional, soft, and strangely peaceful, but beneath that tranquility was sharp satireâJihoon's way of calling out Cobb's quiet act of cowardice.
In Jihoon's interpretation of the story, Cobb wasn't simply walking away from the spinning top because he finally "moved on."
No.
It was symbolic avoidance.
Cobb pretended to sleep, pretended not to check, pretended not to lookâchoosing a curated illusion rather than the unpredictable cruelty of the real world.
Everyone knew dreams were built from one's own desires, fears, and imagination.
So the moment his children pulled him away from the totem?
That wasn't a heartwarming reunion.
That was Cobb's subconscious forcefully dragging him away from the truth he didn't want to face.
And Jihoon synchronized the ending song with that exact final image.
"Sleep forever⊠never see tomorrowâŠ"
It was both a lullaby and an accusation, a final thread connecting the audience to the film's core message.
Jihoon's version of Inceptionwent far deeper than the original.
He expanded the psychological layers, highlighting the mental fractures within Cobb's character.
As like was said in the earlier chapter: mental illness is still illness, and Cobb, whether heroic or pathetic, was undeniably sick.
His trauma and guilt weren't just subtextâthey were the architecture of the dream worlds themselves.
Trauma was the spine of the movie, and guilt was the oxygen every scene breathed in and exhaled.
On top of that, Jihoon scattered clues everywhere, hiding them in casual lines, in visual cues, in moments that seemed harmless at first glance.
Like the early train imagery.
Or the timing of Hajoon's offer.
Or the first moment the "real world" might have actually begunâor ended.
Naturally, now the audience's brains were cooking.
The house lights in the theater slowly rose, washing the room in a pale glow, but the melody of Sleep Forever continued to fill the atmosphere like fog. Almost no one stood up.
A young man in the center row exhaled loudly, slumping back into his seat and dragging his hands through his hair.
"Whoa. Okay. Damn."
His girlfriend, wrapped in her jacket like she was bracing for emotional whiplash, stared blankly at the rolling credits.
"I just want to sleep foreverâŠ" she muttered, quoting the song with the flat tone of someone whose soul had just taken psychic damage. "Seriously. My brain needs to shut down for a week."
"Right? But that's the point, isn't it?" the guy said. "Cobb's literally choosing to 'sleep forever' in his own lie."
"Exactly! Lee didn't even try to hide it." She leaned forward, now fully animated. "The song isn't just emotionalâit's calling him out. His kids pulling him away? That's not a happy ending. That's him begging to be dragged deeper into the dream."
"So you think he's still in Limbo?"
"I don't know what to think!" she groaned. "That's the problem! Lee threw clues everywhere. The train sceneâwhen did it actually happen? And Hajoon's offer⊠was that even the real start of the mission? Or was that already Cobb's imagination? We don't know!"
She ran a hand through her hair, her voice rising with excitement.
"That's what I mean about the mental health stuff! Cobb isn't some misunderstood genius. He's a sick guy. The whole film is his trauma bending every reality he tries to build. Lee didn't make a heist movie; he made a psychological autopsy."
The boyfriend nodded slowly, absorbing the thought.
"So the real labyrinth isn't the dreams⊠it's Cobb's own head. And he just⊠let himself get lost because facing the truth was harder."
"Exactly. And the song is the final clue. It's Lee telling us Cobb chose the dream."
They fell silent, letting the last soft chords fade out.
The lingering question of whether Cobb was awake suddenly felt heavier, almost intimateâlike it wasn't just about Cobb anymore, but about every person who ever chose comfort over truth.
"âŠWe need to watch this again tomorrow," the guy finally said. "There's so many scenes I didn't catch."
"I bet everyone here feels the same," she sighed. "Let's go. I need to lie down in a reality I'm sure is real."
But it wasn't just them.
All across the theater, similar conversations echoedâconfusion, excitement, frustration, admiration.
A collective meltdown dressed as film critique.
Under normal circumstances, as soon as the lights came on, Jihoon and his production team would step onto the stage for a post-screening Q&A.
But as Jihoon peered from behind the curtain, he saw the audience's chaotic emotional state and immediately knew.
No one would hear a damn word he said right now.
Their minds were still spiraling in Cobb's maze.
So Jihoon waited.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Finally, the buzzing noise softened.
People weren't vibrating with confusion anymoreâthey were simply thoughtful, curious, ready.
Jihoon exchanged glances with his team, gave a small nod, and stepped onto the stage with the calm confidence of a man who knew he had just successfully broken several hundred brains in one evening.
He approached the microphone, the room falling quiet.
Now, finally, the press conference could begin.