Although their meeting was brief, it was enough to establish mutual understanding.
Sometimes, it didn't take long hours or drawn-out negotiations to find common ground.
Jihoon and Brian were already on the same wavelength—two visionaries with their eyes set on the same future.
With just a handshake and a verbal agreement, they set the wheels in motion.
It might've seemed impulsive from the outside, but in the fast-moving tide of the information revolution, it was the most strategic move they could make.
There was no need for elaborate dinners or formal contracts—at least not yet.
Both of them knew their time was better spent aligning their resources and focusing on their areas of expertise than on small talk or appearances. They weren't there to impress anyone.
They were there to build.
And the next time they met, it would be in Korea—when everything would truly begin.
And by then, the blueprint for their revolution would be ready to launch.
After parting ways with Brian, Jihoon continued with what he'd originally set out to do—a mind-cleansing journey across the States.
He'd planned to visit New York, stand atop the Empire State Building, soak in the skyline that had inspired generations of dreamers. Maybe even try that legendary Italian place tucked in the West Village, the one Anthony Bourdain once raved about.
But those plans dissolved the moment his phone rang.
The caller ID made him pause: Lee Sooman.
Jihoon sighed, thumb hovering over the screen for a second before he finally picked up.
"What's up, old man?" Jihoon answered with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood before it even started.
"Jihoon-ah," Lee Sooman's voice came through calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it—controlled, measured, and just slightly annoyed. "Why haven't you returned any of my calls these past few months?"
Jihoon winced internally. "Ah… I've been busy shooting a film," he replied, his tone sheepish, almost too casual.
There was a long pause on the other end.
Uncomfortably long.
Jihoon could practically hear the gears turning in Lee Sooman's head, dissecting his excuse, turning it over like a script he didn't quite believe.
Was he reading between the lines? Or just restraining his irritation?
Either way, the silence said everything.
And Jihoon couldn't exactly blame him. After all, they'd worked closely since his first film—partners, in a sense.
But then Jihoon had abruptly moved on without a word, cutting SM Entertainment out of his latest project entirely.
What Lee Sooman didn't realize, though, was that this wasn't some petty snub.
It was deliberate.
Back when 'Your Name' got swept up in controversy, Jihoon had expected SM to do the right thing—to issue a swift public clarification, squash the rumors, and protect the integrity of the film's release.
But instead, they'd chosen silence. Silence, in the face of slander, was dangerous.
It nearly tanked the film's local box office potential.
If it weren't for its success on the global stage, Jihoon wouldn't have even covered the film's production costs.
SM, as an investor in the project, had skin in the game too. But rather than step in and defend the film—or him—they watched quietly from the sidelines as Jihoon was dragged into the storm.
That moment told him everything he needed to know about loyalty—and about who really had his back.
But the deeper reason Jihoon walked away?
SM was part of the same chaebol-controlled system he was trying to break free from.
And Lee Sooman, for all his brilliance, was still playing by those old rules—a game Jihoon no longer had any interest in.
So his silence wasn't just a form of retaliation. It was a warning.
And a safeguard.
Because if word of Jihoon's film with Fox—or the larger plan he was quietly constructing—leaked too early, it could all unravel before it even had a chance to begin.
For now, he had to play it cool. Let the old guard think he was still off making movies and wandering through airports.
And then, almost like he'd read Jihoon's thoughts, Lee Sooman spoke again.
"Jihoon-ah… whatever's going on, we can talk about it. You didn't have to move to the States for this."
Jihoon blinked.
So that's what they thought.
He could hear the misunderstanding in the old man's tone.
From the outside, it probably looked like Jihoon had given up on Korea—that he was disillusioned with the industry and had packed his bags for America to start over.
Honestly? That was a fair conclusion, given how distant he'd been lately.
But the truth?
He never intended to abandon Korea.
This was still his home base—his anchor. Korea wasn't just sentimental. It was strategic. A strong domestic foothold helped fuel his global ambitions.
And even if Korea was a small market compared to Hollywood, a peanut was still a nut.
Jihoon wasn't about to throw that away.
He sighed. "I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. I'm in LA because of a collaboration with FOX. That's all. Nothing dramatic."
There was a pause. Then Lee Sooman's voice came again, hesitant. "Really…?"
Jihoon chuckled. "Of course. If I were leaving for good, JH wouldn't still be running like clockwork, would it?"
"If that's true," Lee Sooman said, his tone tightening, "then why haven't you picked up the phone?"
"And Jaehyun hasn't explained anything either. He's been ice cold. We were left to assume the worst."
This time, Jihoon winced for real.
Yeah… that part was on him.
Jaehyun—his right-hand man—only knew part of the plan. Jihoon hadn't fully looped him in yet.
Between filming, closing deals with Peli and Stephen, writing, directing, and navigating studio politics, a few things had slipped through the cracks—causing him to forget the less urgent stuff.
"Ah… yeah, I forgot to tell him to explain things. That's on me," Jihoon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't get the chance to fill him in properly."
"Well," Lee Sooman said slowly, "you should come back soon. Sit down with CJ. They're on edge now."
"Your silence has them thinking you're planning to cut them off completely. They're talking about making preemptive moves."
Jihoon's brows lifted.
That was serious.
CJ wasn't just another partner—they were the backbone of his domestic distribution.
Sure, there was already some bad blood between them and his family, the Lees of Samseong, but business was still business.
In the film world, talent and timing might drive success, but trust kept the whole machine running.
And even if his silence wasn't intentional, it was still damaging.
That had never been his intention.
Yes, he was trying to quietly distance himself from their grip—but not by burning bridges. His plan was to let things simmer, bide his time, and wait for the right moment to step out of the lease. Like when Brain returned to Korea with his platform Kakao.
That's when Jihoon intended to move—when the timing was strategic, clean, and on his own terms.
Not now. Not like this.
He could hear the warning layered in Lee Sooman's words: Don't let this spiral. Not before it's too late.
Jihoon exhaled slowly. "Alright. I'll handle it."
"Soon, Jihoon-ah. Before things harden into something that can't be reversed."
"I got it. And… thanks. For reaching out, I mean it."
"Just don't disappear again. You're not some indie kid anymore. You're a franchise now so act like it."
Jihoon laughed. "Old man giving me tough love, huh?"
"Someone has to."
"Alright. I'll be back soon. Tell CJ not to freak out yet."
As the call ended, Jihoon leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting up to the faint cracks in the ceiling.
Lee Sooman might have his own agenda—whether it was profit, legacy, or influence—but that didn't mean his sincerity wasn't real.
Over the past year, Jihoon had come to understand that. There was always a layer of truth in their dynamic, a kind of respect beneath the power plays.
But at the end of the day, Sooman was still part of the chaebol world. That leash—the unspoken expectations, the tangled loyalties—was always there.
So Jihoon kept his distance. Friendly, yes. Trusting, to a point. But never fully in.
Even so, everything Jihoon had been doing wasn't about cutting ties.
He wasn't trying to burn bridges.
He was trying to build new ones—wider, stronger, global ones.
But maybe, just maybe, he needed to be more careful with the bridges he already had… before someone else decided to burn them for him—and complicate things unnecessarily.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Daoistadj and Daoist098135 for bestowing the power stone!]