Time passed like a bowel movement—sometimes slow and painful, sometimes a smooth slide—but either way, no one could deny it was just full of shit.
Just kidding.
Alright, back to the story.
After weeks of pressure, stress, reshoots, and enough caffeine to sedate a cow, Inception was finally ready for its public examination.
The project had taken more than a year—an entire calendar cycle of Jihoon juggling script revisions, production nightmares, sleepless nights in the editing room, and endless meetings that made him question why he chose filmmaking instead of opening a chicken restaurant.
This was, hands down, JH's most time-consuming and most expensive production to date.
Every other film JH had produced felt like a warm-up exercise compared to this monster.
And everyone knew it—critics, investors, rivals, and even Jihoon's own employees who had started praying to every deity known to mankind.
If Inception succeeded, JH would no longer be labeled as that "ambitious but small Korean-backed indie company."
The studio would officially break into the global stage and sit at the same table as giants.
But if it failed.
Well, then all the profits JH earned in the past months would swirl straight down the sewer pipes of cinematic failure. Fast. No mercy.
So in one word, this premiere was decisive.
The fate of the company was balancing on a blade thinner than a K-pop idol's waist.
The Dolby Theatre was buzzing with excitement.
Guests poured in—producers, studio executives, famous directors, reporters who couldn't wait to twist every expression into a headline, and film enthusiasts dressed like they were attending their own Oscars.
Even with the warm, cheerful atmosphere—laughing crowds, clinking glasses, flashing cameras—it did nothing to calm down the people who actually worked on this film.
The Fox executives were trying not to sweat through their suits.
JH's staff pretended to look confident but were secretly clutching their stomachs.
And the cast—Leonardo DiCaprio, Cillian Murphy, Marion Cotillard, everyone—carried a nervous energy underneath their professional smiles.
Among them was Hyunbin, who had flown from Seoul for his first ever Hollywood film premiere.
His role wasn't huge, but none of that mattered.
Just entering Hollywood through his friend Jihoon–level production was an achievement beyond anything he could have imagined.
When Hyunbin returned to Korea after filming wrapped, he had been hit with a tsunami of attention—articles, interviews, fan frenzy, endorsements doubling overnight.
Being the first Korean actor in a major Hollywood blockbuster meant more than personal pride.
It boosted his market value, transformed his branding, and placed him in a league far above before.
And then there was JH.
In Korea's entertainment world, people now whispered: "Signing with JH basically means you've got a foot inside Hollywood's door."
To some, JH had become a wishing well: You signed there, you made a wish, and suddenly your artistic dreams or fame-chasing ambitions seemed one step closer.
After greeting staff, shaking hands, and pretending he wasn't having a heart attack, Jihoon finally managed to slip away to a quiet corner near the cocktail bar—where Hyunbin was waiting, whiskey in hand.
"Hyung, it's been a while. Anything good happening lately?" Jihoon asked, raising his martini for a toast.
Hyunbin clinked glasses with him… and rolled his eyes so dramatically Jihoon thought they might fall out.
"What good things? Things have been exactly the same since you disappeared," Hyunbin said.
"Ever since Changwook and I signed with JH, we've been waiting for our boss—you—to assign us work. But instead, guess what? Our 'responsible' boss flies to LA and opens a whole new branch here."
Jihoon rubbed his nose awkwardly.
"Ah… about that. My bad."
"Things happened too fast before I had time to plan. But don't worry—next year I'm shifting my focus back to Korea. In the meantime, you and Changwook hyung can use your free time for things you enjoy."
He sipped his martini, then added quickly,
"And besides, I heard from Jaehyun hyung that you two have been drowning in endorsement offers and advertisements. So technically… you guys are making more money than ever, right? Haha…?"
His laugh was weak. Guilty. Very guilty.
Because the truth was, Jihoon knew he had let them hang in limbo for months.
Actors—especially Korean celebrities—were profitable when young, when their faces still had the freshness that advertisers and audiences craved.
Leaving them unmanaged could easily become a career hazard.
But Hyunbin knew Jihoon wasn't the type to abandon people.
He'd known him long enough—not close enough to share secrets or trauma, but close enough to understand his character.
To Hyunbin, Jihoon was a man guided by self-interest, yes, but also by a clear moral compass.
Jihoon may walked inside the gray area of ambition, but not in a way that betrayed or exploited people. He is someone trustworthy, but not exactly a therapist.
"Hope you mean it," Hyunbin said irritably, though his tone carried more teasing than anger.
"Anyway, thanks to your 'free schedule,' we used the time to shoot commercials and endorsements. And we also registered for stage plays and musicals, just like you told Jaehyun hyung to arrange."
Jihoon nodded proudly.
"Hyung, you know stage play is the best way to improve acting skills, right?"
"Theatrical performance is literally the ancestor of cinematic performance."
"Unlike film, where feedback only comes after release, you get instant audience reactions on stage."
"When you look down from the stage, you can see their expressions—whether they hate you, love you, or are completely in sync with your emotions."
He gestured with his glass.
"That's why I asked Jaehyun hyung to sign you two up. Not just to polish your skills, but so you can understand what audiences actually expect from your performances."
Hyunbin nodded slowly.
"Yeah… after a few stage plays, we understood. Even without your explanation."
"Good," Jihoon said, relieved. "Because I don't want any misunderstanding between us. And hyung, I have a big plan for next year. You and Changwook hyung are important parts of it. That's why I need you guys tuned and ready."
He took another sip.
"Oh, and you both should start action-movie training. Don't worry, I'll ask Jaehyun hyung to arrange everything. You two just need to show up."
Hyunbin raised an eyebrow.
"What kind of plan exactly...."
But before Jihoon could answer, a staff member appeared.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. The film is about to begin. Please proceed to your seats."
Jihoon and Hyunbin exchanged a quick nod.
"We'll talk later, hyung," Jihoon whispered as they followed the usher.
They found their seats. The theater darkened. Conversations faded into silence.
The screen lit up with the iconic 20th Century Fox logo.
Then came the JH Pictures logo—bright, bold, and surreal.
Everyone directly involved felt their hearts thump once—heavy and electric—because everything was on the line: their careers, their money, and their investments.
And just like that—The Inception premiere had begun.