The foundation of any solid partnership is built on three things.
Mutual benefit. Shared vision. And an honest willingness to shoulder the risks that come with long-term collaboration.
Jihoon had learned that lesson the hard way — not in this life, but the one before.
He knew all too well that 21st Century Fox wasn't just some industry player.
They were a giant. When it came to global distribution, marketing muscle, and international prestige, they made CJ Entertainment look like a high school AV club.
No disrespect — CJ had its strengths. But Fox? Fox moved the industry.
So yeah, on paper, Jim Gianopulos' offer looked like a golden ticket.
JH Pictures would instantly benefit from the partnership: global visibility, A-list connections, a pipeline into the awards circuit, and access to the kind of capital that could fund ten 'Your Names' and still have change left over.
But that spotlight?
It also came with shadows.
Jihoon wasn't naive about what stepping onto the international stage really meant.
The moment he signed that deal, he wouldn't just be shaking hands with fellow filmmakers and storytellers — he'd be sitting across from Wall Street executives who saw movies not as art, but as quarterly reports.
And let's not forget — Fox's parent company? Disney. An even bigger beast.
If Jihoon walked into that arena without a plan, it wasn't hard to imagine how things could spiral.
Sure, the benefits were tempting — the reach, the prestige, the funding.
But one thing was crystal clear: the moment he opened his arms too wide, the vision — his vision — for JH Pictures would no longer be solely his.
This wasn't fear talking. It wasn't ego.
It was experience.
Jihoon had lived this reality once before. And that's exactly why he didn't jump at Jim's initial offer.
It wasn't that he didn't respect the opportunity — he did.
But he was playing the long game.
Instead of handing over a piece of his soul — or worse, giving up his creative control — Jihoon had come up with an alternative.
A way to give Fox what it wanted, while still protecting everything he'd spent years building.
Now, sitting across from Jim Gianopulos in the softly lit meeting room of the JH office, Jihoon leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch just enough to stir curiosity.
Jim looked interested. Maybe even a little caught off guard — like a poker player realizing too late that the other guy had been slow-playing a winning hand.
Jihoon smiled, then finally broke the silence.
"I've gotta say, Mr. Gianopulos… your offer? It's the kind of thing most people dream about. And if I were chasing red carpets or TV interviews, I probably would've signed it on the spot."
Jim chuckled, waiting — curious, with no intention of cutting him off.
"But," Jihoon continued, his tone shifting from casual to calculated, "given JH's current trajectory, I'd say we're not yet in the ideal position to fully maximize the scale and expectations that would come with a direct partnership."
"Not yet."
He reached for his glass, took a slow sip, then met Jim's eyes with a calm, self-assured gaze.
"So here's my counter — instead of Fox buying into JH, why don't we create something new together?"
"A joint venture. Built from the ground up. Based in the States. Fox and JH co-producing, co-investing."
"You get direct access to the kind of stories, ideas, and creative direction I'm bringing to the table — and we get the global muscle Fox is known for: distribution, marketing, industry pull."
"It's synergy, clean and simple."
Jim's brow lifted — intrigued, but still processing. Jihoon didn't let the momentum dip.
"Let's be honest, Jim — Fox doesn't need to own JH. That's not really what this is about, isn't it?"
Jim shook his head, a small smile forming. "No, it's not."
"What you're really looking for is a filmmaker who can deliver."
"Someone who can write the kind of scripts that move audiences and direct the kind of films that fill seats." He smiled, a little sharper now.
"And let's be honest — I'm already doing that."
Jihoon leaned forward slightly.
"You're a producer yourself, right Jim?"
Jim nodded, inviting him to continue.
"Then you know how this game works."
"At the end of the day, it's all about ROI."
"And I'm offering a model where we control risk, share reward, and eliminate the usual friction — no red tape, no internal politics."
Jim nodded slightly, arms folded now, leaning in just enough to show he was paying close attention.
"JH needs the reach. Fox needs the result."
"So why complicate things with acquisitions or board reshuffles?"
"Let's cut to the basics and engineer a solution from scratch — one that aligns both our incentives without compromising either of our core strengths."
His voice lowered slightly, not in volume but in weight.
"You protect your corporate integrity. I preserve my creative control. We both get a platform to scale globally without diluting what makes each of us valuable."
He paused, then added with quiet conviction:
"And I promise you this — if I'm directing under the Fox banner, you're not getting a safe, committee-designed studio product."
"You're getting something real. Something that moves people. Gets them talking. Makes them remember."
He smiled again, just enough to disarm.
"That's what I've been doing, isn't it? You wouldn't be sitting across from me if I weren't doing it well."
Jim chuckled — not just in agreement, but because he knew Jihoon was right. Becasuse his film was already making waves.
Jihoon's voice turned serious again.
"But to do that — to really do it right — I need space. The freedom to work the way I work."
He let the silence sit — not awkward, but deliberate.
Then, with a final, measured smile:
"So... what do you think, Mr. Gianopulos?"
Jim leaned back in his chair, studying Jihoon for a long moment.
The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the air conditioning and the faint clink of ice settling in Jim's untouched glass of water.
His expression wasn't one of resistance — but of reassessment.
When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, thoughtful.
"You know," Jim began, tapping a slow rhythm on the armrest with his fingers, "in this business, it's rare to meet someone your age who understands the game beyond those glitter."
"Most people walk into a room like this starry-eyed. They think leverage is about box office numbers and press coverage."
He paused, offering Jihoon a knowing look.
"But you? You're talking about infrastructure. About vision. About building something sustainable. That tells me you're not just a director — you're a builder."
Jihoon didn't interrupt. He knew better than to chase a compliment when it was still being delivered.
Jim continued, a bit more candid now. "And you're right — Fox doesn't need to own JH Pictures."
"We're not starving for content. What we need is relevance. We need filmmakers who can punch through the noise."
"The ones whose work doesn't feel like it was pre-approved by a dozen execs in a glass tower."
That smile returned, more reserved this time.
"But," he said, holding the word for just a second longer than necessary, "no matter how smooth your pitch is, and no matter how bold the vision—there's still the matter of leverage to take into account."
Jim raised his eyebrows, tone calm but firm.
"And right now, you don't have it."
Jihoon's expression didn't flinch — not outwardly. But deep down, the sting was there.
Not because Jim was wrong — but because he was right.
Jihoon had hoped he could bypass this part.
He thought that knowing Jim, really knowing him from that other life — the one no one here remembered — would let him skip the proving ground.
That shared history, the late-night conversations, the mutual respect built over years… all that trust had felt real in his bones.
But that wasn't this Jim.
This was Jim Gianopulos in 2007 — a Hollywood titan who didn't know Jihoon from Adam.
Here, now, he was just another hungry young director with a dream and no empire behind him.
Jihoon inhaled slowly through his nose, blinked once, then did something he hadn't done all meeting.
He smiled.
Not the polite smile from earlier — this one had teeth.
"Well then," Jihoon said, shifting slightly in his seat, voice light but deliberate. "How about we raise the stakes?"
Jim narrowed his eyes, curious.
"To honor this whole conversation," Jihoon began, "why don't we make it interesting. I'll deliver a film — not just a film, a masterpiece."
Jim quirked a brow.
"One that doesn't just play well at Sundance or get polite claps at Telluride — I'm talking Oscar-level. Best Picture nomination material."
Jim leaned back, arms crossing. "Go on."
"In return," Jihoon said, leaning in slightly, "Fox takes care of the lobbying — the network, the campaign, all the behind-the-scenes politics. You know how the Academy works. And honestly, only Fox can pull that off."
Jim didn't deny it — just waited.
"Of course, to be fair," Jihoon added, his voice tightening like a rope being pulled, "we'll sign a clause — a wager agreement."
He leaned forward now, elbows on the table, mirroring Jim's earlier posture.
"If the film doesn't get a nomination? Fox gets the option to purchase JH Pictures shares at half the market valuation. Straight up."
Jim blinked — not in disbelief, but surprised by the sheer boldness of Jihoon's move.
"And if it does get nominated?" he asked.
Jihoon's grin widened. "Then we proceed with the joint venture. On equal footing. No power imbalance. No creative leash."
There was a moment of silence, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Jim exhaled, rubbing his chin. "That's... a bold move."
"High risk, high reward," Jihoon replied. "Isn't that what makes this fun?"
Jim chuckled — not the corporate kind, but a genuine, caught-off-guard laugh.
He shook his head slowly, clearly impressed, even if he wasn't ready to admit it out loud.
"You really believe you can pull this off?"
Jihoon's smile faded into something more grounded. Not arrogant. Just… certain.
"I don't believe," he said. "I know I can."
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu and Daoist098135 for bestowing the power stone!]