The commotion in Korea had yet to die down.
Jihoon remained the hottest topic in the country, not just because of his achievements, but also because of how little was actually known about him.
Despite directing his first film back in 2006 and now standing in 2008 with international accolades under his belt, Jihoon had rarely appeared in public.
Personal interviews were almost nonexistent.
The contrast between his fame and his near-invisibility only fueled the public's and media's curiosity.
Everyone wanted to know more—about his family, his upbringing, and how someone so young had managed to climb so high in such a short span of time.
In short, they were desperate to peel back the mystery surrounding him.
But the Lee family had no intention of stepping in to shape that narrative. Jihoon's late mother had already left the family name with little glory.
Her refusal to abide by the family's arranged plans—and later her passing—meant Jihoon's branch of the family tree held little weight in their eyes.
Any smear campaign directed at Jihoon was seen as his problem alone, not theirs.
And Jihoon expected no help from them either.
Ever since he sold off his shares in the family company, he had effectively given up on relying on their influence.
Though not an official severing of ties, it was as close to it as one could get. Jihoon had even gone as far as concealing his birth identity from the public, ensuring that the Lee name and his own career would never be tied together.
With that choice, he knew support from the family was no longer something he could count on—or even wanted.
Meanwhile, alongside the buzz surrounding Jihoon's first Hollywood blockbuster, another headline was gaining momentum.
This time, it wasn't just industry chatter—it was global news: the announcement of this year's Cannes Film Festival competition lineup.
Ordinarily, only film professionals and critics paid close attention to Cannes.
The average person was usually too caught up with work or daily life to notice.
But this year was different.
The official Cannes website had just refreshed its list of nominees, and among the prestigious names, one in particular stood out.
It was the same name dominating headlines in Korea.
The same name that critics, fans, and journalists couldn't stop speculating about.
The competition lineup included:
Adoration (Atom Egoyan) – Canada.
A Christmas Tale (Un conte de Noël) (Arnaud Desplechin) – France.
Changeling (Clint Eastwood) – USA..
Che (Steven Soderbergh) – USA / Spain / France.
Linha de Passe (Walter Salles, Daniela Thomas) – Brazil.
The Class (Laurent Cantet) - France
Buried (Lee Jihoon) – USA.
.....
Cannes was no stranger to Jihoon. He had already walked away with the coveted Palme d'Or back in 2006.
But this time, the circumstances were entirely different.
In 2006, his winning film had been submitted under Korea's banner. The honor, therefore, was shared between the nation and its young director.
Now, in 2008, 'BURIED' was submitted as an American production.
Jihoon's nationality would always remain Korean, but on paper, the film itself belonged to Hollywood.
That distinction carried enormous weight.
It signaled not only his growth as a filmmaker but also his seamless entry into a global stage where national lines blurred, and artistry spoke louder than passports.
The Cannes Film Festival itself stood at the very pinnacle of world cinema, often mentioned in the same breath as the Berlin International Film Festival and the Venice Film Festival—the three crown jewels of Europe's cinematic landscape.
Its highest prize, the Palme d'Or, was regarded as one of the greatest honors a filmmaker could achieve.
While the Academy Awards in Hollywood celebrated commercial success, Cannes celebrated art—pure, daring, and often uncompromising.
Winning in Cannes didn't just mean prestige; it cemented a director's place among the legends of cinema.
The structure of Cannes made this even more daunting. The Main Competition awarded only seven fixed prizes:
Palme d'Or the highest award, the Grand Jury Prize, Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Actor, Best Actress, and the Jury Prize.
To be shortlisted in the Main Competition meant more than just "participation."
It meant standing in the final ring, directly contending for one of the most selective sets of honors in world cinema.
For Jihoon, this return carried heavier stakes than his first.
Back in 2006, he had arrived as an unknown—a talented but untested youth.
Some critics even dismissed his Palme d'Or win as a product of luck, pointing out that the competition that year hadn't been particularly fierce.
But 2008 was a different battlefield altogether.
One glance at the nominee list, and Jihoon immediately recognized his challengers.
Steven Soderbergh's 'CHE' was among them, a monumental political epic with sweeping ambition.
Then there was Laurent Cantet's 'THE CLASS', a powerful, socially charged drama that Jihoon already knew from memory in his previous life would go on to resonate strongly with jurors.
Compared to those heavyweights, 'BURIED' was stripped down, claustrophobic, and minimalist—a story confined to a coffin with a single actor on screen for the entire runtime.
It was bold, yes.
Experimental, certainly.
But could it carry the same narrative weight as epics about revolutions or searing social commentary?
That was the question Jihoon couldn't ignore. This time, he wasn't the surprise underdog. He was a real contender in a year where giants stood beside him.
Los Angeles, JH Pictures.
The official invitation from the Cannes Film Festival had finally arrived, and Jihoon allowed himself a rare sigh of relief.
The embossed gold seal of the Palme d'Or shimmered faintly under the office lights. To others, it was a card.
To Jihoon, it was proof that his film had broken through yet another gate.
This nomination meant more than just prestige. It brought him one step closer to his next objective: securing the Best Actor award at one of the world's three most prestigious film festivals.
If 'BURIED' could achieve that, it wouldn't just elevate Ryan Reynolds—it would also send a clear message to Leonardo DiCaprio.
"Now Leo should feel less anxious," Jihoon thought. "If Ryan wins, it proves I can deliver the same for him. And Leo's been chasing this award for years."
Just as he leaned back, reflecting, Mara burst into the office, her voice sharp with urgency.
"Boss! There are so many reporters outside the building! What did you do this time?"
But then her eyes fell on the invitation in his hand. She froze.
The simple but refined design, the cream-colored cardboard, the golden Palme d'Or stamped with authority—it radiated elegance and history.
For film professionals, it was the equivalent of holding lightning in their hands.
"Oh my God… you're actually nominated for Cannes!" Mara gasped, covering her mouth as her eyes widened in disbelief.
"It's only a nomination," Jihoon said with a faint smile, waving the card as though it were nothing special.
"Winning still depends on luck."
But deep inside, Jihoon's thoughts were already moving forward.
His real ambition wasn't just the award itself, but the leverage it created.
If he could deliver a win for Ryan Reynolds, then Leonardo DiCaprio—famously desperate for a Best Actor Oscar—would no longer hesitate to collaborate.
Leo's hunger for recognition had reached the point of obsession.
He refused to let promising opportunities slip away, especially those involving directors capable of shaping award-winning performances. Jihoon understood this well, and he planned to make use of it.
Still, he also recognized why Leo had been hesitant about 'The Departed'.
Unlike Leo's earlier project Inception under Fox, this film would mark the beginning of something entirely new—a cinematic universe rooted in Asian-style action and crime storytelling.
It wasn't just another Hollywood production; it was a gamble on a different tradition of filmmaking.
And Jihoon needed Leo to take that leap with him, because Leo's influence was the strength he needed to launch his Asian-style cinematic universe on the right footing.