Outside the glass doors of JH Pictures, Jihoon paused for a moment.
Across at the parking lot, Jason was heading toward his car.
He turned back, smiling faintly and raising a hand in farewell.
Jihoon responded back with same kind, returning the smile and the wave.
But both gestures carried a different weight this time—no longer the casual ease of partners sharing mutual victories, but the polite courtesy of two men who understood that something had shifted between them.
Jihoon felt it deeply.
He knew better than to believe in lasting friendships when greed entered the room.
Business was business; alliances lasted only as long as interests aligned.
And companies were no different from individuals—they would protect their own share, their own advantage, above everything else.
If the time came when he would have to sell the HCU to Fox after Phase One, Jihoon wouldn't be surprised.
From the very beginning, when he first initiated the project, he had foreseen such a possibility.
The partnership was never balanced.
Fox held the leverage: their distribution channels, their global resources, their ability to bottleneck projects at will.
It was never an equal alliance, no matter how warm Jim had been to him personally, because the Fox board was made up of different interest groups, each with their own agendas to uphold—not to mention the constant power struggles in that room.
What he hadn't expected was how quickly the greed of Fox's board would surface.
Jihoon had assumed this kind of pressure would only come after Phase One—after the HCU had gained enough recognition to prove its worth.
By then, he would have built his name strong enough to stand independently, or at least secure multiple alliances to counterbalance Fox's dominance.
But with the board making their move this early, Jihoon realized he couldn't afford to wait.
He would need to act sooner.
He had to start cultivating another partnership—one strong enough to keep the balance from tipping entirely in Fox's favor, or at least align with another interest group that could counterbalance it.
With or without Jim's support, this was now unavoidable.
Yes, JH Pictures was making Fox money, but Jihoon's footing in the industry was still fragile compared to the giants.
Distribution alone made the gap obvious.
Without CJ's backing, his films wouldn't even leave Korea, let alone reach Europe or America.
Fox had the reach—but that also gave them the power to control.
And control was something Jihoon could never allow them to have.
He walked quietly back into the building.
His staff glanced up as he passed, catching sight of the heavy look on his face.
Even Mara, usually the bright and cheerful one, instantly sensed her boss's mood.
Without a word, the office atmosphere shifted; keyboards clacked louder, papers shuffled faster, everyone suddenly appearing busy, as if to avoid disturbing him.
Back in his office, Jihoon lowered himself into his chair, lost in thought. The weight of the decision ahead pressed on him.
After a long silence, he finally reached for the phone and dialed.
The line clicked, and a familiar, groggy voice answered.
"Jihoon-ah… what's going on? You do realize it's the middle of the night in Seoul, right? You'd better start paying me overtime—or at least buy me a vacation."
Jaehyun's voice carried the rough edge of someone pulled out of deep sleep.
Jihoon smiled faintly, though his tone was apologetic.
"Hyung, I'm sorry for calling so late. But I need your help. This can't wait."
He took a breath and continued, his voice steady.
"It's like this…"
And then Jihoon explained everything—the board's sudden push, their demand for HCU's rights, the imbalance of power, and the urgency of finding another way forward.
When he finished, he made his request clear:
"Check into the plan I mentioned before. Look into every angle. I need confirmation, and I need it fast. Then get back to me right away."
On the other end of the line, Jaehyun listened carefully as Jihoon laid out his request.
At first, he didn't see the urgency.
Because from his perspective, things hadn't yet escalated to the point where ties with Fox were in danger of breaking.
The board might have been greedy, yes, but negotiations like these were common in any business.
It wasn't unusual for big studios to push for more leverage when they smelled profit. Jaehyun understand that.
But Jaehyun also knew Jihoon too well.
Over the years, he had come to recognize a certain pattern in him—a kind of paranoia rooted in a deep lack of security.
Even when JH Pictures grew rapidly, Jihoon never once offered Jaehyun shares in the company.
Instead, he had structured their partnership around profit dividends, ensuring Jaehyun was rewarded but never in a position to interfere with decision-making.
That wasn't mistrust of Jaehyun personally; it was Jihoon's nature.
He guarded himself against everyone.
Perhaps it was the shadow of the Samsung Lee family background he carried in this life, with its endless power struggles.
But little did Jaehyun know—to Jihoon past life as an orphan, where he had learned the hard way that no one, not even family, could be trusted completely.
Either way, Jihoon had been shaped into someone who would never leave his fate in another's hands.
That was why he was making these moves now.
To Jaehyun, it might look like an overreaction, but to Jihoon, this was simply preparing for the worst-case scenario.
If Fox's board pushed too hard, if the partnership fractured, he needed contingencies ready.
He needed new alliances—especially in Asia—where he could establish a solid foundation for his long-term vision: the Asian-style cinematic universe.
And Jihoon's reasoning wasn't without merit.
Compared to Asia region where he have the upper hand, in Hollywood, he was just an outsider, if were to be blunt he's just a foreigner on a visa.
His power here rested solely on his talent, and his ability to expand beyond that depended almost entirely on Fox's network and resources.
Unless he betrayed Fox outright by partnering with a rival like Disney or Universal—a move that would shatter his credibility—his growth in America was limited.
Credibility was everything in this business.
One misstep could destroy a career.
Jihoon often thought of Harvey Weinstein as the ultimate cautionary tale, no matter how evil is he.
Weinstein had power, yes, and people still relied on him even after his infamy grew.
But his empire had limits.
His business model revolved around chasing awards, lobbying, and aggressive campaigning for recognition.
It gave him prestige but no true global reach.
He had no long-term franchise or loyal audience base—only the fleeting prestige of Oscar-bait projects. In other word, making money but limited to his playing ground.
The HCU, however, was different.
It was a niche market too, but it had one critical advantage: longevity.
Once the foundation was set and the fanbase secured, horror fans would remain loyal for decades, following each new installment of the continuous universe Jihoon was building.
Unlike Weinstein's projects, which shifted depending on awards season strategy—sometimes an Oscar-bait film with commercial value, other times a Berlin festival piece driven by political or social preferences—the HCU promised consistency.
It offered a world that fans could return to, story after story, without the uncertainty of changing priorities.
That consistency alone could transform what began as a niche concept into an enduring cultural trend, steadily cultivating a loyal fanbase from the very beginning—and in turn, generating reliable ticket sales.
Back on the call, Jaehyun finished piecing together Jihoon's perspective. He exhaled and finally replied, his tone steady.
"Alright. I'll look into the distribution matter and get back to you as soon as I can."
Jihoon shook his head, cutting in, "No need to personally contact them yet. Just check on it quietly. This is a long-term plan—we'll only execute once the cash starts flowing after the financial crisis. By then, we should have more than enough money to move forward."
"Got it… anything else?" Jaehyun asked, a hint of fatigue creeping into his voice.
"That's all, hyung."
For a moment, silence hung over the line. Then Jaehyun's voice erupted, half groggy and half furious:
"Do you realize this could've waited? You said there's no rush—so why the hell did you wake me up at this ungodly hour?! YOU BRAT!"
"@!##$"
Jihoon pulled the phone away from his ear as Jaehyun's scolding turned into a stream of incoherent frustration. Without hesitation, he hung up in his mid-rant.
Rubbing his forehead with a sigh, Jihoon muttered under his breath, "No wonder he's still single. With a temper like that, what girl would put up with him?"