After the second Easter egg scene ended, the theater lights slowly came back on.
For a moment, the room was filled with hushed murmurs.
Many people who hadn't seen 'GET OUT' still looked a little dazed, their faces caught between confusion and intrigue.
Questions of 'was this supposed to be a sequel film' hit their mind.
But the fans who had seen 'GET OUT'—the ones who remembered its own post-credit surprise—were practically buzzing with excitement.
They understood instantly.
This wasn't a sequel to 'SAW' at all. It was something far bigger.
This was the Horror Cinematic Universe—HCU—the grand vision Jihoon and Fox had been quietly building.
A shared world where separate horror stories connected into one larger narrative thread.
Exactly what HCU fans had been waiting for.
"I knew it! I knew it wouldn't be that simple!" Jordan blurted out, bouncing in his seat.
His voice trembled with pure excitement.
As one of the die-hard early believers in HCU, even before it was officially announced, he had already pieced together the clues.
Tonight, he felt vindicated.
Michael nodded vigorously beside him, equally thrilled.
"The first two films clearly share the same worldview. I'm just curious… will Lee keep being involved in the next ones? And is the film Buried in the same universe?"
"Yeah," Jordan agreed, eyes lighting up. "So far, Director Peli has been the one filming."
"But whether Lee directs or not, it doesn't matter—what matters is that this universe is alive. And the third installment… man, I can't wait to see what it'll be!"
A few rows away, James sat quietly, watching the scene unfold.
Unlike Jordan and Michael, he wasn't with friends.
He had come to the premiere alone.
But in that solitude, his admiration for Jihoon deepened even further.
This Asian director, someone who even shared the same skin tone as him, had already carved out a name for himself in Hollywood—while he was still a nobody, still chasing the same dream.
And yet, this director was so young, so close in age, and had already created one of the most brilliant horror films he had ever seen.
A mix of envy and motivation welled up inside him.
'SAW' struck a chord deep within—its themes, its unrelenting tension, its razor-sharp cleverness.
Every frame left him in awe, pushing him to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could reach that level too.
He's my idol, James thought. If only I could get an autograph…
Applause broke out, starting strong, then softening into warm, lingering claps.
At that point, Jihoon and the rest of the production team stepped onto the stage, bowing politely before the glowing movie screen.
They thanked the audience for coming, their words met with another round of cheers.
Soon after, the cast and crew began sharing behind-the-scenes anecdotes.
Or rather, they tried to.
In truth, there weren't many dramatic stories to tell.
With Jihoon's detailed storyboards and the original film as a reference, Peli's direction had gone remarkably smoothly.
At most, a few tweaks had been made to tighten the narrative structure compared to the source.
Before long, it was time for the Q&A session from the audience.
Microphones were passed around, and eager hands shot up.
Most of the questions, however, felt… ordinary.
Praises about the performances.
Compliments on the tension.
Admiration for the brilliance of the traps.
Nearly all of them were directed toward the cast and the director.
Jihoon, sitting slightly off to the side, answered only occasionally—usually when the questions touched on cinematography choices or the broader vision of the HCU.
For the most part, he found himself quietly observing, a little bored.
After all, he was the scriptwriter here, not the one on set yelling "cut."
Until..
"Hello, Lee, I'd like to ask how you came up with the idea of connecting the worldviews of these two works?"
Great. Great!
Finally—someone with substance.
Jihoon's eyes lit up, the corners of his lips twitching into a restrained smile.
This was the moment he had been waiting for.
He wanted to elaborate on his cinematic universe concept, to explain why his films weren't just standalone thrillers or dramas but carefully woven pieces of a larger puzzle.
He wanted to educate the audience on how his work differed from the conventional, how the HCU was more than a gimmick—it was a living, breathing world where stories connected in unexpected ways.
But then, as he looked up at the man who had asked the question, Jihoon froze.
Wait… was that…?
The figure standing in the aisle was an old man with a cheeky grin, sharp eyes hidden behind glasses, and a presence so familiar it knocked the wind out of him.
Jihoon blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. He wasn't imagining it.
Before he could even gather his thoughts, someone else in the theater blurted it out for him:
"Stan Lee! It's Stan Lee!!! He's here!"
Holy crap. It really was him.
The theater erupted instantly, the wave of excitement rippling through the audience like an explosion.
People stood up, clapping, shouting, fumbling for cameras and phones.
Even Leonardo, who until now had been sitting calmly at his seats, turned his head sharply, eyebrows raised in surprise as he caught sight of the comic book legend himself.
Jihoon's heart raced.
Of all the people to show up tonight, of all the questions to be asked, this man had chosen to speak.
Stan Lee. The father of Marvel's modern mythology.
For Jihoon, the name carried weight beyond words.
Marvel wasn't just a brand; it was a cultural phenomenon that shaped generations.
Yet, behind the glory lay a turbulent history.
The company had nearly gone bankrupt, forced to survive by selling merchandise, toys, and—most painfully—licensing the film rights of its most iconic characters to Hollywood's big studios.
That's why Sony got 'Spider-Man', Fox took 'X-Men', and others scrambled for whatever piece of Marvel they could get their hands on.
Those deals had kept Marvel alive, but at the cost of losing creative control over their heroes.
And yet, ironically, the very success of films like X-Men and Spider-Man proved something crucial: superhero movies had enormous commercial potential.
And Marvel knew it.
Even though the company was strapped for cash, the idea began to stir—why let others profit off their creations when Marvel could do it themselves?
That seed of defiance, mixed with desperation, was what led to the birth of their most ambitious gamble: 'Iron Man'.
Scheduled to launch in just a few months, it would be the company's first big step into producing their own cinematic universe.
And now here was Stan Lee, standing at the premiere of 'SAW', of all films. Why?
The answer, Jihoon realized, was in the times.
The narrative landscape was shifting.
Fox was ambitiously experimenting with interconnected storytelling, building larger universes out of singular franchises.
At the same time, strange corners of the internet—like the SCP Foundation—were introducing fans to expansive, collaborative mythologies where stories bled into each other, creating a sense of infinite possibility.
Stan Lee, ever the visionary, had clearly noticed Jihoon's attempt at something similar.
That was why he was here tonight.
To witness it. To test it. To see if someone else, half a world away, was daring to connect stories into something greater.
And now he was asking him—Lee Jihoon—about the idea.
The idea of linking different films through subtle Easter eggs, through crossovers that teased something larger just beneath the surface.
Wasn't this the perfect format for storytelling in the new age? And can Marvel do the same..
Stan Lee straightened up, his voice carrying easily across the theater.
He wanted to hear Jihoon's thoughts—directly, unfiltered.
On the stage, Jihoon adjusted the microphone in his hand.
His heartbeat was steady, his mind already clear. He had been waiting for this kind of question, and now the chance to explain his vision had finally come.
"Actually," Jihoon began, his tone calm but assured, "the concept of a cinematic universe isn't something entirely new."
The audience quieted, leaning in.
"As early as the 1930s, Universal Pictures released its famous monster series—Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy."
"These were already forming the basis of what we might call a cinematic universe."
"Characters appeared across films, stories overlapped, and there was potential for something greater."
He paused, letting the weight of history settle in the room.
"But unfortunately, they didn't fully embrace this creative philosophy—or perhaps they never had the long-term vision in mind."
"Instead, Hollywood kept falling back on sequels, remakes, or isolated franchises."
"The industry knew these characters were valuable, but it didn't yet understand how to turn them into a connected world."
His words flowed with conviction, each sentence building on the last.
"At that time, maybe the public didn't realize how franchises and intellectual property truly worked."
"Cinema was still young, and audiences were more focused on the novelty of a sequel rather than the depth of a shared mythology."
"But as time passed, especially now in this era of information and global media, audiences crave interconnectivity."
"They want stories that are bigger than one film, characters that live beyond a single screen, and narratives that stretch across time and genre."
Jihoon's voice grew steadier, his eyes scanning the crowd.
"In my opinion, a cinematic universe is more than just a business model."
"It's a creative framework—a multi-dimensional world of characters and storylines."
"At its core, it's a unified worldview: a self-consistent setting where multiple narratives can exist side by side, intersect, and enhance one another."
"It's not just a collection of films. It's one living story told through many doors."
Murmurs of approval spread through the audience.
"But there's challenges too," he continued. "Which is finding the balance."
"Each film must stand on its own, with its own voice, tone, and identity."
"At the same time, it needs to contribute to a larger whole."
"If there is too much independence on one, and the other connections feel meaningless."
"Whereas, too much dependence on others, would make the films collapse without one another."
"Which is why the true success comes from walking that line carefully, giving audiences both satisfaction in the moment and anticipation for what lies ahead."
He took a small breath, a subtle smile tugging at his lips.
"And that's what we're doing here with the HCU."
"It's the first of its kind in this industry, a deliberate effort to weave together different films into a shared universe."
"And judging from the reaction so far—from the audiences, from you all here tonight—I believe we're on the right track."
Just as Jihoon word landed, the crowd erupted in applause.
Jihoon had spoken with clarity, not just about his films but about the future of storytelling itself.
His words weren't simply an explanation; they were a manifesto, a declaration that a new era of cinema was beginning right in front of them.