Some people might never grasp the full scale of the power the Murdoch family wields.
They aren't just wealthy; they are the global media moguls.
Keith Rupert Murdoch—the founder and cornerstone of the Murdoch dynasty—rose from the 20th century to become more than just a businessman.
In the real world, he was knighted, gaining the title of "Sir." In the business world, he earned another title: 'the Baron of Media.'
But how far does their influence really reach?
Put it this way: if you've ever flipped through channels on your TV, chances are you've stumbled across their empire.
The sprawling network of FOX channels, National Geographic, and countless others fall under their banner.
Step into publishing, and their reach continues—The Wall Street Journal, The Times, and an army of newspapers across continents.
Their grip stretches from the United States to the United Kingdom, and deep into Asia.
And that's just the surface.
Few people know the Murdochs also have roots in education.
The second branch of the family founded the renowned Murdoch University in Australia.
Sir Walter Murdoch, a great-uncle of Rupert, was the institution's namesake.
To some, that might seem like a coincidence.
But think about it more carefully: what better way to influence the future than through education?
Education, after all, is systematic.
It imprints values, identity, and ways of thinking onto students from a young age.
By the time those students grow into adults, their worldview has already been shaped by the standards set before them.
And in the early days of the information technology age, education systems around the globe were already being standardized—many adopting the U.S. model, some keeping the British style like in Singapore, while others, like China, built their own systems.
But the underlying truth remained: whoever sets the narrative early controls the narrative later.
So when you connect the dots, the picture becomes chilling.
By blending media power with educational influence, the Murdoch family has, knowingly or not, created a web where generations are quietly molded to think within a framework that benefits their empire.
What might look like "just another TV channel" or "just another newspaper" is actually part of a much larger design.
Families like theirs can easily spread narratives according to their means.
Conspiracy? Maybe.
But families with that kind of power have a track record that speaks volumes: their outlets have been accused of shaping political narratives, swaying elections, and running smear campaigns against opponents.
They don't just report news—they help decide how the world interprets it.
Need proof? Let's try a simple test.
Pull out your phone and search for 'Donald Trump.'
Now, look carefully at the 'People Also Search For' section.
Who do you see? 'Vladimir Putin.'
Think about that for a moment.
The current sitting president of the United States—automatically linked with a foreign leader who is consistently portrayed by the Western media as the global villain, the so-called dictator pulling strings behind the curtain.
Is that just a coincidence? Or is it a carefully crafted piece of narrative manipulation?
Some might shrug and say it makes sense.
After all, the majority of America's mainstream media outlets are owned or heavily influenced by groups of families who lean toward the Democratic Party and Trump represent the Republican Party.
To them, framing Trump alongside Putin fits the agenda—a subtle way of reminding the public of "collusion," of shady ties, of mistrust.
For those who already dislike him, it feels natural.
For those on the fence, it plants a seed of doubt.
And for the media giants? Mission accomplished.
But let's take this one step further.
Try another search—this time, type in the name 'Bi Fujian,' a disgraced Chinese television host.
Don't dwell on his scandal. Notice something strange?
Instead focus on looking at the 'People Also Search For' lineup.
You'll find other comedians, gagmen, variety hosts… and then, right there, sitting among them, is 'Xi Jinping'—the president of China.
Pause on that image. Do you feel a chill on your spine?
Regardless of the political tensions between countries, consider what that implied association signals to the public.
To a politically aware adult, it might look absurd or even insulting.
But to someone young, impressionable, or detached from current affairs, the suggestion is subtle yet dangerous: the leader of a nation unconsciously reduced to the same category as an entertainer, a clown, a gag-man who exists for laughs.
And that's where the conspiracy begins to sharpen into focus.
If algorithms—tools we're told are neutral, data-driven, and automatic—can consistently place world leaders next to comedians or villains, is it truly random?
Or is it part of a larger system, one designed to steer public perception without us ever realizing it?
Because once you frame someone a certain way—whether it's a U.S. president tied to a "global dictator," or China's leader placed in a lineup with bunch of clowns—the narrative writes itself.
The media doesn't even need to say the words directly. Because the association is more than enough.
Coincidence? Or the fingerprints of media moguls and hidden hands shaping the way entire populations think?
That's how powerful narrative control can be.
One click, one suggestion, and a world leader is reduced to a punchline.
And this—this invisible hand guiding perception—is exactly the kind of power the Murdoch family holds.
If the Oscars ever handed out a golden statue for Best Screenplay in Global Narrative Manipulation, families like the Murdochs in America, the Maxwells in the UK, the Ambanis in India, and a handful of other dynasties across the globe would be automatic nominees.
Jihoon could write screenplays that made audiences laugh, cry, or sit in stunned silence.
But these moguls? They didn't just move hearts.
They moved stock markets.
They shifted the outcome of elections.
They could tilt an entire region's political stability with nothing more than a headline or a well-timed broadcast.
Compared to that, even Jihoon's most brilliant screenplay was nothing more than a flicker of candlelight against the raging storm of global influence. He could tug on emotions. They could tug on economies.
That thought, however, was only a fleeting spark in Jim's mind before reality snapped him back to where they stood—backstage, beneath the glaring theater lights and the restless murmur of the crowd.
There, Jihoon and Stan Lee were already standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their hands slung across each other like long-lost brothers reunited.
From where he was looking from, they looked like brothers from different mothers.
Jim's eyes shifted toward Amanda, who stood quietly to the side.
She made no move to interfere, no sign that she would step in to reveal who she truly was. Jim knew exactly why—Amanda had no intention of letting Jihoon discover her real identity, or the truth about her daughter.
And so, Jim played along.
He walked toward Jihoon, pretending not to know Amanda, not to notice the weight of secrets she carried.
But irony had a cruel sense of humor.
Jim thought he was protecting Amanda's secret, yet in Jihoon's mind, an entirely different narrative was forming. Jihoon didn't know Mara, his assistant, was the child of the Murdoch dynasty.
What he did know—or thought he knew—was that Jim was nothing more than a pathetic old man chasing an affair with Mara's mother.
Jihoon, in all his sharp instincts, had already labeled Jim as a lecherous pervs.
As Jim drew close enough, the conversation between Jihoon and Stan Lee became clear.
They weren't arguing anymore. They were building. Discussing. Dreaming.
Stan Lee tilted his head and asked, "Lee, what's the difference between your cinematic universe and Marvel's franchise films?"
Jihoon's smile widened, that mix of innocence and calculation shining in his eyes. "Like I said on stage—budget and risk factor."
"Franchises usually circle around the same characters, the same formula, the same theme.
"But a cinematic universe?"
"That's something bigger. It's a multi-threaded system of interconnected stories, a web of independent works that share the same worldview."
"Just like our Saw and Get Out, both are standalone films, but bound by a common spine."
Stan's brows lifted in curiosity, but Jihoon wasn't finished.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his tone, almost conspiratorial. "If Marvel really wanted to build something like HCU, the problems you'd face would be far greater than mine."
"Your comic universe is massive, too vast, too tangled."
"To bring all of that into one coherent cinematic universe?"
"It's like trying to fit an entire galaxy inside a single frame. The complexity would eat you alive."
Jihoon spoke with sincerity, because he wasn't mocking Stan—he admired Marvel.
He had loved those characters since childhood.
In fact, if back in 2006 he had possessed the money, he would have bought Marvel outright.
He would have restructured it, rebuilt it, elevated it beyond what his past life had witnessed.
Because in that past life, Marvel had stumbled into greatness, but it hadn't kept its momentum.
Its golden age had been squandered, and eventually the franchise had been gutted into nothing more than a financial product, passed between investors like a cow to be milked dry.
To Jihoon, that wasn't just a waste—it was a tragedy.
And now, standing in front of Stan Lee, the man whose imagination had birthed the entire universe, he felt the itch to rewrite fate itself. But Jihoon also know that it's too late, cause the marvel's boat had sail.