James was practically bouncing like an overexcited fanboy.
He poured out his ideas for the horror world he had always dreamed of, speaking in a rush, his hands gesturing wildly as though he could paint his vision in the air.
Jihoon just stood there, smiling quietly, nodding at the right moments.
But behind that smile, his eyes gleamed—sharp and calculating.
They weren't the warm eyes of admiration; they were the eyes of a foreman sizing up the perfect worker for a grueling construction site.
Jihoon had just spotted someone who could sweat, toil, and build his empire brick by brick.
Just as James began to calm himself down, catching his breath after his enthusiastic rant, Jihoon leaned in slightly and spoke in a casual yet deliberate tone.
"If that's the case… would you be interested in participating in the production of Saw 2?"
James froze.
His smile faltered, his brain struggling to catch up. For a heartbeat, he thought he had misheard.
Then an incredible thought flashed through his mind—could this really be happening?
Jihoon's voice was steady, almost teasing as he continued, "Saw 2 is still in the early stages of development."
"From what you just said, I can tell you have a strong grasp of the project's core. Since you're also looking to break into Hollywood, why not join us at JH Pictures?"
James's heart thumped wildly. His mouth went dry.
For Jihoon, this wasn't just a casual offer. He knew the mechanics of film series inside and out.
A traditional franchise often relied on three chances: the first film introduced the concept, the second tried to outdo the first, and the third decided the series' fate.
After that, audience interest usually waned, and the franchise burned out.
But James Wan was different.
In Jihoon's past life, even without owning the IP rights to Saw, James managed to push the franchise far beyond the usual three films, carving out a legacy as both director and producer.
That tenacity made him dangerous in the best possible way.
And Jihoon had bigger ambitions.
A cinematic universe wasn't like a straight road—it was a web.
Each new film didn't just extend the line; it opened new doors, new connections, new possibilities. If done right, the success could grow exponentially.
That was Jihoon's vision for the Horror Cinematic Universe, and Saw would be its first cornerstone.
James Wan was the perfect candidate to help build it.
Still, Jihoon wasn't reckless.
He knew James hadn't yet directed a theatrical film by himself.
Throwing him straight into the director's chair for Saw 2 would be risky.
Better to start him off as an assistant director—working under Jihoon or Peli—to let him learn the ropes before handing him the reins.
After all, this version of Saw was far more ambitious than the small-scale original.
"Lee… is what you said serious?" James asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I—I can really join the production team of Saw 2?"
He had come here only out of admiration, wanting nothing more than an autograph. Yet now, standing in front of him, was the opportunity of a lifetime.
It felt like the heavens had just rained gold directly into his lap.
"Of course." Jihoon gave him a firm nod, his smile widening.
"I think you're great. Come to JH Pictures tomorrow and sign the contract. But—" his tone shifted to something more instructive, "you'll start as an assistant director under me or Peli. Once you've proven yourself, then you'll get your first film."
James's face lit up, his excitement spilling over. "Really?! I'll be there tomorrow! Thank you so much for this opportunity, Director Lee!"
Jihoon chuckled, patting his shoulder before turning to leave.
The moment James stepped out of the cinema, his composure cracked. He clenched his fists and pumped them in the air, his grin stretching uncontrollably. He could barely contain his excitement.
.....
"Boss! Boss!! Let's go!"
Mara came running out of nowhere, her heels clattering against the pavement as she rushed up to Jihoon.
Without a word, she grabbed his arm and began tugging at him with surprising strength.
Jihoon stumbled after her, startled. "Whoa, what's going on? Why are you in such a hurry?" He glanced at his watch.
"It's already three in the morning. Even if we're heading home, shouldn't we just go our separate ways? Why are you dragging me like this? Could it be…"
His eyes widened dramatically, his mind already spinning in a dangerous direction.
Deep down, the Oscar-winning screenwriter in him was instantly sketching out a new scenario—not for a film, but for an… ahem adult screenplay.
"Don't tell me…" Jihoon gave Mara a suspicious look. "I've always treated you as my assistant, but you—are you lusting after my body!?"
No, no, no! My body is precious!
Even if she was white, busty, beautiful, and big… he couldn't just let it happen like this!
At the very least—he thought wildly—there had to be safety precautions tonight!
But Mara didn't look the slightest bit seduced.
Instead, she kept darting nervous glances over her shoulder as if expecting someone to appear out of the shadows.
Finally, she leaned close and whispered urgently, "Boss… my mom heard you have something big so she wants to get a piece of it too."
Jihoon nearly tripped over his own feet.
"What?!" His mind instantly twisted the words into something entirely different. Your mother… wants to participate too?
Something big? Wants a piece of me?
In an instant, Jihoon's imagination staged a forbidden NTR scene in his mind—mother and daughter serving the same man on the couch, while the husband wielded a whip, cracking it across the air as both women yelped in unison.
Jihoon shook his head violently, trying to dispel the image. Get a grip, Jihoon. Focus!
"That… that doesn't sound like a good idea," he muttered cautiously.
"Aiya, there's no time for this conversation now!" Mara hissed, her voice tight with panic. "If we don't get away right this second, my mom will catch us! Hurry!!"
Before Jihoon could say another word, Mara shoved him into the waiting car. She practically dove in after him, slamming the door shut before barking at the driver, "Go! Drive!"
The driver, seeing Mara's pale face and frantic expression, immediately assumed the worst.
Late at night in L.A., even on these prestigious streets, muggings weren't unheard of.
Clearly, his passengers were being chased by dangerous thugs. Without hesitation, he stomped hard on the accelerator.
The car shot forward like a bullet out of the parking lot.
Jihoon was thrown back against his seat, his heart pounding. The speed of the car matched the speed of his own imagination—blood rushing through his veins, wild scenarios flashing in his mind as fast as the city lights streaked past the windows.