JH Pictures – Meeting Room
Stan Lee didn't come alone.
Walking beside him was a man in his early thirties—young, confident, yet still carrying the air of someone slightly overshadowed by the legend at his side.
Compared to the elderly Stan Lee, Kevin Feige looked almost like a kid tagging along with his mentor.
"Lee, I brought my successor here today," Stan said cheerfully, his trademark smile spreading across his face. "You two are closer in age, so you should communicate often. It'll do both of you some good."
Jihoon rolled his eyes at Stan's theatrics and didn't bother responding.
Instead, he went straight to Kevin, extending his hand with genuine respect.
"Nice to meet you, Kevin. I've heard a lot about you," Jihoon said.
He knew exactly who this man was, his the one who would one day breathe life into Marvel's engine and turn it into a global phenomenon.
For that, Jihoon had nothing but respect.
In fact, a thought lingered at the back of his mind: If I ever get the chance, I wouldn't mind poaching him from Marvel to run JH's operations.
Kevin gave a polite, somewhat awkward smile.
He had caught Jihoon blatantly ignoring Stan, but he didn't take offense.
After years of working with Stan Lee, Kevin knew better than anyone how the old man could sometimes act like an overgrown child. He shook Jihoon's hand firmly and replied,
"Likewise. Your HCU is exactly the kind of thing we've been dreaming of for years. I hope one day we'll have the chance to work together."
Jihoon studied him carefully. This guy… he's the real deal.
Kevin Feige wasn't just another Hollywood producer; he was the visionary who would one day architect the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
His story itself was the stuff of legends—a lifelong Marvel fan who turned obsession into destiny.
During Jihoon previous life he knew that since childhood, Kevin had devoured Marvel comics, memorizing storylines, characters, and even obscure trivia that most readers overlooked.
That obsession eventually led him into the film industry.
By 2000, he had already earned a reputation as a walking encyclopedia of Marvel lore, which caught Fox's attention during the production of X-Men.
He was brought on as an assistant producer, where he worked tirelessly behind the scenes, ensuring the film stayed faithful to the source material.
His dedication paid off.
The success of X-Men didn't just reignite the superhero genre; it also caught the eye of Marvel Studios' executives.
Soon after, they pulled Kevin away from Fox, offering him a seat at their table, which is the Marvel engine.
From that moment on, Kevin had been quietly working in the background—pushing Marvel to respect its original comics, fighting to reclaim scattered character rights, and laying down the foundation of something far bigger than anyone imagined.
By 2007, he would be promoted to President of Marvel Studios.
His boldest gamble was still ahead of him: mortgaging Marvel's precious character rights to secure a $500 million loan, all to finance Iron Man and build the MCU crossover model.
But that future was no longer guaranteed.
Because here, in this timeline, Jihoon had already beaten him to it on that cinematic crossover model.
The Horror Cinematic Universe had been the first to prove that shared universes could work, and it was Jihoon—not Kevin—who had introduced the model to the world.
For now, though, Kevin was still just a young, ambitious producer. An unremarkable name to most.
But Jihoon knew better.
They sat down around the table, Jihoon sliding a bottle of water to each of them before taking a seat himself.
Stan Lee leaned forward, his tone playful yet curious.
"Lee, what do you think of Marvel's potential?"
Jihoon thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head. His answer came out blunt, even a little heavy.
"Sad. Lamentable."
Kevin Feige stiffened at the response.
He respected Jihoon's achievements—after all, the Horror Cinematic Universe concept had already proven that Jihoon shared the same kind of grand vision he himself dreamed of.
But to hear Marvel dismissed so casually stung.
"Then tell me, Lee," Kevin pressed, his tone tight. "Why is Marvel so unattractive to you?"
Jihoon spread his hands, as if the answer was obvious.
"Because Marvel's biggest mistake over the past sixty years was selling away its copyrights. That single decision crippled everything that came after."
Kevin's face darkened. He wanted to argue but couldn't find the words. Deep down, he knew Jihoon was right.
Stan Lee, however, sighed heavily, cutting into the silence.
"Lee's right. I regret it every day." He rubbed at the veins on his hand, the weight of years and decisions showing in his expression.
The truth was painful.
In the 1980s and 1990s, Marvel Comics had nearly collapsed under reckless expansion, bad management, and mounting debt.
Bankruptcy followed, and to survive, Marvel sold off the film and television rights to many of its core characters—often at bargain prices.
Sony scooped up Spider-Man.
Fox secured both the X-Men and Fantastic Four.
Universal took the Hulk.
Those sales kept Marvel alive but left the company shackled.
Films like X-Men and Spider-Man became massive box office hits, but Marvel itself saw only a fraction of the profits—less than $100 million combined.
To the six Hollywood majors, it was pocket change.
To Marvel, it was a bitter reminder of what they no longer controlled.
Jihoon leaned forward, his voice calm but firm.
"Marvel is actually moving in the right direction. Iron Man, the film you're about to release, is the key to breaking through your circumstances. But it's also a chain that will hold you back."
Both Stan and Kevin glanced at each other before nodding. Jihoon wasn't wrong.
"Iron Man is destined to succeed," Jihoon continued. "And once it does, it'll elevate Marvel's brand instantly. The character will become a global icon. Do you agree?"
Stan chuckled, delighted by Jihoon's confidence.
"Hahaha! I like how sure you are, Lee. But tell me, how can you be so certain?"
Jihoon ignored the old man's teasing and spoke with conviction.
"Because Iron Man tells a story that resonates with reality."
"It's grounded in technology, politics, and human flaws rather than alien gods or overpowered heroes. That relatability makes it engaging—and audiences will feel it. It's bound to be a hit."
He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing.
"But here's the problem. Once Iron Man proves the concept of a cinematic universe, everyone will see its value."
"The public will demand more interconnected stories, and your chance to buy back those lost character rights will drop to near zero. The studios holding them won't ever let go. They'll milk them dry."
Kevin frowned, silently acknowledging the truth.
Jihoon didn't press the point further. After all, the MCU had nothing to do with him directly.
Yet as a lifelong fan of film and storytelling, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. As the fans of marvel he wanted the Marvel Cinematic Universe to reach its fullest potential, to become something seamless and unforgettable.
Yes, the original version in his past life had been wildly successful, breaking box office records and reshaping Hollywood, but even then, its momentum faltered.
Phase Four started with promise but quickly stumbled.
By Phase Five and beyond, the spark was gone.
The projects felt less like stories and more like products—films and shows churned out to squeeze every last drop of profit from loyal audiences.
And after Disney's takeover, the tonal shift was unmistakable.
The darker, riskier themes that had defined the earlier films were stripped away, replaced with a glossy, family-friendly sheen.
What once resonated with adults and children alike now leaned heavily toward safe, child-oriented narratives that dulled the MCU's edge.
Just imagine the X-Men, for example.
If Marvel still had that IP, your universe wouldn't just expand—it would flourish.
The mutants fit naturally into a shared world.
Imagine weaving them into the Avengers storyline.
The conflicts, the moral dilemmas, the scale—it would be seamless.
Even television spin-offs like Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. would make more sense if mutants existed in the same continuity.
Marvel has to work around gaping holes.
The X-Men could have been the bridge between street-level heroes and cosmic threats, balancing out the narrative.
Their powers aren't absurdly overpowered, and their themes of discrimination and identity would have grounded the Avengers in a way that pure spectacle never could.
For a moment, Jihoon fell silent, lost in thought.
To him, the absence of the X-Men in the MCU wasn't just a business limitation—it was a creative tragedy.
A universe that could have been richer, deeper, and more cohesive had been fractured before it was even born.