Days had passed, and Jihoon was throwing every ounce of his energy into his mission.
May had arrived, and with it came a whirlwind of chaos—not just for Jihoon, but for everyone at JH Entertainment.
The month was packed, and one reason stood above all: Cannes.
Jongbin's film Shoplifters, based on a script written by Jihoon, had just been nominated for the Palme d'Or at the 2007 Cannes Film Festival.
The announcement sent shockwaves through the industry. It wasn't just the nomination itself that stirred the pot—it was who got nominated.
After all, it had only been a year since Jihoon himself stunned the world by taking home the Cannes Grand Prix with his debut script.
Now, barely twelve months later, another film from the same company—penned by the same young mastermind—was gunning for the top prize.
And this time, it was directed by Jongbin, a relative newcomer with only two prior films to his name.
His first film, an indie project without Jihoon's involvement, had earned some attention but walked away empty-handed. His second, 200 Pound Beauty, was built on Jihoon's screenplay and became a commercial sensation.
Now, with their third collaboration, they weren't just aiming high—they were landing among the stars.
The reaction in the film community was immediate and intense. Actors who had once been cast in Shoplifters but bailed during the earlier media storm were stunned.
Many were quietly seething with regret. Directors who had dismissed JH Entertainment as a passing novelty were now facing the uncomfortable reality: if Jongbin actually won Cannes, JH would become the first Korean production house to take home Cannes' top prize twice—back to back, no less.
And both times? With Jihoon's scripts.
It was a signal—loud and clear—that something seismic was happening at JH.
People could already feel the tremors. If Jihoon kept writing at this level, delivering stories that not only moved audiences but impressed international juries, the studio would keep raising the bar.
And in an industry that ran on prestige and money, that was a very big deal.
Even without Cannes, JH was already becoming the talk of the town.
University graduates and seasoned professionals alike were lining up to join the company.
The work environment had a reputation for being collaborative, progressive—and, if rumors were true, lucrative. It was said that after every project, JH handed out bonuses worth one to two months' salary.
And if a film performed well at the box office? Employees reportedly received additional profit shares—up to 10% of box office revenue split across departments.
And directors? They had it even better.
During a recent late-night drink with friends, Jongbin had let slip just how good his deal was.
In addition to his regular salary, JH gave him the opportunity to invest in his own films using personal funds.
He admitted he hadn't put in much yet—his student loans were still weighing him down—but he was already receiving a 20% profit share from the box office earnings.
That revelation alone had directors all over Seoul buzzing. Word spread like wildfire, and soon, the front desk at JH Entertainment was flooded with portfolios and meeting requests from filmmakers desperate for a shot.
Despite the noise, the accolades, the whirlwind of praise that followed Shoplifters' Cannes nomination, Jihoon remained quietly in the background.
The media buzzed with headlines—"Jongbin Heads to Cannes!", "JH Entertainment Strikes Again!"—but Jihoon didn't step forward to claim credit or give interviews.
This time, the spotlight was Jongbin's, and Jihoon preferred it that way. After all, he had other things on his mind.
Jongbin was already en route to France for the award appreciation day, and Jihoon? He was still here in Seoul, juggling deadlines and unfinished business.
First on his list was Lee Hyori's comeback track.
He hadn't planned to release anything for her until next year, but plans were always fluid in the entertainment world.
So, instead of holding off, Jihoon pulled from his memories—ones not of this life, but the other one—and wrote the iconic "U-Go-Girl" ahead of schedule.
The song was peppy, confident, and unmistakably Hyori. It wouldn't just reintroduce her—it would reignite her.
Then there was Jieun.
Her trainee program had finally taken shape, and Jihoon wanted everything to be in place before his trip to the States.
That meant late nights, countless calls, and hands-on mentoring. He didn't want her to just train—he wanted her to thrive.
Once everything was squared away, Jihoon finally allowed himself to exhale. Bags packed, itinerary confirmed—he was ready for America.
Or at least, his body was. His mind, though, was another matter entirely.
That evening, Jihoon was at home, sleeves rolled up, halfway through slicing vegetables when his phone buzzed. He answered it with a smile.
"Jieun-ah! I'm cooking right now. What do you want for dinner?"
Her cheerful voice danced through the line.
"Oppa! I can't eat dinner with you tonight. I have extra practice. Can you come pick me up later?"
Jihoon paused, the knife still in his hand. "Practice? That late? Alright, when should I come?"
"I'll call you when I'm done!" she replied brightly. "Thank you, oppa~!"
The line went dead. Jihoon set the knife down and stared at the half-prepped ingredients. His appetite vanished just as quickly as her voice had.
The pressure had been building for days. No, weeks. And now that things were finally quieting down, the weight of everything settled squarely on his chest.
He slumped onto the couch, eyes fixed on nothing, a strange hollowness forming inside. It wasn't sadness, exactly. It was more like... tiredness that had nowhere to go.
After sitting in silence for what felt like an hour, Jihoon stood up, grabbed his coat, phone, wallet, and keys, and left.
The spring wind in May was crisp but gentle, brushing against his skin like a reminder that the world was still moving, even if he felt stuck. He didn't have a destination—he just walked.
The city blurred past him. Neon signs, cars honking, snippets of conversations he didn't catch.
His thoughts were louder. There was too much going on—too many paths ahead, none of them clear. He kept wondering: Am I doing the right thing?
It all swirled in his chest—the weight of success, the fear of becoming a puppet to unseen hands, and the dread of letting down those who depended on him.
The pressure to stay ahead in a game that didn't care who it crushed was relentless.
By the time he stopped walking, night had fallen.
He looked around, blinking in surprise.
Han River?
Somehow, his feet had led him here—perhaps out of habit, or maybe memory. It had always been his thinking place, even before everything changed.
Then, a voice—bright and familiar—cut through the night.
"Kim Taeyeon! You can do it!"
Jihoon's head turned. That voice...
He squinted into the darkness and spotted a small figure pacing at the riverbank, bundled in layers and muttering to herself.
He smirked. "YA! You tiny brat! Why're you out here alone so late? What if some creep comes along, huh?"
The girl jolted, spun, then relaxed. "Aish—Jihoon?! What the heck! You scared me!"
Jihoon walked over, still smiling. "I was hoping to scare you more. Guess that failed."
"You're terrible," she muttered, but her grin gave her away.
"What're you doing here?" he asked.
"Me? Just clearing my head. Practice's been rough."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah... same. I was feeling stuck, so I started walking."
Taeyeon raised an eyebrow. "From your house? That's miles away. You walked all the way here?"
"I didn't really notice. I had too much on my mind."
She folded her arms and gave him a teasing look. "Aigoo, our little kid is trying to act like an adult now. You actually have something you can't figure out? The world must be ending."
He chuckled weakly. "Maybe it is."
Taeyeon's smile faded as she looked closer at him. "Hey... you okay?"
Jihoon sighed and dropped onto a bench. "Honestly? I don't know."
She joined him. "Talk to me. I'm your noona, remember?"
He glanced at her, surprised. "You're a few months older. Don't push it."
"I'm still older," she said with mock pride, nudging him.
He shook his head with a small laugh, then looked out at the river.
"Ah… forget about me," Jihoon said, forcing a smile as he glanced at her tired face. His chest tightened just a little. "What about you? You look exhausted."
Taeyeon's nose scrunched up slightly, her expression shifting. "Ugh, don't even start," she muttered, trying to lighten the mood.
"I didn't realize being an idol would be this tough. The pressure's insane. Ever since people noticed us from the OST stuff, it's like… expectations went sky high overnight."
Jihoon gave a small nod, his eyes softening. "Yeah… that's the double-edged sword of early attention. Everyone's watching, and none of them see how hard you're actually working."
She smiled faintly but didn't look up. "We're training non-stop, and I keep thinking... what if we mess it all up? What if we let them down?"
He sighed, then bumped her shoulder gently with his. "That's just the fear talking. You're not gonna let anyone down, Singer Kim. You're stronger than that."
Her lips quirked at the nickname. "Still calling me that, huh?"
"Old habits die hard," he said, pretending to shrug, though his voice held a quiet affection.
Taeyeon looked at him sideways. Her eyes were a little red from fatigue, but they still held that sparkle—the one that only came out when she let her guard down. "You always say the right thing, Jihoon."
"Well, someone has to," he teased lightly, then added with a more serious tone, "Just think of this as a test."
"One of those God-gives-you-only-what-you-can-handle kind of tests."
"Once you push through it, you'll come out the other side even better… like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped. "You and your poetic metaphors. Are you secretly writing lyrics again?"
"Maybe," he smirked, then looked down at the pavement, his smile fading just a touch.
Taeyeon noticed. She gently tapped his arm. "Now it's your turn. You're the one out here walking alone like a lost puppy. Spill it. What's been eating you lately? Nonna will give you free counseling."
Jihoon gave a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's… complicated. A mess, really. Are you sure you're up for it? It's chilly out here."
Taeyeon gave him a mock scolding glare. "Excuse me? I didn't walk all the way to the Han River to not hear some juicy personal drama. Walk and talk, small kid."
He smiled at that—really smiled this time. "Alright. But no judging, okay?"
"No promises," she said with a wink, falling into step beside him.
As they walked side by side under the soft glow of streetlights, the silence between them wasn't awkward—it was warm.
Comforting. Like two people who understood each other without having to say everything out loud.
And yet… both carried words they weren't quite ready to say.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Daoistadj and OS_PARCEIROS for bestowing the power stone!]