As Jihoon's time in France neared its end, his final days were consumed by intense negotiations.
On the 30th, after two days of discussions, he and Mikyeong finalized the distribution deal for 'Secret: Untold Melody'.
Paramount Pictures secured the North American and European rights for a buyout price of US$1 million, while CJ Entertainment retained distribution rights across Asia, as per their original contract.
At first glance, the deal might have seemed underwhelming—especially in 2006, when major films often fetched distribution deals between US$5–20 million.
However, considering 'Secret: Untold Melody' had been produced on a modest budget of just under US$200K, the profit margin was extraordinary.
Jihoon understood that, as a newcomer, he couldn't command the same figures as veteran directors, but he had no reason to complain.
Not only did this agreement provide financial security for his next project, but it also ensured his film would reach a much wider audience.
With the business side settled, Jihoon turned his attention to those who had helped bring the film to life.
Wanting to show his appreciation, he announced generous bonuses—US$5K for each crew member, US$10K for supporting cast, and a substantial US$50K for the lead actors.
The reaction was immediate.
The hotel lobby erupted with cheers, so much so that security had to step in, politely requesting that they keep the noise down.
Though slightly embarrassed, their excitement was undeniable.
For many crew members, whose monthly salaries barely exceeded US$1.5K in 2006, Jihoon's gift amounted to at least three months' worth of pay in a single bonus.
With spirits high, celebrations naturally followed.
Since their journey home included a stop in Paris—the heart of luxury fashion—the cast and crew eagerly took advantage of the opportunity for a shopping spree.
Hyubin, Yejin, Yeonhee, and Jihoo were no exception, each browsing designer boutiques for the perfect keepsake to commemorate their time in Cannes.
Jihoon, however, had a different priority.
Though he had no desire to indulge himself, Jihoon knew he couldn't return empty-handed—unless, of course, he wanted to endure Taeyeon's inevitable complaints.
A smirk played at his lips at the thought.
But beyond avoiding her teasing, he genuinely wanted to bring her something meaningful.
Wandering through the winding cobblestone streets, he browsed store after store in search of the perfect gift.
A designer handbag? Too predictable.
Jewelry? Perhaps, but it lacked the personal touch he was looking for.
He wanted something that truly suited her—something that carried significance.
Eventually, his steps led him down a quiet alley, where a small boutique caught his eye.
The shop exuded an old-world charm, its display window filled with delicate, handcrafted treasures. Intrigued, he stepped inside, the soft chime of a bell marking his entrance.
Among the many trinkets, one item stood out—a beautifully carved wooden music box.
Its surface was adorned with intricate floral patterns, each etching meticulously detailed.
Jihoon turned the tiny key, and a soft melody drifted through the air—delicate yet strikingly familiar.
A quiet chuckle escaped him. Perfect.
Days later, as Jihoon stepped off the plane and into Incheon International Airport, he barely had a moment to take in the familiar sights before chaos erupted.
The arrival gate, which had seemed like just another routine passage, had transformed into a battlefield of flashing cameras and booming voices.
A tidal wave of reporters surged forward, their microphones and recording devices jostling for position.
Questions bombarded him from all directions, merging into an overwhelming cacophony:
"Jihoon-ssi! How do you feel about winning the Palme d'Or at Cannes?"
"Is it true that Hollywood producers are already reaching out to you for your next project?"
"Your film's distribution deal has been making headlines—what's your next step?"
"Many are calling you the future of Korean cinema! How do you respond to that?"
Security personnel moved swiftly, attempting to carve a path through the crowd, but the sheer number of reporters made it nearly impossible.
Jihoon's unexpected victory at Cannes had turned him into a national sensation overnight. What should have been a quiet return home had become a full-fledged media spectacle.
Yet, despite the chaos, Jihoon remained composed. He had expected media attention—but not to this magnitude.
Was the reaction to his Cannes win truly this intense? 'Secret: Untold Melody' had garnered critical acclaim, but witnessing this overwhelming press frenzy firsthand made it all feel surreal.
As he scanned the crowd, his gaze landed on Mikyeong and her close staff waiting at a distance, their expressions a mix of amusement as if they are in a circus.
They looked as if they had anticipated this—perhaps even orchestrated it.
Jihoon exhaled, steeling himself. If he didn't address the reporters now, he'd be stuck in the airport indefinitely.
Adjusting his posture, he raised a hand slightly, signaling for quiet.
"First of all, thank you for being here," he said, his voice steady yet firm.
"Winning at Cannes was an incredible honor, and I'm truly grateful for all the support my film has received."
"However, this achievement was not mine alone—it was made possible by the talented cast and crew who poured their hearts into this project."
The flashes continued, but a slight lull in the noise allowed him to continue.
"As for Hollywood, there have been discussions," Jihoon admitted, carefully choosing his words.
"But for now, I want to focus on what's ahead for me in Korea."
"There's still so much I want to accomplish here."
The reporters, eager for more details, pressed on with follow-up questions.
Some tried to corner him into confirming rumors about potential deals, but Jihoon knew better than to reveal too much. Instead, he redirected the attention.
"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I'd like to shift the spotlight to the incredible people who made this film possible—the cast and crew," he continued, stepping slightly to the side.
"They deserve just as much recognition, if not more."
With that, Jihoon subtly removed himself from the center of attention, allowing the actors behind him to step forward.
One by one, the cast members—Hyubin, Yejin, Yeonhee, and Jihoo—were pulled into interviews, sharing their experiences working on the film. Jihoon watched as their faces lit up with excitement.
This moment was just as much theirs as it was his.
Security seized the moment, guiding Jihoon swiftly toward the airport exit while the chaos behind them faded into a blur of flashing lights and distant voices.
As he stepped outside, the crisp Seoul air filled his lungs, grounding him. For a fleeting second, it was just him and the cold, the weight of reality pressing against his ribs.
The car pulled away from Incheon International Airport, and he exhaled—releasing a tension he hadn't fully acknowledged until now.
The smooth leather seat beneath him felt almost foreign, a stark contrast to the disorder he had just escaped.
Beyond the window, neon signs flickered against rain-slicked streets, high-rises standing tall like silent sentinels in the night. The city was the same. Unchanged.
And yet, something was different.
Maybe it was him.
Mikyeong's quiet chuckle broke the silence.
"Well," she mused, tilting her head toward him, "that was quite the spectacle."
Jihoon ran a hand through his tousled hair, still slightly damp from the humidity inside the terminal.
"I know that was your doing."
Mikyeong smirked, unbothered by the accusation. "Winning the Palme d'Or does that."
She turned to him fully, her voice edged with something weightier. "You're not just a director anymore, Jihoon."
"You're a global phenomenon that we need right now."
Her words settled over him, heavier than the jet lag dragging at his body. He let his head rest against the seat, gaze unfocused as the city blurred past.
"I just want to make good films."
"And you will," she assured him. "But first, we make sure the world sees them."
Their conversation was brief, but between them, it was enough. A language of unspoken truths, of decisions already made.
Jihoon understood the weight of his achievement. The dilemma that had once consumed him had been pushed aside—temporarily. But uncertainty remained.
Had he made the right choice?
The quiet life he once imagined—one of anonymity and simplicity—felt impossibly distant now.
In its place was a life dictated by flashing cameras, expectations, and strategies crafted by people who saw him as a product to be managed.
Had he stepped into the spotlight willingly?
Or had he been swept into it, powerless against the current?
His mind wandered. Was he naive?
Jihoon leaned back, fingers tapping against the car door, lost in thought. The weight of his choices pressed down on him, heavier than he had anticipated.
Selling his Samseong shares—had he truly believed that would be enough? That it would allow him to step away from the whirlwind, to become an observer rather than a player? The thought now seemed laughable.
Even with two lifetimes of experience, when it came to schemes, conspiracies, and the invisible hands that shaped this country, he was still a beginner. He had thought he could outmaneuver them. That he could exist outside their web of control.
But that had been nothing more than a delusion.
And now, without his consent, he is already on their board—a piece in a game he had once thought he could refuse to play.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how naive he had been.
He needed to stay calm. Focus.
A face surfaced in his mind—someone who reminded him of peace, of soothes. A moment of clarity in the storm.
The car wove through the city, each turn bringing him closer to an inevitable future. It felt preordained, a carefully constructed path shaped by the machinations of a chaebol empire he had no interest in.
By the time they arrived at CJ headquarters, exhaustion clung to him, but there was no time to acknowledge it.
The moment he stepped out of the car, the atmosphere shifted.
The idle chatter of passing employees faded, replaced by something sharper.
Calculated.
Inside, the elevator ride was silent, the mechanical hum the only sound.
As the doors slid open to Mikyeong's office, Jihoon had already switched gears.
She gestured for him to sit before settling into her chair, her movements deliberate.
Beside her laptop sat a neatly stacked pile of documents—press schedules, promotional strategies, market forecasts. Each page represented an obligation.
Mikyeong laced her fingers together. "Let's get to work."
Jihoon nodded, already reaching for the folder she slid toward him. "Let's start with the promotion strategy."
Mikyeong leaned forward, her expression sharp. "We're rolling out a multi-phase plan."
"The Cannes win has placed you in global consciousness."
"The challenge now is maintaining that presence."
Jihoon scanned the itinerary—late-night interviews, magazine features, press junkets, exclusive screenings. Every entry was a calculated step toward something larger.
"This is… a lot."
"It has to be," Mikyeong stated firmly. "A film like 'Secret: Untold Melody' isn't just released—it has to be an event."
Jihoon leaned back, his fingers rhythmically tapping against the armrest. "What about the release date?"
Mikyeong gestured toward the calendar. "We have two options. This coming June—capitalizing on the festival buzz while competition remains moderate."
"Or end-of-year—to align with awards season momentum."
Jihoon studied the dates, weighing the strategic advantages.
"Both have merit."
"They do," she agreed. "But striking while the iron is hot is our best move."
Jihoon considered it for a moment before nodding. "June it is. We'll ride the momentum while it's still strong."
Mikyeong's lips curved in satisfaction. "Then we lock it in."
Jihoon added, "I'll inform Mr.Lee Sooman about the date and coordinate with him on the promotional efforts."
As the conversation continued, Mikyeong sensed the subtle shift—the quiet distance growing between them. She understood why, but it didn't matter.
Jihoon's resistance, his frustration, his disillusionment—none of it changed her goal. The only thing that mattered was the outcome.
And so, the night stretched on, filled with discussions of international festival circuits, distribution strategies, and media engagements.
Each decision another cog in the ever-turning machine, each plan another layer in the carefully constructed narrative being built around him.
Exhaustion pressed at Jihoon's mind, dulling the edges of his thoughts, but he pushed through it. Fatigue was inconsequential compared to the realization settling over him like a weight he couldn't shake.
This was the price of being controlled. And he wouldn't endure it any longer.
He wasn't just another piece on their board—he refused to be.
But the truth was undeniable: right now, he was still too weak. To resist openly would be reckless, a move that would only tighten the grip they already had on him.
So, for now, he would endure.
He would play along, gathering every advantage, every resource, until he could build something impenetrable—a wall strong enough to keep their hands off him for good.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]