Jihoon tried to calm himself down, but his mouth kept mumbling uncontrollably, like a man whose nerves had just short-circuited.
His temples throbbed, and he rubbed the tight vein pulsing on his forehead.
He didn't need a psychic to predict what would happen next — his imagination already supplied tomorrow's headlines in bold, unforgiving letters.
[Director Lee Calls Hollywood Rubbish!]
[Korean Filmmakers Disrespect Their Audience, Says Jihoon!]
Just picturing them was enough to make his head ache.
He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking.
"Listen, Kimbum-ssi…" His voice was calm but carried an edge of restrained irritation. "I know we've met twice already, and we've always had good conversations."
"And I get it — you need your articles to be engaging, click-worthy even. But please, if you're going to quote me, quote me correctly. I never said Hollywood is rubbish. I said its era of dominance is ending."
Kimbum's froze. He nodded nervously, cheeks flushing with guilt as he hurried to jot down the correction.
Jihoon sighed and continued, softening his tone. "The point isn't to insult anyone. It's about strategy."
"Asia's growth isn't a threat to the West — it's an opportunity for us to tell our stories, in our way. If your article can reflect that, I'll truly appreciate it."
There was a pause.
Kimbum lowered his head, clearly embarrassed yet grateful for Jihoon's patience.
In truth, most directors would've exploded by now — thrown their coffee, yelled, maybe even called security.
But Jihoon wasn't like that.
He'd been in enough press rooms to know when to let his temper go, and when to swallow it.
Still, it was frustrating. Cause this guy is using Jihoon's patience as a free pass, Jihoon.
He probably thinks Jihoon would be too polite to call him out.
Seeing Kimbum's awkward expression,
Jihoon rolled his eyes. He couldn't help but wonder, where did this guy learn journalism? From the infamous Italian paparazzo Walter Santesso himself?
If Santesso were still alive, he'd probably take Kimbum in as an apprentice.
Jihoon leaned back in his chair, fighting the urge to groan. "Just… try to be more objective next time, yeah? Facts over drama."
Kimbum chuckled weakly, rubbing his neck. "Yes, Director Lee. I understand."
Thankfully, for the rest of the interview, things began to settle.
Kimbum seemed to realize he'd crossed a line and shifted back to a more professional tone.
His questions became sharper, more relevant — and Jihoon, despite his earlier irritation, found himself speaking freely again.
"Director Lee," Kimbum said after a while, "your film Saw has already grossed over $250 million in about a month. According to our analysis, it might reach $280 million before its run ends. Do you think it could possibly break the $300 million barrier?"
Jihoon thought for a moment before answering. "Unlikely," he said, shaking his head.
"Our projections put the final box office somewhere between $250 and $280 million."
"We've already achieved our target. From here on out, every cent we earn is just a blessing from above."
He smiled faintly, as if to say — I've already won; I don't need more.
Jihoon's version of 'Saw' wasn't just a horror flick.
It was more sophisticated than the original from his past life, carrying symbolic undertones and thematic connections to 'Get Out' and his growing HCU universe.
Yet, despite the buzz, Jihoon knew the limits of reality.
Low-budget films had a ceiling — they could shock the world, but rarely break it.
Historically, even the most successful indie films capped around $100 million globally.
The rare exception, of course, was 'The Blair Witch Project' — a $60,000 pseudo-documentary horror that raked in $248 million worldwide, boasting a return of over 4,000 times its budget.
But Jihoon wasn't one to underestimate himself.
He believed 'Saw' could eventually surpass 'Blair Witch' in global box office and cultural impact.
Still, breaking $300 million would be nearly impossible — unless Fox was willing to pour a fortune into additional global marketing. But that would cut into profits and invite unnecessary risks.
Even Fox wouldn't dare.
After all, being so long in the business, Fox learnt that success isn't about breaking records; it's about knowing when to stop chasing them.
Kimbum nodded thoughtfully, impressed.
He had read similar forecasts from Hollywood's box office analysts.
Jihoon's estimate wasn't just humble — it was accurate.
Even if 'Saw' didn't hit $300 million, it had already rewritten the narrative for Korean filmmakers in the Western market.
For a moment, Kimbum's eyes sparkled. In his mind, Jihoon was no longer just a director — he was Korea's pride.
First the Palme d'Or.
Then the Oscar.
Now a box office hit crossing $250 million.
He was rewriting what it meant to be a Korean filmmaker in Hollywood.
Yet, fame always came with shadows.
Kimbum adjusted his glasses and asked cautiously, "Director Lee, there's been some chatter online back in Korea."
"Some people are saying your success — especially with Get Out — was only possible because of Fox's influence. And that Saw's box office performance was more about marketing power than filmmaking skill. How do you respond to that?"
Jihoon raised an eyebrow as Kimbum slid a few printed pages toward him.
They were screenshots of online comments — messy, full of baseless opinions and snide remarks.
He scanned them silently.
[Of course Saw made money! Fox's marketing did all the work. He's just lucky.]
[Get Out's Oscar win? Connections. Typical Hollywood politics.]
[Do you even know how to use a chainsaw? Some of the scenes make no sense!] (3,729 likes)
Jihoon blinked at that last one. "…Wait, what?"
He stared at the paper in disbelief. "This person seriously thinks Saw is about killing people with a chainsaw?" He massaged his forehead.
He muttered under his breath, "Who are these people? If you're going to criticize me, at least watch the movie first!"
He tossed the paper lightly on the table. "If that's the logic, then when I film The Walking Dead, should I become a zombie and eat brains just to prove my dedication?"
Kimbum burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.
Jihoon smirked. "Besides, there's not even a chainsaw in Saw. They probably just saw the title and confused it with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre."
He leaned back with a sigh. "Honestly, these trolls are like flies — they don't hurt you, but they sure as hell annoy the crap out of you."
Still, beneath his humor, Jihoon could see the bigger picture.
These weren't random trolls.
The comments had rhythm, timing, and pattern — almost like a coordinated smear campaign.
Probably from jealous filmmakers or old-guard producers back in Korea who couldn't stand seeing a young director stealing the spotlight.
But he didn't care. Not anymore.
As far as Jihoon was concerned, flies never stopped an elephant from moving forward.
He returned the papers to Kimbum. "It's getting late," he said calmly. "I think you've got enough material for today. Let's wrap it up here."
Kimbum nodded, standing quickly and bowing respectfully. "Thank you, Jihoon-ssi. I really appreciate your time — and I'm sorry for bothering you so late."
Jihoon waved a hand, his irritation already fading. "No problem. Just… maybe next time, book an appointment before showing up unannounced, yeah?"
Kimbum laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Of course. I'll remember that… probably."
Jihoon gave him a mock glare. "Probably?"
But deep down, he knew the man wouldn't change. Journalists like Kimbum thrived on surprise — the thrill of showing up, getting an unexpected story, chasing that next headline.
And today's session? It would definitely make waves.