It wasn't long before Jihoon reached the gates of the film set.
The sun was hanging low over the horizon, and the whole place shimmered under a layer of golden dust—trailers, cameras, cables, the faint smell of metal and coffee in the air.
And then, just beyond the barricades, he saw them—nine familiar figures he hadn't seen in what felt like forever.
Well, technically it had only been a few months. But to Jihoon, the change was dramatic.
They looked… different.
Taller, slimmer, their movements sharper and more confident.
Hyoyeon and Jessica were almost unrecognizable with their new hair colors—Hyoyeon's sharp blonde looked like she'd walked straight out of a California dance club, and Jessica's soft chestnut brown shimmered under the sun like expensive toffee.
It was clear: SNSD had undergone their next metamorphosis.
Their upcoming single, Day by Day, was just around the corner, and Jihoon knew exactly why they'd been revamped.
It was part of the machine—new looks, new styles, a new chapter to keep the fans hungry.
In Korea's entertainment industry, that wasn't just marketing; it was survival.
In Hollywood, an artist sold albums based on the music.
In Seoul, the music was only half the equation.
The other half was transformation—visual reinvention.
The same idol could emerge every few months reborn as something else entirely: the cute girl-next-door, the sleek city goddess, the untouchable diva.
Jihoon had always thought of it as repackaging human beings.
Like product design—different version, same core.
Before the 2000s, K-pop leaned into cute and punk aesthetics—colorful, innocent, sometimes goofy.
But after 2010, the tide shifted.
The word of the era became sexy. Electronic beats, daring outfits, choreography that looked more like courtship than dance.
He remembered people in his previous life calling kpop as "soft-core porno."
It was harsh, maybe even unfair—but not entirely wrong.
From a marketing standpoint, sex appeal sold, and idols became both artists and advertisements in one breath.
He sighed to himself. History always repeats… even when you're reborn.
Just as he was lost in thought, a sudden commotion ripped through the quiet street.
A swarm of excited teenage girls came rushing toward him—laughing, shouting his name, waving frantically.
The people nearby turned their heads, confused.
Because, honestly, this was Compton.
If a crowd suddenly started sprinting down the street, the usual assumptions leaned more toward a Black Friday shoplifting spree or a GTA chase, not a K-pop reunion.
Jihoon froze, slightly embarrassed, while the girls formed a loose semi-circle around him like a pack of hyperactive puppies.
And then came the voice that could pierce through glass.
"Yo~ look who we got here!" Sooyoung called out, hands on her hips. "Isn't this the mighty Director Lee Jihoon himself? What an honor it is to be in your presence, your highness."
Then, with exaggerated drama, she bowed like a peasant in a Shakespeare play.
The rest of the girls burst into laughter, giggling like a flock of mockingbirds.
Jihoon stared at her, half-shocked, half-amused. "Can you talk properly?" he shot back. "It's only been a few months, but your mouth still smells like Swedish sardine cans."
"YAH! LEE JIHOON! DO YOU WANT TO DIE?!" Sooyoung barked back, voice echoing down the block.
And just like that, it was as if no time had passed at all. Their old rhythm returned—sarcasm, banter, noise, and warmth.
Jihoon couldn't help but smile faintly.
Before Sooyoung could start another verbal war, he raised a hand. "Alright, alright—let's talk inside before you turn this into a public performance. You're embarrassing me."
They all giggled and followed him through the gate toward the main set area.
Jihoon's offsite trailer stood at the far end of the lot—a sleek, silver thing equipped with air conditioning, snacks, and Wi-Fi.
Around it, there were about ten other trailers: resting rooms for cast members, makeup stations, wardrobe units, and storage for equipment.
And a coffee van was parked nearby, serving donuts and iced americanos.
The bright scent of espresso filled the air.
That van, Jihoon thought, was one of the smartest idea that he'd export from Korea cultural.
In Hollywood, catering was the norm—some fancy company serving lukewarm pasta or stale sandwiches to the crew.
Sometimes, if you were unlucky, it was the director's cousin running a "family business" and handing out freezer meals that tasted like regret.
So Jihoon changed the game.
He hired professional food vans to follow the production wherever they shot.
It wasn't just about food—it was about morale.
When the crew was happy, the set moved smoother.
Even a simple coffee break could lift the mood, especially in a place like Compton where, occasionally, the background sound wasn't traffic horn sound—but gunfire.
He opened the door to his trailer and gestured them inside. "Come on, ladies. VIP lounge for my favorite troublemakers."
As they stepped in, Jihoon grabbed a few chilled bottles of Evian and handed them out.
"You guys must be insane to come all the way here," he said, taking a sip of his own water. "Didn't I tell you I'd be done in three days? You could've just waited for me in the city."
Yuri, ever the cheerful airhead of the group, waved dismissively. "Ayy, oppa~ don't scare us like that. We came to see you! It's been months! And besides, our trip to L.A. isn't something that happens every day. It's my first time overseas—don't ruin my mood!"
Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew better than to argue.
Women like Yuri didn't listen—they just insisted.
He sighed, forcing a smile. "Fine, fine. How long are you staying in L.A.? If you're around for a few days, I can arrange a little tour."
"Oooh~ arrange time for us, huh?" Hyoyeon teased, crossing her arms with mock sass. "Our little director must be a busy man now. Guess we rookies aren't glamorous enough for his schedule anymore."
The trailer erupted in laughter. Jihoon rolled his eyes but took it in stride.
Jessica, sitting calmly near the window, chimed in softly, "We'll be here for four more days. I'm sure our Director-nim can find some time for us."
Her voice was gentle, teasing but polite.
Jihoon smirked. "I'll see what I can do. And Sooyoung, Hyoyeon—this is how normal humans talk. I don't expect manners, but at least act like you're sentient."
"YAH!! LEE JIHOON!!!"
Both girls screamed in unison, leaping to their feet as if ready to wrestle him into the carpet.
Jihoon, sensing danger, darted toward the door. "Alright, alright! Since you're already here, how about I give you a little tour? There's a superstar filming today."
That instantly shut them up.
"Who?"
"Who??"
"WHO?!"
The group's curiosity burst out in overlapping squeals.
To these nine young idols from Korea, Hollywood wasn't just a city—it was the holy land, the ultimate dream. Meeting one of its "chosen ones" was like seeing a living deity.
Jihoon grinned, enjoying their excitement. "You'll see," he said, pushing open the trailer door.
The afternoon light hit the set again—camera cranes moving like metal arms, crew members scurrying, and beyond it all, the faint sound of an actor rehearsing his lines.