"Let's take a break," Jihoon called out, stepping out from behind the monitor with a calm but focused expression. "You guys need to get into the zone."
Leo, Hyunbin, and Tom Hardy all nodded, each flashing a thumbs-up.
Their foreheads glistened with sweat, not from the heat, but from the concentration—the kind that came from balancing emotion, timing, and character depth in a single, tightly choreographed take.
A quiet hum filled the set as crew members began resetting equipment and checking gear.
Jihoon took the moment to lean over the script binder, flipping through the pages to mentally rehearse the next sequence.
Nearby, Wally, the cinematographer, adjusted the lighting angles just slightly, catching Jihoon's eye and offering a subtle nod.
Everything was moving with precision.
Three minutes later, the break ended. The camera operators took their marks. The clapperboard snapped. Everyone held their breath.
"Action!"
Jihoon watched like a hawk—every tone, every blink, every beat of silence.
Leo, now fully in character, exuded the icy charm of a professional dream thief.
His eyes held a quiet knowing, his voice steady and deliberate. He was no longer Leo the actor—he was the extractor.
Hyunbin and Tom, who'd stumbled earlier with line pacing and physical blocking, now flowed seamlessly into the rhythm Jihoon had envisioned.
Their energy was sharper, more grounded, and in sync with Leo's calculated calmness.
"Cut!" Jihoon called. Then his face broke into a wide, satisfied grin. "Very good, guys. Really solid."
He stepped forward, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. "Remember this energy and rhythm you just hit—that's exactly the state we need."
"Let's lock that in and go again, one more time to smooth the edges."
He turned to Hyunbin with a friendly smile. "Especially you, hyung. That shift in tone? Big difference. Way better than what we got back when we shot "Secret". You're growing—fast."
Hyunbin chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, a little embarrassed but clearly proud. "Hehe.. Jihoon-ah, are you giving me a compliment or setting me up for another round of corrections?"
Jihoon grinned. "Both."
From the outside, it might seem strange—a teenager directing veteran actors with confidence and precision.
Jihoon was only eighteen, while Hyunbin was nearly thirty and Tom Hardy well into his thirties.
But on this set, hierarchy wasn't about age—it was about vision.
And Jihoon's vision was sharp.
No one questioned his authority. No one doubted his instinct.
Because Jihoon wasn't just working on another film—he was orchestrating a 160-million-dollar cinematic opera.
It was one of the most expensive productions of 2007, and every department—from lighting and sound to acting and stunts—had to meet the sky-high standard he set.
This was not just about spectacle like he usual does in his previous film, because in this film the
As they rolled the scene again—and again—the chemistry tightened, the emotions hit deeper, and the pacing sharpened.
Even Jihoon, standing at the helm, found himself adapting and learning, refining his direction with each take.
By the fourth run-through, everyone on set could feel it: something special was happening.
Not just a good take, but the birth of a moment that would eventually live on the big screen—and maybe even in cinema history.
And behind it all, there stood a young director, a second year university student, quietly commanding a stage that many had spent decades climbing toward.
Not by accident. Not by luck.
But by vision, grit, and the relentless pursuit of something greater.
The prize of art was in reach—and Jihoon was earning every frame of it.
"Cut!" Jihoon called out confidently.
The boom mic lifted, the cameras lowered, and a soft ripple of chatter swept across the soundstage as crew members moved into reset mode.
Jihoon stepped out from behind the monitor and made his way toward the two actors standing near the set's practical wall—Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hardy, both catching their breath but still in character.
"Great job, guys!" Jihoon grinned, giving them both a thumbs-up. "Leo, I knew you were a phenomenal actor... but I didn't expect that level of depth in just the second take. You absolutely owned it."
Leo smirked modestly, brushing a hand through his slightly damp hair. "Thanks, Captain. Just trying to keep up with the boss," he said with a wink.
Jihoon turned to Tom Hardy, still buzzing with adrenaline from the scene. "Tom," he said warmly, "I told you you were perfect for this role. You've got that intensity—exactly what this character needs. I'm glad I stuck with my gut on this."
Tom grinned, clapped Jihoon on the shoulder, and said, "Well, I'm glad your gut's got good taste, mate."
Both men, veterans in their own right, accepted the praise from the 18-year-old director without hesitation.
It wasn't just respect—it was belief.
Jihoon had proven himself, day after day, scene after scene. He wasn't just some prodigy with lucky breaks—he had vision, instinct, and the rare ability to pull the best out of everyone around him.
Jihoon nodded with genuine satisfaction, then called out, "Alright, five-minute break, folks! Then we're diving into the next sequence."
As the crew moved into rest mode, Jihoon made his way to the assistant director and the director of photography to discuss key adjustments for the next scene—angles, transitions, lighting notes.
His voice was calm but clear, each instruction grounded in storytelling. He wasn't just running a set—he was leading an orchestra.
Meanwhile, back near the soundstage wall, Hyunbin and Tom Hardy weren't using the break to relax.
Instead, they huddled together, quietly running lines and rehearsing movement beats to tighten their performance.
There was a shared understanding between them—this wasn't just a role.
It was an opportunity.
Especially for Hyunbin, a Korean actor breaking into Hollywood, the stakes felt personal.
He knew he had to work twice as hard to earn half the recognition.
Jihoon noticed it. Of course he did.
But he didn't say anything. He respected it.
That drive, that quiet determination—it mirrored his own.
He also understood how hard it was for someone like Hyunbin to make it in an industry that rarely gave Asian talent its fair shot.
And yet, here they were—on a $160 million production, making waves.
Across the studio, in the rest area tucked behind a row of production trailers, two of the film's producers, Jim and Martin, were sharing coffee.
Jim leaned back in his folding chair, sipping slowly. "So, Martin," he said, eyes still on the distant set, "after watching Jihoon direct today... you still got doubts?"
Martin chuckled as he added two sugar cubes to his cup. "Doubts? Please. If Fox didn't believe in Jihoon, we wouldn't have thrown in a full investment and given him this much runway."
He stirred his coffee, then paused. "But I gotta ask, Jim—when's Jihoon looking to release this? If he's eyeing the second half of next year, that's gonna be tight."
"Summer 2008," Jim replied without hesitation. "He wants a July release. It lines up with both Korea and the U.S. summer box office window."
Martin raised an eyebrow. "That's ambitious. This is a $160 million movie. The pressure's on. We're gonna need a full-scale marketing push to even break even."
Jim smiled and leaned in. "Martin, c'mon. You think promo is a problem for Fox?"
"But more than that, you have to trust Jihoon. His box office pull in Korea, China, and across Asia is no joke."
Martin frowned, thinking. "You really think he's got that much reach?"
Jim nodded and began listing off numbers from memory. "His last two films? Both under $20 million budgets."
"But both have pulled in over $300 million in global ticket sales."
"And the North American DVD sales alone crossed $80 million—on a Korean-language film, no less."
Martin nearly choked on his coffee. "Wait—those numbers are real?"
"Every cent," Jim said proudly. "And we're not even talking about digital rights and merchandise.""
This kid's not just talented—he's profitable. And his production company, JH Pictures, is churning out festival-level stuff."
"One of their directors, Jongbin, is at Cannes right now."
Martin went quiet. For a moment, all he could hear was the distant clatter of a lighting rig being adjusted and the faint hum of background chatter.
He looked into his coffee, stirring absentmindedly. "You know," he muttered, "a director making one hit? That could be luck. But consistent, back-to-back success? That's something else."
Martin didn't say it out loud, but deep down, he'd always been skeptical of collaborating with Asian directors in Hollywood.
The success rate was painfully low. So far, only Ang Lee had truly broken through.
But Jihoon... Jihoon might just be the second.
And if that were true, then Fox wasn't just investing in a film. They were investing in history.
Because while talent was common in Hollywood—true vision, paired with global profitability and award-winning promise—that was the kind of bet studios only got to place once in a generation.
And Martin was starting to believe... they might've just placed it on the right horse.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, Daoistadj and Daoist098135 for bestowing the power stone!]