Still in the same Fox meeting room, the air now held a different kind of tension—quieter, more calculated.
Peli had just finished presenting his passion project, 'Paranormal Activity', and the room had shifted into a silent, weighty stillness.
Each person's face told a different story.
Jihoon leaned back slightly, arms loosely crossed, watching the others with a subtle, knowing look in his eyes.
He had lived through this once before—in another life, when 'Paranormal Activity' was just a whisper in indie circles before erupting into a cultural phenomenon.
So he already knew how this would play out.
Nolan, seated beside Peli, wore the expression of someone who'd heard the pitch before—but still believed in it like it was the first time.
His loyalty to Peli was evident. If he hadn't believed in the film, he wouldn't have used his industry clout to set up this meeting in the first place.
That left only Jim—the man who actually mattered in this room, at least from a business perspective.
Jihoon's gaze flicked over to him.
Jim sat with his fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes narrowed, not in rejection but calculation.
He wasn't doubting the film, Jihoon could tell that much.
He was thinking strategy. Numbers. Leverage.
Jihoon smirked slightly. Of course Jim was thinking about how to turn this into something bigger.
Maybe he was already trying to figure out how to rope Nolan into a deeper favor.
After all, if Nolan brought Peli in, then backing Peli could easily be twisted into "doing a solid" for one of the most respected directors working today.
That kind of goodwill didn't come cheap in this town—and Jim knew how to squeeze every ounce out of a handshake.
Jihoon sighed inwardly, unknowingly rolling his eyes. He could already see where this was going.
Jim was going to drag out the silence, throw in some counter-offers, talk up marketing costs, and eventually try to structure the deal in a way that made Fox the hero of the story.
But what still puzzled Jihoon was his own presence in the room.
He turned slightly, eyes scanning the table.
Even after hearing Peli's compelling pitch and watching Jim do his mental gymnastics, Jihoon still didn't know why he had been invited to this meeting.
He was a filmmaker, sure. A rising one, yes. But he didn't work in distribution. He didn't cut checks. He didn't greenlight movies.
So why bring him here?
The question itched at the back of his mind until he couldn't keep it in any longer.
Jihoon finally leaned forward, his voice calm but direct.
"Peli, Nolan," he began with a slight smile, nodding respectfully toward them, "your horror concept is one of the smartest thrillers I've heard in a while. It's lean, effective, and deeply unsettling in the best way possible."
Peli gave a modest nod, and Nolan, as always, remained cool and quiet.
Jihoon continued, his eyes now shifting toward Jim. "But if I'm being honest… I'm not sure why I'm here."
"I mean, I'm just a filmmaker. I don't handle distribution, and I don't sign investment deals."
"So unless you're expecting me to play a ghost in Peli's film…" he smiled lightly, "I don't really see what role I'm supposed to be playing at this table."
It was direct, but not rude. Curious, but not confrontational. And everyone knew it was a fair question.
Jim finally lifted his eyes from the polished wood of the table and met Jihoon's gaze, a flicker of confusion surfacing in his expression.
The kind of confusion that came from realizing he might've misread the situation from the start.
At first, he'd assumed Nolan just wanted Jihoon here for a bit of creative talk—maybe to swap ideas as fellow directors, maybe to toss around thoughts on visual tone or structure.
After all, Nolan was known for thinking several steps ahead, and Jihoon had been making waves as the fresh new mind in the industry. That made sense.
But after hearing Peli's full pitch? Things didn't add up.
Jihoon wasn't a distributor. He wasn't a financier.
And despite his earlier dry joke, no one in their right mind would drag someone of Jihoon's rising caliber just to ask him to play a background ghost in a found-footage horror film.
That would've been ridiculous. Almost insulting.
Even if Jihoon was still considered "new" in Hollywood terms, his previous film had already cemented him as a top-tier talent.
Second only to the absolute legends. And more importantly, his box office numbers were loud enough that even studio executive who never watched films were whispering his name in backroom meetings.
So, yeah—Jim was confused.
He glanced toward Nolan and Peli with a slight raise of his brow, silently asking: "Well? Care to let me in on the plan here?"
Peli, still standing near the whiteboard, shifted slightly.
His presentation was done, but he could feel the question in the air—especially from Jihoon's side of the table.
He gave a quick glance at Nolan, a small unspoken nudge.
Nolan got the message instantly.
He stood up, hands in his pockets, calm as always, and gave Jihoon a small smile. The kind that said you'll get it in a second.
"Well, Jihoon," Nolan began casually, "if we're talking specifically about this film—Paranormal Activity—then no. You're not here for that."
He paused, letting that land. Jihoon raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"But if we're talking about Peli's career... then yeah. You're definitely part of the picture."
That made Jihoon sit up a little straighter.
Nolan continued, "We heard that you and Fox have been tossing around the idea of forming a new filmmaking label—something small, agile, but with teeth."
"A place where unique voices could actually make stuff without needing to fight five layers of studio execs just to shoot a scene."
Jihoon nodded slowly. That part was true. The discussions had been quiet, but they were real.
"So I was thinking," Nolan said, "what if Peli joined that company?"
"Not just as a one-off director, but as one of your key creatives."
"Sure, he's new. He doesn't have a portfolio yet."
"But I believe in him. I believe in the way he sees stories. And I think he could bring something to the table that's… a little different."
Nolan's gaze turned briefly to Jim before returning to Jihoon.
"Of course, we're still hoping Fox comes through on the distribution deal. That's part of why we're here."
"But beyond just this movie, we're thinking long term. And I think your new company could be the place where a filmmaker like Peli grows—really grows."
There was a pause. Not heavy. Just thoughtful.
Jihoon leaned back in his chair, letting Nolan's words settle in.
Now it made sense. And not just sense—this was a golden opportunity.
Sure, Paranormal Activity was just the beginning.
But Jihoon already knew what came next. He knew how that film would explode.
He knew the kind of creative freedom and recognition Peli was about to earn.
Having him as part of this new company wouldn't just be smart. It would be a power move.
And yet, Jihoon also knew: Jim didn't know any of that.
Jim didn't see what was coming. So now it was up to him—Jihoon—to help paint that picture.
He turned to Jim with a thoughtful look.
"Well, Jim," Jihoon said casually, "looks like I'm not playing a ghost after all."
Jim chuckled, a little uncertainly.
Jihoon leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table.
"But I'll tell you what I do see. I see a filmmaker who's about to shift the genre."
He gestured lightly toward Peli.
"I see someone reinventing how horror is shot. Not just because it's cost-effective—which it is—but also because it captures the essence of what horror really is."
"Raw. Unfiltered. Real."
He glanced around the room, letting the words hang for a beat.
"Peli's approach might look like a downgrade in terms of camera gear, but the impact? The fear? That's as real as it can gets."
A small smile tugged at Jihoon's lips.
"He's the kind of guy who doesn't need a hundred million dollars to make people scream—and that is the kind of creator I want in my corner. In our corner."
He looked over at Nolan, then at Peli.
Both of them looked momentarily stunned—not only by Jihoon's confidence in someone he'd only just met, but also by how quickly and deeply he'd grasped the vision of Peli's film.
What was even more surprising was that Jihoon had understood the full scope of Peli's concept just from a verbal pitch.
No visuals, no storyboard.
Yet he'd already pieced together the tone, the rhythm, the heart of the film.
It was the kind of instinct only a true talented filmmaker had—one with a vision sharp enough to see the movie before a single frame was shot.
"And if you're smart," Jihoon added with a knowing grin, turning to Jim, "you'll sign off on this distribution deal fast. Because once the world sees what Peli's about to unleash..."
He leaned back, finishing the thought smoothly:
"Every studio in town is gonna wish they got in early."
Jim folded his arms, a quiet breath slipping out as he processed it all.
The room went still—not with tension, but with weight.
The kind of silence that happens when something important just shifted.
Because now, everyone at that table knew: this wasn't just a pitch anymore.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, Daoist098135, Daoistadj, JiangXiu and OS_PARCEIROS for bestowing the power stone!]