Early December draped Seoul in a peculiar stillness.
Snow had yet to fall, but the dry, chilly wind carried whispers of the winter ahead.
Streets bustled with bundled-up pedestrians, cafes glowed warmly behind fogged-up windows, and festive decorations crept into every storefront like little promises of Christmas joy.
The year was winding down, but for the people of Seoul—especially its netizens and Jihoon fans—something else stirred more excitement than tinsel or trees.
Today, Jihoon's long-anticipated film, Your Name, finally hit the theaters.
There was no premiere. No red carpet. No glamorous gala or flashing bulbs—because the momentum and buzz surrounding the film had already reached its peak.
Initially, Lee Sooman disagreed with Jihoon's decision.
But eventually, he relented—after witnessing the flood of online comments with his own eyes.
Because normally, a film premiere is meant to generate attention and publicity.
But in this case, the goal had already been achieved. So why spend another cent chasing what was already in the bag.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Gangnam, Jihoon sat alone in his office—sleeves rolled up, his hand holding a pencil gliding across a pile of thick paper.
No entourage. No press. Just the scratch of graphite on paper and the quiet hum of his thoughts.
He was already knee-deep in his next story, as if the offical release of 'Your Name' wasn't even his.
While Jaehyun was out in the whirlwind, handling the chaos, Jihoon remained anchored in stillness, chasing another promise.
A promise he owed to Yoon Jongbin.
The idea had struck him late one sleepless night: stories of a family scraping by in the shadowy corners of Seoul, surviving on petty theft.
They take in a bruised, abandoned child—and then a single, devastating death rips their delicate bond apart, forcing them to confront the fragile illusions they'd built.
It was a quiet storm of grief, empathy, and truth—a piercing look at society's blind spots, a mirror held up to the suffering no one wants to see.
He named it 'Shoplifters'—an award-winning piece in his previous life.
Jihoon wasn't just writing a script—he was sketching each frame, building the heartbeat of the story with his own hands.
This is meant just so in case words on the script weren't enough to carry the emotional weight.
Then—without warning—the door swung open.
Only one person dared to did that in JH.
"Jihoon-ah!" Yoon Jongbin strolled in, unbothered by manners or knocking.
He didn't need to. The bond between them wasn't built on hierarchy, but on shared artistic insanity. They had long since dropped the unnecessary honorifics.
Jongbin did it not out of arrogance after his hit on the film of '200 Pounds Beauty', but because Jaehyun had called him earlier this morning saying.
"Hey! Jihoon got your next script."
That was all he needed to hear before making his action of dropping all things on hand.
"I dropped everything," Jongbin said, settling into the chair across from Jihoon. "So you better not be bluffing me."
Jihoon chuckled and slid a thick script across the table. "Hyung, you knew me to well to do that. Take a look yourelf. I'm still finishing up the storyboard."
Jongbin glanced at the cover: "Shoplifters".
A slow smile crept across his face. "Nice title sounds kinda raw."
"Just wait till you read it," Jihoon said, eyes flicking back to his sketches.
The room fell into a peaceful silence.
Two of Korea's most lauded creatives, lost in their work. Jihoon finished his last page, set down his pencil, and rose to brew coffee—one for him, one for his guest.
He returned, nudged the cup toward Jongbin, and leaned back with his own.
Minutes later, Jongbin closed the script with a thud, eyes gleaming.
"Jihoon," he said, voice hushed with excitement. "This... this is the best script I've ever read. Are you seriously letting me direct this?"
Jihoon grinned. "Of course, hyung. I told you I'd write you an award-winning script did't I."
Jongbin laughed, that low, heartfelt laugh of a man who had just stumbled upon gold. "You really weren't kidding."
Jihoon then slid over the freshly drawn storyboard. "Here—just reference. I'm not trying to override your vision. Just a writer's suggestion, nothing more."
Jongbin flipped through it, nodding slowly. "Are you kidding? This is a gift. I'm not ashamed to say I'll follow this layout. People think copy-paste is easy—only directors without a spine think that. But this? This storyboard is art in itself."
Jihoon chuckled. "Just don't let anyone say I'm meddling in the directing."
"Please," Jongbin waved him off. "You're not meddling—you're collaborating."
And just like that, the room fell into quiet again. Two artists. Two cups of coffee. One vision.
They continued talking long into the evening, sketching out ideas, debating casting choices, and reworking key scenes with the type of intensity that only came when art mattered more than ego.
A film was being born—not with flashy press or red carpets—but in the humble chaos of pencil dust, quiet excitement, and mutual respect.
While Jihoon and Jongbin indulged in their creative trance inside that quiet Gangnam office—pencils scratching, ideas blooming—something magical was unfolding in another corner of Seoul.
In Hongdae Cineplex, and in theaters all across the city, the unexpected frenzy had begun.
Teenagers, high schoolers, college students—some drawn by the buzz, others by the now-iconic school uniform design promotion Jihoon had launched just days earlier—were flooding into cinemas.
'Your Name' didn't even premiered with a red carpet, yet its release had created a scene wilder than any gala could.
Every ticket was sold out. Theaters were filled to the brim, not with critics or industry insiders, but with youth, wide-eyed and eager.
Among the crowd, a young couple in school uniforms stood in line at the snack counter, their voices dancing above the murmur of the cinema hall.
"Babe," the boy whispered, nudging her playfully, "don't you think this kind of movie is... not really for manly guy like me?"
His girlfriend rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oppa, come on! It's winter. Don't you have to watch a romantic movie with your girlfriend in this winter?"
He groaned, glancing sideways. "But if the guys at school find out I went to see a sappy love story, they'll never let me live it down."
She turned to him, pouty and serious. "Ya! So you'd rather protect your image than spend time with me?"
He blinked, panicked. "No, no! Okay, okay. Fine. Let's watch it."
She broke into a grin. "Hehe. Saranghae, oppa!"
Their laughter echoed alongside others. The snack line buzzed with the sound of youthful chatter and rustling popcorn bags—a familiar scene in any cinema.
After all, when couples go to the movies, it's usually the girlfriend who picks the film.
And in this case, that meant 'Your Name' had become a "1+1" deal: she wanted to watch it, and he, like a bonus freebie, tagged along—unknowingly contributing to Jihoon's ever-growing box office numbers.
Soon, they made their way into the theater, snacks in hand, finding their seats just as the room lights dimmed.
The pre-movie chatter lingered, soft but restless.
Commercials rolled, but anticipation was thick in the air—like everyone knew they were seconds away from witnessing something unforgettable.
Then, silence.
The logos of JH Studios, Framestore, and CJ Entertainment filled the screen in sequence.
And then it began.
A night sky—pitch black, spangled with stars.
A meteor shower whispered across the cosmos.
One broke through the clouds, plummeting toward Earth.
The camera followed it from the meteor's point of view, slicing through the sky, clouds rushing past, the sound of wind so vivid it felt like the audience was falling with it.
Gravity tugged at their stomachs, making the audience's hearts race.
Jihoon had personally overseen the scene, frame by frame.
Every sparkle, every gust of wind, every swirl of cloud—meticulously crafted.
This wasn't just CG; it was visual poetry.
The Framestore crew had outdone themselves, but it was Jihoon's eye that made it feel real.
Beautiful. Ethereal. Almost too perfect to exist.
Ten seconds. That's all it lasted.
But it was enough.
The theater, once filled with whispers and giggles, was silent now—utterly still.
Then, black.
Total darkness swallowed the screen. A beat of anticipation. Another.
The music hadn't started. Not yet. Jihoon wasn't relying on OST this time—not like his last film. This time, it was all about sight. The visuals spoke first.
Then came the voice of the female lead.
"When I woke up this morning, I didn't know why I was crying."
Yoona's voice, soft yet resonant, floated through the theater.
"This happens from time to time."
The scene shifted. Seoul. Towering buildings. Crowded buses. The pulse of the city.
Cut to a cramped apartment. The male lead, Lee Jiyong—played by Ji Changwook—sat up in bed, rubbing his face.
"I had a dream," he said in a groggy voice-over. "But I can never remember it."
A pause.
"It's just... it's just—"
Split screen.
Sunmin on the left. Jiyong on the right. Both sitting up, dazed, brushing tears from their cheeks.
"It's just like I've forgotten someone really important."
A chill passed through the audience.
Not the kind from overactive air-conditioning, but something deeper. Colder. A shiver that came from the soul.
People sank deeper into their seats. Goosebumps prickled skin. The mystery, the emotion, the dreamlike melancholy—it had only just begun, and already Jihoon had them in his grip.
Outside, the world was still caught in its December hustle. But inside that theater, time had slowed. Jihoon had opened a door to another world—and no one wanted to leave.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]