The following day at JH Entertainment, inside Jihoon's office...
Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting long golden stripes across the polished wood floor.
Jihoon sat behind his sleek, black desk, a half-empty coffee mug in hand, his eyes scanning the detailed analytics report displayed on the screen before him.
The numbers glowed like trophies—Yoon Jongbin's directorial debut, '200 Pounds Beauty', was a breakout success.
Just as Jihoon had strategized, the media had shifted their spotlight onto the rookie director.
The domestic box office haul had soared past $37.8 million, with global sales pushing toward $42 million—a remarkable feat for a first-time director under the JH banner.
Yet, the magic didn't stop there.
The original soundtrack, featuring BOA and a mysterious new voice—Taeyeon—was catching fire.
Even though her identity hadn't been officially revealed, that didn't stop fans from obsessing over her soulful, emotional tone.
Within days, a fan club had materialized online, dedicated solely to "The Voice Behind the OST."
The enthusiasm was so contagious that Taeyeon herself was walking around with the confidence of a queen, giddy and bold.
In fact, she had marched into Jihoon's office the day before, grinning like she owned the place, playfully bragging,
"Look what you unleashed! I'm basically famous now, and they don't even know who I am!"
Jihoon had simply blinked at her, momentarily speechless.
Then he chuckled—he liked seeing her this happy. She deserved it.
But the one reaping the most long-term rewards was undoubtedly Yoon Jongbin.
Thanks to Jihoon's script, Jongbin's name is now resonated in the industry.
Critics and netizens alike had noticed something unique in the film's composition—the clever pacing, emotionally layered scenes using the ost, the fusion of comedy and depth.
They began calling it "JH Composition"—a term born on online forums, now whispered in film school hallways and production meetings.
It was becoming a signature style: a blend of Jihoon's intuitive storytelling and cinematic rhythm.
Script offers began pouring in for Jongbin from various production companies, hungry to bank on his newfound fame.
But he turned them all down.
"Their stories," he told Jaehyun during one meeting, "they're just... bland. I've tasted something better now. I don't want to go back."
When pressed further, he added with a grin,
"Honestly, unless it's written by Jihoon, I'm not interested. His stories challenge me. And it's my way of showing respect—to the person who believed in me first."
Jihoon, now alone in his office, smiled faintly as he read through Jongbin's recent interview transcript.
He took a slow sip of coffee, the aroma grounding him. A quiet pride warmed his chest.
"At least someone's out there carrying another torch for Korean cinema," he murmured to himself.
Before the thought could linger, a soft knock at the door disrupted Jihoon's quiet moment.
He looked up, setting the report gently on his desk, still cradling his coffee cup.
"Come in," he said, his voice calm but curious.
The door creaked open, and Jaehyun stepped in with a strange look plastered across his face—half concern, half disbelief. His shoulders slumped as he let out a long breath.
"Jihoon-ah... I honestly don't even know where to begin."
Jihoon tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a half-smile. "No wonder hyung you have no friends, cause that's not how normal people usually start a conversation."
Jaehyun ignored the joke. He walked in, closed the door behind him, and crossed his arms.
"I know you're talented. Hell, we all know that. But sometimes... your ideas go so far off the original path that I don't even know where we're heading anymore."
His tone wasn't angry—it was the kind of confused concern that came after staring at too many online comment sections.
Jihoon raised an eyebrow, now fully alert. "Okay, now I'm really curious. What are you talking about?"
Jaehyun let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck before speaking again.
"Your trailer for Your Name is doing exactly what you planned—it's generating buzz, a lot of it. But…"
He paused.
"…but the public's not talking about the story or the actors, at least not primarily. They're obsessed with something else entirely."
Jihoon blinked. "Something else? What do you mean?"
Without answering, Jaehyun reached into his bag and pulled out a laptop, placing it on the desk in front of Jihoon.
"Take a look for yourself," Jaehyun said, pushing the laptop gently across the desk.
But Jihoon didn't immediately scroll down to the comment section.
Instead, his eyes hovered over the play button.
Even though he'd watched the trailer dozens of times—before, during, and after editing—something about Jaehyun's expression made him uneasy.
If the buzz was straying off course, he needed to see it with fresh eyes.
Not as the director. Not as the creator. But as a stranger watching it for the first time.
He clicked play.
The trailer began to unfold.
A wide, tranquil shot of a blue sky filled the screen.
Pillowy clouds drifted slowly across the horizon.
Then—streaks of meteors cut through the calm, shimmering with a gentle urgency.
Changwook's voice, soft and wistful, echoed:
"When I woke up this morning… I didn't know why I was crying."
The scene shifted—quick flashes of Seoul's fast-paced rhythm: honking cars, neon signs, the hum of a city that never stops.
Then, just as quickly, the visuals softened into the serene calm of Jeju Island.
A modest room bathed in warm morning light.
Yoona stirred from her bed, eyes blinking toward something she couldn't quite remember.
"I dreamt of something," she said. "But I can't remember what."
Then came the moment: a train gliding past a station, Yoona standing on the platform, Changwook inside the train.
Their eyes didn't meet, but something unseen passed between them.
Both voices overlapped, fragile and filled with a longing that lingered:
"What is your name?"
The trailer accelerated—snippets of laughter, sudden tears, near-encounters, moments lost and found.
Then the sky again—the meteor, now splitting in two, casting a surreal glow across the world below.
And then, in perfect harmony, both voices whispered:
"It's so beautiful."
The screen faded to black.
But the silence in the room didn't last long.
Jihoon leaned forward, his fingers now inching toward the touchpad.
Whatever poetic aftertaste the trailer left was quickly overshadowed by curiosity.
He scrolled down to the comment section.
"@SkyGazer_91Just watched the trailer for Your Name and WOW... that meteor scene against the clouds? Pure cinematic magic. Director Lee really outdid himself! Can't wait to see this on the big screen! #YourName "
"No joke, I've never seen a meteor look that stunning before. Is that even real?! Or am I dreaming??"
"Come on, y'all. That's definitely CG. No way that kind of sky just shows up IRL lol. Still... it's damn good CG."
"I know right?? Like... this is supposed to be a romance, but the VFX?? Better than 90% of Korean films I've seen with big budgets. Goosebumps yo!"
"Actually, did you notice the credit logos? Beside the JH Entertainment logo, there's Framestore in the trailer too! That's a Hollywood-level VFX studio. No wonder it looks insane."
"Director Lee really threw in some serious cash for this one. I've never seen a local production use international-level VFX like this. He's rewriting the rules."
"Okay okay, enough about meteors—did y'all SEE that school uniform on the female lead?! So pretty and clean-cut! Where can I buy it?"
"RIGHT?! It's not any kind of design I've seen before…"
"Heard from my cousin on the crew set—apparently Director Lee had the uniform custom designed himself just for this film."
"Wait wait... you're saying Director Lee designed it himself?? How is he that talented??! This is insane man!"
"Forget the movie, WHERE CAN I GET THAT UNIFORM?! Please don't tell me it's just for filming! I want to wear it to school!!"
"Uh… y'all do know that students can't just wear whatever they want to school, right? Uniforms are regulated."
"Yeah yeah, but it's soooo prettyyyy I'd wear it every day if I could!"
"Wait a sec... what if we get our school to adopt the design?! I'm gonna share the trailer with my classmates and start a petition to our school board!"
"Yooo I'm in! Let's all do it! Imagine if every school switched to Director Lee's uniform design! Mindblown yo!"
"Whoa whoa—slow down, fashion warriors. That's copyrighted design! Don't mess around unless you get official permission"
"Aigoo, kids these days 😂 Focus on your exams first, then play fashion designer later!"
"But... I really want to wear it to school!"
"Then why not just ask Director Lee for permission? Maybe he'll license the design."
"Wait... does Director Lee even have an SNS account??"
"Babo! Of course he doesn't. But JH Entertainment does—go message their official page and ask there!"
"Smh... kids today don't even know how to Google properly!"
"Alright, squad—let's gooooo! JH Entertainment's DMs, here we come! Let's get that copyright consent and make it official!"
After watching the trailer once more and scrolling through the overflowing stream of comments, Jihoon leaned back slowly in his chair.
His eyes lifted from the laptop screen and met Jaehyun's across the room.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
The silence was thick—not with tension, but with the weight of unexpected consequence. What was meant to build anticipation for the film had instead sparked something entirely different.
The buzz was loud, but it was swirling in directions they hadn't anticipated: visual effects, school uniforms, internet petitions.
Everything but the heart of the story.
Jihoon blinked, still processing.
Jaehyun looked just as baffled, his brow furrowed, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Finally, in a voice low and disoriented, Jaehyun broke the silence."…Now what?"
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]