Jaehyun let out a long sigh, his eyes still glued to the screen where a flurry of social media comments scrolled endlessly under the viral promotional video for 'Your Name'.
His brows were furrowed so tightly, they looked like they were trying to merge into one.
"Well… what now?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Jihoon looked up from his seat across the room, still sipping onhis coffee, totally unfazed. "What do you mean what now, hyung?"
"The video's a hit! Did you see those numbers? And the comments?"
"People are going nuts! They love it!"
Jaehyun dragged his hand down his face in slow, dramatic frustration. "Yes, Jihoon. I saw the numbers."
Jihoon blinked, genuinely confused. "So… isn't that a good thing?"
Jaehyun turned to face him, his expression the physical embodiment of how are you like this?.
"From a filmmaker's point of view, yes. From a business point of view? Absolute disaster."
Jihoon frowned. "Wait, what? I don't get it."
Of course you don't, Jaehyun thought, barely stopping himself from groaning out loud.
It wasn't Jihoon's fault—he was a creative genius when it came to filmmaking, but when it came to the inner workings of company operations, partnerships, or market strategy?
Jihoon was about as useful as a chocolate teapot—give him one hot idea and he'll melt it into a mess before you can even blink.
"I knew you wouldn't," Jaehyun muttered under his breath, then stood up and paced the room.
"Jihoon-ah," he began, turning to the director with a kind of patient exhaustion only a corporate manager dealing with a free-spirited boss could muster, "do you realize what we missed out on?"
Jihoon tilted his head. "...Publicity?"
"No!" Jaehyun snapped.
"I mean yes, we got publicity—but we could've monetized it if we'd just prepared. That school uniform design in the trailer? It's gone viral. People want to wear it."
"If we had stocked up inventory—partnered with a clothing company before launching the trailer—we could've cornered the school uniform market overnight."
Jihoon's eyes widened. "Oh… you mean we could've sold the uniforms?"
"Yes!" Jaehyun threw his arms in the air. "And now, instead of us selling them, knock-off brands are already copying your design and are probably getting ready to flood the market before we can even act on the idea!"
He let out a frustrated sigh.
"We lost the window, Jihoon. Gone. Poof. Just like that."
Jihoon winced, trying not to smile guiltily. "Well… you didn't expect this to blow up like that either, right hyung?"
Jaehyun stopped pacing and stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "That's not the point! You're the CEO, remember? The founder. You don't just drop a bomb like this without a heads-up!"
Jihoon gave him an awkward grin and shuffled toward the water cabinet. "Okay, okay, I get it. My bad."
"Next time, I'll give you a call before I surprise the world."
He handed Jaehyun a bottle of water like a peace offering.
Jaehyun took it, guzzled half of it in one go, and let out another heavy sigh. "Anyway… now what?"
"The company SNS accounts are flooded."
"Your fans and the netizens are begging us to officially release the uniform design. Some even want licensing rights."
Jihoon returned to his chair, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully. After a moment, he tapped his fingers on the desk.
"Well… since the design's already out there, maybe we lean into it?"
Jaehyun narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean lean into it?"
Jihoon gave a sheepish smile. "Let the clothing companies license the design. Charge them a flat fee or a small royalty."
"Nothing crazy."
"We just keep the copyright and in return, they get to produce it legally. And… we donate the licensing revenue to youth and student charities. Win-win?"
Jaehyun blinked. "Wait, you were going to just give it away a minute ago."
"I meant, like, not-for-free-but-almost," Jihoon said, chuckling. "C'mon, hyung. It's good PR for JH. The public will love it."
Jaehyun sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "God, you're lucky you're charming. You know that?"
"I get that a lot."
He shot Jihoon a look. "Fine. It's not the worst idea. At least this way, we make something back. But next time—next time—you talk to me before doing anything."
"Got it, hyung." Jihoon nodded solemnly. Then added with a grin, "You want me to write it in blood?"
Jaehyun stood up and stretched, muttering, "For you, I need a contract signed, stamped, notarized, and witnessed."
As he moved toward the door, Jihoon called out, "Fighting, hyung! Don't let the stress age you too much!"
Jaehyun rolled his eyes. "Too late. Being around you makes me feel like I've aged ten years already."
With Jihoon's decision finalized, the announcement was posted almost immediately on JH Entertainment's official SNS account.
"We're opening licensing rights for the Your Name school uniform design to all interested manufacturers. If you're interested, please contact us. All proceeds will go toward youth and student welfare initiatives."
Simple? Yes.But the impact? Immediate.
The internet did what it always does—it exploded.
Within hours, hashtags like #YourNameUniform, #JihoonEffect, and #UniformRevolution were trending nationwide.
Fashion influencers, students, and even industry insiders couldn't stop talking about it.
Comments flooded the post—praise, memes, even fan art of idols wearing the uniform. But what really lit the fire under corporate desks were the DMs.
Calls came pouring in from clothing manufacturers, particularly school uniform companies, all scrambling to acquire the licensing rights.
These weren't small-time tailors either—some were the biggest names in the game, with decades of market dominance and nationwide school contracts under their belt.
They weren't stupid. None of them.
They knew a viral storm when they saw one, and they also knew one thing with painful certainty—this uniform design was about to redefine an entire industry.
Even school boards started to pay attention.
Behind their closed-door meetings and strict policies, they too had eyes on the trends.
Principals and the school board directors knew that if they didn't adapt to what students were clearly craving, they'd be inviting a PR nightmare.
And in Korea's hypersensitive social media climate, being the school that "kills self-expression" was just one angry post away from national embarrassment.
"It's wild," Jaehyun said the next day, staring at the stack of inquiries on his desk. "You've done it, Jihoon. Somehow, your promo video managed to create a full-on economic ripple effect."
Jihoon, lounging lazily on the office couch, shrugged with a modest grin. "Accidental economic stimulus. Should I add that to my resume?"
"I'm serious." Jaehyun leaned forward, tapping the paper pile. "From textile suppliers to production lines, to local school shops—this one video just revitalized the supply chain."
"Students get uniforms they actually want to wear, companies get revenue, schools get good press, and we—" he pointed between them, "—get royalties and public goodwill. That's long-term brand value right there."
And Jihoon knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he'd seen this storm before.
In his previous life, it was the drama 'Princess Hours' that had stirred the nation with its iconic school uniform design.
Back then, the blend of tradition and fantasy sparked a fashion trend that echoed across school campuses and department store shelves. But now? That baton had passed—this time to 'Your Name', and to him.
Only this time, the design was better. Sleeker. Sharper. Modern.
Because unlike the early 2000s aesthetic of 'Princess Hour's, Jihoon's design came from 2016—a decade ahead in fashion sense.
Korean school uniforms, usually a blend of rigid conservatism and awkward fit, now had a version that matched the clean lines, minimal color palette, and functional elegance that youth today adored.
It wasn't just a costume for a film—it was the beginning of a real-world fashion shift.
Even his own appearance at Cannes had contributed to the change.
Jihoon's neatly parted, effortlessly masculine hairstyle—clean and confident—had swept the red carpet and the online world like a quiet storm that time.
No longer were shaggy, over-dyed 2006 idol hairstyles the dream.
Boys across Korea were already flooding salons asking for the "Jihoon cut."
"It's kind of terrifying," Jihoon mused aloud, "how fast things change. One picture, one video, one uniform—bam, a whole new era."
Jaehyun chuckled. "And to think you nearly gave the design away for free."
"Technically, I did say 'at a fee.'"
"Yeah, yeah," Jaehyun waved him off with a sigh. "Just try not to drop another billion-won idea on the world without a heads-up. My blood pressure's not insured for genius-level spontaneity."
"Sure," Jihoon smirked, stretching lazily. "But hey, if Einstein whispers a new idea to my dreams, I can't be held responsible for what goes viral next."
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]