The Aftermath

The news of Jihoon's nomination for the Cannes Award like wildfire, shaking the Korean entertainment industry and making waves both locally internationally. It wasn't just the fact that he was a first-time director—it was the weight of the nomination itself. Cause Jihoon is the youngest director to be nominated in the history of cannes film festival. The Cannes Film Festival, one of the most prestigious events in global cinema, had recognized his work, thrusting him into a spotlight he had never sought but now had to face.

Jihoon's phone had been ringing nonstop, but the most significant call came from his aunt, Lee Mikyeong.

As the CEO of one of Korea's most influential media conglomerates, she wasn't just congratulating him—she was laying out the next steps.

"Jihoon-ah, this is incredible," her voice carried an unmistakable sense of pride.

"I've already arranged everything for your trip to Cannes."

"The festival ceremony will be on the 25th of May."

"We'll finalize your schedule soon."

Jihoon listened quietly as she spoke, but then she added something that made him straighten in his seat.

"I've also reached out to my acquaintances."

"You know how these things work—recognition isn't just about talent, it's about connections too."

"There's a high chance you'll win the grand prize."

Jihoon remained silent for a moment, his thoughts weighing heavily on him. It wasn't that he was ungrateful—he appreciated everything his aunt had done—but the idea of his success being orchestrated behind the scenes unsettled him.

He had always believed that his work should stand on its own, that recognition should come naturally.

Still, he wasn't naive.

He understood that in an industry like this, talent alone wasn't always enough. Connections, influence, and strategy played just as big a role.

And if his aunt had gone out of her way to pull strings, it meant she was thinking several moves ahead and those moves on the board, only meant she was playing a bigger game.

Taking a steady breath, Jihoon finally spoke. "Mikyeong imo, you don't have to use your connections for this. I have complete confidence in my work—it will earn the grand prize on its own merit."

There was a brief pause on the other end before Mikyeong let out a soft chuckle, knowing that her words somehow offended her young nephew's pride.

"I know you're talented, Jihoon."

"But my help isn't about doubting your ability—it's about making sure your work gets the recognition it deserves, and faster."

"Besides, if your film wasn't truly exceptional, do you think I would risk my own reputation on it?"

Jihoon understood the reasoning behind her words.

His aunt wasn't simply pushing him forward for the sake of it—she genuinely believed in his talent.

Letting out a small sigh, he nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "I understand, Imo. Thank you for everything you've done."

With that settled, their conversation shifted to the festival preparations, discussing the details of the trip, the events he needed to attend, and the things he had to keep in mind as he stepped onto the global stage.

After finishing the conversation with Mikyeong, Jihoon can't help but to mulled over again, than a realization crept into Jihoon's mind. This wasn't just about supporting him—this was about positioning him.

His aunt's true goal was clear: she wanted him to be the face of Korean film directors on the international stage.

Winning at Cannes wouldn't just elevate Jihoon's career—it would cement his status as a rising auteur and, more importantly, place Korean cinema in a stronger position globally.

His victory would be more than just a personal achievement; it would be a strategic move, a calculated play to push Korea further into the international film scene.

She was strategizing not just for him but for the industry itself.

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

Now, he understood why Lee Mikyeong had been so successful in his past life.

The way she navigated the business world, turning every opportunity into leverage, ensuring that every move was a step toward a greater objective—it all made sense now.

Back then, she had used films as her weapon, shaping the entertainment industry with her influence. And now, she was doing the same thing again. Except this time, the film wasn't the capital—Jihoon was.

She was marketing him, shaping him into a symbol, a name that could push Korean cinema onto a new pedestal.

Jihoon sighed, rubbing his temples.

He wasn't naive; he understood the significance of this moment, the importance of Korea making a mark in the global film industry.

If he were to win, he would be the first Korean director to ever receive the Palme d'Or—an achievement that would bring national prestige, elevate the industry, and open doors that had long been shut.

But with that honor came an enormous weight.

A win would place him under intense scrutiny.

Every move he made afterward would be judged, every project dissected.

He wouldn't just be Lee Jihoon, a promising filmmaker—he would be Lee Jihoon, the director who carried the hopes of an entire industry on his shoulders.

The fame, the expectations, the responsibility—it was suffocating just thinking about it.

Yet, despite the overwhelming pressure, Jihoon couldn't deny the spark of ambition that flickered inside him. He wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. And if his name was going to be used as a symbol, then he would make sure it was on his own terms.

Despite the distrubance, Jihoon didn't let himself get swept up in the frenzy.

He continued with his daily routine—either buried in his studies or refining his new script. He found solace in the familiar, spending time at the university library or discussing ideas with Professor Kim Minsoo.

"Jihoon, you don't seem particularly excited," Minsoo remarked one afternoon, sipping his coffee as Jihoon showed him a rough outline of his next project.

"I am," Jihoon admitted, setting down his pen. "But a nomination isn't an award yet."

"If I don't win, all this attention will backfire."

"It's better to stay grounded."

His professor chuckled. "That's a rare mindset in this industry."

"Most people would already be booking their victory speeches."

Jihoon smiled faintly. "I'd rather focus on my next work than celebrate something that isn't certain."

As the days slipped away, the reality of the Cannes Film Festival loomed ever closer.

Jihoon knew this wasn't a normal event—it was a stage where reputations were made, careers were elevated, and history could be written.

Every detail of his presence at the festival had to be carefully considered, from his travel arrangements to how he would present himself in front of the global audience.

The first order of business was informing his film's crew, including the actors.

Unsurprisingly, every single one of them was more than eager to join him on this journey.

After all, in the Korean film industry, the opportunity to attend an international festival—especially one as prestigious as Cannes—was a rare privilege.

No actor would ever turn down such a chance.

In the history of Korean cinema, no one had ever been nominated before.

Although Jihoon's film was competing in the 'Prix de la mise en scène' (Best Director) category—an award that had little to do with the actors themselves—the exposure of being at Cannes was an undeniable boost for them.

Just stepping onto that red carpet, rubbing shoulders with renowned filmmakers, producers, and critics from around the world, was enough to enhance their value in the industry.

For them, it wasn't just a trip to France; it was an investment in their future.

Their network would expand, opportunities for commercial endorsements would increase, and the chances of securing lead roles in major films would skyrocket.

It was an unspoken truth in the industry—an actor who had walked the Cannes red carpet, even if only as a guest, carried a certain prestige back home.

Jihoon could see the excitement in their eyes, the unspoken anticipation of what this exposure could bring.

But unlike them, he wasn't focused on what Cannes could do for his career—he was thinking about what this nomination meant for Korean cinema as a whole.

When the day of departure finally arrived, Jihoon found himself sitting in the airport lounge, staring at the boarding gate.

He had always been calm under pressure, but this time felt different. This wasn't just about him anymore.

In his past life, winning at the Academy Awards, Venice Film Festival, or Berlin International Film Festival had become second nature to him.

Those accolades had once felt like mere milestones, personal achievements that, while prestigious, but still didn't shift the foundation of the industry itself.

Back then, Korean cinema was still largely overlooked on the global stage—an outlier in an industry dominated by Hollywood and European auteurs.

But this time, things were different.

The award was no longer just about him; it was about what it could do for the entire Korean film industry.

If he were to win, the impact would be immeasurable.

Investors who had been hesitant to back ambitious projects would suddenly see Korean directors as profitable ventures.

Production budgets would increase.

Film studios would be more willing to take risks on auteur-driven storytelling rather than just commercial blockbusters.

Most importantly, international audiences—who had always associated Korea with K-pop and K-dramas—would finally start embracing Korean films as a legitimate cinematic powerhouse.

Unlike in his past life, where Korean movies remained a niche interest outside of Asia, this award had the potential to make Korean cinema mainstream on a global level.

And the timing couldn't be better.

The government had already begun heavily investing in the entertainment industry, recognizing its soft power potential.

If Jihoon could push it even further, if he could make K-movies another signature of the nation alongside music and television, then this wasn't just a career milestone.

It was a movement.

Jihoon exhaled slowly, as he stepped onto the plane, the hum of the engines vibrating beneath his feet, he let out a slow breath.

The stakes had never been higher. But if there was one thing he had learned through all his experiences—past and present—it was that history was made by those who dared to take the first step.

No matter the outcome, Cannes would define the next chapter of his life.

[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]