History in the Making

The 59th Cannes Film Festival had officially begun, drawing some of the most talented filmmakers, actors, and critics from around the world.

Held annually in Cannes, France, this prestigious festival was the pinnacle of cinematic excellence, a stage where films weren't just judged but immortalized.

For the first time in history, a Korean director had been nominated in the main competition—Jihoon.

While Korean films had gained recognition in certain international circles, no one had yet broken through the ultimate barrier: winning a major award at Cannes.

Jihoon knew the stakes were high. If he succeeded, it wouldn't just be his personal victory—it would elevate Korean cinema onto the world stage.

As his flight landed at Cannes Mandelieu Airport, the crisp Mediterranean air welcomed him. The drive to his hotel, arranged by Mikyeong, was smooth, but his mind was anything but.

Thoughts swirled about the upcoming events, press conferences, and screenings. Upon arrival, he quickly checked in, unpacked, and decided to grab a meal at the hotel restaurant.

Just as he opened his door, he found himself face to face with another Korean director—one he immediately recognized.

The man standing across from him was Yoon Jongbin, whose film 'The Unforgiven' had been nominated under the 'Un Certain Regard' category, a section dedicated to showcasing innovative storytelling and emerging filmmakers.

Jihoon, despite his nomination being in a more prestigious category, knew better than to let arrogance cloud his manners.

He bowed respectfully and introduced himself,

"Yoon sunbae, it's an honor to meet you."

"I'm Lee Jihoon."

Jongbin chuckled and waved off the formalities. "You don't need to introduce yourself."

" Your name has been everywhere in Korea the past months."

"I haven't seen your film yet, but the fact that it made it into the main competition says a lot."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, sunbae," Jihoon replied humbly. "There's still a lot I need to learn."

Jongbin grinned. "You're an interesting guy. "

"Just call me hyung."

"No need to be so formal." Then, noticing Jihoon's direction, he asked, "Are you heading to the restaurant?"

"Yeah," Jihoon admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I was feeling a bit hungry and thought I'd grab something to eat."

"Perfect! Let's eat together."

As they walked down to the restaurant, their conversation naturally shifted to filmmaking.

Over steaming plates of French cuisine, Jongbin shared his journey—how he had graduated from Chung-Ang University, how his film 'The Unforgiven' was actually his graduation thesis project, and how the lack of budget and technical limitations had made the production rough around the edges.

"Honestly," he admitted, "I don't expect to win."

"Just being nominated means my film will get recognition back home."

"My audience has always been Korea, not the international market."

Jihoon nodded, understanding Jongbin's situation well. Unlike him, who had past-life experience and resources, Jongbin was navigating the industry for the first time, struggling with funding and exposure.

As the conversation deepened, Jongbin eventually brought up something more personal.

"Jihoon, I heard you have your own production company." His voice carried a tinge of hesitation, but he pressed on. "Are you looking for another director?"

Although Jongbin felt a bit embarrassed, he understood how the system in Korea worked—after graduating, a director either had to start from scratch or find a company to back their films.

Despite his current recognition, no production company had yet approached him with investment offers or a directorial position.

Perhaps after the awards or once his film was screened, such opportunities would arise.

However, his financial situation was pressing; he had taken out a loan just to attend the Cannes Film Festival. Once he returned to Korea, he would have to take on part-time jobs to repay it on time, or he would only fall further behind.

Given these circumstances, he was increasingly drawn to the idea of joining Jihoon's company.

He wasn't ashamed to be upfront about his situation and candidly shared his struggles with Jihoon, eventually asking if there was an opportunity for him at Jihoon's production company.

Jihoon raised an eyebrow.

It wasn't every day that a director put their pride aside to ask for an opportunity—especially from someone ten years younger.

Jihoon saw no issue in nurturing a new director—if anything, it was a strategic move.

The more Korean directors gained international recognition, the less pressure he have and if Jongbin could grow into a filmmaker with international appeal, it would mean Jihoon wouldn't have to carry the weight of elevating Korean cinema alone.

Plus, fostering talented directors could strengthen the industry as a whole, ensuring that Korean films continued to gain traction beyond just K-pop and dramas.

Seeing Jongbin's sincerity, Jihoon made a quick decision. If he extended a hand now, he wouldn't just be helping a fellow filmmaker—he'd be building the future of Korean cinema together.

"I am more than happy to have hyung to join us, please come by the company when you're free," Jihoon said. "We can discuss it in more detail."

A broad smile broke across Jongbin's face. "Really? I'd love that. Thank you, Jihoon."

With that, they continued their meal, their conversation flowing easily. Jongbin casually took a sip of his drink before looking at Jihoon.

"Jihoon, I assume you're confident in your film," he remarked, setting down his glass.

"But there's one thing you should know—this year's jury president is none other than Wong Karwai."

He left it at that, merely offering the information as a reminder without further elaboration.

Jihoon, however, was unfazed by the news. He had complete faith in 'Secret: Untold Melody'.

With the vast knowledge and expertise accumulated from his past life, he had crafted the film into a cinematic masterpiece that far surpassed any other work competing at Cannes.

Every scene was carefully constructed—meticulously framed to enhance storytelling, infused with profound meaning, and balanced with perfect color grading to evoke the right emotions.

Every frame, every transition, every movement served a purpose, creating an immersive experience that captivated audiences on both a visual and emotional level.

Watching his film wasn't just entertainment—it was an artistic journey, a testament to his skill and vision. Plus he believe, his aunt Mikyeong is already ahead of him in meeting with the Hongkong's director Wong Karwai.

And Jihoon wasn't in Cannes just for the awards.

Another key objective of his trip was to sell the film's international rights to major production companies.

Film festivals like Cannes were not just showcases; they were marketplaces where directors built industry connections and negotiated deals.

He knew from his past life that a film nominated for Cannes could command licensing fees in the hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars, depending on the buyer.

With the rising wave of K-culture and the undeniable quality of his film, Jihoon was certain there would be no shortage of interested parties.

However, he wasn't in a rush to sell.

If he made a deal before the awards were announced, the price would likely be capped at around fifty thousand dollars—far below its true value.

But if he waited until after the awards, and his film secured a major prize, the price could skyrocket.

So he had already instructed his aunt, Mikyeong, to handle negotiations and politely stall potential buyers until the right moment.

Mikyeong, being both business-savvy and well-connected, not only understood his reasoning but also had full confidence that the film would win the 'Palme d'Or'.

In fact, she had already invested heavily in lobbying efforts to ensure it was all 'well-received' by the jury.

The Cannes Film Festival ran from May 17th to May 28th.

Jihoon attended the opening ceremony in style, walking the red carpet alongside his film crew, basking in the prestige of the moment.

The next following day, he began watching the other films competing in his category. He had to admit—the standard was impressive.

Many films were well-crafted, ambitious in storytelling, and beautifully shot. But compared to his? They weren't even close.

Jihoon had twenty years of future industry knowledge and filmmaking standards ingrained in him, a level of mastery that no director of this era could match.

After finishing his screenings for the day, he unexpectedly ran into Jongbin again.

He gave Jihoon a knowing look before leaning in slightly and sharing an industry secret. "Just so you know, before the official award ceremony, the recipients are usually informed in advance."

"They won't tell you which award you've won, but they'll give you a heads-up."

"So, keep your phone ready—you never know when you'll get the call."

Jihoon, already familiar with this process from his past life, still smiled politely and nodded. "That makes sense."

"It would be awkward if the recipient isn't there when their name was announced," he replied as they walked back toward their hotel.

"Exactly! And not just for the jury—for the presenters too," Jongbin added with a chuckle.

As they stepped into the grand hotel lobby, the soft glow of the chandelier above cast a warm ambiance over the polished marble floors. 

Just as Jihoon and Jongbin were making their way toward the elevator, a man in a sharp black suit approached them with a composed and professional demeanor.

His neatly styled hair and confident posture suggested that he was someone of importance, or at the very least, someone accustomed to dealing with high-profile individuals.

The man stopped in front of them, his expression polite yet deliberate, and extended his hand toward Jihoon.

"Hello, you must be Director Lee?" he said in fluent English, his voice smooth and measured.

Jihoon, maintaining his composure, glanced at the man before firmly shaking his hand.

His grip was steady, exuding quiet confidence. In an equally fluent American-accented English, he replied, "Yes, I am Lee Jihoon."

"How may I help you?"

The man gave a courteous nod, his lips curving slightly into a professional smile before delivering his message.

"On behalf of the Cannes organizing committee, I am delighted to invite you to attend tomorrow's awards ceremony."