The next few days, Jihoon walked into the company and instantly felt something was… off. Every pair of eyes that landed on him carried a strange expression. Some people stared at his face like he had personally disappointed their entire bloodline.
Others glanced at his ass as if they were thinking, what a waste of tight ass….
He had no idea why, but ever since Stan Lee's unexpected visit, the office atmosphere had been acting weird—like someone turned the gossip temperature to MAX.
His staff kept giving him confusing looks, making Jihoon feel even more confused. He tried to brush it off until he passed by Mara.
Even she looked at him the same way—wide-eyed, judging, and weirdly… sympathetic?
Jihoon put on a friendly smile and said, "Morning, Mara—"
He didn't even get to finish his sentence.
She bolted into the elevator like he had suddenly exploded into a cloud of sewage fumes.
The elevator doors closed dramatically, leaving Jihoon frozen mid-wave.
His footsteps stopped. His voice stopped. His soul stopped.
He awkwardly lowered his raised hand, scratched the back of his head like a malfunctioning NPC, and silently prayed nobody saw that.
But of course, everyone did.
A whole crowd of staff were still watching him with those same puzzled, almost investigative looks—like they were trying to figure out whether to report him to HR or nominate him for an award.
Completely clueless and utterly overwhelmed by the bizarre energy, Jihoon retreated to his office, sat down in his chair, and began questioning the trajectory of his entire life.
What he didn't know, however, was that ever since his little "affair"… or let's be more accurate, "hook-up incident" with Stan Lee had made JH Pictures' staff exploded as if it was the most trending topics on the instagram.
They were all obsessing over their boss's "sexual preference" and "age preference."
Normal gossip mutated into exaggerated fetish rumors, and the entire company had clearly read way too much of it.
Jihoon slapped both cheeks lightly, shook the disturbing thought out of his brain, and turned on his laptop.
He needed distraction.
He needed comfort.
He needed… SCP website.
It had been a few days since he last checked the forum.
Normally, he'd skim through comments from HCU fans, making sure they were still satisfied with the cinematic universe.
His SCP website functioned just like customer service feedback—except cooler, more chaotic, and filled with people whose brains were permanently damaged by plot twists.
This platform was his fastest way to gather ideas and understand what the public really thought. A closed-circle survey group, filled only with people who understood the true meaning of the HCU.
These were the real diehards—the ones whose opinions mattered.
And just as he expected, after only a few days offline, the forum had flooded with millions of posts.
Some were about HCU's latest film Buried, but over 80% were all related to Inception.
Jihoon had clearly stated—many times—that Inception was NOT part of the HCU timeline.
But the fans absolutely did not care.
They still posted theories, mysteries, clues, symbolic breakdowns, and mind-melting observations on SCP website because only this platform had a community insane—sorry, dedicated—enough to understand his films.
To them, places like Twitter or Facebook were too… public. Too "normie."
SCP was their sacred ground.
In an unexpected twist, SCP had become a rising star among film discussion platforms. It wasn't for making friends—it was for contributing discoveries, decoding symbolism, and having existential crises together.
A highly specialized ecosystem of JH's film-enjoyers.
Jihoon never imagined that his spontaneous idea to create SCP would turn into this phenomenon.
He knew, however, that he wasn't going to expand it into a giant company like Facebook.
When it came to business, Jihoon was no Trump-of-the-century transforming dust into gold.
His only advantage was future knowledge—knowing when to take opportunities, like the upcoming 2008 financial crisis.
Even though SCP had the potential to become the ultimate film-based social media platform—inviting celebrities, filmmakers, athletes, media figures, all interacting directly with fans—Jihoon knew he wouldn't pursue that path.
Yes, it could be huge.
Yes, it could make him billions.
Yes, it could become the next big thing.
But business wasn't where his passion lay.
All the companies he built looped back to film production, from studios to game development, all interconnected like one big cinematic web.
Even the property investments in Mapo-gu tied back to future urban trends—mixed-use developments with culture, entertainment, and, inevitably, theatres.
So SCP evolving into a massive independent tech company?
Not happening.
Too much work. Too much stress. Not his style.
If anything, he'd sell it for quick cash before raising it like a baby.
Anyway.
Back to the forum.
Jihoon clicked on the top-liked post.
[Feel like Lee made this movie specifically to bully us intellectually. He said like "You want entertainment? Here. Solve this Rubik's Cube while blindfolded." AND I PAID MONEY FOR IT!! GOD DAMN YOU LEE!]
[I know right!! Bro… I've watched this movie five times and I swear every time I understand it less. How did Lee manage to make a film that explains itself WHILE ALSO confusing the explanation?
My brain is like:
Layer 1: normal
Layer 2: confused
Layer 3: crying
Layer 4: questioning my existence]
[Honestly at this point I'm convinced Lee is in our dreams personally rearranging our brain cells every time we sleep.]
[My favorite part is how every time I finish it, I come online to see if someone finally figured it out. But no. No one has answers. We're all just sharing notes like college students before an exam none of us studied for.]
[You guys have no idea! Someone on Twitter posted a 37-slide PDF explaining the color palette symbolism and I got MORE confused. HOW DOES A COLOR HAVE A PLOT TWIST???]
[That's just a crazy dude man! Probably trying to be Einstein. You can join him at Arkham State Hospital if you trust his theory.]
[But either way we gotta hand it to Lee! He really knows how to cook up a plot twist ya..]
[Yeah.. like a good Korean chef, Lee definitely knew how to ferment a sour radish for us..]
[Hmm.. as a Korean myself, I'm not sure whether I should take that offensively or go eat some kimchi now?]
[God damn.. this section of the forum is full of geniuses man!]
[I know right! Their IQ is so high that they're still living off minimum wage..]
[LOL! You really know how to destroy someone's mood, man. hahaha!]
Jihoon stared at the screen—dumbfounded.
The comment section had spiraled into absolute chaos, bouncing from film analysis to food jokes to psychological warfare.
The way the topic shifted so violently should've been illegal.
Just then, a knock sounded on his door.
"Knock knock."
Jihoon blinked, snapped back to reality, and called out: "Come in."