Just as expected, the next morning, news of Jihoon's film Your Name exploded across media headlines, dominating entertainment columns and igniting a firestorm of buzz on social media.
This wasn't just another film doing well—it was a cultural event.
The numbers alone were staggering: $150 million in global box office revenue, and still climbing.
That figure made it the highest-grossing film ever directed by a Korean filmmaker—an unprecedented milestone that sent shockwaves through the entire industry.
Though the film was nearing the end of its theatrical run in Korea, internationally, it was just beginning to find its stride.
Especially in Japan, where it struck an emotional chord few had anticipated.
Theaters extended their screening schedules in response to overwhelming demand. Audiences weren't just watching it once—they were returning, sometimes multiple times a week, often bringing friends, family, even co-workers along for the ride.
In a culture that often prides itself on emotional restraint, Jihoon's story had pierced straight through the armor. It made people laugh, cry, and quietly reflect. And more importantly—it made them feel.
China wasn't far behind. The film's universal themes—missed connections, fragile memories, and the bittersweet ache of something lost and found—resonated deeply with audiences there as well.
It quickly gained cult status among young adults, sparking discussions, fan theories, memes, and a flood of fan edits across Chinese social platforms.
Between Japan and China, international sales overtook domestic performance—contributing more than half of the film's total ticket revenue.
Several entertainment outlets published visual breakdowns of the data, and the contrast was striking.
While Korea had initially led the charge in box office numbers, those figures began to dip noticeably in the second week.
The reason? A series of scandalous accusations.
Right as the film's momentum peaked, tabloid-style outlets began circulating vague accusations and moral criticisms about Jihoon.
Allegations about his "intentions," twisting the true meaning of his film, and cherry-picked snippets from old interviews taken wildly out of context. Nothing concrete. No real evidence. Just enough noise to stir up doubt.
And it worked—at least for a while.
Curious netizens started digging, and the truth began to unravel. It turned out that while some Korean viewers distanced themselves from the film—out of guilt, social pressure, or a sense of perceived moral obligation—many others simply didn't care.
They still loved it, talked about it, and recommended it. But the damage had already been done.
And the outlets that helped engineer the drop?
They said nothing. No corrections. No apologies. Just silence.
But the internet never forgets.
Independent bloggers and online critics began connecting the dots.
Screenshots resurfaced. Old headlines were reexamined. Patterns were exposed.
Slowly, the narrative began to shift—this time, back in Jihoon's favor.
Not because the media redeemed him, but because audiences decided to look past the noise and see for themselves.
And through it all, Jihoon said nothing.
He didn't post a statement. He didn't go on variety shows. He didn't craft a pity narrative on social media.
He just kept working.
Because deep down, he knew the truth didn't need defending—not when your work spoke louder than the chaos around it.
And at that moment, 'Your Name' was roaring. Across borders, across languages, cutting through the cold cynicism of the entertainment world with something rare: sincerity.
In the middle of all the noise, drama, and headlines swirling around Jihoon's name, where was the guy himself?
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of a practice room at SM Entertainment.
Specifically, the one currently occupied by a group of very sweaty, very focused girls—who just so happened to be the soon-to-debut Girls' Generation.
Why was he there?
Well… partly because of a promise he made. And partly because he didn't really have a choice.
He sat quietly in the corner, leaning against the wall like a sulky cat, arms crossed, watching them rehearse their choreography to some high-energy dance track
. Or at least, he tried to look casual—until his quiet staring started becoming… well, noticeable.
At first, Taeyeon was too deep in the rhythm to care.
But after the third time she caught his gaze in the mirror, her eyebrows twitched.
She looked again. Yep. Still staring. She wasn't the only one who noticed either. The room's energy slowly shifted—awkward glances here, a few self-conscious moves there.
And then, Taeyeon snapped.
"YA! Jihoon! Can you not stare at us like that? It's making everyone uncomfortable!"
Jihoon blinked, pulled out of his daze. He hadn't even realized he'd been zoning out. His eyes just… happened to be resting in their direction.
But of course, this wasn't a guy who was about to apologize and bow out gracefully.
"Come on," he groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "If you're gonna be idols, strangers staring at you is basically part of the job."
Then he rolled his eyes, hard, like her complaint was the most ridiculous thing he'd heard all week.
Sooyoung, never one to back down, immediately clapped back.
"But you don't have to stare at us like that, oppa!"
Jihoon waved her off like she was an annoying mosquito. "Chill. It's not like there's much to see. Honestly, I've seen more curves on a ruler than on you."
Boom. That did it.
Sooyoung's jaw dropped. "YA! You wanna die today!?"
She spun around dramatically to face her fellow members, raising a clenched fist in the air like Steve Rogers in his Endgame battle.
"Girls—ASSEMBLE!"
If Alan Silvestri had been lurking in the corner, he would've jumped up, grabbed a baton, and started conducting an imaginary orchestra—cue the Avengers theme to turn this mess into an epic moment.
Flying hammers and laser cannons? Nah, now it's just slow-motion hair flips and dramatic stares.
Within seconds, the room descended into chaos.
Hyoyeon cracked her knuckles with a wicked grin, like she'd been waiting for this moment her whole life.
Yuri pulled her hair into a tight ponytail, the universal sign that someone was about to get a beatdown.
Taeyeon, well... let's just say she was being herself. She puffed out her cheeks in a show of righteous fury—looking more like an angry hamster than an actual threat, but her energy? Completely on point.
Even Seohyun, the usually composed and gentle maknae, stepped forward in dead silence, her stance firm, eyes sharp, as if she'd just unlocked her final form.
"Let's teach him a lesson he'll never forget! CHAAARGE!"
Nine girls descended on him like an angry mob. Kicks flew, slaps were swung, and Jihoon barely had time to yelp before he was tackled to the ground.
But instead of a scene out of an action movie, what followed was something far more humiliating.
Tickles. Pinches. Hair ruffling.
"OKAY, OKAY! I'm sorry!" Jihoon shouted between fits of laughter and squeals, trying to crawl away. "Mercy! I surrender!"
But the girls didn't stop.
So he dropped the ultimate threat.
"If you don't stop, I'm not writing your debut song anymore!"
That made everything come to a screeching halt.
The girls froze mid-poke. The weight of his words hit like a slap of cold water. They glanced at each other, did the mental math… and backed off.
Jihoon lay sprawled on the floor like a man who'd just survived a stampede. Hair a mess. Dignity shattered. Soul halfway to the afterlife.
He sat up with a groan. "YA! I was joking! You didn't have to actually attack me!"
Sunny, standing over him with a smirk, chuckled. "You kind of deserved it. You know Sooyoung's a little sensitive about her body."
"YA! Sunny! Whose side are you on?!" Sooyoung shrieked.
Hyoyeon piped in with perfect comedic timing. "The side of truth."
"Agreed," Tiffany added with a nod, arms crossed.
And just like that, their united front crumbled. The alliance once formed to destroy Jihoon was now bickering among themselves, pointing fingers, exchanging mock betrayals.
Jihoon sat back against the wall, watching the chaos unfold like he was observing a tornado in a doll shop.
"Why do I even know this people," he muttered under his breath.
Every time he thought he understood them, they flipped the script again.
SNSD wasn't a girl group. It was a circus.
And unfortunately, he was the clown they kept inviting back.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]