After sending Hyunbin off with a grin and a casual wave, Jihoon returned to his editing suite, ready to dive back into the familiar rhythm of post-production.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
Seated just to his right, looking half curious and half overwhelmed by the wall of monitors, was none other than Oren Peli.
Though Jihoon enjoyed working solo, he didn't mind the company.
Besides, it wasn't his idea in the first place.
Peli he himself had asked to come.
A few days earlier, he'd messaged Jihoon out of the blue:
"Mind if I hang around your edit room sometime? Wanna learn more about your process before I start on my next project. I'll bring coffee."
Jihoon chuckled at the memory.
Although the guy didn't yet have a successful horror film under his belt, but he had just signed a promising deal with Fox.
So he didn't come here just to hang out—he came to learn.
And that was something Jihoon respected.
When someone recognizes their own weaknesses and has the drive to improve, it speaks volumes about their willingness to grow.
And so, here they were: Jihoon trimming sequences and color-grading footage with surgical precision, while Peli sat beside him, asking questions like an eager high schooler sitting in on a college-level masterclass.
"You ever use jump cuts to increase tension?" Peli asked, his eyes darting between Jihoon's hands and the timeline on the screen.
"Sometimes," Jihoon replied, adjusting a keyframe. "But it depends on the mood."
"If you're talking about a horror movie, tension is all about pacing."
"If every cut screams, than your audience will goes deaf."
"So you've got to let silence do some of the talking—let the fear build its momentum before hitting that breaking point."
"That's how I see a true horror film."
Peli nodded, scribbling something into the notebook he'd brought. "Keep going.."
Jihoon smiled, amused by his student's sincerity.
Truthfully, he enjoyed these moments.
Peli wasn't just here to kill time—he was genuinely hungry to understand how editing could elevate a film.
Especially since 'Paranormal Activity' was already done and scheduled for release later this year.
The pre-launch promotional campaign was underway, so Peli had a rare window of freedom before his next film kicked into gear.
"Thing is," Peli said, "my editing on Paranormal Activity was super raw. the only thing that i captured during my edit is just pure fear, not like what you have done on your right now."
"Yeah," Jihoon said, nodding. "There is still room to exploit on."
The conversation paused as both of them stared at the footage on screen.
As Jihoon guided Peli through the editing software, his mind drifted for a moment.
He thought back to one of the most brilliantly edited horror films he'd ever seen—IT.
Not the original miniseries from the '90s, but the 2017 remake.
Even though it hadn't been made yet in this current timeline—it was only 2007, after all—the memory from his previous life remained vivid, etched in his creative instincts.
Despite being a remake, the 2017 IT managed to terrify an entirely new generation—especially younger audiences.
The image of the red balloon and the yellow raincoat became iconic, almost guaranteed to haunt their nightmares.
But it wasn't just the story or Pennywise's haunting smile that left a mark—it was the artistry behind the visuals.
Jihoon remembered how the film masterfully used contrast—cold blue hues clashing with the clown's stark white costume and that singular, ominous red balloon.
The lighting wasn't just there to illuminate scenes—it was part of the fear itself.
It heightened the discomfort. Every shadow felt intentional. Every flicker of light carried emotional weight.
It was the first horror film Jihoon had seen in his past life that felt like it treated fear as an art form.
The editing didn't just stitch scenes together—it sculpted the rhythm of dread, guiding viewers into deeper psychological territory.
And now, sitting beside Peli in 2007, Jihoon realized just how ahead of its time that film had been.
And the strange part? The world hadn't even seen it yet.
Suddenly, Jihoon paused, his fingers hovering above the keyboard, the gentle hum of the editing software filling the silence. He turned to Peli with a spark of curiosity in his eyes.
"Hey, Peli… you know Stephen King?"
Peli, who had been laser-focused on Jihoon's every click, drag, and cut on the editing timeline, didn't respond right away.
His eyes were still glued to the screen as if afraid to miss some secret Jedi trick.
Then he blinked, snapped out of his trance, and turned with a puzzled smile.
"Uh… personally? No. But yeah, of course I've heard of him. He's huge in the novel world, right? The horror guy? Why do you ask?"
Jihoon leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed. "Have you ever watched the old IT miniseries? The one from the '90s?"
Peli's face lit up instantly, nostalgia kicking in. "Hell yeah! That movie traumatized me as a kid."
"It's still one of my favorite horror stories of all time—Tim Curry as Pennywise? That's fucking iconic."
Jihoon nodded, clearly pleased. "Good. Now let me ask you something weird… have you ever thought about creating a horror film universe?"
Peli blinked. "A horror film universe? Like… what? How do you mean? And what's this got to do with Stephen King?"
Jihoon smiled, the kind of smile that hinted he was about to say something completely outrageous—or brilliant. Maybe both.
"Okay, picture this," he began, gesturing animatedly with his hands. "All your horror films—Paranormal Activity, future ones, whatever—you line them up into a single timeline."
"And each story connects. Not just sequels, but overlapping arcs. Same universe. Characters who survive one film reappear in another. There's a shared mythology behind the scenes."
"And then, in each film, you plant little seeds of mystery—clues, symbols, whispers—that gradually intertwine, all leading toward a grand finale."
"You build it film by film, and then—boom—everything culminates in an epic final series where all the stories come together in one massive, interconnected ending."
Peli stared, silent for a beat. Then: "Dude. What."
Jihoon laughed. "I know, it sounds nuts. But think about it—like the superhero stuff in comics, like Marvel."
"Just that they use each hero's story to build toward a massive finale."
"Now imagine we do the same… but with horror."
"And we don't stop there. We can blend elements from different horror classics—IT, Paranormal Activity, The Exorcist, even Alien vs. Predator."
"On the surface, they're different genres—paranormal, cosmic, monster horror—but at their core, they all tap into the same thing: fear."
"Fear of the unknown, of death, of being hunted."
The idea had come to Jihoon from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, which was set to officially launch the following year, in 2008.
In his past life, he'd seen it reshape modern filmmaking.
And now, sitting next to Peli, he felt the spark of something just as exciting—except this time, it was horror that would get the cinematic universe treatment.
Sure, it might one day compete with Marvel in scope, but it wouldn't clash in genre. They weren't building a superhero empire.
They were creating a horror mythology.
Peli raised an eyebrow—skeptical, but clearly intrigued. "Wait, wait. You're saying bring all that into one universe? How the hell does Pennywise fit into Paranormal Activity?"
"Ah, see, that's the beauty of it," Jihoon said, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Pennywise is technically a shapeshifting demon—it feeds on human fear, right?"
He leaned forward, gesturing animatedly. "Now take Paranormal Activity. It's about demonic possession—but with just a few tweaks, it could easily tie into a larger mythos."
"What if there's a cult behind it—one that's trying to summon the same ancient force Pennywise represents?"
"And Alien vs. Predator? That one's packed with ancient rituals, human sacrifices, and primal survival."
"It practically writes itself into the same universe."
"The xenomorphs and predators—they're not masterminds. They're tools. Mindless collectors of souls offered through sacrifice."
"And The Exorcist? That's our key for survival. The exorcists are the whistleblowers. The last defenders standing against the invasion of the unknown."
Jihoon paused for dramatic effect, then said, "Now imagine this: all these nightmares?"
"They're not isolated. They're fragments of a much bigger puzzle."
"A cosmic truth that's been hiding in plain sight."
He lowered his voice, letting the idea land.
"What if the real villain—the one pulling all the strings—is some ancient, godlike entity?"
"Something that's existed since the dawn of time."
"And all these horror icons—Pennywise, the demon in Paranormal Activity, the xenomorphs, the predators—they're just its avatars."
"Manifestations. Ways it breaks into our world."
Peli leaned back slowly, eyes wide, mouth slightly open—like he'd just been hit by the biggest plot twist of his life.
It was like watching someone fall in love in real time.
"Holy sh—this is actually kind of genius."
Jihoon grinned. "It's ambitious. And we'll need the right people. Which brings me back to Stephen King."
Peli tilted his head. "Right. I was gonna ask—what does he have to do with this again?"
"Well," Jihoon said, chuckling, "he's the author of IT."
"If we want to include that universe, we'll need his blessing—and the rights."
"Same goes for The Exorcist, Alien, and Predator."
"But luckily, Alien and Predator are probably still under Fox, so that's one less headache."
"That just leaves IT and The Exorcist. But honestly, that's Jim's problem."
He waved it off casually. "Anyway, back to Stephen King. We don't just want his permission—we want him onboard."
"As a creative consultant. Or better yet, a co-writer on some of the scripts."
"Imagine Stephen King helping shape our horror universe."
Peli's mouth dropped open slightly. "That would be... insane. Like, next-level legendary."
Jihoon shrugged modestly. "It's 2007. We've got time. And ambition. I say we build the scariest, smartest horror universe cinema's ever seen."
Peli gave a slow nod, his eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. "Okay, Jihoon. You're crazy. But I'm all in."
Then he asked, "What should we call this horror universe of yours?"
They turned back to the screen, the eerie glow of edit footage flickering across their faces.
Jihoon smiled slightly and replied, "Since it's all tied to rituals—and since humanity has always been bound to them since the dawn of time—let's call it 'Ritualverse'."
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, Daoistadj, JiangXiu and OS_PARCEIROS for bestowing the power stone!]