When Jihoon pushed open the door to the meeting room, he immediately paused for half a second—not in surprise, but in amusement.
Sitting inside were two bald-headed men, positioned stiffly on opposite sides of the long conference table like they were guarding the Holy Grail of unemployment paperwork.
One was tall and skinny, with limbs that looked like they had been stretched out by a malfunctioning cartoon machine.
The other was short, round, and shaped like someone had lovingly molded him out of stress-relief dough.
And although neither of them looked "funny" in the traditional sense, something about their vibe—their posture, their nervous fidgeting, the way their eyes darted around the room—gave off a distinct comedic energy.
Almost like if you stared long enough, a laugh track would start playing in the background.
At this point, anyone familiar with future pop culture would instantly recognize them.
They were none other than Michael Key and Jordan Peele—or, as the world would eventually know them—Key & Peele, the legendary comedic duo whose skits would dominate Comedy Central years later.
Today, though, they were not celebrities.
They were desperate applicants.
And the only reason they were here at all was because Jihoon had sent them an invitation through the SCP website, after reading their lengthy, chaotic, but surprisingly sharp analyses of the HCU films.
And those analyses?
Oh, Jihoon loved them. He loved them so much he had laughed in his office for a solid ten minutes.
The truth was, Key and Peele had not come here lightly.
They arrived only after what could be described as obsessive research.
Weeks of studying, rewatching, replaying, and reanalyzing every piece of HCU content available online.
They prepared like two men about to defend their PhD thesis—except their PhD was in "Understanding Lee Jihoon's Cinematic Multiverse Without Overheating the Brain."
And behind all this effort was one overwhelming motivator: They were broke.
Painfully, embarrassingly, catastrophically broke.
Comedy actors like them did not have easy career paths, especially after suddenly becoming jobless.
Work dried up faster than their savings accounts.
For months, they had been drowning in a swamp of debt—mortgage payments, credit card bills, student loans, grocery receipts, utilities, gasoline, everything hitting them like daily boss battles.
Being young bachelors did not help either.
Their salaries, to be correct 'when they had salaries', had behaved like tap water—constantly flowing out, splashing everywhere, with absolutely no brakes.
New cars, branded clothes, fancy restaurants, top-tier electronics…you name it, they bought it.
Now?
Now their savings were nearly gone after less than six months without employment.
So this opportunity at JH Picture wasn't just a job.
It was salvation. A miracle. A chance to turn their lives around and work on something they genuinely loved.
Because both were hardcore fans of Jihoon's films.
Not casual fans.
Fanatic fans.
Fans who wrote 10,000-word SCP posts analyzing symbolism in scenes that had no symbolism.
This job meant financial stability and the dream of contributing to the HCU story they had admired from afar.
Jihoon approached them with an easy smile and extended his hand across the table.
"You both must be Key & Peele," he said. "I'm Lee Jihoon. When I read your posting on the SCP website, I honestly wondered whether the ID belonged to one person or two. Turns out I was right. Your post gave me a lot of ideas! Hahaha!"
Key and Peele immediately shot out of their chairs, practically jumping to attention.
They were shaking—not from fear, but from pure uncontrolled excitement.
Watching them was like witnessing two diehard Star Wars fans suddenly come face-to-face with George Lucas.
Their expressions could only be described as religious devotion.
Key grabbed Jihoon's hand first, shaking it aggressively as he blurted, "It's our pleasure to meet you, sir! We are both huge fans of your work. We've watched all the films you've produced!"
Peele jumped in right after, nodding so fast his glasses nearly flew off. "Yeah—yeah! We really love your work! The posts we wrote on the website, they're all just our small opinions when watching your films!"
Jihoon chuckled, shaking their hands back. "Hahaha! Good to know my fans love my work. C'mon, don't stand around—take your seats."
They dropped back into their chairs like obedient schoolchildren.
Once they settled, Jihoon folded his arms and leaned slightly against the table.
"Alright. I'll get straight to the point. I bet you guys have seen the details in the invitation for today's meeting, right?"
Both nodded eagerly.
Jihoon continued, "Here's the situation."
"JH's next HCU series is an adaptation of a game. I'm not sure if you two have played or heard of the game called Silent Hill, but either way, we've purchased the rights to adapt it into a film."
"Our scriptwriting department has been hustling to draft a screenplay, but…it doesn't meet my expectations."
He paused, letting the weight of those words sink in.
"To be honest," he said, "I could write the screenplay myself."
"But from a healthy company growth perspective, that would mean the entire studio relies on me for everything. And that's not good."
"Which is why I need people—like the two of you—to help put the scriptwriting division on the right track. Because if the company depends only on me for good scripts, that's not healthy for the long-term."
He took a breath, then added more sincerely, "And I'm telling you this because I know who you guys are. I've watched the skits you two made on MADtv."
"They were all funny, clever, and full of personality. You both have experience. So I'm confident you're equipped with the abilities we need."
The effect of Jihoon's praise was instant.
Key and Peele didn't smile. They didn't nod.
They glowed.
It was like someone had injected pure adrenaline-filled happiness straight into their veins.
Being praised by the person they idolized was basically the creative equivalent of reaching their G-spot—emotional climax achieved, dopamine fireworks exploding everywhere.
Jihoon noticed their starstruck expressions and immediately threw cold water on their excitement before they floated away like balloons.
"To be clear," he said firmly, "I am inclined to let you both lead the scriptwriting department. But my confidence isn't the company's confidence."
"You still need to give us something that proves you two deserve to lead the department. Understand?"
The duo nodded violently, their heads bobbing like two dashboard ornaments in a bumpy car.
"Of course, sir!" Key said. "We will do everything necessary to prove our value to the team!"
Peele repeated after him, "Yeah—yeah! We'll prove our value!"
Jihoon almost burst out laughing.
They really were exactly like their future Comedy Central selves—seeing them talk was like watching a live Key & Peele sketch.
But he managed to keep a straight face.
"Good," Jihoon said. "In that case, you two can start drafting a screenplay for the Silent Hill film. You can improvise where needed.. Oh ya.. I also have some ideas of my own that are important for the HCU universe expansion in the film after Silent Hill."
"You guys can use them as reference, but don't change too much of the original plot from the game."
He pulled out the folder he had brought in, slid it across the table like a dealer passing secret intel, and offered it to Key and Peele.
And just like that, the meeting that would define the future of JH's scriptwriting division officially began.
Key and Peele grabbed the folder like it contained the last piece of fried chicken on Earth.
Their journey from jobless comedians to HCU storytellers had begun.