1991, Los Angeles, USA.
The University of Southern California, commonly known as USC, was one of the most famous film schools in America.
It had produced countless talents for Hollywood over the years, including directors, editors, and cinematographers.
On the campus sports field, a handsome young man and a beautiful girl stood in front of a crowd, talking.
“Kevin, let’s break up.”
Pella, wearing her unmistakably fake-sweet “green tea” look, spoke coldly.
Yet beneath that coldness lingered a trace of regret as she looked at Kevin’s handsome face.
T/N: “Green tea” is Chinese internet slang for someone who presents themselves as innocent and pure, but is secretly calculating.
Steve Kevin, an orphan and a gifted director, had already won high praise from many professors for his short films.
In theory, a genius like him had limitless potential.
No matter what, she should not have given up on such a promising man.
Unfortunately…
Pella glanced at another man in the crowd who was watching her with obvious admiration, then smiled sweetly back at him.
No matter how talented Kevin was, he was still just a stock with potential, not a guaranteed return.
USC produced so-called genius directors every year, but ninety-five percent of them ended up failing.
The reason was simple: Hollywood did not accept failure.
It only gave you one chance.
And for a new director, succeeding with the very first film was extremely difficult.
If Kevin had not been an orphan and had instead come from a wealthy family, then even if he failed, his family could still have arranged more opportunities for him.
But as an orphan, even raising the initial budget for his first film was already difficult enough, let alone everything else.
As for the other man, he was the biological son of a Fox executive.
If she stayed by his side, her chances of becoming a big star would rise dramatically.
Especially since he had promised her just recently that if she stayed with him, he could arrange for her to play the female lead in a low-budget film.
Thinking of that, Pella’s resolve hardened.
…
Kevin stared at the woman in front of him, stunned that she was suddenly asking to break up.
Then a memory surged into his mind, unbidden.
His name had been Chen Daoxuan, a struggling young director in 2020.
In that memory, he had accompanied investors to a KTV to raise money for a new film, drunk far too much, and finally passed out there.
T/N: KTV refers to a karaoke bar, common in East Asia, often used for business entertaining.
Right before losing consciousness, he had only managed to mutter, “So big…
so white…” — a crude, drunken remark about the actress sitting beside him that night.
As for the complicated situation behind that night, there was no need to explain further.
So how had he suddenly ended up here, among a crowd of foreigners?
Unable to make sense of it, and desperate to escape the awkwardness of the moment, Chen Daoxuan subconsciously nodded and blurted out in English:
“Okay!”
…
Three days later, in the dormitory.
Steve Kevin had finally sorted out what had happened and what situation he now found himself in.
He had once been Chen Daoxuan, a third-rate director in China in his previous life.
He was now Steve Kevin, a genius in the eyes of USC’s professors.
The two sets of memories had merged to create the person he now was.
Though he carried both memories, Chen Daoxuan’s memories remained dominant.
But here in America, he certainly couldn’t keep using the name Chen Daoxuan.
From now on, his name would be Steve Kevin.
“Kevin, you okay?”
The six-foot-tall giant beside him asked, concern written across his face.
Ever since Kevin had been dumped by Pella three days ago, he had been in a daze.
He hadn’t spoken a word, just lying quietly in bed for three days straight.
It was hard not to worry about him.
“Thanks, I’m fine.
Just had some things to sort out.”
“By the way, Mitch — want to finish the graduation project together?”
A grin spread across the big man’s face.
“Of course!
We’re the best partners out there!”
Kevin smiled back.
Over the past three days, while piecing together his two sets of memories, he had also spent most of his time thinking about the path ahead.
Having been a director in both his past life and this one, he decided to remain a director here as well.
His goal: to become a great director, on par with Steven Spielberg.
That meant he needed to keep succeeding in the film industry, one project after another.
And for a director, real success wasn’t measured by artistic awards.
It was measured by the box office.
No matter how many awards you won, if you failed three films in a row, no one would ever invest in you again.
But as long as your box office numbers stayed strong, you could use that leverage to steadily build connections, earn money, and climb in status.
The first step was simple: complete a perfect graduation project.
A film.
Yes — Kevin’s target wasn’t just to graduate.
It was to direct a movie.
The typical path for an aspiring director involved starting in editing, cinematography, or as an assistant director, then slowly working up the ranks.
That kind of path usually took five to ten years before anyone made a name for themselves.
But Kevin didn’t have that kind of time to waste, clawing his way up from the bottom.
The knowledge from his memories only extended about thirty years into the future.
If he failed to secure enough status and wealth within that window, all the foresight in his head would become worthless.
With an opportunity like this staring him in the face, only a fool would let it slip away.
After Mitch agreed to team up on the graduation project, Kevin immediately went into seclusion.
He picked up a pen and paper and began digging through his memories for the right film to make.
As a student who hadn’t yet graduated, even though he had some reputation within the school, he was a complete unknown outside.
That meant attracting serious investment would be next to impossible.
So a low-budget film became his only realistic option.
And among low-budget films with the highest odds of becoming breakout hits, horror was the obvious choice.
Blood and sex were the two elements most guaranteed to grab attention — and horror was a genre that combined both perfectly.
But today, Kevin wasn’t interested in some cheap, exploitative slasher flick.
He was aiming for a true classic.
Saw.
As one of the defining horror films from Lionsgate, he knew every twist of its plot, every beat of its structure, and every trick of its filmmaking by heart.
This was a method many directors used — dissecting a film scene by scene, frame by frame, to understand exactly why it worked.
And in his previous life, Saw had been one of the films he’d studied most obsessively.
But before anything else, he needed to write a detailed project proposal.
Hollywood films were never purely art.
They were an industry.
Which meant that if he wanted investors to take him seriously, he needed a proposal that looked genuinely feasible on paper.