Scene: A Sunset Café in Zagreb, Croatia — Summer Evening
Joe Jukic sits across from Justin Bieber, sipping a strong espresso while the Croatian sun melts behind the red-tiled roofs. A crowd of curious locals lingers at a respectful distance. No phones out. No flashes. Just eyes. Joe smiles, soaking in the respect.
Joe Jukic (leaning in):
“Listen, Biebs. Back home in Canada, you’re a zero now. Same as me. But here in Croatia? I’m the ONE.”
Justin raises an eyebrow, half amused, half offended.
Justin Bieber:
“You’re really saying that?”
Joe Jukic (nods, dead serious):
“Yeah, and it’s not about fame or streams. It’s about peace. Dignity. Respect. Out here, the people know what matters.”
Justin (defensive):
“Man, I can’t even step out of a car without someone snapping pics. I just want to live.”
Joe (firm, visionary):
“Exactly. And that’s why when I’m in Croatia, I’m drafting new paparazzi laws. You want to photograph someone? You ask permission. Otherwise—fine, lawsuit, banned. No exceptions.”
Justin:
“You’re serious?”
Joe (growing solemn):
“Diana died because of that madness. Flashbulbs in a tunnel. Driver under pressure. Whole world chasing her like a deer in headlights. That can’t happen again. Not here.”
Joe pauses, watching the distant church bells begin to ring.
Joe:
“In Croatia, we’ve had enough chasing. We chase dreams now, not people. You want a future where your wife, your kids, your peace aren’t hunted—come here. Help me pass the laws. Make this the safe zone for celebrities who’ve had enough.”
Justin (quietly):
“…You might be onto something.”
Joe (smiling):
“I’m not onto something. I am something. And in Croatia, that means something again.”
The two clink tiny coffee cups, while a respectful hush falls over the crowd. For once, the cameras stay off.
Scene: A Black SUV Pulls Up Outside the Sunset Café in Zagreb
The door swings open. Out steps Igor “Bog” Bogdanov — black robes, sandals, and cyberpunk sunglasses that reflect eternity. The crowd gasps. A local priest crosses himself. Birds scatter.
Igor “Bog” Bogdanov (with cosmic calm):
“Justin. We’re going to the beach, G.”
Justin looks up from his espresso, confused but intrigued.
Justin Bieber:
“Wait… the beach?”
Bog (nodding slowly):
“Yes. But not just any beach. A quantum beach. Where the tide moves in Fibonacci spirals. Where time flows sideways. Where paparazzi are banned by interdimensional law.”
Joe Jukic grins, tossing his keys to a valet.
Joe:
“Biebs, if Bog says we’re going to the beach, we’re going. But this ain’t Malibu. This is Dalmatia, baby. White stone. Blue water. No drama.”
Bog (stepping into the sunlight):
“There are no flashbulbs in the fifth dimension. Only light. Pure light.”
Justin hesitates for a moment… then stands. For the first time in years, no cameras click. The air is still. Sacred. He follows Bog and Joe to the car. The people part respectfully.
Bog (smirking as he shuts the door):
“Let’s wash the fame off your soul, G.”
The engine roars to life. Destination: transcendence.
Croatian coastline. No paparazzi. Just peace.