Our sisters are about to fight their last battle for the truth in this twist-filled, gut-wrenching finale of Little Women. With our heroine in prison, it’s a no-holds-barred fight for who gets to control the story — but, with the 70 billion won having vanished as if in smoke, it’s hard to tell the difference between friend and foe.
EPISODES 11-12 WEECAP
Last week, Jae-sang killed himself before his crimes could catch up with him. This week, we learn that it was the crowning moment of a messed-up marriage, involving more love than by all rights it should. It wasn’t just apple slices Sang-ah passed Jae-sang last episode — it was his orchid. Jae-sang accepts this suicide notice with gentle resignation. There was never any question that he’d die for the woman he really, truly did care for. Even if Sang-ah would never do the same for him. He leaves her with a gentle smile, and jumps without hesitation. Later, Sang-ah receives the fulfillment of In-hye’s promise: a portrait of Sang-ah, her dead brother, and her now-dead husband, together as children. Only then does she let herself cry.
Sang-ah may have been spared, but In-joo is in dire straits — arrested for a crime she never even got the chance to benefit from. To compound matters, she learns that Do-il has disappeared after being caught in a car accident. The only consolation is that he didn’t betray her. Still, it’s cold comfort as she’s paraded to trial, while the media spews vitriol about her motives. Sang-ah has once again taken back control of the story; to assuage the public’s anger, In-joo faces decades in jail.
However, one thing is revealed at In-joo’s trial, quite by accident: the truth. After watching footage from the yoga studio, In-kyung recognizes Hwa-young’s face. They’ve met before. Years ago, when she first pursued the Bobae Savings case, Hwa-young was amongst the victims. Unlike the others, she disdained the idea of recovering the money she lost. That money — indeed, all money — is evil: a means of social control. Losing it resulted in her mother’s death. As such, Hwa-young was the one who gave In-kyung that tip-off about Dal-su.
Hearing this, In-joo connects the dots: she knows where Hwa-young heard about her sister. When Sang-ah insisted Hwa-young go to Singapore, she was forced to miss her mother’s burial. In-joo agreed to mourn on Hwa-young’s behalf. When the Bobae Savings case came up in conversation, she mentioned her journalist sister, a woman with a tenacious sense of justice. Perhaps it wasn’t the 70 billion Hwa-young was really after when she stole from Sang-ah — but rather, revenge. Knowing this, In-joo feels a surge of renewed determination. She’s not going down without a fight. It’s time to take down Sang-ah.
Sang-ah, for her part, is busy consolidating power. Now, it’s time to work on JANG SA-PYEONG (Jang Kwang), Principal of the Jeongran Society’s creepy propaganda-school. Under her new regime, he’ll have some extra responsibility… just a few little things, like overseeing the Park Jae-sang Foundation (gotta indoctrinate those children) — oh, and maybe torturing and killing In-kyung? As the last surviving member of the General’s unit, he’s certainly got the skill set. Sa-pyeong has some qualms. Did Jae-sang really murder the General’s son? Details, details, says Sang-ah. Her brother was insane. After all, he had morals. Who needs those when they’ve an entire world to plunder?
Meanwhile, it’s Ma-ri’s turn to shine: she sets about sabotaging the story In-kyung risked everything to reveal. On the news, armed with footage of Sang-woo brandishing a gun at Jae-sang, she argues that her former patron only bludgeoned the man to death out of self-defense. The Oh sisters are the real masterminds behind this plot! In-kyung, incensed, confronts her former colleague — who is up to her ears in self-righteousness. At the end of the day, though, it comes down to this: Ma-ri told the truth as she sees it. And today, her truth beat In-kyung’s. In-kyung doesn’t have much time to stew in her frustration, though. As Ma-ri leaves, In-kyung’s set upon by attackers and bundled into a waiting car.
It is a lethally smug Sang-ah who comes to visit In-joo in her cell. Beaming, she displays In-kyung’s lip gloss and notebook. She’s not here to negotiate — just to gloat. And, why stop at In-kyung? She’s perfectly willing to take her rage out on In-hye, too. In-joo flips. She screams, long and painful, throwing her chair at the glass. Nothing can wipe out Sang-ah’s smile.
Meanwhile, In-kyung wakes to a dark schoolroom, duct tape at her mouth — and soon, a scalpel at her throat. Sa-pyeong had sworn off torture after he realized destroying so many lives only destroyed his own soul… but, if there’s one thing he won’t forgive, it’s an insult to his precious General.
The next day, In-joo faces court. She also faces Do-il… but, he won’t look at her. He’s testifying for the prosecution. Still, if there’s anything a season of such incidents has taught us, it’s that there’s no use doubting the world’s most trustworthy conman: Do-il always comes through. Now, without a moment’s hesitation, he throws away everything for In-joo. In-joo was a dupe, he testifies. She returned the money to him as soon as she could. He and Sang-ah were the real schemers — and, if you check Sang-ah’s Panama bank records, you’ll find that the 70 billion won isn’t missing at all… it’s right there, under her name.
After thoroughly incriminating Sang-ah — and himself in the bargain — Do-il finally meets with a flabbergasted In-joo. Does he actually think she’s an idiot? It’s testament to Wie Ha-joon’s ability to look lovestruck that what follows has the cadence of a romantic declaration: “Being financially illiterate doesn’t make you an idiot.” (Amen to that, I say — willfully not looking at my own bank account!) Besides, it’s not the first time he tried to contact her; In-joo simply missed his messages. Yet, as ever… her horse jumped the fence.
Do-il’s not the only one who comes through in the end. Just as she’s plotting the best way to trash Do-il’s testimony, Sang-ah is stopped short by the sight of In-kyung on TV. In-kyung’s been meticulously gathering evidence, up to and including the fur coat in which Hwa-young died — a rare edition, owned by only eight other people in Korea, including Sang-ah. But, the final nail in the coffin comes from the unexpected appearance of Sa-pyeong. He confirms that the orchid found next to so many corpses is exclusive to one tree in the entire country… and it resides in the Won household. Turns out, Sa-pyeong really couldn’t let an insult to the General slide — and Sang-woo’s death was simply a step too far.
In the aftermath of these revelations, In-joo is finally given the opportunity to speak in court. She’s learned a lot since the day that two billion won fell into her lap. The moment she saw the money, it felt like a wrong being redressed — like compensation for a life of poverty. In this, she and Hwa-young were alike. But now, she asks for punishment for her greed. Moreover, she wants those responsible for Hwa-young’s death — and for all the hurt that the money has caused — to face consequences.
She is interrupted by the opening of a door. The assertive click of heels. The murmur of the court. Behind her has entered — Hwa-young.
Hwa-young steps up to the stand. She’s bandaged, but immaculately dressed, and shows precisely zero fear as she peels back the lid on the whole deception. In the end, she’d wanted revenge against Sang-ah for using her. Without recourse to the police or media — neither of which she could trust — she sought to bring her employer low. As for why she chose In-joo? She needed to adopt someone else’s identity. If she was going to give anyone the money, she wanted it to be her.
Hwa-young’s testimony does the trick. In-joo is sentenced to only a year and a half, to be served as two years’ probation.
In-joo returns home to find Hwa-young waiting. After a moment’s open anguish, she steps forward — and shoves her. Albeit not very hard. Just enough to make her point: she’s horrified at being taken for a fool. Hwa-young explains as best she can. Back when they visited Singapore, Hwa-young felt almost as dead as her mother. But, witnessing In-joo’s simple relish for the food and the sights made her yearn to experience life like her friend. In-joo chokes on tears. Doesn’t Hwa-young know that she would have traded the money — and her life, to boot — to bring her killer to justice?
No. Hwa-young hadn’t expected that. It was only when Sang-ah visited Singapore that she realized the danger. She did follow In-joo that day — a whisper away from telling her the truth. When In-joo escaped the bank with Sang-ah’s driver, Hwa-young didn’t hesitate to sacrifice herself: she rammed her own car into a truck, saving her from the crash. In-joo’s vision of her friend in hospital wasn’t a dream. Nor were the shoes part of Sang-ah’s stage management. Hwa-young pushed herself beyond endurance to protect her… before collapsing from her own injuries.
Now, all she can do is say thank you. And, I’m sorry. After that, it’s time to risk the truth before the press. Her “death” was meant to be staged, via a woman of her build who wished to kill herself. However, as footage from Hwa-young’s flat proves, her double never had the chance: Sang-ah got there first. Now, Hwa-young demands an investigation into both their crimes. Meanwhile, her app, Bookkeeper from the Future, has been launched. Download it, and you’ll find digital copies of the slush fund ledgers: Sang-ah’s crimes writ large. (At least, someone had the foresight to make those — huh, In-kyung?)
Sang-ah’s not about to let one pesky little murder investigation get in the way of — more murder. Sa-pyeong is next on the hit list. As he lies dying, injected with distilled essence of evil orchid, he reveals why she was never allowed within sniffing distance of Jeongran Society leadership: she’s utterly insane. Good point, well made, but Sang-ah’s just getting started. Next up, it’s In-kyung. You’d think the poor woman would have been kidnapped enough for one lifetime, but Su-im gets the drop on her with ease.
Now, for her former assistants. In-joo abandons Do-il — who has a lead on In-hye’s location — after receiving a text from Sang-ah. Hwa-young is in her clutches. If In-joo arrives quickly, maybe she’ll see her friend before she’s killed.
And where else to hold a hostage party than the family orchid basement? Hwa-young keeps a tight grip on her dignity, even whilst bound to a chair. Icily, she reminisces over how Sang-ah once told her life was for the living — all whilst barring her from her mother’s burial. Yet, Hwa-young knows all too well what it’s like to be dead and still breathing. She had wanted to show Sang-ah just how far she’d go for her mother’s memory.
Hwa-young’s composure cracks when In-joo arrives. She’d warned her to stay away. But, In-joo declares she has her own business… involving a handheld grenade, gifted to her by the gun-happy Hee-jae. Sang-ah has a choice: either they all walk out alive, or the whole place goes up in smoke.
Unfortunately, In-joo is forgetting one thing: Sang-ah’s penchant for staging tragedies. This place is already rigged to kill. When Sang-ah presses a button, sprinklers will dispense a highly concentrated form of hydrochloric acid. Hwa-young will burn to death. In-joo’s lungs will melt. Sang-ah will watch them both suffer. What does it matter if she goes with them? She does know what it’s like to already be dead.
In-joo understands. She’s understood ever since she watched the footage of Sang-ah panicking over the fake Hwa-young’s corpse. What has Sang-ah been re-enacting so obsessively? Not the death of her mother — but the last moment she saw her alive. As a child, Sang-ah tried to reason with her mother: why couldn’t she just apologize and hide her husband’s crimes like the rest of them? Things got heated; Sang-ah shoved her. She fell hard against the table, bleeding from the head. In her last moments, she told Sang-ah to leave, and stay silent about having visited. When Sang-ah returned, she found her mother hanging in the closet. Now, Sang-ah wants nothing better than to punish herself — over and over again.
Su-im has been tasked with delivering In-kyung to the bloodbath. Luckily, Do-il proves no fool, and arrives in quick pursuit. As he overpowers Su-im, she taunts him for his recklessness — he’s in love with In-joo, isn’t he? Do-il’s reply is flawless: 50% yes, 50% I-won’t-give-you-the-pleasure, and 100% badass. You shouldn’t have done this, he says, if you thought I loved her.
Back in the basement, the button clicks. Acid falls. Hwa-young screams as her skin begins to sizzle, but In-joo explodes into action. Throwing the grenade, she blows off the top of a vent, using the heavy metal to shield herself and her friend. Seconds later, Do-il bursts in, pulling away Hwa-young. In-joo tries to follow, but she’s seized by Sang-ah. After a fierce tussle, the two women lurch backwards — and Sang-ah falls into the pooling acid. As the orchid tree shrivels in the rain, In-joo turns to leave.
Afterwards, it’s a matter of tying up loose ends. In-kyung receives a bequest from the late Sa-pyeong: the General’s memoir. It documents the story of how the General’s unit, tricked by the CIA and abandoned by their own government, was left to die in Vietnam. Returning to Korea, they pledged to take control of the motherland that abandoned them. In-kyung now reveals their schemes on the national news.
In-joo, meanwhile, says goodbye to the two people who, outside of her family, mattered most to her. Firstly, Do-il. He’s throwing away his phone and retiring to Greece, as planned. He asks In-joo if she really won’t come with him. Her eyes widen, but she plays it off with a laugh. For once, Do-il’s returning smile is utterly open — but, in the end, neither of them say anything beyond wishing each other well. When he turns one last time to say he’ll see her again, it’s a wonder he’s even audible over the sound of a million viewers’ hearts breaking.
Next, Hwa-young — and here, my heart breaks afresh. This time, In-joo’s on the visiting side of the prison bars, but Hwa-young is putting on as brave a face as she can. She’s been reading. Tending flowers. Perhaps it’s not enough to forget the matching scars on both their hands, but — she’ll be fine. Fifteen years will go by in a flash. Once she sells her software, In-joo can have half. Once again, though, In-joo hesitates — Hwa-young should keep her money.
There’s one gift that she’s willing to accept, though: a present from Aunt Oh. It’s the apartment she once fell in love with, the one in which Aunt Oh told her she needn’t be afraid to start afresh. Maybe — just maybe — she’ll become another person after all.
As for In-kyung, she’s been offered a job with a new network. It’s everything she dreamed of when working for CBN… and, abruptly, she realizes it’s not enough. Investigating the Jeongran Society was the most exciting time of her life — but, as she tells Jong-ho later, the most fun she had was with him. So… how about they give America a shot? As they lean towards one another to kiss, In-kyung realizes that her heart might just be racing after all.
As this is Little Women, there’s room for one last twist. Ever wonder how In-hye and Hyo-rin made their way to the airport? Turns out, they had help. Do-il, with characteristic prescience, knew he needed to store the 70 billion for safekeeping; in exchange for helping the teens, he transferred it to Hyo-rin’s account. Now, In-hye has decided to split it fairly. She and Hyo-rin receive a portion, and in doing so purchase their independence: the ability to become who they want to be, without debts. In-kyung gets a share, to fund her studies. Do-il, of course, gets Greece. And, In-joo? She sacrificed everything for In-hye. Now, she receives the most. In-hye instructs her to buy a new life, not just for her family, but for herself. In-hye will be doing the same.
And there it is, folks! Excuse me while I weep into my sleeve. That ending was deliciously open, and it got me on a number of levels. For me, these last two episodes boiled down to a choice between life and death. Do you live life as if you’re dying, or will you start afresh? The Jeongran Society fit their entire ideology around the notion that they were already dead. Wealth and power in this drama can mean stasis: like Sang-ah, you may don and discard costume after costume, and lock up the reality of your trauma in a tiny room. On the other hand, In-joo and In-hye felt as if their poverty trapped them in a kind of living death — the repeating trauma of capitalism itself. Hwa-young, meanwhile, chose a different sort of death, in which she refused to let wrongs lie in the past; instead, she returned like a haunting, in pursuit of justice. However, in the end, she and the Oh sisters chose to begin afresh.
Bring out your pitchforks now, but I’m actually glad In-joo and Do-il didn’t kiss at the airport. That’s not to say I didn’t wish they’d kissed at all! Far from it — they really should. Ideally, for me, it would have happened spontaneously, perhaps after In-joo escaped the orchid room (and maybe cleaned up after all the acid). After all, in the end, In-joo always yearned to make something of herself outside of ending up with a man. Having her final character note be the culmination of a romantic plot — rather than deciding to start a new life — would have felt wrong. Another quibble for me is the way the writers used the Vietnam War as a plot point: it felt glib. I kept expecting them to problematize it the same way they problematized themes of wealth and social hierarchy, but they mostly referred to it uncritically.
Despite this, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this thoughtful, creative, emphatically artistic drama. I love that, in the end, our protagonists were given the option to live for themselves — to become the kind of people they wished to be. The show wasn’t naive about it: it was money that gave them the option. Money, according to Hwa-young, is a form of social control. She’s right. Sadly, it is also a means of bestowing agency. Still, that’s why I’m glad that In-joo wasn’t narratively punished for coveting the luxury that people like Sang-ah take for granted. For me, it’s enough to think of our protagonists on the precipice of a new story: one in which they can be free.