Our poor mobster and his deerlings are really feeling the weight of society’s prejudices this week, but our content creator comes in like a wrecking ball of pure sunshine and kindness. She may have misjudged our mobster — and his employees — based on appearances, but she’s seen his inner softie and is now a believer in second chances.
EPISODES 5-6
Rivals Ji-hwan and Hyun-woo have officially met on the battlefield of love, and the tension between them is so thick it can be cut, battered, deep fried, and served with a side of radish kimchi and a pint of beer. Hyun-woo is none too pleased to see Eun-ha with Ji-hwan, and while Ji-hwan (himself) is certainly at the top of Hyun-woo’s list of potential dangers, her mere proximity to the former gangster could make her an unintended casualty in the ongoing feud between Ji-hwan and the Kitty Gang.
Hyun-woo insists on driving Eun-ha back to the city, and along the way Eun-ha tries to defend Ji-hwan. She’s not terribly convincing, though, because the truth is that she doesn’t know enough about Ji-hwan’s past to make an informed decision. However, she can also tell Hyun-woo is biased, and even though she doesn’t know the full story of his past, she can confidently tell Hyun-woo that she feels safe with Ji-hwan — an assertion that doesn’t go over well with him.
Although he claims he doesn’t hate Ji-hwan and that his concern stems from the various gang-related crimes he’s seen during his time as a prosecutor, he deems Ji-hwan the most dangerous person he knows and there’s 100% some history between the two men. Ten years ago, after a gang-related brawl, Hyun-woo witnessed Ji-hwan holding a bloodied bat while standing next to a bloodied and unconscious ajumma. Something tells me there’s more to that story than meets the eye — like Eun-ha’s first impression of Ji-hwan when she saw him holding the broken bottle — but you can’t blame Hyun-woo for thinking the worst of Ji-hwan in that situation.
After Hyun-woo, who is oblivious to Eun-ha’s current living situation (or lack thereof), drops Eun-ha off at her former apartment, our homeless heroine completely ignores his words of caution and returns to Ji-hwan’s house to retrieve her belongings. Eun-ha tries to explain to Ji-hwan that she only knows Hyun-woo because she was called in as a witness to the incident that occurred at the Kitty Gang’s nightclub, but Ji-hwan tells her that her candor is unnecessary. She shouldn’t have to clarify how she knows a prosecutor. Instead, she should be offering up excuses for why she knows a former gangster. He then sends her on her way, his self-pity convincing him that she’s safer on her own rather than living under his roof.
This is another one of those moments that make you really feel for Ji-hwan. While his pragmatic realism is objectively correct — his enemies are dangerous even if he isn’t a threat to Eun-ha — it’s also extremely painful to watch him deprive himself of happiness when society is already doing enough of that for him. Gah! Let the man build his meat processing empire and crush on the object of his affection in peace, dammit!
While Ji-hwan resigns himself to his lot in life, Eun-ha decides to spend the night at a jjimjilbang, but even at a sauna she can’t escape Ji-hwan’s reach. She accidentally (and literally) trips over one of his deerlings — specifically, the one in charge of Thirsty Deer’s marketing. One of the younger members of Ji-hwan’s inner circle, Marketing Deerling foolishly stole Ji-hwan’s seal so he could sign a contract with Ye-na — without Ji-hwan’s permission — and have her promote their children’s sausages. Needless to say, Marketing Deerling is in hot water with Ji-hwan, and he’s been hiding out at the jjimjilbang.
Yeah, it’s too bad the little dummy shares every moment of his life on social media, so of course Ji-hwan quickly locates him. It’s a good thing, too, because as soon as Marketing Deerling answers Ji-hwan’s call to come outside and face his (calm but equally terrifying) wrath, Marketing Deerling accidentally pisses off a group of large men itching for a fight. Eun-ha, bless her heart, tries to diffuse the situation, but she only makes things worse by pointing out all the flaws in one of the thug’s bootleg Pikachu tattoo.
Thankfully, Marketing Deerling never ended his phone call with Ji-hwan, who overheard the whole exchange and subsequently swooped into the sauna like a protective mastiff ready to cut some throats with his angular cheekbones. Without even trying, Ji-hwan saves his damsel and deerling because his mere presence is enough to scare away the thugs. Although the entire exchange with the tattooed gangsters was humorous (for the audience), the incident was dangerous enough for Ji-hwan to recant his previous statement. Eun-ha was, in fact, not safer on the streets of Seoul than she would be under his protection. As for Marketing Deerling, well, Ji-hwan is unwilling (in the moment) to forgive him for his mistake and sends him on his merry way.
Although Ji-hwan doesn’t intend to charge Eun-ha rent, she insists on earning her keep, so in exchange for free room and board, Ji-hwan asks her to tutor his deerlings and help them pass the high school proficiency test. Sounds simple enough, except not all of the deerlings are accepting of her presence in the house, which is why the more amiable ones of the bunch decide to host a party to welcome her — and Marketing Deerling, at Eun-ha’s request — into the fold. Several drinking games later, everyone — but the straightedge Ji-hwan — is drunk, which is how a giddy and playful Eun-ha ends up clasping Ji-hwan’s face and falling into his “twinkling and sparkling” eyeballs… and his lips. (Omo!)
The next morning, Eun-ha is feeling especially awkward and embarrassed, so she pretends she doesn’t remember the kiss. Ji-hwan, who very much remembers how her lips brushed his, follows her lead, and the whole exchange leaves them both thinking the other person regrets the kiss. And the misunderstanding only gains more traction for Ji-hwan when he overhears Eun-ha tell the deerlings that if she had to describe Ji-hwan in two words, she’d call him a “shoulder thug.” It’s a term Ji-hwan’s never heard before, so of course he latches onto the “thug” part, and because he’s already insecure about his past, his self-esteem plummets. Thankfully, Eun-ha sets the record straight, telling him to look up the term, and when he realizes it was actually a compliment in reference to his broad shoulders, his confidence — and the weight he sets the lat machine — skyrockets.
Meanwhile, Eun-ha is not completely unaffected by the memory of the kiss or Ji-hwan’s rippling, post-workout shoulder and pec muscles, but her curiosity in Hyun-woo — namely her desire to confirm he’s her childhood protector — is keeping her partially distracted. However, there are still some very telling signs as to which direction her romantic feelings are leaning. For starters, she’s jealous when she overhears the deerlings discussing the way Ji-hwan gently cared for Ye-na after she foolishly bit into one of their sausages at a press junket and had an allergic reaction. (Aside: Ye-na, ya dumb. Surely you could have found another way to endear yourself to Ji-hwan without backing him into a corner and being the spokesperson for a product you can’t even eat.)
Secondly, when Hyun-woo invites her out on a date and leans over to buckle her seatbelt — a classic K-drama swoon moment — she imagines a very disapproving Ji-hwan sitting in the backseat and is startled out of her brief romantic reverie. The rest of the date ends up being a bust, too, because all the trendy restaurants Hyun-woo handpicked for their outing are closed.
If I was still invested in Hyun-woo as a second male lead, I’d feel bad for the guy, but my interest in his character has declined rapidly. I’m actually at the point of resenting every minute he’s on screen because it takes away time from our adorable OTP. And it doesn’t help matters that his prejudice against Ji-hwan is exasperating. Yes, given what he knows, it’s understandable that he would feel some sort of way about Ji-hwan, but his animosity has become his dominant personality trait. And since the rest of his characterization has proven to be rather blah, he just feels so out of place in a drama where even the main bad guy has a satirically humorous side to offset his villainy. Not to mention, it’s just plain sad to watch Eun-ha tip-toe around his biases in order to maintain a friendship with both him and Ji-hwan.
And Eun-ha is, once again, caught in the middle of the two men when Hyun-woo receives word that Former Drug Dealer’s little sister and grandmother are missing, and she calls Ji-hwan to find out if he knows anything. The news doesn’t surprise Ji-hwan, but he won’t elaborate over the phone — not when he knows she’s with Hyun-woo.
While Eun-ha tries to hail a cab home, Hyun-woo has a secret rendezvous with Ji-hwan, where he accuses Ji-hwan of causing harm to Grandma and Little sister. He refuses to believe Ji-hwan when he says they’re safe because, as a witness to the incident at the hotel ten years ago, he knows Ji-hwan is a dangerous man who can’t be trusted. Again, I suspect there’s more to that incident than what Hyun-woo saw, but we’re just going to have to keep waiting and watching if we want to see Ji-hwan’s side of the story.
After meeting with Hyun-woo, Ji-hwan somehow teleports and beats Eun-ha home. In contrast to Hyun-woo’s staunch disbelief in Ji-hwan’s goodness, Eun-ha immediately takes Ji-hwan at his word when he says that Grandmother and Little Sister are safe. Unfortunately, Ji-hwan is too preoccupied with the realization that Eun-ha was with Hyun-woo to appreciate her blind trust in him. Instead, the weight of his position in society feels heavier, and knowing Eun-ha obviously hid her living situation from Hyun-woo makes the gap between Ji-hwan and Eun-ha seem wider.
That gap’s not going to be there for much longer, though, because our story is determined to push them together so they can overcome Eun-ha’s lingering biases and Ji-hwan’s insecurities about his past. In this particular instance, the writers are going with the forced proximity and near-death tropes.
You see, the next morning Eun-ha wakes to find the deerlings seemingly preparing for battle with another gang. It’s all a misdirect, of course, but Eun-ha doesn’t realize that until after she’s stowed away in the back of the deerlings’ van in an attempt to prevent them from engaging in a gang war. Her desire to keep them on the straight and arrow is downright adorable, but it also belies the fact that she doesn’t wholly trust them.
The reality, though, is that it’s all hands on deck situation because of some meat supply issue (that totally went over my head), and the upper executive deerlings armed themselves with a giant duffle bag of knives in preparation of butchering a bunch of animals. (Vegetarians and vegans, you might want to look away.) In all the chaos, Eun-ha is mistaken for another worker and placed in charge of stickering the packaged meat as it comes off the conveyor belt. It’s almost like an undercover boss (wife) moment, as she learns more about Ji-hwan through the women under his employ. They sing his praises, and if it weren’t for Ji-hwan, felons — like the woman who murdered her husband to stop him from beating her child — wouldn’t be able to find jobs. Now Eun-ha understands — and believes — why Ji-hwan’s deerlings described him as someone hard on the outside and soft on the inside.
By this point in time, our deerlings have picked up on the fact that Ji-hwan is interested in Eun-ha, and they also sense that he needs a little help wooing the object of his affection. This is how one misguided deerling’s attempt at matchmaking results in Ji-hwan and Eun-ha being locked in a freezer together. Personally, I’m not a fan of malicious pranks — unintentional or not — so after it’s all said and done, I hope Ji-hwan dishes out a stern punishment.
In the meantime, though, I’m going to accept our OTP’s life-threatening predicament as the romantic cliche that it is. How can I not when Eun-ha tells Ji-hwan that she’s seen a new, extremely admirable side to him through his employees eyes? Our mobster absolutely needs to hear someone — someone undeniably “good” — praise him for his kindness in order for him to see his own worth. (Ugh, my heart!)
Unfortunately, the warm and fuzzy moment is not enough to compensate for the frosty temperatures inside the freezer, so Ji-hwan and Eun-ha grow steadily colder until frost clings to their lips and eyelashes. Eventually, Ji-hwan tentatively asks Eun-ha for permission for them to act like penguins and huddle together. When she doesn’t object, he positions himself behind her and envelopes her in his arms so they can warm each other with their body heat.
Why is their near-death experience so darn swoony and sweet? I mean, Ji-hwan and Eun-ha are turning blue and are on the verge of dying from hypothermia, and I’m over here squeeing like they are steaming up the back of a horse-drawn carriage. (Please don’t judge.) And speaking of steamy, Bridgerton-like scenes, I’d be remiss this week to not acknowledge our secondary couple: Mi-ho and Il-young.
We don’t have all the details — because this show is attempting to remain wholesome — but we were given enough to know that these two had a very passionate night together after a random woman slung water on them and they had to go to a nearby hotel and dry off. I can’t say that I’m blown away by this pairing, but they are giving me Sung-hoon and Young-seo (Business Proposal) vibes — instantaneous attraction and fast-paced courtship — that plays out as a nice foil for our OTP’s slower, more innocent romance. But let’s be real, it’s hard for any pairing to shine when they’ve got to share screen time with our OTP. They’re just so darn cute! Look at them!