Our leading man takes a giant step towards his reincarnated leading lady, but as soon as he does, we enter a minefield of plot bombs. Some inflict emotional or physical damage on our characters, but a few others are a welcome burst of happiness, like water balloons making skin contact on a scorching July day.
EPISODES 7-8
With only three weeks left to this drama (and prior knowledge of the webtoon), I shouldn’t be shocked with how much was revealed in our latest episodes, and yet, here I am — feeling a bit whiplashed from all the confessions, revelations, and tribulations. My bias for this story is still going strong, but — and it almost pains me to admit this — my enthusiasm for our OTP has cooled slightly as my concern for Seo-ha’s mental health increases.
Like, I want to toss aside logic and — for the sake of my own viewing pleasure — believe that love is a form of therapy that conquers all traumas, but when our boy does a dramatic face-plant into a swimming pool after a brief encounter with his (admittedly toxic) family, it’s kind of hard to swoon when Seo-ha’s heartbreaking need for comfort leads to a passionate kiss with Ji-eum. Although Seo-ha initiated the kiss, I can’t shake the feeling that Ji-eum was somehow taking advantage of the vulnerable, chlorine-drenched Seo-ha. I think, instead, this would have been a nice moment to see her step back from her characteristic aggressiveness and show some restraint.
Admittedly, Ji-eum — and, by extension, the audience — is in a rather unconventional position of knowing waaaay more than Seo-ha, and I find my opinion of the appropriateness of Ji-eum’s actions fluctuates depending on the context of the present moment. Sometimes I approve of her using her insider knowledge to cheer up Seo-ha and endear herself to him, but at other times, it just feels deceitful and wrong. Case in point, after she and Seo-ha retreat to his place so he can shower and change into dry clothes, she prepares a meal she’d served him in her past life.
On the surface, it seems fairly innocuous — just simple comfort food. But given Seo-ha’s emotional state, I can’t shake the feeling that Ji-eum’s dish selection has an undercurrent of manipulativeness, like she’s trying to groom him with subtle memories of their shared past before she swoops in and asks him to date her again. Thankfully, Seo-ha gently silences her and asks her to wait until he’s ready to be the one to confess to her. I was happy to see Seo-ha assert himself and be honest with Ji-eum. Yes, he likes her, but he’s not in the appropriate headspace for a relationship just yet — an understatement, but I’ll take it.
On the flip side, as my affection for the Seo-ha x Ji-eum pairing dims slightly, the romance between Cho-won and Do-yoon rises and shines. The two of them take turns getting drunk and almost kissing each other, which leads to Cho-won confronting Do-yoon about his feelings for her. Given his adorable intoxicated behavior that unquestionably demonstrated the extent of his affection (and made Cho-won’s heart flutter), there’s no point in denial now, so he confidently admits he likes her. But, of course, he still has a massive chip on his shoulder, and so even though he owns up to his feelings, he tells Cho-won that he won’t act on them or date her. (Oh, you poor, naive fool. If you think that’s going to stop Cho-won, you’re sorely mistaken, Do-yoon.)
At the moment, though, Do-yoon is a bit preoccupied with being Seo-ha’s guard dog. Unfortunately, as is the case with Do-yoon’s love life, he has his priorities all screwed up. When Seo-ha tells him that the car accident — you know, the one we keep flashing back to that Do-yoon’s father also died in — was an intentional act caused by someone within MI Group, Do-yoon is almost indifferent. Instead of teaming up with Seo-ha or cautioning him on the dangers of hunting down a killer, his hackles rise when he sees how unguarded — and flirtatious — Seo-ha has become with Ji-eum.
Then again, maybe Seo-ha and Ji-eum should tone it down at work. Romantic work scandals aside, there’s an unknown threat that lurks among them, and for all they know, the person who tried to kill Seo-ha when he was younger will go after him — or the people he cares about — again. And considering Seo-ah’s aggressive pursuit of the truth, his chances of becoming a target are increasing with each reckless step he takes. For example, when Ho-shik contacts Seo-ha and offers to sell him proof of the killer’s identity, Seo-ha would have gone to the meet-up alone had Ji-eum not insisted she join him.
The planned meet-up turns deadly after some hired goons arrive on the scene first and kill Ho-shik. Although the sight of Ho-shik’s dead body shocks Ji-eum, she’s more distracted by the lingering sense of déjà vu she experienced when she watched Seo-ha walk towards the abandoned building where Ho-shik was waiting for him.
Recently, Ji-eum learned that Min-ki and Han-na also remember their past lives, and Min-ki divulged that the secret to breaking the pattern is somehow connected to her very first life, which she only remembers in fragmented pieces. After touching Min-ki’s shaman bells a second time, Ji-eum sees enough of her first life that she feels confident that she and Seo-ha met in her first life and that it’s their destiny to meet again and close the circle.
However, if their reunion is the work of Destiny, she’s a cruel you-know-what. In a classic case of literally everything and everyone is connected, it turns out Ji-eum’s father was the driver of the Truck of Doom that killed Ju-won. Seo-ha is still reeling from this shocking news when an elated Ji-eum calls and waxes poetically about past lives, but he disagrees with the romanticism of them finding each other again because of some divine purposes.
Instead — and I absolutely loved this moment — Seo-ha says he hopes that their reunion has no grand purpose. If they did know each other in their first lives, he’d prefer it if they’re simply being given a chance to fall in love again — no strings attached. His words are an arrow to my heart because — past lives or none — the romance between Seo-ha and Ji-eum is anything but simple.
As Seo-ha grapples with his waring emotions, Ji-eum’s deadbeat father makes a reappearance, showing up in the hotel lobby and becoming a disgusting public nuisance that she personally escorts from the building with force. Seo-ha witnesses the encounter, and although he’s visibly shocked to see Ju-won’s killer (well, the real killer’s hired hand) in person, he steps forward to comfort Ji-eum and cook her a meal. He accepts Ji-eum despite the sins of her father and this is, in my opinion, the first time we truly see him acting on his love for Ji-eum rather than reacting to her resemblance to Ju-won.
Unfortunately, before he destroys the evidence that he obtained from Ho-shik’s lackey, Ji-eum finds it and uncovers the twisted joke Destiny has played on her and Seo-ha. She confronts her father, but he doesn’t know who paid off his debt and hired him to crash into Seo-ha’s car. So Ji-eum turns to the only other person with more knowledge of past lives and MI Group’s dirty secrets than her: Han-na, Seo-ha’s reincarnated mother!
At the top of Han-na’s list of suspects is JANG YEON-OK (Bae Hae-sun), Jung-hoon’s mistress, but — despite her conniving and distasteful behavior — Yeon-ok is not the mastermind. Instead, she cryptically alludes to the person in MI Group with the most to gain from Seo-ha’s death. At the exact same time, Seo-ha finds a cassette tape at the bottom of Ho-shik’s giant bag of evidence, and when he presses play, he’s shocked to hear his uncle’s familiar voice plotting the car accident that killed Ju-won and Do-yoon’s father.
The pain of knowing his uncle — someone who should love him and want to protect him — was the one who intended to cause him harm is too much for Seo-ha. When Ji-eum finds him, he’s curled in a ball on the floor; the guilt is crushing him. He asks her to leave him alone, but instead of walking away, she approaches Seo-ha’s piano and plays the song she composed in one of her past lives — a song known only to Seo-ha and Ju-won.
The cat is officially out of the bag, and I’m feeling conflicted over the timing of the reveal. On the one hand, so much death and betrayal has been unfairly heaped onto Seo-ha’s shoulders that, at this point, I think he kind of deserves the “easy” fix of knowing the person he feels the most guilt towards is alive — albeit in a new life — and doesn’t blame him for her death. At the same time, though, that’s a mighty large bomb to drop on someone already in the throes of an emotional crisis, and if he doesn’t believe her, Ji-eum’s confession could cause Seo-ha more pain. As much as I want to see Seo-ha bounce back quickly and be deliriously happy to have reunited with his first love, I sadly foresee another wave of angst before the clouds part and the sun shines on our OTP’s happiness.
I don’t want to speculate too much on what’s about to happen and unintentionally spoil anything, though, so let’s focus on something unique to the drama: the cinematography. For some time now, I’ve been meaning to comment on the intentional use of blues and reds, which have been used to represent Seo-ha and Ji-eum respectively. Up until this point, I thought the color choice was simply a means of emphasizing the diametric hot and cold natures of our leads, but the flashbacks to Ji-eum’s first life — in which the reds and blues are intentionally vivid — suggest the color palette has an additional symbolic connection to the story’s narrative. I absolutely adore this attention to detail, and while I’m not fully on board with how the OTP romance has been translated for television, this is, without a doubt, some of the prettiest, most vibrant cinematography I’ve seen in a K-drama in a long while.