Who’s hyped for SPREADSHEETS? I know I am! After learning in the worst way possible how devastating the impact of a single piece of paper can be, our hero embarks on a revenge plot. His method? Fight paper with paper. But when he’s hired at a prestigious accounting firm by the man he once despised, things stop seeming quite so clear-cut…
EPISODES 1-2
We move through our hero’s backstory with the splendid pace of a financial pitch — though with markedly more pathos. JANG HO-WOO (L) is a scrappy orphan with a steely sense of justice. Roaming the streets as a child, he finds a father and defender in the kindhearted JANG IN-HO (Nam Myung-ryul). Of course, like all underdog protagonists, bullies flock to him in their droves. By the time he hits his teens, he’s solved more problems with his bare fists — and racked up more trips to the local police — than he’s had hot dinners in the neighborhood cafeteria.
Alas, one day, a far less punchable problem arises. In-ho works on a building site under Haebit Construction. It’s here that Ho-woo spots a gaggle of immaculately dressed professionals, whispering in arcane code. Copy-paste the values. If we cook this right, no one will notice. Ho-woo doesn’t grasp the implications, but he sure sees the results: Taeil Accountancy Firm declares Haebit bankrupt. Its assets will be liquidated — and the building In-ho toiled over, bulldozed.
Workers throng the construction site, protesting their ruined livelihood. They’re mercilessly beaten down by bat-wielding enforcers. Ho-woo scrambles to defend them. But at a single word from a man in a suit, everyone falls motionless. I detect a charismatic, morally ambiguous second lead! And indeed, this is HAN SEUNG-JO (Choi Jin-hyuk), the person who will come to define Ho-woo’s quest for vengeance. He looms over our defiant protagonist. Accountants, he declares, wield power of life and death over firms. And Haebit Construction? Is an ex-firm. He wouldn’t expect a thug like Ho-woo to understand. But watch, he deadpans, what a single piece of paper can do. That night, Ho-woo races through the construction site in search of his adopted father. He arrives just a little too late. Heartbroken and bankrupt, In-ho has already jumped to his death.
Ho-woo is tortured by grief. He can’t work out why this happened, much less fight it. But of one thing, he’s sure: if you want something done right… infiltrate an accountancy firm yourself. And so, armed with only his high school diploma, our hero faces trial by textbook. To the shock of all, he manages to win a place at Taeil. Turns out that’s only a fraction of the fight. At lightning speed, word spreads that he lacks a university degree. Subsequently, he is shunned. One by one, each new hire is recruited for an enigmatically-titled project: Lion, Zebra, Wolf. Even the woman supposedly running induction, the aloof JIN YEON-AH (Yeonwoo), is reluctant to speak to him for long. So far, the only one who’ll hold his gaze is his sad, empty Excel spreadsheet… and they’ve clocked up hours of face time.
Nonetheless, he’s a man on a mission: locate that scoundrel Seung-jo! However, it’s only when he flees to the rooftop to escape the judgmental stares that he finally meets the man who taunted him at his lowest. And that man is flatly unimpressed. Do you think, scoffs Seung-jo, that you’re being ignored because you didn’t go to college? Nobody cares. They’re just looking to make bank. Giving a novice the time of day could damage their profitability evaluation; when one person screws up, the whole team pays. As Ho-woo protests, he’s hit with the cruelest paradox of all. You have a duty to learn, pronounces Seung-jo, but we don’t have a duty to teach you. And then, the knockout blow: I wouldn’t pick you either.
For all his scorn, Seung-jo is hardly the office golden boy. As the son of Taeil’s Vice President, HAN JE-KYUN (Choi Min-soo), he ought to be. However, whilst our dubiously-principled deuteragonist is a dab hand at numbers, he’s got no patience for politics. Or, so he claims. He’s certainly the polar opposite of his charismatic father — affectionately dubbed “Joker” by his colleagues. On paper, Vice President Han is a smooth-talking champion of the underdog. His motto? Noblesse oblige. In other words: the obscenely wealthy should cast a few breadcrumbs to the underprivileged! You know, out of the goodness of their hearts.
Naturally, he’s up to his tastefully-tailored sleeves in corruption. There’s an upcoming audit for a media firm called People’s Entertainment, and he’s adamant it receives an unqualified opinion — accountant-speak for “all paperwork approved.” Unknown to them, it’s so they can be safely guzzled up by the Sanga Group. Up-and-coming yes-man, SHIM HYEONG-WOO (Lee Sung-yeol) is tasked with leaning on the audit committee. But his former mentor and manager of the project, KANG HYUN (Kim Young-jae), isn’t easily rattled. Sure, he tells his once-subordinate, handwaving the accounts would be simple. But simple for whom?
Indeed, very little at Taeil is simple. It’s a company caught up in serious internal strife — with father and son battling at its center. After all, Ho-woo wasn’t the only one seeking refuge on the roof. As a bristling confrontation in the elevator reveals, Vice President Han has been poisoning the staff against his son. His goal is to become chairman — and Seung-jo is openly disgusted. It’s unclear what his goals are, but one thing’s for certain: he needs our protagonist’s help. Turns out, the one who hired Ho-woo? Yeah, that’d be Seung-jo.
Ho-woo, meanwhile, has broken his endless eye-lock with Microsoft Excel. To the bafflement of all, he grabs a broom instead. If nobody will give him work, he’ll make it! Step one? Deep clean the office. Step two? Commandeer the photocopier! Soon, Ho-woo is the go-to man for busywork. He copies files, arranges conference rooms, sends 3AM faxes, and does it all with a smile. When Seung-jo next confronts him, it’s to ask if he’s aware that his nickname is “Pushover Jang.” Ho-woo nods, delighted. Between this and invisibility, he knows which he’d pick.
Besides, he’s been thinking. No one teaches for free, right? So why did Seung-jo bother to teach him that? Surely, he must want something. It takes Seung-jo a little while to admit it — but when he does, it’s with unexpected candor. He intends Ho-woo to be a wild card in the deck. A second joker, so to speak. In other words… Ho-woo should join his team. Presumably, Seung-jo wasn’t expecting an itemized list of all the reasons why Ho-woo thinks that’s a stupid idea. And yet, that’s exactly what he gets! The answer is an emphatic no.
Ho-woo has his eye on a different manager — one who doesn’t dredge up memories of his traumatic backstory. Hyun’s audit team are scrambling to meet their deadline, but the banks won’t play ball. They’re still waiting on confirmation forms from the Geumyang Cooperative, who generally deal with accountants by consigning them to their Endless Queue of Doom. A thankless administrative task? Sounds like a job for Pushover Jang! Our hero volunteers as tribute: he’ll retrieve the forms. Yeon-ah, whose frosty demeanor has thawed a little towards Ho-woo, decides she’ll be giving him a lift. (She’s not asking him; she’s telling.) (But she may just like him a little.) (It doesn’t hurt that they keep making longing eye contact across bookshelves.)
Inside the bank, it’s carnage. The queue is in its hundreds. Every single customer is pushing seventy and hates small print. At one point, a chicken walks in. But it’s nothing a little creativity can’t solve! Ho-woo takes matters into his own hands, offering free financial advice to anyone who asks. Having vanquished the queue, he’s onto the final boss. With minutes to spare, he convinces a banker to stamp the confirmation form he typed out by hand. Like a bat out of bureaucratic hell, he returns to Taeil triumphant.
Meanwhile, Seung-jo gets some juicy character development! He’s livid when he learns that his father is letting Sanga take over People’s Entertainment… just like he did to Haebit. Vice President Han used him, Seung-jo angrily insists. He let him unwittingly declare Haebit’s doom — and, in doing so, caused the CEO’s death. His father chuckles. You’re still not over the girl, he says, are you?
Afterwards, Seung-jo retreats to his place of comfort — and also the closest thing accountants have to a social hub — the roof. Here, he finds Hyun, who cheerfully demands cigarettes. Seung-jo hands one over, but claims not to have a lighter, knowing Hyun promised his son he’d quit — and, in doing so, captures my heart forever. The two grumble companionably about their jobs, before Hyun imparts disturbing news: Hyeong-woo is pressuring him to add someone to the audit team. It’s an obvious spy for Vice President Han. And it’s none other than Ho-woo.
Seung-jo is aghast. Ho-woo is actually doing what he’s told? Can’t you even tell the difference, he demands of Ho-woo, between friend and foe? Friendship, replies Ho-woo, is a matter of timing. Seung-jo, by now looking faintly bullied, demands to know whether Ho-woo trusts him or not. Why the bluntness? Why the disrespect? (And why, for the love of God, Hyeong-woo?) Ho-woo’s expression is utterly unreadable.
Ho-woo’s under no illusions about his allies. Still, this is an opportunity. It’s not long before he’s sniffed out some dodgy numbers in the People’s Entertainment files. 42 billion on inventory? Sounds implausible. The company claims it’s for movies and merchandise… but the movies were never released. This has fraud written all over it — and much as Ho-woo’s colleagues tell him to cool it on the scrutiny, Hyun’s interest is piqued.
A trip to People’s Entertainment confirms Hyun’s fears. The CEO literally falls to his knees, begging him to turn a blind eye. Fine, the funky numbers were an attempt to conceal their losses! A spoiled third-generation chaebol from Sanga group squandered all their cash. People’s Entertainment is all but dead, and waiting on a miracle — by which they mean the dubious corporate embrace of Sanga.
What follows is a deeply unpleasant interview with Vice President Han. Hyun is assured, quite plainly, that his future depends on this audit. He’s got two options. He can choose to gloss things over with an unqualified opinion, and receive a shiny new promotion. Alternatively, he can pick his principles — and poverty. After all, Vice President Han says, with the air of a man inspecting his fingernails, we all know who pays your salary. Ethics? Ludicrous. The answer is, rich layabouts — like the one who bankrupted People’s Entertainment.
Hyun is at a loss. A disclaimer of opinion — meaning a failed audit — would skewer his career. Still, it’s hard to think of money when your infant son says he wants to be like you when he’s older. A frank rooftop conversation with Ho-woo complicates things further. The more you work in this field, says Hyun, the more you’ll be disappointed in people. I’m jealous of you, Ho-woo replies. His anger has no power — that’s what Seung-jo taught him. But Hyun’s anger? That could make a difference.
The report deadline looms. Hyun agonizes all night. In the end, though, it all comes down to three words on a laptop screen: disclaimer of opinion. He’s done compromising his values. Instead, very calmly, he grabs his jacket and leaves his office for the last time. Teach Ho-woo well, he tells Seung-jo, who looks like he’d rather drink photocopier toner. That, or burst into tears. Remember, he adds, everyone starts out a nobody. That’s how you become — well. Somebody.
Vice President Han goes utterly ballistic — and poor Hyeon-woo stands in the blast radius. Do you even comprehend, he asks, what kind of hell this has unleashed? It’s not just about the failed audit. It’s about last year’s successful audit! Every single contradictory report will have to hold up in court… or else, it’s curtains for Taeil.
Somewhere in the distance, Ho-woo’s ears prick hopefully. Did someone say curtains for Taeil? Because, not to brag, but he’s got two separate murderboards prepped! Funny thing about doing everyone’s photocopying. It gives you access to every single document in the building. Now, he knows exactly who’s pulling the strings… and the fastest way to get to him.
I chose this drama for one reason: to see implausibly attractive accountants tussle over spreadsheets like warriors locking eyes across a battlefield. I was not disappointed. Numbers is immensely fun, especially when they lean into our hero’s wily schemes. It’s neat how they keep flipping our expectations: sure, Ho-woo faces prejudice, but Seung-jo’s rooftop homily adds an interesting twist to the underdog narrative. Granted, any organization that thinks teaching new hires is a luxury is doomed to failure — but I like that our multi-talented protagonist doesn’t always get it right.
My only issue is that I’m unimpressed by this drama’s gender politics: the men get to be passionate and talk about principles; the women get to be love interests, and talk about handbags. Here’s hoping it improves with time! Still, I’m already attached to our main characters. Ho-woo is beautifully believable: he’s smart, but not godlike, and he’s brilliant fun to watch. (It’s fitting that an actor named after Death Note can muster up a great this-is-my-fifteen-step-plan face.) Meanwhile, Seung-jo’s wet-cat gruffness is hopelessly endearing. I can’t wait for these two to keep colliding — and to grow on each other despite themselves!