K-Drama Rewind, W Two Worlds: Lee Jong-suk, Han Hyo-joo write a mad romance across a collapsing multiverse

'It's a pity we did only four romantic things. I had over a hundred planned.'

 Lee Jong-suk’s Kang Cheol stands on the edge of a building roof, while saying these words to Han Hyo-joo’s Oh Yeon-joo, who has just been instructed to literally rewrite her own love story. And he jumps off the building, returning to his own web-toon world without any memories of the few days he had spent with Yeon-joo.

It is one of the many emotional turning points in W Two Worlds, a drama that straddles reality and fiction. Yeon-joo’s father is the author of the webtoon in which Kang Cheol is the main protagonist, accused of murdering his parents. The real killer is still at large, and Yeon-joo finds herself pulled repeatedly into the webtoon world, much to Kang Cheol’s shock. Inevitably, the two fall in love, only to realise their relationship is fracturing the narrative itself—while the murderer remains a looming threat. Kang Cheol, desperate to save everyone, begs Yeon-joo to rewrite her memories. Watching it unfold is painful.

The two invariably fall in love, only to realise that their love story is not only fracturing the web-toon’s plotlines, but the murderer is still out there. And so, Kang Cheol hopes to save everyone by asking Yeon-joo to rewrite her memories, with little success. That’s painful to watch.

The writing is sharp and deliberate, packed with slick twists as the boundaries between reality and the webtoon world blur. It poses a thrilling question: How would someone feel if they discovered their fate had been written by another—someone who scripted their life as a tragedy filled with trauma and regret?

Kang Cheol unravels when he learns his parents were killed not by a real person, but by the stroke of a pen, sending him into a spiral of rage and bitterness. Yeon-joo repeatedly rescues him—from both danger and himself—much to his early irritation. And the narrative adds another riveting layer: What happens to side characters when they’re no longer needed? They simply fade away. That angle was impressive.

However, after the first five episodes, the story begins to wobble. It gradually loses the crispness that made it so addictive, and the dialogue starts to feel hollow as the pacing becomes rushed. The romance, once fresh and deeply felt, becomes abruptly truncated. Ironically, the show reflects its own writer’s crisis: how do you craft a satisfying ending when the narrative keeps slipping away?

The thematic weight evaporates as the plot bounces repeatedly between the two worlds, recycling the same ideas until the characters themselves lose conviction. Most disappointing of all is Yeon-joo—introduced as a capable surgeon but reduced to a fainting damsel in distress more times than one can reasonably count.

Despite its later stumbles, W Two Worlds is remembered, for its sheer audacity. Few dramas have dared to dissect storytelling itself—its power, its consequences, and its casualties. Even with a wobbly second half, the first episodes shine brightly enough to make the series worth the ride. It’s messy, ambitious and emotional.