K-Drama Rewind, Twenty Five Twenty One: How Kim Tae-ri and Nam Joo-hyuk's ending left scars, not closure

You don’t quite forget the first K-Drama that betrayed you. 

Twenty Five Twenty One broke its promise. 

Starring the ever-reliable Kim Tae-ri and Nam Joo-hyuk, the story began the lulling—though to be honest, the signs of the ending were always there. But it played all the warm, romantic tricks of sweetness, set up in the narrative of the 1990s, in the aftermath of a financial crisis. Budding fencing star Na Hee-do meets down-and-out Baek Yi-jin, who is trying to start his life again. A friendship slowly develops between the two of them, in a Korea that’s rebuilding itself. Slowly, we begin to see Baek Yi-jin’s smile returning, a sense of reservation ebbing away, as the two make memories of running into fountains, drives, and just learning to see that maybe, just, maybe, life isn’t a blur of grey monotony.

As the years go by, the friendship progresses, obviously—and so, begins the phase of confusing, awkward feelings. It doesn’t dive straight into the recklessness and impulsivity of first love as yet—this is where the show gets surprisingly real. Sometimes, it serves as a comic caper, with Hee-do trying to come to terms with her own feelings, but instead, just blurting it out nervously. And sometimes, there are just quiet confessions. In one significant scene, Baek Yi-jin looks her straight in the eye, and tells her what he feels. The feelings build up to a burning intensity—and then become steady, without them acting out of character.

And then after episode 13—an episode where most fans firmly like to believe it ended—there’s a sudden dramatic switch of gears. The show shed its skin, becoming something raw, almost cruel in its emotional honesty. The romantic comedy suddenly melts away into something far more severe and intense for a show that we believed that we were watching—there is a brutal separation, grief, a sinking depression. You’re almost watching a different show—the tone is more sombre than what it had been before.  Perhaps what’s searing is Yi Jin and Hee-do’s tearful exchange of words, where she accuses him of never loving him, and he just quietly says, “Watch what you’re saying.” 

The ending is far from what anyone hoped for. Many say it’s realistic, the signs were there from the start—it was meant to be about the qualms of first love. It never really leaves us—not the memories, and neither the scars. As the series described: Life does go on, people find their different happy endings—but there’s always a separate, special place for the first love. What could have been. 

Some regrets. A lot left unsaid.  

It was a different time, and they were different versions of themselves. Nevertheless, Twenty Five Twenty One still hurts. Its realism cuts too deeply. Even if it wasn’t the ending we hoped for, perhaps something softer—at least—would have helped.

After all, it’s still a K-Drama. But, clearly life isn't a K-Drama, as the show tried to say.

On another note, beyond the bittersweet love story, Twenty Five Twenty One does take you to the heart of warm friendships, and fencing rivalries. Hee-do’s friendship with Yurim (a fantastic Bona) does take centerstage at several moments, and it is a delight to watch—as the two move on from bitter rivalries to a close friendship. One of the most heartwarming moments, is when the two of them face off in an international championship—even though you can’t see their faces, hidden by the mask—the mask falls eventually, and the two girls break down. The exhaustion of fighting their own is clearly visible, and as they say, “No one knew how hard it was for us to do this.”

Twenty Five Twenty One, deserves a watch. Perhaps more. But that depends on what kind of person you are, and what you really come to K-Dramas for. Nevertheless, watch it for the taut storytelling, at least for most parts, the gentle, realistic depictions of love and friendship, and an uplifting soundtrack.