1
This review may contain spoilers
More than a murder mystery
Idol I starts as a mystery but slowly reveals itself to be something much more layered — a story about power, control, and what happens when people are treated as commodities instead of humans.
At its core, this drama is about Ra-ik: a boy pulled into the industry under deeply questionable circumstances, shaped by contracts signed without his consent, and surrounded by people who benefit from his silence. The murder mystery is compelling, but what stayed with me most was how easily the system was willing to let him take the fall.
The early episodes deliberately overwhelm the viewer with suspects, and while the pacing can feel slow at times, it becomes clear this is intentional. The drama isn’t asking us to solve the crime quickly, but to question who benefits when the truth stays buried. When the reveal finally comes, it feels earned and emotionally grounded rather than sensational.
Ra-ik and Maeng Se-na’s relationship is the emotional anchor of the series. Their bond grows quietly, rooted in care, communication, and mutual respect rather than dramatic declarations. Watching Ra-ik learn what real love looks like — and what it doesn’t — is one of the most satisfying arcs of the show.
Se-na’s journey is equally compelling. From emotional suppression to choosing to confront her past and defend those she cares about, her growth is handled with sensitivity. Her fangirl moments in the finale are not only funny, but symbolic — she’s no longer ashamed of who she is or what she loves.
The supporting cast adds depth rather than noise. The prosecutor’s arc, in particular, stands out — choosing integrity over ambition instead of repeating his father’s mistakes. It’s a quiet but meaningful form of growth.
The finale opts for peace and freedom over spectacle. While I would have liked more time spent on Se-na’s father’s retrial, the ending still feels emotionally complete. Idol I isn’t just about solving a murder — it’s about reclaiming agency, breaking free from control, and finally being able to breathe.
At its core, this drama is about Ra-ik: a boy pulled into the industry under deeply questionable circumstances, shaped by contracts signed without his consent, and surrounded by people who benefit from his silence. The murder mystery is compelling, but what stayed with me most was how easily the system was willing to let him take the fall.
The early episodes deliberately overwhelm the viewer with suspects, and while the pacing can feel slow at times, it becomes clear this is intentional. The drama isn’t asking us to solve the crime quickly, but to question who benefits when the truth stays buried. When the reveal finally comes, it feels earned and emotionally grounded rather than sensational.
Ra-ik and Maeng Se-na’s relationship is the emotional anchor of the series. Their bond grows quietly, rooted in care, communication, and mutual respect rather than dramatic declarations. Watching Ra-ik learn what real love looks like — and what it doesn’t — is one of the most satisfying arcs of the show.
Se-na’s journey is equally compelling. From emotional suppression to choosing to confront her past and defend those she cares about, her growth is handled with sensitivity. Her fangirl moments in the finale are not only funny, but symbolic — she’s no longer ashamed of who she is or what she loves.
The supporting cast adds depth rather than noise. The prosecutor’s arc, in particular, stands out — choosing integrity over ambition instead of repeating his father’s mistakes. It’s a quiet but meaningful form of growth.
The finale opts for peace and freedom over spectacle. While I would have liked more time spent on Se-na’s father’s retrial, the ending still feels emotionally complete. Idol I isn’t just about solving a murder — it’s about reclaiming agency, breaking free from control, and finally being able to breathe.
Was this review helpful to you?
