oppa_

Calling something “realistic” doesn’t automatically make it good writing.

Realism isn’t the problem — incompetent writing and lazy character development is. When multiple storylines are built up for an entire season and then none of them get proper resolution, that’s not realism, that’s the writers not knowing how to land their own story.

You can absolutely make a realistic ending and still give characters proper closure. Many shows do that. Real life is messy, but storytelling still needs internal logic and payoff. If a character arc starts somewhere, it should lead somewhere. Otherwise it just feels unfinished.

Look at what happened with Game of Thrones. The ending was widely criticized not because it was “realistic,” but because years of character development were suddenly rushed or ignored. Calling a messy ending realistic doesn’t fix weak writing.

If that logic worked, then George R. R. Martin could just drop a terrible ending to A Song of Ice and Fire and say “well, it’s realistic.” That wouldn’t make it good storytelling either.

Realistic stories should actually feel realistically written, not like the writers ran out of time and labeled it “real life.”

So basically nothing was achieved for that female lead.

I was mostly paying attention to Lee Chung Ah’s storyline, and like you said, her husband is still sticking with her even after she cheated and ended up pregnant. That part honestly feels weird.

What actually happens in the end? Does she ever confess to him, or does the husband find out the truth himself? Or does the drama just move on and ignore it because she has plot armor?

Because from what it looks like in Honours, the whole situation just seems to pass without any real consequences for her.

Your explanation makes a lot of sense, and I get what the writer was trying to do with that ending. It’s clearly meant to show how rotten the system is and how even when someone comes close to breaking it, the world simply resets and the powerful walk away almost untouched.

But at the same time, I can’t help feeling the ending is still unsatisfying. After 12 episodes of building up this idea of fighting for the “greater good,” it ends with almost nothing truly changing. The FLs also committed their own questionable acts along the way, yet in the name of realism they face no real consequences either. In a way, that also feels like a kind of plot armor disguised as realism.

Your interpretation reminded me of a couplet by Mirza Ghalib that fits this situation perfectly:

Humko maloom hai jannat ki haqeeqat lekin,
Dil ko khush rakhne ko ‘Ghalib’ ye khayal achha hai.

Which basically means: “I know the truth about paradise, but it’s a pleasant thought to keep the heart happy.”

That’s kind of how this drama feels. We understand the writer’s “truthful” approach and the message they wanted to deliver, but after investing 12 episodes in the story, a small sense of justice or closure wouldn’t have hurt either.

Nice review, you explained the strengths and flaws pretty clearly. I agree with your point about the characters feeling more like a “group unit” than fully independent individuals — that kind of writing usually weakens personal arcs.

Since you seem to understand the story better, would you mind explaining the ending a bit? Especially what it actually means for each of the characters individually. The open ending left me a little confused.

What exactly happened with their personal lives by the end, and what did they really accomplish through the victims’ cases they were working on?

Thanks to you
I completed last two episodes today and was satisfied with the ending.

First of all, thank you for being so polite and for appreciating my reviews. It’s perfectly fine whether you agree or not—we all have different perspectives, principles, and ways of judging what we like or dislike. What matters most is being tolerant of different opinions and valuing them, even when they don’t match our own.

I really appreciate the information that she doesn’t reconcile with him. That makes me curious enough to maybe check out a few of the later episodes, since I do enjoy the FL’s acting, and the SFL has been one of my favorites ever since Attorney Woo Young Woo.

As for the ML, his wooden acting has always been a trait of this actor in the dramas I’ve seen. Sometimes it comes across as amusing, but other times it misses the mark by a wide margin. Honestly, he feels best suited for an “alien who doesn’t understand humans” type of role.

Thanks again for sharing your thoughts—it’s always nice to exchange perspectives like this

i don't think he was capable of love,
slaves cant love freely

don't feel sorry he had his moma....

so she sexual assault him publicly at airport was all good because she was a woman.

low budget,

who give this drama 8
MDL ?

You’re acting like people are crazy just because they’re reacting to a different part of the story than you are. Not everyone consumes a show the same way. Some focus on the crime plot, some focus on the relationship dynamics. That doesn’t make them immoral, jobless, or “incels.” It just means they’re engaging with what stood out to them.
You’re asking people to focus on what you think is more important, but then you insult and judge them for not doing so. That’s a bit ironic. Everyone has the right to like or dislike whatever aspect they want. If someone finds the cheating arc more disturbing or more relevant to them personally, that’s valid. Fiction hits people differently.
Also, calling people “jobless” or saying they have “undeveloped frontal cortex” just weakens your argument. You don’t know who’s on the other side of the screen. For all you know, they could be working professionals, students, or just casual viewers sharing an opinion. Disagreeing with you doesn’t make them trolls.
You’re absolutely right that serious crimes like trafficking and attempted murder are huge issues and deserve attention. But moral betrayal in relationships is also something people care about because it connects to real-life experiences. Both discussions can exist at the same time.
If you want people to engage with your point, try debating it without attacking their character. Once you start insulting everyone who disagrees, it stops being a discussion and just becomes noise.

Whole drama is fiction, ignore everything then...

I hope nothing happens to the baby and that the detective is happy with his family.....?

You mean the writers of show ?

Cop need to be villian to justify FL chesting on him.

Thanks for explaining that — I appreciate it. After reading the episode summaries before, it honestly sounded very different to me. It felt like the father was already living with his son, and the FL just came in and disrupted their life together. And when she questioned his DNA just because he didn’t like her, that really annoyed me.

But knowing now that he wasn’t actually living with his dad and was only visiting changes the whole perspective. In that case, it makes more sense that he was the one stepping into his father’s established relationship and struggling with it, rather than her interfering in an existing father-son dynamic.

With that context, I’d be more willing to give the show a fair chance and watch it properly.

Was Jun Gyeong evil for pushing Daniel out of her boyfriend’s life just because he didn’t like her?

You’re asking viewers to separate personal immorality from professional credibility, but the narrative itself doesn’t separate them. That’s the core issue.

This isn’t just “I dislike cheating.”
The entire story hinges on her actions — and those actions are not primarily about fighting systemic evil or defending her client. They’re about protecting herself.

When she tampers with evidence that could help her own client — not to serve justice, not to dismantle corruption, but to hide her affair — the personal betrayal stops being a side flaw. It becomes a professional breach.

At that point, cheating is no longer a private moral failure. It directly affects the case, the stakes, and the supposed thematic focus.

So how exactly is a viewer supposed to separate her personal life from her professional life when the narrative merges them?

You argue that focusing on cheating is reductive. But here, cheating isn’t a detached moral incident. It motivates evidence tampering. It compromises legal ethics. It endangers a client. It weakens the supposed fight against larger systemic evil.

That’s not reduction. That’s causation.

You say the story is about systemic violence. Fine. But she isn’t consistently shown prioritizing that fight. She prioritizes self-preservation. She prioritizes hiding the affair. She compromises her client to protect herself.

So the question becomes: if she’s comfortable betraying someone she has lived with for years — her husband — why is it unreasonable for viewers to question whether she’d betray a client she’s known for a month?

Trust is cumulative. Betrayal patterns matter.

You’re framing audience discomfort as moral simplification. But for many viewers, the issue isn’t “cheating is wrong.” It’s this:

If a character shows willingness to violate trust in one core area of life, especially without sufficient remorse or consequence, that inevitably affects how we evaluate their reliability in other areas.

And when she literally goes to investigate a case and ends up sleeping with a person connected to it, that’s not ambiguity. That’s a collapse of professional boundaries.

At that point, the audience isn’t shrinking the narrative to cheating.

The narrative itself made cheating structurally relevant.

You can’t ask viewers to treat infidelity as morally separate when the script uses that infidelity to drive legal misconduct. Once she tampers with evidence to conceal her affair, the personal and professional are fused.

And if the show wants us to see her as morally complex but still fundamentally committed to justice, then her actions need to reflect that commitment more strongly than her self-preservation.

Otherwise, the thematic argument about systemic evil weakens — because the protagonist herself becomes ethically indistinguishable from the corruption she’s supposedly navigating.

This isn’t about wanting comfort.
It’s about internal consistency.

If betrayal defines her private life and directly contaminates her professional actions, viewers questioning her credibility isn’t reductive.

It’s logical.

The only one worn out here is you — arguing against things I never even said.

At what point did I say workplace harassment doesn’t exist? Or corruption? Or domestic violence? Please quote me. You’re putting words in my mouth and then debating those imaginary arguments.

My point was simple: this specific character in this specific show did not experience those things as justification for her actions. That’s not denying reality — that’s discussing what was actually written.

You can’t excuse cheating with random social issues the character never faced. “Women are underpaid” — okay, but was she? No.
“Domestic violence exists” — yes, but did her husband abuse her? No.
“Workplace harassment exists” — sure, but was that shown as her motive? No.

The drama shows a wife who is loved, supported, and pampered — and she still chooses to cheat. That’s a character decision. Not systemic oppression. Not trauma. A decision.

And yes, regret is possible. I never said cheaters can’t regret.
But regret is shown through actions, not just dialogue. If you cheat one night and then go back to your ex the very next day, that’s not accountability — that’s continuation.

And the bigger issue: she tampers with a crime scene and steals evidence to hide her affair — actively sabotaging her own client. That’s not “defending victims.” That’s harming them.

Would you hire a lawyer who destroyed evidence that could prove you innocent just to cover up their own affair?

And let me be clear — I respect women a lot. That’s exactly why I’m disappointed in this portrayal. So many dramas repeatedly write women as morally flawed while the male characters are treated like they’re holier than saints. That imbalance is frustrating.

This isn’t prejudice against women. It’s criticism of a badly written character and a double standard in storytelling.

Disagree if you want — just don’t invent arguments I never made.