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This review may contain spoilers
A story about second chances, rebuilding gently, and loving someone deeply enough to cross lifetimes
Some shows win us over with their story, others with their visual charm, and a few ones with a kind of chemistry that feels almost alive, something that slips through the screen and lands right in the viewer’s chest. Reset, the Thai BL led by Pond and Peterpan, belongs to that last category. The premise may sound familiar: a man is given the chance to go back in time and fix the mistakes that led him to a tragic end. However, Reset isn’t interested in complicated sci-fi; it wants to talk about love, and it does so with such clear sincerity that resisting it becomes almost impossible.
The setup is simple, almost deceptively so: Armin, an actor undone by the people closest to him, is given a second chance to rebuild himself after a “reset”. On this new path, he crosses Tada’s orbit once more, a CEO who could have easily been just another cold, unreachable archetype; but he isn’t. Tada moves differently, at his own rhythm. He loves through details and bold gestures alike; he observes before speaking; he protects long before admitting it out loud. He is the kind of character who quietly restores one’s faith in romance, perhaps the series’ greatest triumph.
And if the story draws its strength from the bond between its leads, it’s the cast that gives this connection its heartbeat. Pond and Peterpan deliver one of the most natural, luminous chemistries Thai BL has offered in recent years. There is something unpretentious, almost magical, in the way they lock eyes, respond instinctively, improvise without forcing the moment. Pairing Pond, an experienced actor who rarely repeats co-stars, with Peterpan, a newcomer whose emotional openness is genuinely disarming, results in a duo that glows. It’s the kind of dynamic that makes the audience forget they’re watching fiction at all.
The series also succeeds beautifully in placing romance at its emotional center. Every confession, every small act of affection, every quiet moment between them is crafted with almost artisanal care. The more intimate scenes avoid empty explicitness, and instead, lean into emotion, guided by a direction that understands how to balance sensitivity and poetry. Reset handles these moments with such grace that the result often feels unexpectedly, dazzlingly romantic, the kind of tenderness that wells up not from sadness, but from the sheer beauty of witnessing love portrayed with such honesty.
But Reset isn’t carried by its couple alone, and the show knows it. Veynai, Tada’s secretary, could easily have faded into the background, yet he never does. Loyal, softhearted, and always precise, he brings warmth to the workplace and lightness to the drama. He becomes emotional support when needed, but also a steady presence that enriches the world around the leads. And alongside him stands Janine, Armin’s manager, who steals scenes with the same ease he protects his artist. Grounded, intuitive, and fiercely devoted, Janine adds heart to Armin’s journey, offering both guidance and genuine affection. His presence rounds out the emotional core of the series.
Of course, Reset isn’t without flaws. The first half, responsible for building the mystery around the reset and the threats surrounding Armin, falters. The pacing hurries where it should breathe and lingers where it should move on, creating a sense of imbalance that slightly blurs the emotional throughline. Some plot threads feel introduced only to be abandoned later, and the tonal shifts between suspense and romance aren’t always as smooth as they could be, making the early episodes feel less cohesive than the story ultimately deserves.
But the biggest issue is undeniably Thiwthit, the antagonist. Tada’s brother, reworked into the main villain for the adaptation, becomes the show’s weakest link, not only because the writing stretches his motivations thin, but because the performance never fully lands. Emotional moments that should feel tense or unsettling often come across as exaggerated or disconnected, pulling the narrative away from its intended weight. His scenes can be genuinely difficult to sit through, creating spikes of discomfort that clash with the emotional subtlety the rest of the series works so carefully to build.
Still, there is something almost generous in the way the script resolves its heaviest conflicts at the very beginning of the final episode, giving the entire last chapter over to what truly matters: peace. Reset understands the value of letting the audience exhale with its characters, without rushing to tie every loose thread. It’s rare to see a series treat its ending as a quiet celebration rather than frantic damage control; and that choice elevates its finale to something tender and deeply emotional.
And what a finale it is. The hospital scene, the proposal, the lucky necklace carrying whole lifetimes of meaning, and the quiet certainty that their love survived time itself, literally and metaphorically. Armin and Tada finish their journey hand in hand, exchanging words that brush the edge of poetry while never losing the everyday warmth that makes them real. Their happiness feels genuine, almost radiant, and the show embraces it without irony or hesitation. It stands as one of the most moving proposals ever portrayed in a BL drama, a closing chapter that lingers long after the final frame.
In the end, Reset succeeds because it keeps its heart exactly where it should be. It refuses to drown itself in complicated time-travel theories. It answers what needs to be answered and leaves the rest suspended in mystery, the way life often does. Its heart lies not in changing the past but in choosing how to live when given the chance to begin again. And Armin, retracing his steps, finds exactly what had been missing: a love steady enough to guide him back, honest enough to ground him, and strong enough to transform him.
The result is a BL that, even with its imperfections and despite its missteps, emerges as one of the year’s most memorable, standing just a step behind Khemjira in both impact and emotional resonance. A story about second chances, about rebuilding gently, and about loving someone deeply enough to cross lifetimes. Reset isn’t just beautiful, it’s deeply felt. The sort of series that settles softly in the heart and glows there for a while, reminding you of why romance, when done with care, still matters.
The setup is simple, almost deceptively so: Armin, an actor undone by the people closest to him, is given a second chance to rebuild himself after a “reset”. On this new path, he crosses Tada’s orbit once more, a CEO who could have easily been just another cold, unreachable archetype; but he isn’t. Tada moves differently, at his own rhythm. He loves through details and bold gestures alike; he observes before speaking; he protects long before admitting it out loud. He is the kind of character who quietly restores one’s faith in romance, perhaps the series’ greatest triumph.
And if the story draws its strength from the bond between its leads, it’s the cast that gives this connection its heartbeat. Pond and Peterpan deliver one of the most natural, luminous chemistries Thai BL has offered in recent years. There is something unpretentious, almost magical, in the way they lock eyes, respond instinctively, improvise without forcing the moment. Pairing Pond, an experienced actor who rarely repeats co-stars, with Peterpan, a newcomer whose emotional openness is genuinely disarming, results in a duo that glows. It’s the kind of dynamic that makes the audience forget they’re watching fiction at all.
The series also succeeds beautifully in placing romance at its emotional center. Every confession, every small act of affection, every quiet moment between them is crafted with almost artisanal care. The more intimate scenes avoid empty explicitness, and instead, lean into emotion, guided by a direction that understands how to balance sensitivity and poetry. Reset handles these moments with such grace that the result often feels unexpectedly, dazzlingly romantic, the kind of tenderness that wells up not from sadness, but from the sheer beauty of witnessing love portrayed with such honesty.
But Reset isn’t carried by its couple alone, and the show knows it. Veynai, Tada’s secretary, could easily have faded into the background, yet he never does. Loyal, softhearted, and always precise, he brings warmth to the workplace and lightness to the drama. He becomes emotional support when needed, but also a steady presence that enriches the world around the leads. And alongside him stands Janine, Armin’s manager, who steals scenes with the same ease he protects his artist. Grounded, intuitive, and fiercely devoted, Janine adds heart to Armin’s journey, offering both guidance and genuine affection. His presence rounds out the emotional core of the series.
Of course, Reset isn’t without flaws. The first half, responsible for building the mystery around the reset and the threats surrounding Armin, falters. The pacing hurries where it should breathe and lingers where it should move on, creating a sense of imbalance that slightly blurs the emotional throughline. Some plot threads feel introduced only to be abandoned later, and the tonal shifts between suspense and romance aren’t always as smooth as they could be, making the early episodes feel less cohesive than the story ultimately deserves.
But the biggest issue is undeniably Thiwthit, the antagonist. Tada’s brother, reworked into the main villain for the adaptation, becomes the show’s weakest link, not only because the writing stretches his motivations thin, but because the performance never fully lands. Emotional moments that should feel tense or unsettling often come across as exaggerated or disconnected, pulling the narrative away from its intended weight. His scenes can be genuinely difficult to sit through, creating spikes of discomfort that clash with the emotional subtlety the rest of the series works so carefully to build.
Still, there is something almost generous in the way the script resolves its heaviest conflicts at the very beginning of the final episode, giving the entire last chapter over to what truly matters: peace. Reset understands the value of letting the audience exhale with its characters, without rushing to tie every loose thread. It’s rare to see a series treat its ending as a quiet celebration rather than frantic damage control; and that choice elevates its finale to something tender and deeply emotional.
And what a finale it is. The hospital scene, the proposal, the lucky necklace carrying whole lifetimes of meaning, and the quiet certainty that their love survived time itself, literally and metaphorically. Armin and Tada finish their journey hand in hand, exchanging words that brush the edge of poetry while never losing the everyday warmth that makes them real. Their happiness feels genuine, almost radiant, and the show embraces it without irony or hesitation. It stands as one of the most moving proposals ever portrayed in a BL drama, a closing chapter that lingers long after the final frame.
In the end, Reset succeeds because it keeps its heart exactly where it should be. It refuses to drown itself in complicated time-travel theories. It answers what needs to be answered and leaves the rest suspended in mystery, the way life often does. Its heart lies not in changing the past but in choosing how to live when given the chance to begin again. And Armin, retracing his steps, finds exactly what had been missing: a love steady enough to guide him back, honest enough to ground him, and strong enough to transform him.
The result is a BL that, even with its imperfections and despite its missteps, emerges as one of the year’s most memorable, standing just a step behind Khemjira in both impact and emotional resonance. A story about second chances, about rebuilding gently, and about loving someone deeply enough to cross lifetimes. Reset isn’t just beautiful, it’s deeply felt. The sort of series that settles softly in the heart and glows there for a while, reminding you of why romance, when done with care, still matters.
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