In Your Radiant Season: Episode 5
by DaebakGrits
With only one episode airing this week, our story decides to focus on our leading man’s efforts to help dig our leading lady out of her personal winter and find her happiness again, but the question that lays heavily on his mind is whether or not knowledge of the past will help or hinder her progress.
Episode 5
After asking Ha-ran whether it would be okay for him to like her, an uneasy silence settles over the car. Chan quickly tries to defuse the awkward moment, hurriedly explaining that he didn’t mean it like that. As for his earlier conversation with his grandmother, he says he only called Ha-ran “off limits” to stop her from playing matchmaker, assuming Ha-ran wouldn’t have appreciated the idea.
Although Ha-ran would probably still resist any matchmaking attempts at this point in the story, there is a noticeable shift in her dynamic with Chan. Ever since her conversation with Sun, who hinted at Chan’s dark past in the United States, Ha-ran has grown more curious about the secrets he’s keeping. So much so that, intentionally or not, she begins revealing more about herself, almost as if trying to prompt him to reciprocate with secrets of his own.
When they pull over to see Woljeonggyo Bridge, for example, Ha-ran confesses that she hates the first snowfall because it reminds her of her parents, who died during the season’s first snowfall. Drawing on what she learned from Sun, she then speculates that the voice Chan once said he missed must have belonged to his mother. Instead of correcting her assumption, though, Chan sidesteps the moment and rather clumsily redirects the conversation to foods shaped like the phases of the moon.
They join the rest of Chan’s team at a hanok-style guesthouse, where Ha-ran’s curiosity only deepens as she observes him interacting with his coworkers. She struggles to reconcile the cheerful, easygoing Chan she sees now with the darker version she’s heard about, leaving her to wonder what really happened in his past. What kind of “suffering” did he go through while in the United States? Since Chan doesn’t seem eager to talk about himself, Ha-ran turns to Ben instead, but he doesn’t know much about Chan’s past either — only that Chan is several years behind in his career because he enrolled at CalArts later than most of his peers.
Ha-ran tries to dig into Chan’s past, but her questions are met mostly with evasive answers. When she asks how he returned to drawing after once quitting, he simply says he “didn’t want to end up a living corpse,” leaving out the turning point — or the impulsive trip to Florence — that helped him reach that realization. Later, Ha-ran’s hypothetical question about time travel prompts Chan to repeat his current mantra of living in the present rather than regretting the past. Yet his response carries a quiet sadness he likely doesn’t intend: it suggests not only that he has no happy memories he wishes to revisit, but also that his memento mori outlook seemingly leaves little room for nostalgia at all.
Although Ha-ran tells Chan that she believes her “free trial” is working since both she and her coworkers, who have joined Chan and his team in Gyeongju, have noticed a change in her personality, I suspect her rapid transformation has less to do with Chan’s deliberate efforts to coax her out of her shell or dispense Pinterest-board-style wisdom. Chan’s approach is centered on helping her live in the present and appreciate what life has to offer.
While that strategy does have some effect, it’s actually her growing curiosity about his past that seems to be driving the shift. Hoping he might reciprocate, she begins sharing more about herself — like how vapor trails remind her of her deceased boyfriend and trigger an urge to travel somewhere — but in the process of revealing the sources of her pain, she ends up confronting that sadness and slowly beginning to heal from it.
Chan, despite his outward cheerfulness, often seems to be faking it until he makes it. I don’t doubt that he has found genuine joy in paying attention to the small pleasures of the present, but he could still learn something from Ha-ran’s growing willingness to revisit old wounds. Part of his reluctance to share his “big secrets” likely comes from the guilt of knowing that his tragic past overlaps, in part, with hers. But his emotional baggage isn’t limited to his college years, and he could at least be more open about the memories that are unrelated to her, like his overbearing father and the loss of his mother.
Instead, Chan limits himself to talking about his recent past and remains intent on keeping his connection to Hyeok-chan a secret. Yet after witnessing Ha-ran’s growing willingness to open up about her own past, he finally begins to question whether he’s doing the right thing. Is withholding the truth the same as lying? (Uhm, in this case, yes.) Seeking advice, he turns to Ben, who reminds him of the story of Aladdin and the genie — the lesson being that the more you gain through what is given, the less you truly gain in the end, because the price inevitably has to be paid.
After his conversation with Ben, Chan wanders away from the beach bonfire and follows Ha-ran to a quiet spot where she’s hunting for shells and trying to sober up. Once again, she shares a glimpse of her past, admitting that she feels creatively blocked without her pen. She used to think it was special because of who gave it to her, but now she thinks she can’t sketch because she lost a tool her hand had grown accustomed to using. (Oh, hello there, metaphor for Ha-ran’s grief.)
Chan sees this as his chance to finally tell the truth, but finding it too difficult, he instead pretends to let her win the right to one of his secrets. Unfortunately, this backfires and she passes out before he ever gets the chance to say anything because she’s a lightweight. After tucking her into bed, he reflects on what nearly happened, but the tinkling of wind chimes distract him. Following the sound, he opens a gate, and new memories — and previously redacted details — come flooding back.
Turns out, part of the reason Hyeok-chan pawned off some of his boyfriend duties — like replying to her messages — was because he’d injured his hand in a laboratory accident. However, his temporary handicap only explains his inability to text — not the fact that he apparently met another girl in the hospital and may have started seeing her. Yes, that’s right: Hyeok-chan was a two-timing scumbag who may have been canoodling with his sidepiece in the laboratory the day of the explosion. (You know, assuming Chan is remembering everything correctly this time.)
The next morning, Ha-ran accuses Chan of pitying her in her hungover state. In response, he compares her to a pet waiting for its old owner, suggesting that he should treat her well so she’ll eventually forget him. While Chan is clearly thinking about Hyeok-chan (the shitty owner she should forget) and the memories he’s regained, Ha-ran assumes he’s mocking her post-drinking appearance. Despite the implied slight, she lets him off the hook — both for the insult and for last night’s promise to share one of his secrets. She decides there’s no need to dig into the source of his scars — metaphorical or literal — to feel like she understands him better.
Chan then rewards her by emptying his pockets Mary Poppins–style, handing her a generous stash of hangover remedies. Even though she claimed she didn’t want to pry into his past, Ha-ran can’t help but wonder if a girlfriend once taught him to be so kind and free-spirited. His answer is telling: “No, I wouldn’t dare,” as if the Ha-ran of seven years ago had been out of reach. This suggests — based on his recovered memories, at least — that he never crossed a line with her. His admiration was one-sided.
While Chan clearly has no intention of revealing Hyeok-chan’s infidelity, he is more than willing to drop sharp metaphors and hint that the past may not be as flawless as she remembers. Rather than searching for vapor trails — a trace of something already gone — in the sky, he tells her to look for colorful nacreous clouds, which will make her excited for the future. In other words, he urges her not to miss the beauty of the present by lingering on the past. To continue this unique form of “therapy,” he gives her a film camera with instructions: for the next ten days, she should take one photograph of something that brings her joy. When he returns to Seoul after finishing his research in Gyeongju, she will share the photos with him.
Her new photography hobby — and her thoughts of Chan — have made her more sociable and cheerful, but Ha-ran still feels creatively blocked. Chan unintentionally comes to her rescue again when he texts her a photo of the nacreous cloud they spotted in Gyeongju. Inspired by its colors, reminiscent of the iridescent mother-of-pearl used in traditional Korean crafts, she creates a design that earns Na-na’s enthusiastic approval. So much so that Na-na decides it’s finally time to start handing the reins of the business over to Ha-ran.
After meeting with her grandmother, Ha-ran notices several missed calls from Chan. At first, she assumes he’s returned from Gyeongju earlier than expected, but when he doesn’t answer her return calls, worry sets in. She remembers how anxious he is behind the wheel. Panicked, she rushes to the café. He isn’t there, but Man-je explains that Chan was called back to the United States and had to catch the earliest flight home.
Though the news eases her immediate panic, Ha-ran feels a pang of sadness at his absence. She picks up the photos she’s developed, only to find that Chan had already taken some shots on the film roll before giving her the camera. Some, like pictures of her playing on the beach with his coworkers, bring a smile to her face, but when she reaches Chan’s selfie, a tear slips down her cheek as she remembers his encouragement to keep enjoying her life, even after he’s gone.
I can’t decide whether having only one episode this weekend helped or hindered the drama. On one hand, this episode felt a bit dragged out because of its repetitiveness; on the other, I’m kind of glad for a break after Episode 5, given that sluggishness. Much of the episode centered on Ha-ran being overly forthcoming about her past in an attempt to coax Chan into revealing more of his backstory. Her approach felt a little transactional and unaware — especially for someone who, until recently, disliked people probing into her history. Then again, Chan is an unusual character, and his present-day zest for life naturally makes anyone curious about the dark, guarded past behind it.
That said, the repetitiveness of the OTP-focused scenes left me a bit frustrated that secondary couples got so little attention. Na-na and Man-je shared just one scene—still better than the complete absence they suffered last week — while Ha-dam’s cute relationship with Yoo-gyum was overshadowed by unnecessary suspicion that he might secretly be dating an idol trainee. If we must have Yoo-gyum keeping Na-na’s health issues a secret, at the very least, can we not have Ha-dam’s (not-so-great) best friend stoking her insecurities and fears that he might get stolen by another woman?
On the bright side, we still have Ha-young and Tae-suk. For a single episode, they got a satisfying amount of blissfully conflict-free screen time (though I would have happily taken more). Ha-young suspects Tae-suk might have feelings for her, but his attentiveness to her entire family makes her doubt that she’s uniquely special. I’m so excited for the moment she realizes just how cherished she is by him. The flashback to when they first met — and the reveal that he keeps her favorite candy on hand just to see her little hop of joy — ugh, my heart! So many squees squealed during that one scene! Such a shame I don’t have the same enthusiasm for our OTP just yet.
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