196. Cinderella's Stepsister

CINDERELLA'S STEPSISTER

Episode 9

They will cut you with that stare. Back away slowly.

I’ll be honest and say I was not a fan of this episode, and it’s not because of what happens at the end. Oh, there was some stellar acting in it, as ever, and I don’t really have a problem with the angst levels. (There’s pointless angst, and then there’s angst that has earned its right to thwart your wishes for happiness because it has built up its tension sufficiently.) It’s not even about the lack of “magic” that characterized early episodes. But I’ll explain more below.



Eun-jo faces her very guilty-looking mother, who has just emerged from the cafe after buying Jang ajusshi off. Ignoring Kang-sook’s offer to explain, Eun-jo storms into the cafe, glaring at every man in the place. Jang ajusshi had the sense to duck away when seeing Eun-jo’s approach, so Kang-sook can breathe a sigh of relief and Eun-jo finds no trace of him.

Out in the stairwell, Jang counts his payoff and tells himself, “Yeah, this is how low you are,” as though to comfort himself for taking the money. He heads down to leave… which is when Kang-sook and Eun-jo step out of the cafe and run right into him.


Kang-sook had been able to regain her cool after Eun-jo saw that nobody was inside the cafe, but now her eyes widen in shock. What do you suppose the chances are that Eun-jo will believe this is a coincidence?



Voiceover gives us a look into Ki-hoon’s thoughts as he enters Eun-jo’s room tentatively and looks around. He notes that there are no pink curtains, no fancy lipsticks, no frills for this 26-year-old young woman. No sign either of a ridiculous doll he might be able to laugh at.



He thinks back to how she smiled while watching Jung-woo dancing goofily for her, and narrates in that dull, bleak voice: “I thought she didn’t know how to smile… awful girl.”


He goes back to the room he shares with Jung-woo and sees that it’s empty. He wonders, “Where has this guy gone? Is he off making that awful girl laugh?” Jung-woo’s knapsack falls when Ki-hoon sits down, and Ki-hoon sees the childish message scrawled on the baseball bat: “Song Eun-jo is Han Jung-woo’s woman forever.”


Hyo-sun comes in to see Ki-hoon’s gaze fixated on the bat on the ground, and she reads the message. Aside from the fact that this reveals Jung-woo’s feelings, there is also the realization that Jung-woo and Eun-jo must go back a long while if he knew her as a Song rather than a Gu.

Ki-hoon puts the bag back and walks out, silent.



At this memory of the past, Hyo-sun goes into her old trunk of her mother’s things. Inside is the letter she’d never delivered to Eun-jo, which reads differently than the words we’d seen before about Ushuaia. Ki-hoon narrates the contents for us while he thinks back to the day he boarded the train and left:

Ki-hoon’s letter: “Will you hold onto me? If you hold me, I can stop here. Before I get on the train, hold me back, Eun-jo.”

Believing she received the letter and ignored it, Ki-hoon thinks that even though he knew Eun-jo was tough, “I didn’t know she would so simply ignore my earnest request to hold me back.”


Eun-jo et al relocate to an outdoor pavilion to have this conversation. Isn’t it funny how, while in the throes of anger and/or passion, characters still always make the time to relocate to scenic environs?

Kang-sook tells Eun-jo it’s all over, which Jang ajusshi confirms. Eun-jo asks if they’ve been seeing each other this whole time, and it’s hardly any consolation at all when Jang clarifies that there were three years in the middle when they didn’t see each other. After all, that proves that even if Kang-sook were to end it with him today, she may just end up back with him later.

Kang-sook recognizes that Eun-jo won’t believe her no matter what she says, not that Eun-jo has any reason to trust her words. Eun-jo asks her mother if she would believe herself when every word that comes out of her mouth is a lie, questioning whether her mother even knows how to be sincere in anything.



Eun-jo accuses her mother of making a fool of Dae-sung and thinking she’d gotten away with it. Kang-sook retorts that she paid Jang ajusshi off to get him to leave — giving someone money to leave means that you’ve made a decision. At least in her world, where money is always the final word.

At that, Jang levels a stare at her and puts the envelope back in her hand, saying he’ll get lost without taking the money. Like he’s not going to accept this version of himself after all, like he’s better than that. He tells her, “However low I may be, I know what shame is.”


Kang-sook prepares Dae-sung’s hanyak (Oriental medicine) for him, as she has been diligently doing daily. She expresses her concerns like a dutiful wife, but Dae-sung’s reaction is contained, as though her confession about using him for money has made him unable to pretend it away.

Dae-sung is planning to work late, but Eun-jo takes her mother aside to tell her — request, even — to take him home, because there has been a problem with the factory and she doesn’t want to upset him. In fact, it would be best to take him away on a vacation and keep him away from phones, because he’s not supposed to receive any emotional shock in his condition.



The issue is with their rice supplier, which has suddenly decided it cannot sell to them anymore, as they have sold their rice elsewhere. The factory cannot just switch to a different brand, because their product is advertised as solely using organic rice from this particular region.

Eun-jo handles this situation in her usual manner, which is to say badly — her first reaction is to go on the offense and attack the rice company director for breaching the contract with their company. The director points out that they’d never made a contract so he has broken no agreement. He doesn’t answer their question of who bought the rice instead.

He dismisses this meeting, but Hyo-sun steps in to try using her only (known) marketable skill, which is to pour on the cute act. She reminds the ajusshi that she used to come by as a little girl, and he used to buy her candies. Won’t he take a little time to just have one drink with them?



I don’t mean to disparage Hyo-sun’s tactic, because it’s certainly more diplomatic and if anything she’s much better than Eun-jo at managing (some might call it manipulating) people. You catch more flies with honey, and such as.

Hyo-sun drinks makgulli with the director, who has enough wine to turn his nose bright red and ease his stiff demeanor. Once his mood has been softened, Hyo-sun asks whom he sold the rice to. We don’t hear the answer but our characters do, and Eun-jo wants to spring into action immediately.



Ki-hoon argues against it — even if they go to the buyer right now, she’ll probably be confrontational like she was with this director. Hyo-sun wakes up from the backseat — is the timing by chance, or by design? — to ask groggily, “Oppa, I did good today, didn’t I?” He tells her she did.

Ki-hoon says he’ll take Hyo-sun tomorrow to meet with the rice buyer, which means this hurts on two levels for Eun-jo — he’s overruling her decision and also indicating that Hyo-sun is the better facilitator. Eun-jo protests, but Ki-hoon tells her, “She’s much more capable than you. You can’t open people’s hearts.”



His words take on a personal meaning — he’s definitely not just talking about the rice company ajusshi now — as he adds that she can’t figure anything out. His voice has a bitter edge.

Angered, Eun-jo orders Ki-hoon to pull over, then gets out of the car to walk. And Ki-hoon just drives on.

A little part of me dies (the part of me that stubbornly clings to the Eun-jo/Ki-hoon romantic pairing) when he leaves her there, even as a part of me appreciates that a character who makes a big gesture like this is not coddled for it. As with Hyo-sun earlier, by driving on, he forces her to own up to her move. If Eun-jo feels the teeniest twinge of surprise or disappointment — and I’m pretty certain she does — she’s not being honest about the motivation driving her action. Perhaps she wants him to come after her, and to push past her barriers like he used to do. But back then, he hadn’t felt wounded by her, as he does now.



When she finally gets home, Ki-hoon is waiting in front of the gate, with one question to ask: “Back then, before I left this house, why didn’t you come to the train station? Did you not get my letter?” Eun-jo doesn’t betray her shock, and answers evenly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He furrows his brow: “I wrote a letter asking you to come to the train station and gave it to Hyo-sun to give you. Did she… not give it to you?” Eun-jo stares with gaze averted, almost like she’s lost in her thoughts. But she answers, “I got it.”

What in the WHAT now?

Ki-hoon asks her if she really did, wanting confirmation. Eun-jo replies coldly that she can’t remember if she ripped it up or burned it, acting like it was unimportant enough to forget. Now his voice betrays his hurt as he asks, “You read it and still didn’t come?”

Now she looks at him wearing a smirk. A big, hateful smirk.



Eun-jo tells him in that taunting voice not to act pathetic, which is a bit like kicking a wounded puppy when it’s down. Ki-hoon has just opened up to you after all this solo brooding — good lord it’s taken long enough — and right away you lie? But even though she strives to sound cool, she gets more and more heated as she yells that she has nothing to give of the past, so don’t beg.



We know she’s acting in self-preservation but Ki-hoon doesn’t, and when they retreat to their own rooms, both are feeling pain over the exchange. Eun-jo seems stunned with her own words, falling to the floor and sobbing to herself.



And see… this is where Eun-jo loses me. Oh, I get why she did this, on a logical level. I just really hate that she did, and that the drama writer is taking her character in this direction. More on this later.

In the morning, Eun-jo glares at Hyo-sun with new anger, now knowing that she interfered with Ki-hoon’s letter.



Kang-sook takes Dae-sung away for a vacation and keeps him from calling the factory, assuring him that the kids will handle it.

Eun-jo waits impatiently for word from Ki-hoon and Hyo-sun, who are meeting with the people who bought the rice. When the call finally comes, the news is not good: they can’t buy the rice back, because the buyer paid triple the price. There’s no way they can match that.

Hyo-sun wants to tell her father, as this has grown too big to handle behind his back. Eun-jo disagrees violently but loses this fight, so Dae-sung gets the bad news and decides to head back to the factory. There’s a nice moment when Kang-sook grabs his arm as they walk, and Dae-sung tells her she doesn’t have to because he doesn’t want to feel like a patient. She answers that she’s not doing it because he’s a patient; she’s doing it because she wants to. For the first time since his big disillusionment, Dae-sung lets out a small smile, pleased to hear this.



Jung-woo plays with Jun-su while casting worried looks Eun-jo’s way, as she seems ready to burst with the tension. He brings her honey tea, lapsing into his country accent and talking in his lightly teasing way to get her to drink it.

He accompanies her to the bank to inquire into taking out a loan. She is told that the answer will come by the following morning.



Jung-woo tells her to use his money, reminding her of his savings that he had given to her — he’ll take responsibility for her life. She smiles; he’s so cute, and also so simple. When I was in elementary school, I remember my mother worrying over finances, and I offered up my piggybank savings — ever-so-magnanimously! — as though that would solve the grown-ups’ problems. I think my mom laughed at me too.

Although they haven’t gotten the loan yet, Hyo-sun disagrees strongly with taking that route. Eun-jo points out that the scandal over the spoiled makgulli was a huge blow, and if they don’t recover now, it’ll be even more difficult for them to bounce back.


It’s an odd sensation to have Hyo-sun be the voice of reason, as she takes issue with Eun-jo acting unilaterally without telling anyone, and demands what’ll happen if they can’t pay back the loan.
Eun-jo is convinced that they can get back on their feet if they overcome this hurdle, but Hyo-sun asks how she can know that.

Eun-jo loses me a little more as she asks her sister snidely, “If I know the answer, how come you don’t? How can you not know?” What, is she psychic?



Eun-jo reminds Hyo-sun that her father’s name is on the line, and Hyo-sun bursts out, “Don’t act like you’re thinking of my father!” She tells Eun-jo not to invoke her father’s name like she knows better than Hyo-sun what it means. Don’t be a hypocrite. She should just be honest and admit that she’s trying to increase her own role in the company. And if not, then declare that it’s not.

Okay, so that accusation of Eun-jo leveraging her position is a little unfair. These ladies are making it mighty hard to choose sides, which I suppose is the point. But it’s a kdrama! I must have sides! How else will I know which one to wish fiery death by volcano upon?

In response to Hyo-sun’s charges, Eun-jo asks, “How can you know my feelings that well when I don’t even know them myself? What are you so afraid of that you keep telling me to reveal my inner thoughts?” Is she afraid Eun-jo will supplant her? Or is she afraid Eun-jo will take everything and leave nothing for her?

I don’t think she’s too far off from the truth — even if it’s not something Hyo-sun is willing to admit aloud, or even to herself — and Hyo-sun’s face takes on a defensive expression. Eun-jo declares that even if she were harboring secret intentions, she’d never reveal them to Hyo-sun, who is “childish and horrible.” Caustically, she adds, “The fact that I’m letting you off this easy is because you’re your father’s daughter.”


This whole argument has been heated, but Hyo-sun takes particular offense at this and ups the temperature even more. She grasps Eun-jo’s arm tightly and orders her to repeat herself. She’s childish and horrible?

Eun-jo bites out that she is — even thinking about the horrible consequences of that very childishness is enough to drive her crazy. Cryptic words belie untold truths here, and Hyo-sun demands to know what she’s referring to. Eun-jo asks Hyo-sun if she really wants to know, if it’s something she won’t regret, already smirking in anticipation of her reaction.



Eun-jo says, “His letter. Why did you hide it and not give it to me?” Hyo-sun swallows, the only hint that she understood the question. With barely contained contempt, Eun-jo continues, “It’s disgusting for me to even stand next to you, who have made me finally say these words, but the reason I’m letting it slide isn’t because of you, but because you are your father’s daughter.”

Eun-jo considers this the end to their little chat, but Hyo-sun’s not done yet and holds her back. Shrewdly, she asks, if Eun-jo is referring to hiding Ki-hoon’s letter as evidence of Hyo-sun’s “childishness,” then what exactly were those “horrible consequences”?


Hyo-sun and Eun-jo both know what the answer is — that her separation from Ki-hoon hurt her more than she wants to admit. Eun-jo would rather cut off an appendage than bare her soul to Hyo-sun, but can’t back down from this challenge. She starts to reply, “The first time that I ever, in my life…”

But that’s too earnest and Eun-jo lets fall a tear. She cuts herself off and says that it won’t change things now; she refuses to be “the main character in the story of step-sisters fighting over one man.” She adds, “I’ve stepped out of that story a long, long time ago. I won’t step back in.”

But now it’s her turn to grab Hyo-sun close, and Eun-jo taunts: “You’ll have to be careful. He seems like he hasn’t been able to forget me. Isn’t that interesting?”

Eek, shivers. This scene made me think that it must be challenging for these two actresses to fake hatred so well, or wonder if a tiny bit of their characters’ antipathy must inevitably seep into real life.



Ki-hoon reports to his father on the health of Dae-sung’s company, deeming it likely to spring back soon. He explains that there is an employee, Eun-jo, who is working on developing a new type of yeast, and as she is determined and smart, it will only be a matter of time before she succeeds. That yeast will be a crucial part of the company, and they must claim that as well.

The one sign that Ki-hoon isn’t as heartless about his takeover as he might otherwise appear is in how he loses himself in thought when talking about Eun-jo, letting out a bitter comment about how she’s so persistent.

He asks his father to find out who bought up the rice, and asks him to fund loans to the company, “Since it’s ours anyway.”

(He’s a double agent, for sure — but for which side? If only he would TALK MORE.)


With his father’s loan (offered through a bank, so the Gu family doesn’t know it’s coming from Hong Ju), Dae-sung is able to purchase the rice and production resumes. The family sighs in relief for the moment.

(Re: the above screencap: I give Hyo-sun full credit for loving her father genuinely, but I don’t think that precludes her from knowing that it can also be a tool to use against Eun-jo. She wields Dae-sung’s love like a weapon.)

Eun-jo wants to hurry back to her lab, but Dae-sung asks her to eat with them. She declines, so Hyo-sun asks her in a sweet voice, keeping up the ruse that they get along for Dae-sun’s benefit.



Under their breaths, however, they mutter to each other. Hyo-sun glares, saying that she won’t stand to see her father being hurt if Eun-jo goes off like this: “I won’t let you go. Eat and go, you bitch.”

(Language note: Ki-hoon often calls Eun-jo “나쁜 계집애” which I have been translating as “you awful girl.” Given his intonation and context, he means it half-bitterly, half-affectionately, so it doesn’t have much sting. Hyo-sun uses the same term here but with spite, which elevates the slur from a mere “awful girl” to “bitch.” In Korean, some words can be turned into swears by their context, and this is one case.)


Dae-sung is in a good mood at lunch, drinking freely. Eun-jo tells him to stop drinking and takes the cup from him, then invites Hyo-sun to drink. She makes the offer with the air of a challenge, and Hyo-sun drinks, then pours a cup for Eun-jo in return. They go back and forth, and the exchange fills the air with tension, particularly when Hyo-sun instructs Ki-hoon to take her father home; she’s got some drinking to do with sister dearest.

Ki-hoon reminds Hyo-sun that Eun-jo can’t drink much, and if anything is likely to goad Eun-jo on, it’s sympathy (over a perceived weakness, to boot).



Some time later, both sisters are drunk. Hyo-sun asks, “Won’t you leave our house?” Her tone is plaintive rather than angry, and Hyo-sun says things like “I hate you to death” in the voice of a child who is upset not to have gotten her way. Eun-jo reminds her that she used to say she liked her to death, and followed her around, which Hyo-sun denies.

Hyo-sun asks again, seriously, for Eun-jo to leave, offering up her old apartment in Seoul. Eun-jo could get a job anywhere with her skills, and if not, Hyo-sun can even send her money. She finds the sight of Eun-jo’s face horrible, which is a sentiment Eun-jo returns.

But Eun-jo says no. Did she just think she’d agree? It was Hyo-sun who wanted to get this sister showdown going and see who won — does she suddenly feel like she’s going to lose? Eun-jo warns, “If you keep this up, I’m really going to steal everything from you.” She’ll take the company, her father, and “him.”

Hyo-sun says, “That was the truth from the beginning.” (Like Eun-jo wanted to prove that Teenage Hyo-sun was no sweetheart, Hyo-sun wants to prove that Adult Eun-jo isn’t a hardworking darling.)

Hyo-sun calls her Song Eun-jo, but Eun-jo corrects her — she’s a Gu now. She adds that even if her last name isn’t a big deal, the fact that Hyo-sun keeps picking at those things makes her want to retort, “Oh, yeah? Then shall I see how much I really CAN take from you?”



They both stagger out of the restaurant in little drunken zigzags, which is mildly hilarious. Even though she’s drunk (or perhaps because of it), Hyo-sun follows her big sis. Old habits die hard. The pair look like two whirly tops making their dizzy way across the floor, all the way to the laboratory.

Hyo-sun passes first, slumping on the floor. Eun-jo tries to pull her off the ground, but falls over and ends up passing out on her sister’s shoulder.



By nighttime, Dae-sung is worried to death about the missing girls and orders the boys to find them. A phone call from Japan spins his worries in another direction, however, with puzzling and unfortunate news: The boat carrying their makgulli shipment to Japan arrived, but somehow their product has not.



Ki-hoon is about to check with the Japanese office, but Dae-sung tells him that there is no such office. He reels from the shock.



It turns out all their business documents were faked. Ki-hoon suspects his father, but President Hong tells him that it was Ki-jung. Hong hadn’t known about it, and has just found out the truth himself.



So Ki-hoon calls Big Bro, asking if that’s how badly he wanted to have the company. He didn’t think Hong Ju would stoop this low — this is cheap back-alley stuff.

And just as he levels these charges against him, he becomes aware of a presence in the room. Dae-sung stands behind him, having heard the whole thing.


Dae-sung asks, angry in his quietly dignified way, “This is your family’s doing?”

Ki-hoon had hung up the call when realizing Dae-sung’s presence, and now the phone rings. Dae-sung picks up to hear Ki-jung launching into a diatribe against his brother, acknowledging that Ki-hoon one-upped him with the rice deal, using Dad’s money to buy it back. He concedes one round to his father and brother, but warns that Ki-hoon had better not relax — how long does he think he can hold out?


Ki-hoon has been standing stock-still during this call, as though awaiting Dae-sung’s judgment. And when it comes, it’s harsher than he was hoping for. Dae-sung says, with difficulty, “How could you do this to me?”

Ki-hoon is stricken to have Dae-sung believe the worst of him — however true the imputation, he never meant it in this way, and perhaps he had convinced himself that his motives were pure and therefore his takeover scheme justified.

But he doesn’t get a chance to defend himself, as Dae-sung collapses.


Jung-woo races to the lab, where he rouses the two sleeping sisters. They run to the hospital, arriving just behind Kang-sook. Ki-hoon has been there from the start, but he feels so wretched that he just stands in the back, numb with shock.

The doctor confirms Dae-sung’s death, but Kang-sook does not accept this and calls out to her husband, preventing the doctor from drawing up the bedsheet to cover his face.


Not getting a response, Kang-sook directs Hyo-sun to shake him, to “make him not sleep.”


Trembling, Hyo-sun calls out to her father. At first tentative, her cries grow heartbroken as she realizes that he’s not going to wake.

Eun-jo stands in shock, recalling all the moments Dae-sung reached out to her, and how he had asked her to call him Dad.



When Hyo-sun breaks down over her father’s body, Kang-sook tries to pull her away from the body. Still in denial, she tells her to be quiet, like Hyo-sun’s grief makes this real. But as she screams for quiet, the truth starts to sink in with her, too.

Jung-woo puts a consoling arm on Eun-jo’s shoulder, but she hardly even notices.


All the while, Ki-hoon watches, frozen in guilt, with his face half-obscured by the wall like he wants to go hide but can’t pull himself away, either. He narrates in a desolate voice:

Ki-hoon’s narration: “I did this. In one morning, I stole away the father of those beautiful girls. I swear to god, I didn’t mean to do this.”



Numbly, Eun-jo turns and walks away. She walks down the darkened stairwell, where she sinks onto a step and starts to cry. Thinking of how Dae-sung had asked her to call him “abeoji” (father), she starts to sob, trying to utter those words that come so easily to Hyo-sun, “A… a…”



COMMENTS

Ever since Hyo-sun started with the voiceovers, I’d been expecting them from the other characters. The fact that they waited till now to give us Ki-hoon’s side of the narrative coin shows a confidence in their pacing — it’s a slow burn, not a race to the finish, which suits this drama. I just hope they’ve got enough left in the tank to make it to the end.

I fear I may be in the minority, but I’ll voice this unpopular opinion:

I am starting to not like any of these characters, except for perhaps Jung-woo, but that’s not really a sterling recommendation since he is so shallowly written as to be necessarily benign. There are aspects I like about everyone, but I need more to go on in order to counter the nastiness that is emerging. The strife does spice things up, but it becomes problematic when the characters’ flaws create frustrating narrative obstacles that are, in my opinion, frustrating for the sake of being frustrating.

Example? Eun-jo lying about never getting Ki-hoon’s letter.

Yes, I can see why she lied. I can even offer a half-convincing argument defending her choice, because she was so pained by the loss of Ki-hoon eight years ago that she cannot bear to re-open that wound. That’s not too far off from her typical M.O., which is to cut her losses and run. Better to cauterize that sucker and walk around with a huge scar than to risk greater injury, even if that way lies potential happiness. In her world, the odds aren’t in her favor anyway and she doesn’t know she’s the heroine of the story so she’s better off, right? Her reaction after she retreats to the safety of her room is one of shock — like the news is just sinking in. This suggests that she’d tossed out her cruel words in a numbed daze, throwing up all of her defenses hurriedly without letting the hurt have a chance to seep in or reveal itself.

So yes, I get it. Still, I’m tired of it. Eun-jo’s traumas have been excellently portrayed by Moon Geun-young, who has done as much as she can to sympathize the character. But her constant pride and anger are starting to make her — dare I say? — predictable. And with predictable comes boring. At some point you sorta want to tell a person that a miserable past is too bad and all, but when are you going to suck it up and move on? You know how it’s tiresome to listen that guy who’s been burned by a girl announcing that all girls are therefore evil/bitches/slut-ho’s? One bad person — or two, or three — doesn’t poison all of mankind. I know, I know, Kang-sook is a toxic presence and Hyo-sun’s a brat, and it’s haaaard, wah wah.

This doesn’t mean I dislike the drama. I just find it perplexing to watch at this point because I have nobody to root for, nobody to hope gets his/her act together.

I can see how some viewers may consider this ambiguity a positive thing, but on some basic level I need to find my characters relatable and/or enjoyable. One or the other will suffice, though both is preferable. This is a good drama, but it’s still a drama with a conventional storytelling format, and that necessitates protagonist-antagonist conflict. When it’s just antagonist-antagonist, it gets a bit painful to watch and I start to check out.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jumping off this train. But if things continue in this vein, I’ll be watching Cinderella’s Sister for the entertainment value and virtuoso acting, but not so much for the heart-tugging emotion. Dae-sung’s death left me cold, and if I couldn’t cry at HIS death, then what hope have I for the rest of the much-less-likable cast? (Of course, this could be because his death was spoiled multiple times in the comments of the previous recap, which does tend to suck all the fun out of a big event.)

(I can’t wait to see if girlfriday disagrees with me! THAT ought to make for an interesting recapping one-two punch, eh?)