When Netflix announced its adaptation of the gritty webtoon Plaza Wars under the title Mercy for None (광장), expectations soared. Could a streaming platform known for glossy K-dramas handle a story steeped in blood, betrayal, and broken men? The answer, resoundingly, is yes. This eight-episode saga isn’t just a crime thriller—it’s a haunting character study of a man unraveling himself to stitch together the tattered remnants of his morality.
A Plot Anchored in Pain
At its core, Mercy for None is a revenge story, but it’s one that twists the trope into something far more introspective. Nam Gi-jun (So Ji-sub), a former Bongsan Gang enforcer, has spent years hiding from his past after severing his Achilles tendon to escape the criminal underworld. His younger brother Gi-seok (Lee Joon-hyuk), now a rising star in the rival Joowoon Gang, becomes the catalyst for chaos when he’s brutally murdered. Gi-jun’s quest for answers forces him to confront old allies and enemies, including Bongsan’s ruthless heir Koo Jun-mo (Gong Myung) and Joowoon’s calculating boss Yoon Tae-joo (Huh Joon-ho).
What sets the narrative apart is its refusal to glorify vengeance. Gi-jun’s journey is less about cathartic retribution and more about confronting his complicity in the violence that shaped his life. Flashbacks to his days as a Bongsan enforcer reveal a man who once believed in loyalty but now sees the hollowness of gangland codes. The script, penned by Yoo Ki-sung (The Devil Judge), weaves these timelines with precision, using Gi-seok’s death as a mirror to reflect Gi-jun’s own moral decay.
Performances: A Symphony of Silence and Screams
So Ji-sub delivers a career-best performance as Gi-jun, his weathered face and guarded eyes speaking volumes. In a role that demands restraint, he conveys decades of regret through micro-expressions—a twitch of the jaw, a lingering stare. His physicality is equally compelling; even in fight scenes, his movements feel weighted by guilt, as though every punch is a penance.
The supporting cast matches his intensity. Gong Myung’s Koo Jun-mo is a revelation—a privileged heir whose calm demeanor masks a feral hunger for dominance. His scenes with Gi-jun crackle with unspoken tension, as two generations of violence collide. Huh Joon-ho, as Joowoon’s patriarch, brings Shakespearean gravitas to his limited screen time, while Lee Beom-soo’s turn as Bongsan’s ailing leader adds tragic depth to the power struggle.
Special mention goes to rookie actress Park Ji-young as Detective Kang, whose subplot investigating Gi-seok’s death provides a grounded counterpoint to the gangland theatrics. Her weariness—a cop drowning in a city that rewards corruption—offers a subtle critique of systemic apathy.
Direction and Aesthetic: Seoul as a Character
Director Choi Sung-eun (Beyond Evil) crafts a Seoul that feels alive yet suffocating. The city’s neon-lit alleys and sterile high-rises become metaphors for duality—progress built on exploitation, beauty masking rot. Cinematographer Kim Ji-yong’s use of chiaroscuro lighting heightens the noir atmosphere, with Gi-jun often framed in shadows even in daylight, symbolizing his moral limbo.
Action sequences are visceral but never gratuitous. A standout knife fight in Episode 3, shot in a single take, unfolds in a claustrophobic convenience store, aisles of snacks becoming improvised weapons. The choreography emphasizes desperation over flair, each slash and grunt underscoring the characters’ raw survival instincts.
The score, a mix of dissonant strings and minimalist piano, mirrors Gi-jun’s fractured psyche. Silence is wielded like a weapon, particularly in the finale’s climactic confrontation, where the absence of music amplifies every ragged breath.
Themes: The Cost of Loyalty
Mercy for None interrogates the concept of loyalty—to family, to brotherhood, to oneself. Gi-jun’s relationship with Gi-seok is the emotional core, with flashbacks revealing a brotherhood fractured by choices. “You left me to clean up your mess,” Gi-seok snarls in one memory, a line that reverberates through Gi-jun’s quest.
The series also explores cyclical violence. Gang hierarchies are portrayed as ouroboros-like, devouring their own to sustain power. A subplot involving a young recruit torn between Bongsan and Joowoon mirrors Gi-jun’s past, suggesting that escape is a myth—only the players change.
Adaptation Choices: Fidelity and Innovation
Fans of the webtoon will appreciate the adaptation’s loyalty to Gi-jun’s arc and the unflinching violence of gang politics. However, the screenwriters wisely condense subplots involving secondary characters (like Gi-seok’s romantic entanglements) to maintain narrative momentum.
One bold choice is the expanded role of Koo Jun-mo, who in the webtoon is a minor antagonist. Here, he becomes a foil to Gi-jun, embodying the generational shift in organized crime—less bound by tradition, more driven by narcissistic ambition. His final scene, set against the glass walls of a luxury penthouse, is a masterstroke of visual storytelling.
Critique: Pacing and Emotional Distance
The series isn’t without flaws. Midway through, the pacing sags as the plot juggles too many threads, including a underdeveloped romance between Gi-jun and a nurse (Kim Ji-eun) that feels tacked on. Additionally, the emotional beats occasionally lack resonance, particularly in Gi-seok’s flashbacks, which needed more screen time to fully land their impact.
Final Verdict
Mercy for None is a triumph of mood and character, elevated by So Ji-sub’s magnetic performance and Choi Sung-eun’s atmospheric direction. While it stumbles in balancing its sprawling ensemble, the series ultimately delivers a poignant meditation on redemption—or the lack thereof. The finale, which leaves Gi-jun’s fate hauntingly ambiguous, lingers like a phantom limb, a reminder that some wounds never heal.