Some shows make you smile. Some make you cry. And then there are shows like Twenty-Five Twenty-One that leave a quiet ache in your chest—because they remind you of who you used to be, and what you had to leave behind to become who you are.
This isn’t your typical Korean drama. It’s not a fairytale. It’s a love letter to the chaos of youth and the inevitable heartbreak of time.
The Setup: Dreams in a Crisis
Set during the late 1990s IMF financial crisis in South Korea, Twenty-Five Twenty-One begins with Na Hee-do, a fiercely determined high school fencer whose team gets cut due to budget issues. Her idol—and eventual rival—Ko Yu-rim is a national champion from a prestigious school. Hee-do’s dream seems impossible, but her stubborn optimism pushes her to transfer schools and restart her fencing journey.
Enter Baek Yi-jin, the son of a once-wealthy family now torn apart by the financial crash. Once privileged, he’s now delivering newspapers and trying to keep his head above water. When Hee-do and Yi-jin cross paths, they see in each other not what they’ve lost, but what they might still become.
The Characters: Flawed, Fierce, and Fully Alive
Na Hee-do (Kim Tae-ri) is the heart of the series. She’s messy, loud, driven, and wonderfully unfiltered. Kim Tae-ri gives her so much life that you forget you’re watching a performance. Hee-do isn’t written to be likable—she’s written to be real. Her passion often clashes with her immaturity, and her optimism doesn’t always protect her from disappointment. But she never stops growing.
Baek Yi-jin (Nam Joo-hyuk) is more restrained—grappling with guilt, responsibility, and broken dreams. As the oldest child, he’s forced to abandon his own goals to support his family. He tries to stay composed, but his internal struggles crack through his smile. Nam Joo-hyuk plays him with subtle restraint, and while he’s quieter than Hee-do, he’s no less compelling.
Ko Yu-rim (Bona) could’ve been a cliché—a stuck-up rival—but she’s layered and complex. Her pride masks deep insecurity, and her initial coldness gives way to one of the strongest female friendships in the show. Her relationship with Hee-do is tense, raw, and eventually one of the most rewarding parts of the drama.
The supporting cast—from reporter Ji Seung-wan to goofy Moon Ji-woong—round out the story with their own coming-of-age moments. Each subplot deepens the emotional fabric of the series. No one is just comic relief or background noise. Everyone is searching for their place in a world that’s constantly shifting under their feet.
The Love Story: Bittersweet and Brilliant
Yes, Twenty-Five Twenty-One is a romance. But it’s not about “will they or won’t they?” It’s about how they love, and why they eventually can’t stay together—even though they want to.
Hee-do and Yi-jin’s relationship builds slowly. It’s not based on instant attraction but on shared struggle. They don’t save each other—they witness each other. Their love is tender, frustrating, and incredibly moving. They’re not a fantasy couple. They’re a portrait of what it means to love someone while you’re still trying to figure out who you are.
The title itself—Twenty-Five Twenty-One—is a reference to the ages at which they meet again, and the emotional crossroads that defines their final chapter. It’s not about happy endings. It’s about meaningful ones.
The Themes: Growing Up Means Letting Go
At its core, Twenty-Five Twenty-One is about time. About how moments feel eternal when you’re young, and how they slip away when you’re not paying attention. It’s about first love and last chances. It’s about how friendships evolve, how family can let you down, and how ambition can both define you and cost you.
The show is filled with nostalgia—not just for the late ’90s tech and fashion—but for a more innocent way of looking at the world. But it never glorifies youth. It treats it with the respect it deserves: as a time of confusion, chaos, and emotional intensity that most of us can’t help but miss.
The Ending: Real, Painful, and Necessary
Let’s talk about it—the ending. It divided audiences. Some called it anticlimactic. Others found it courageous.
Without giving away too much, the show doesn’t give you a perfect bow-tied conclusion. There are no grand declarations, no “forever” promises. And that’s the point. Some people are only meant to walk with you for a season. That doesn’t make the love any less real.
For viewers used to more typical romantic resolutions, it may feel like a betrayal. But for anyone who’s lived through a formative relationship that shaped them—and still didn’t last—it feels honest.
The Verdict: A Modern Classic
Twenty-Five Twenty-One isn’t just one of the best K-dramas of the last few years. It’s one of the best stories about growing up—period.
It captures the chaos of youth without glamorizing it. It shows how people evolve, drift, reconnect, and sometimes have to say goodbye. It reminds us that not all endings are happy, but they can still be meaningful.
If you’re looking for a drama that sticks with you long after the credits roll, this is it.
