Contrary to public expectations, Byeonghwa’s ratings were slightly behind tvM’s all-time record. With only two episodes left, the drama had been increasing by an average of 0.5% per episode. Based on that trend, after recording 20.5% at Episode 22, the expected final rating was around 21.5%. In other words, there was a strong possibility it would fall short of the all-time record of 21.7% by about 0.2%.
Even so, media outlets continued publishing articles claiming that Byeonghwa would surpass the record. It wasn’t just the press—similar predictions flooded social media and online communities. The reasoning was simple: dramas typically saw a sharp rise in ratings for their final episode.
From that perspective, it seemed almost certain that Byeonghwa would break the record.
But Taeha didn’t see it that way.
Because the final episode is essentially an epilogue.
The reason final episodes usually achieved higher ratings was anticipation—viewers wanted to see how the central conflict would be resolved. But Byeonghwa was not structured that way. By Episode 23, the main storyline—centered on the war—had already concluded.
Of course, Taeha could have extended that tension to Episode 24 if he had wanted to. The Imjin War and Jeongyu War offered countless battles, figures, and historical elements that could have been explored further. Many viewers had already expressed disappointment about omitted battles such as Jeongamjin, Ichi, Ucheokhyeon, and Yeongcheon. Others pointed out the lack of direct interactions between key characters like Kim Seong-wol, Han Seung-hye, and Yi Sun-sin.
But Taeha had deliberately chosen not to include them.
He had ended the main story at Episode 23 on purpose.
Because, for him, the most important thing was not the war itself—but what came after it.
The lives of the people.
That was the core intention behind Byeonghwa.
As a result, Episode 24 was inevitably structured as an epilogue with lower tension. Taeha knew this would likely affect the final ratings. With the main conflict already resolved, some viewers might lose interest.
Even so, he felt no regret.
If anything, he was satisfied.
Because I’ve told the story I wanted to tell.
And more importantly, Byeonghwa was already an undeniable success. It had even ranked first in Netflix’s simultaneous broadcast rankings. Compared to that, breaking tvM’s all-time record didn’t feel essential.
If not this time, then next time.
That was enough.
Others, however, thought differently. No one seemed to doubt that Byeonghwa would take the number one spot. Messages poured in from all directions, asking Taeha to watch the final episode together. From Song Ji-eun, CEO Han, Kim Seo-an, Im Chan-hyung, Kim Su-jin, and Jo Yong-ho to Kang Sojeong, Han Yun-seong, Lee Seok-hyun, Seon Min-gi, Park Hee-jeong, Lee Hyun-seung, and even the prequel members—nearly everyone reached out.
But Taeha declined them all.
This time, he wanted to watch it alone.
Because there was something he needed to do.
On the day of the final broadcast, instead of heading home, Taeha went to a hospital early in the morning.
It was a university hospital in Seoul.
Inside a quiet consultation room, he sat across from a psychiatrist.
“It’s been a while,” the doctor said. “How have you been?”
This traced back to when Taeha had been filming The Scattered Ones. At the time, he had been curious about one thing—what had happened to the original Kang Taeha.
Then one day, the doctor had called.
“You haven’t been coming to your regular counseling sessions.”
“…Counseling?”
“Yes. For work addiction.”
That was when everything started to make sense.
At first, Taeha had only guessed. Since he himself had died from overwork, it seemed possible that the original Kang Taeha had met the same fate. But there had been no clear evidence—nothing in his belongings or diary suggested psychiatric treatment.
Until now.
After visiting the hospital and confirming it, the truth became clear.
Kang Taeha had suffered from severe work addiction after failing as an idol. It was a psychological condition driven by the pressure to succeed as an actor. And it had only been getting worse.
“I was planning to increase your counseling sessions to once a week,” the doctor had said. “But then you suddenly stopped coming. I was worried… about something like overwork-related death.”
Hearing that, Taeha understood.
And it left a heavy weight in his chest.
He himself had lived into his late thirties and at least glimpsed his dream as a writer before dying. But Kang Taeha had died at just twenty-four—without ever reaching that point.
What drove him that far…?
The thought lingered.
In the end, Taeha chose not to reject the counseling. Just as he had taken on Kang Taeha’s dream of acting, he continued the treatment in his place. Eventually, before starting Your Brilliant Light, he was declared fully recovered.
Even now, he maintained strict work-life balance.
If anything, he was more disciplined than ever.
That was why he had come back today.
The doctor observed him quietly before speaking.
“I heard you’ve been very busy lately—acting, singing, even modeling.”
“Yes. I’ve been busy. Thanks to you.”
“I was worried, to be honest. It didn’t sound like a normal workload. I thought your condition might have relapsed.”
The doctor paused, then smiled.
“But it seems I was wrong. Your expression says otherwise. You look… happy.”
He was right.
Taeha was happy.
Everything he did seemed to work out. Even when he took risks, he succeeded. There was no room to call his life anything but fulfilling.
That was why he had come.
To say he was doing well.
But there was something else he needed to ask.
“…There’s one thing I’ve been wondering,” Taeha said slowly. “If this life I’m living… belongs to someone else… if I’m living the life someone else should have lived… is it okay for me to be happy?”
The doctor didn’t answer immediately.
Then, after a brief silence, he spoke.
“Of course it’s okay.”
Taeha looked up.
“We all live in place of someone else in some way—our parents, our friends, the people around us. Life isn’t something we own alone.”
The doctor’s voice softened.
“If there’s someone you’re thinking of… then live even happier for their sake. That way, their life—whatever it was—will have meaning through you.”
Taeha fell silent.
Then slowly nodded.
He understood.
At least a little.
That night, Byeonghwa aired its final episode.
Though it was structured as an epilogue, no one complained. Instead, viewers expressed a desire to see more of the characters’ peaceful lives. Many also recognized the message Taeha had tried to convey.
Both casual viewers and deep analysts—
all found satisfaction.
And the next day, the final ratings were revealed.
22.1%.
Byeonghwa had broken tvM’s all-time record.