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| The Drama Delivers a Cold, Calculated Finale with Bigger Questions Left Behind (Photo: Hulu) |
K-drama Made in Korea (메이드 인 코리아) has officially wrapped its six-episode run on Disney+, closing the door on a gritty 1970s-set political action thriller that never aimed to comfort its viewers. Directed by Woo Min Ho, this tightly packed Korean drama leans hard into power games, moral decay, and ambition without brakes. The finale leaves mixed feelings on purpose, and that’s very much the point.
Set against the volatile political landscape of 1970s Korea, Made in Korea follows Baek Gi Tae, a man who sees power and money as survival tools rather than moral choices. Standing in his way is Jang Gun Yeong, a relentless prosecutor driven by instinct more than ideology. As drug trades, political manipulation, and foreign interests collide, everyone becomes both a hunter and prey.
The finale opens not with politics, but with survival. A flashback to 1965 places Gi Tae in the Vietnam War, where killing isn’t ideology but instinct. This sets the tone: violence is a skill, not a sin, for him.
Back in the present, the web tightens. Pyo Hak Su and Cheon Seok Jung are revealed to be far deeper in the game than expected. Hwang’s murder wasn’t chaos — it was choreography. Jang Gun Yeong arrests Pyo, sensing he’s the weakest link, but power intervenes before truth can breathe.
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Gi Tae, meanwhile, makes his boldest move yet. He hands Cheon both stolen money and Geum Ji’s notebook — proof of corruption — not as blackmail, but as leverage. His proposal is audacious: turn criminal money into political capital. One billion won now, seventy billion later, all to secure the president’s re-election. Cheon accepts, but warns him not to forget his place.
That warning proves hollow. Pyo walks free. Jang explodes in frustration, only to be reminded that justice stops where power begins.
Inside the KCIA, paranoia takes over. Gi Tae hunts the informant who exposed the Japanese deal and discovers it’s Kang Dae Il, whose personal ties to Gi Tae’s sister make the betrayal sting harder. The Russian roulette scene isn’t about punishment — it’s about dominance. Apologies are extracted, not earned.
To distract Jang, Gi Tae engineers a fake drug delivery, sending the prosecutor chasing shadows while the real corruption settles deeper into the system.
The narrative then pivots to Japan, where Ikeda Yu Ji refuses to let the meth trade die. Her gamble is dangerous: if Gi Tae fails, she wants Korea ready as a replacement pipeline. Even Cheon treats her ambition as entertainment rather than threat.
But the most emotionally charged arc belongs to Baek Gi Hyeon, Gi Tae’s younger brother.
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His military storyline mirrors the larger themes of power abuse and scapegoating. When bullying leads to tragedy, Gi Hyeon is nearly sacrificed to protect those with influence. Jang Gun Yeong approaches him with the truth about Gi Tae’s empire, offering a deal that could destroy the family.
Gi Tae intervenes brutally, dismantling the chain of command and clearing his brother’s name through backdoor force. Instead of gratitude, Gi Hyeon chooses distance, deciding to go to Vietnam to earn his future without blood money.
That rejection breaks something in Gi Tae.
By the end, he fully embraces his philosophy: if he cannot kneel, others will. The final moments cut to Jang Gun Yeong being ambushed while grabbing dinner for his exhausted team — a quiet reminder that in this world, conviction makes you a target.
The screen fades, but the war doesn’t.
The ending of Made in Korea isn’t about resolution; it’s about revelation.
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Baek Gi Tae doesn’t “win” in a traditional sense. Instead, he becomes what the system rewards — ruthless, strategic, untouchable. His journey shows how survival-era violence mutates into boardroom brutality.
Jang Gun Yeong, on the other hand, represents justice without protection. His possible fate is left deliberately unclear, underlining the drama’s core message: truth alone is powerless without authority.
The finale argues that corruption isn’t an infection — it’s the bloodstream. Politics, law enforcement, foreign interests, and organised crime don’t clash; they cooperate. And anyone trying to stand between them pays a price.
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Hyun Bin as Baek Gi Tae / Matsuda Kenji
A chilling portrait of ambition shaped by war and survival. -
Jung Woo Sung as Jang Gun Yeong
A prosecutor driven by instinct, slowly crushed by the system he serves. -
Seo Eun Soo as O Ye Jin / Investigator O
A quiet observer navigating danger with intelligence and restraint. -
Won Ji An as Ikeda Yu Ji / Choi Yu Ji
Calculated, international, and dangerously patient. -
Jung Sung Il as Cheon Seok Jung
The face of institutional power — calm, smiling, and lethal. -
Woo Do Hwan as Baek Gi Hyeon
The moral counterweight, choosing dignity over inherited power.
A dark, politically charged thriller that trades comfort for commentary.
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Made in Korea doesn’t wrap things neatly — it exposes how power truly works.
Rating: 3.7/5
Best for: Viewers who enjoy morally grey characters and slow-burning tension.
Is the ending happy or sad?
Neither. It’s cold, unsettling, and intentionally unresolved.
Is Made in Korea renewed for Season 2?
Season 2 is confirmed. There are rumours of a sequel since ep 1, it is now filming. The groundwork is clearly there. Future episodes could explore the fallout of Jang’s attack, Gi Tae’s expanding influence, and deeper international involvement.
Who decides Season 2?
Hulu and Disney+. Made in Korea has officially confirmed Season 2, with production already underway and a release targeted for the second half of 2026. The upcoming season is set to significantly expand the story’s scale, introducing deeper power struggles and brand-new character dynamics that will push the narrative far beyond Season 1’s foundation.
The fact that a follow-up was greenlit so quickly — even before the first season fully aired — speaks volumes about the strong confidence from both the creators and the platform. As a large-scale prestige series, all eyes are now on how Made in Korea will raise the stakes in its next chapter.
Made in Korea isn’t trying to be loud — it’s trying to be honest. Its ending doesn’t scream; it whispers something far more disturbing: power doesn’t fall, it adapts. If a second season happens, expect sharper knives, higher stakes, and even fewer heroes.
Did the finale leave you unsettled or impressed? That discomfort might be exactly what this drama wanted.