70 Minutes
Seventy minutes. The airtime for Wanted Episode 1. The plot had unfolded so breathlessly that no one knew where the time had gone.
“Whoa~” Cheers in one moment, “Ah....” Sighs in the next.
Oh Seong-cheol's performance kicked off the episode, weaving a story that shuttled viewers between cheers and regrets, joy and sorrow, rage and calm, tugging relentlessly at their emotions.
And then—
“My bladder's about to burst—let's hit the bathroom and come back~”
Whoosh!
A brand-new character type never seen in Korean dramas before. A man teetering between genius and madman several times a day. Every appearance by Choi Kyu-bo drew explosive reactions.
“Puhahaha!” “Whoa, he's totally nuts, a total psycho.”
“Woojin really brings him to life.”
“Even though we've seen it before, it still cracks me up every time. Puhah!”
Everyone alternated glances between Woojin and the screen's Choi Kyu-bo, bursting into laughter.
“Who else but Woojin could pull off that character?”
The ultimate praise for an actor flowed freely. Paired with drinks as a chaser, it tasted sweeter than honey.
—It's out, it's out!
The climax of Episode 1. Detective Go Hyun-soo's face fills the screen in close-up as he rushes into the task force meeting room.
—Skeletal remains... nine bodies discovered.
At those words, the lead characters shot up from their seats.
—Total of nine, found within a one-kilometer radius of the presumed incident area!
The characters' expressions cut across the screen one by one, then froze. The ending credits rolled with swelling BGM, followed by the preview.
—Contact immigration to issue a travel ban, and secure alibis immediately!
Prosecutor Seo Jun-mo's commanding charisma, and—
—Gotcha, you bastard!
Choi Kyu-bo's sly smirk as he uncovers a clue to the murder weapon from the dented skull of the skeleton on the autopsy table. In just twenty seconds, the preview highlighted their polar-opposite charms with searing intensity, ending with the caption [Tomorrow at 10 PM...].
Right after Episode 1 wrapped—
“That was seriously fun.”
“Whoa, watching the edited version really hits different.”
“The writer's got insane chops....”
Positive reactions erupted everywhere. The consensus was that the crime thriller's fast pacing, layered with each character's unique appeal, made it impossible to look away.
“Can't judge after just one episode, but the characters feel alive—like they're fighting for their lives.”
Oh Seong-cheol dropped a heavy truth bomb while quietly sipping his drink.
It wasn't just him. Everyone who'd watched probably felt the same.
“Yeah. Let's check the articles?”
If eyes had been glued to the TV moments ago, now they were all on their phones. For real viewer reactions, post-broadcast roundups were more reliable than real-time articles during airing.
Entertainment news sections lit up with articles—from praise for the drama to raves about the actors' performances. Mostly glowing ones.
Articles about Woojin poured in too. Most praised his perfect embodiment of a fresh character archetype never seen before. His share of coverage even outstripped the leads'.
“Everyone eat up—let's check ratings tomorrow!”
“Cheers!”
Drama ratings typically dropped at 9 a.m. the next day. No exact numbers yet, but the articles and comments screamed smash hit.
“Long road ahead, but let's power through together!”
“Yes, sunbaenim!”
“Fighting~!”
Seong-cheol raised his glass, joined by a flushed-faced Soo-hyun and Ye-chan with a faint smile.
—Clink.
Woojin laughed and clinked glasses with them.
* * *
Episode 1's ratings: 13.2%.
For a 2010 cable drama, it was a historic number—even finale-worthy, dubbed a mega-hit.
Wanted claimed an untouchable throne from the start, rewriting cable drama history.
“Let's shoot for 15%, 20%!”
The set buzzed like a festival. Rival MBS's Your Footsteps limped in at 8.1%. The gold-standard Friday-Saturday powerhouse Fox Rain hit 9%, its 10% line crumbling amid the lead actress's boycott fallout, with just two episodes left.
“Let's charge ahead. Fighting!”
As a non-pre-produced drama, the schedule was grueling. But no one showed fatigue—faces bloomed with smiles. PD Park Min-jae steadied cast and crew, directing smoothly. Days flew by in a shooting frenzy.
Mid-April already.
“Sunbaenim, you're here?”
Woojin, reviewing his script while waiting, bowed 90 degrees to the arriving Seong-cheol.
“Yeah. Eaten?”
“Yes. You?”
“Grabbed some right when I got here. Set catering's killer.”
“Right? I can't eat regular food anymore without it.”
“Exactly why I became an actor.”
Nearly halfway through filming, Woojin was tight with the cast now.
“Our emotional scene today, right?”
“Yes. Starting from the last scene.”
Their scene doubled as Episode 10's ending.
After resolving one of the three major cold cases, the 'Suwon Serial Killings,' KCFS earns nationwide support and attention.
In this climate, Choi Kyu-bo seeks truth and closure for a case tied to his past: the 'Sarang Orphanage Incident.' As a task force member—and victim/witness himself—he demands action.
But task force chief Lee Jong-bu rules it lacks prosecutorial or investigative authority—a baffling decision.
Furious, Choi confronts him, unleashing disappointment and rage.
“Kinda nervous.”
“You'll nail it—already laying the groundwork?”
“Hahaha, no sir.”
“Let's run lines.”
“Yes.”
Today's scene was no easy feat. Knowing that, they synced up right up to filming.
“Actors Oh Seong-cheol and Baek Woojin. We're rolling.”
After Ye-chan and Soo-hyun wrapped, a directing staffer fetched them from the waiting room. Woojin and Seong-cheol headed to set.
“Straight into Scene 46.”
PD Park called standby. The crew moved like clockwork. Prep complete.
“Scene 46, take 10.”
—Clack.
Slate snapped.
“Ready.”
“Camera rolling.”
“Sound okay.”
The set fell deathly silent. All eyes on Woojin and Seong-cheol.
“Action!”
PD Park's booming call launched their acting showdown. The aura they exuded was immense. In the full-shot stare-down, it felt like two enraged beasts in a tense standoff.
“No prosecutorial or investigative authority? What the hell is this?”
“No energy for bickering. Out.”
“If anything, my mind's blown—why should I leave? Tell me. What the hell are you playing at?”
Choi Kyu-bo always balanced genius and eccentricity—smug and annoying yet utterly likable, a vibe-maker injecting laughs and levity into the heavy genre.
That was his essence. Up to Episode 10, he'd never cracked open his inner world. This was his first vulnerable moment.
“You take bribes?”
“Watch your mouth!”
“Not here to fight—tell me why!”
Tension ratcheted up. In the camera frame, both actors were fully immersed, every facial twitch serving the scene.
“I told you to drop it back then! Some truths are better buried. Playing dumb, or actually clueless?”
“What? You call that words...? Kids locked away too young, starving, abused, handed off for human experiments! If you'd ever considered their pain, you couldn't say that!”
“Hey, Choi Kyu-bo!”
Seong-cheol's roar echoed like thunder across the set.
“Think the Cold Case Task Force exists to settle your personal grudge?”
“……”
“I get it. You're the victim—must be hell. But still…”
“Hold on.”
Choi's face and voice quivered faintly.
“How'd you know I'm from there?”
Lee's gaze wavered. The mood turned icy.
“I've never told a soul.”
His low voice struck Lee like a blow. Lee's eyes widened.
“Speak.”
Choi trembled violently. His face flushed red, veins bulging on his forehead.
“How do you know about me?”
Close-up on his clenched fist—
“Cut! Okay!”
At PD Park's call, Woojin and Seong-cheol collapsed to the floor. Strength drained from their bodies. They'd poured everything out—no way to repeat it twice. Post-cut, emotions crashed like a storm. Woojin's breaths came ragged.
Seong-cheol patted his back.
“Perfect. That was gold!”
PD Park shouted in satisfaction. Applause and cheers erupted. Only then did Woojin and Seong-cheol share a grin.
“Good work. You killed it.”
Seong-cheol ruffled Woojin's hair.
“Thank you, sunbaenim. Your lead pulled me right in. Grateful.”
“We'll rest a bit then head back.”
They returned to the waiting room.
“Gonna tweak the script some more.”
Writer Seo, who'd watched, smiled. PD Park nodded silently.