13 timestamped notes explaining the Korean cultural context in this episode — customs, idioms, food, honorifics, and history, at the moment each appears on screen. These notes discuss events across the whole episode. To see them revealed scene-by-scene as you watch, use the episode page to find an airing.
Korean elementary and middle schools regularly hand out '설문지' (survey sheets) asking students to name someone they respect, often alongside questions about future dreams. It's a wholesome homework staple, which makes writing in the name of a Mafia consigliere all the funnier to the other tenants.
채신 스님's murmured '나무 관세음보살' (Namu Gwanseeum Bosal) is a common Mahayana invocation of Avalokiteśvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion — the Korean equivalent of saying a quick prayer under your breath. Devotees repeat it in moments of gratitude, relief, or shock, much the way a Catholic might whisper 'Thank God.'
뉴트리아 (nutria) are large South American rodents that became an invasive species in Korea's southern wetlands after being imported in the 1980s for the fur trade. They're notorious for gnawing through reed beds and river banks, so calling someone 'Geumga-dong's nutria' is a teasing jab — you bite things, and that's basically all you're good for.
Korean media coined a series of portmanteau words by fusing an institution's name with '-피아' (from 'mafia'): 바피아 (banking mafia), 모피아 (Ministry of Finance + mafia), 매피아 (media mafia), 학피아 (academic mafia). They describe entrenched old-boy networks where insiders rotate between government, prosecution, and industry, shielding each other from accountability.
Vincenzo is referencing a real story recorded by the Greek historian Herodotus. The Persian king Cambyses II (6th century BC) had a corrupt judge named Sisamnes executed, then had his skin flayed and stretched over the judge's own seat. Sisamnes' son Otanes was appointed the new judge and had to sit on that chair — a gruesome reminder to rule fairly.
Vincenzo's image of law as a spider's web — strong enough to trap small flies but easily torn through by large hornets — is a classic political proverb found in Korean, Chinese, and Western traditions alike. It's a cutting way to say that legal systems protect the powerful and punish the weak, and the show has been building to this moment as its central thesis.
A 금두꺼비 (gold toad figurine) is a popular Korean feng-shui charm believed to attract wealth — you'll spot them in shop windows and on business desks across the country. Seeing what appears to be a solid gold one in a courtroom evidence video causes genuine public shock: it signals that the hidden cash wasn't just money, it was a brazen symbol of greed left sitting in plain sight.
이별주 literally means 'parting liquor' — a final drink shared when two people are severing a relationship, whether a friendship, a romance, or, as here, a criminal partnership. Offering someone a 이별주 is a quietly dramatic gesture in Korean culture: it signals the relationship is over for good, and often carries a bittersweet ritual weight even between adversaries.
결자해지 (結者解之) is a four-character Chinese-origin idiom meaning 'the one who tied the knot must be the one to untie it.' In everyday Korean it means the person who caused a mess must clean it up themselves. Myung-hee using it here signals she is formally accepting full responsibility — not as an act of loyalty, but as a calculated move.
The characters refer to the prosecutor's death as '자살' (suicide). In the drama's context this is a cover story the villains expect will be used publicly. Korean crime dramas often depict powerful figures staging deaths as suicides because — in real headline cases — unexplained deaths of whistleblowers or suspects have sometimes officially been ruled self-inflicted, fuelling public distrust.
The aria Myung-hee sings in the police car is '라시아 키오 피안가' from Handel's opera Rinaldo (1711); the title means 'Let me weep.' The lyrics beg for freedom from suffering and bondage. The show uses this piece twice as Myung-hee's signature — her operatic self-image as a tragic, wronged heroine rather than the calculating villain she actually is.
차영's line about going to the alumni dinner to check whether she gets '씹히나' means she wants to see if she'll be blanked or talked over — '씹다' colloquially means to ignore someone completely, the way you might ghost a text. Being 씹히다 (ignored) at a professional gathering is a real social signal about your standing in Korean legal circles, which run on tight networks of law-school and bar-exam cohorts.
Joon-woo uses pig's blood to make it look like someone has been shot — a trick that would be immediately familiar to Korean viewers because pig's blood (돼지 피) is a normal food ingredient sold at traditional markets, used in 순대 (blood sausage) and 선지국 (blood soup). Its easy availability is exactly what makes it a darkly comic choice for a con.