I Can't Forget Forgotten Season: A Loving Ramble

So I've been working on a piece about this year's KBS drama specials, since they're finally being released subbed now, but there's just not enough space to talk about Forgotten Season in such a short paragraph. So here are some more detailed and potentially rambly thoughts - and I spoil everything  by the way, so if you would prefer a vague review then you'll probably need to wait a few more months.

Forgotten Season is, essentially, about a shocking incident that effects five people living in Noryangjin, a space in Seoul associated with students studying for exams. I'm going to unpack what happens as I go along.
  In my head, I had already decided what the story was going to be - a murder which our protagonists either become involved with or attempt to solve.
  Boy, was I wrong. Lesson learned, you should never assume a Drama Special will proceed the way an ordinary drama will. They tend to be less popular, and sometimes don't feature any big names, so there is very little pressure for writers to constrict themselves to the tried-and-tested means of getting viewers.

The drama opens from Eun-jae's perspective. She is a pretty, if plain, young woman who has been studying for the police exam for five years. The stress has taken a toll on her, and she shrugs off other people's attempts to befriend her. It's a melancholy note to begin with.
  One night, the girl next door Choi Ji-young is talking too loud, and Eun-jae copes by plugging her ears. It's a good demonstration of the obsessive manner in which Eun-jae cuts distractions out of her life.
  When, a night or two later whilst Eun-jae is studying, Ji-young begins to scream, Eun-jae, most likely aware of the nature of these screams, drowns out the noise. And thus, as a girl is murdered in her room, Eun-jae says this to herself: "One, a friendly police officer who respects every personality and serves everyone with warmth. Second, seek truth in the name of justice... And not compromise with any injustice or illegality... A righteous police officer..."
  And thus it is foreshadowed from the start that Eun-jae will never become a police officer. Her desperation to finally qualify, to finally escape Noryangjin, prevents her from doing what is 'righteous', and she won't see the horrible irony of that until the end. Her experience has made her cold and hard, unable to see the good in people, and that indifference to others has horrible, devastating consequences.
  What this reminds me of immediately is the murder of Kitty Genovese - it's essentially a case in which a woman was murdered in front of her home, and 38 people watched but didn't do anything about it. At the time, it was shocking, but it has since been explained as an ordinary human behaviour: The Bystander Effect. This is relevant because I want to relay that, whilst what Eun-jae did is upsetting and something she couldn't forgive herself for, it's normal. Humans are selfish.
  Because you see, her blinders did ultimately help her to pass the exam, but alone in her room after losing everything, Eun-jae burst into tears. Was it worth it? No, the drama says, as it is heavily implied that Eun-jae becomes the killer's third victim. Her silence is what killed her, ironically.
  The last shots of her room are truly haunting. Painted in a blue light, giving it a cold and harsh look, it is completely bare bar two wonderfully symbolic things: Eun-jae's new police business card, and a set of ear plugs.

The second perspective we follow is Jun-gi's, a free-spirit who is in every way the opposite of Eun-jae. He is introduced as someone who has been in Noryangjin for eight years, but has absolutely no interest in studying, and we see more of Ji-young through his eyes.
  From the get-go, I tend to enjoy stories that take place in Noryangjin, since it's so different from other settings. For example, in Forgotten Season, some of the characters live together in a goshiwon, which is basically a hostel - strangers forced together into close proximity. It's bound to cause some inconveniences, because everyone's pace of life and habits are different. But that is far more sinister a thought here, because a few misunderstandings plant Jun-gi as a filthy, stealing, perverted bastard in her head. Ideas he ultimately fulfills.
  Ji-young is murdered. A pretty, lively, ordinary girl murdered in her room in the middle of a goshiwon. Yes, it completely shook me. Harmless, goofy, slacker Jun-gi killed her. I'm desperate to get to the bottom of why it happened - Jun-gi seemed completely incapable of doing something like that. He doesn't exactly exhibit the characteristics of a psychopath - he's completely lacking in superficial charm and other tell-tales. But something changed in him when Ji-young insulted him. Perhaps, under the surface, Jun-gi always felt like a failure, and she hit that unstable landmine unknowingly.
  The drama becomes even filthier and twisted after Jun-gi involves his hot-shot younger brother to help cover up the murder. A  reporter, he attempts to insinuate that the murder was serial and damages his career for it. I would argue his brother is the real monster - he ultimately manipulates Jun-gi's weakness and feelings of guilt and inferiority in order to further his career.
  I'm somewhat reminded of Macbeth - they both have blood on their hands now, and it's not going anywhere. At least Jun-gi is human enough to understand that.

How, here's the real question: Would I have been more satisfied if my favourite character hadn't died? With this message, maybe not - Forgotten Season used his death in order to show that sometimes truth and justice don't win, to induce shock and catch the viewer's attention. He died because, coming close to catching Jun-gi and hopelessly crushing on Eun-jae, he was the only essence of hope in the story, and keeping him alive and safe would have undermined that ending.