Can This Love Be Translated?- (Final) Episodes 11-12

The Scandal

Episode 11 of Can This Love Be Translated? truly felt like the calm before an emotional storm, and yet nothing about it was calm at all.

It opens with something so ordinary turning into something explosive. A simple video of Kim Yu-jin’s ramen shop in Japan goes viral, and within moments the internet begins doing what it does best, digging. Someone mentions he used to date Do Ra-mi, and suddenly old photos resurface. An old Instagram picture of Mu-hee and Yu-jin together becomes fuel, and you can almost feel the tension tightening.

Meanwhile in Italy, Ho-jin takes Mu-hee to the place where he’s been staying, and that entire sequence felt intimate in the quietest way. Ho-jin admits he’s grateful to Do Ra-mi because she helped him understand Mu-hee better. He tells her something that sounds heartbreaking but is strangely freeing: since they believe they’ll break up eventually anyway, they should date without fear of the ending. Just one month. No promises beyond that. Just honesty in the present. There was something so bittersweet about that agreement. When the electricity goes out and dinner is left unfinished, the spark between them becomes undeniable. That kiss felt less dramatic and more inevitable.

The flashback with Hiro outside the opera house added another layer of ache. Seeing him encourage Mu-hee to pursue the person she truly likes, even while knowing it wasn’t him, made my heart soften toward him. And then in the present, watching him quietly drink alone… it felt like the show gently reminding us that not all love stories are mutual.

Back on the flight home, the scandal grows teeth. A post accusing Mu-hee of dating a married man explodes online. People begin aligning timelines with a wife’s pregnancy. A photo of Ho-jin on a Japanese island resurfaces, and everyone assumes he is Yu-jin. It’s so frustrating watching how quickly narratives are created. Ji-seon seems to recognize Ho-jin, and that small detail lingers ominously.

Then there’s Hiro’s scare in the hotel. Nanami finding him unresponsive was frightening, and for a moment it felt like everything was spiraling. Thankfully, it turns out to be an accidental mix of allergy medicine and alcohol. But even that scene carried emotional weight. Hiro isn’t just physically exhausted. He’s emotionally unraveling.

As the rumors intensify, Mu-hee makes a choice that feels both strategic and self-sacrificing. Instead of telling the complicated truth, she posts a friendly photo with Yu-jin and his wife, presenting them as friends to calm the storm. It works, but at a cost. When Yu-jin and his wife come to Korea to thank her, his audacity is almost unbelievable. He asks for another favor because his son is sick and he wants help promoting his products. The way he casually reminds her of her old anxieties during their relationship shows how much emotional imbalance existed between them. Calling him a jerk felt entirely justified.

Elsewhere, Ho-jin quietly investigates Mu-hee’s family background through Mr. Kim, and for a moment it feels sweet, like he’s trying to understand her world better. But when he realizes Mr. Kim almost believed the rumors about her, his protectiveness surfaces. He storms off, frustrated, yet bound by their promise not to see each other until the scandal settles. That distance hurts.

Yong-u’s subplot adds another layer of realism. Being offered the transfer he’s always wanted, but having to move to Europe within a month, forces him into a painful decision just as his relationship with Ji-seon is beginning. The timing feels cruel in the most believable way.

One of my favorite scenes was when Mu-hee waits for Ho-jin at his place, pretending to be Do Ra-mi. He sees through her immediately, of course. But what she says beneath the performance is what matters. She tells him he can leave if he wants to. That dating a celebrity means exposure and scrutiny, and she would understand if he chose to protect himself. It’s such a vulnerable moment. Ho-jin’s response, reminding her to focus on the present since they’re “breaking up in the future anyway,” is oddly comforting. They make up not with grand declarations, but with quiet understanding.

The episode closes with tension layered on top of tension. On the train to Busan, Ji-seon confronts Ho-jin about Enoshima and whether he went there on her birthday. The question she asks at the end, whether he liked her, hangs heavy in the air. At the same time, Mu-hee learns from Ms. Cha that the confession in the Italian castle wasn’t just scripted drama. It was real. And Hiro, now more fluent in Korean, admits he truly did like her.

Episode 11 feels like a web tightening around everyone. Rumors, past feelings, half-truths, and unspoken confessions all collide. As a fan, I find myself both anxious and deeply invested. This drama has a way of making love feel fragile, messy, and incredibly human all at once.

Under the Same Sky, At Last

The finale of Can This Love Be Translated? felt like peeling back the last fragile layers of Mu-hee’s heart. It began quietly, with Hiro and Mu-hee watching the rough cut of the reality show. Ms. Cha gently offered to remove the final confession if needed, but Hiro surprised me by saying he was fine with it. There was something steady about him in that moment, like he had finally made peace with his feelings.

On the train, Ho-jin does something equally honest. He admits to Ji-seon that he liked her. There’s no drama, no defensiveness. Just clarity. They clear the air like two adults who once stood at a crossroads and simply chose different paths. It felt mature and necessary.

Back in Seoul, Mu-hee apologizes to Hiro for leading him on. She explains that Do Ra-mi once saw him as a “happy ending,” a kind of escape from reality. That line stayed with me because it perfectly captures how sometimes we fall for the idea of safety rather than the person in front of us.

Things take a heavier turn when Mr. Kim meets Mr. Cha and his wife. He worries about Ho-jin like a father would, and Mu-hee’s aunt even asks him to discourage Ho-jin from being with her. You can feel how much history is tangled up in Mu-hee’s name alone.

When Ho-jin returns from Busan and meets Mu-hee at the station, the mood softens again. She takes him somewhere overlooking the city, and they talk about visiting a dark sky reserve to see the Milky Way. It’s such a simple dream, but it feels symbolic. They want something vast and clear above them. Something honest.

Meanwhile, Ji-seon’s story blossoms in the most unexpected way. Yong-u shows up in Busan and proposes, explaining he’s moving to the UK for work but doesn’t want to lose her. Instead of heartbreak, we get alignment. She was already planning to study abroad. They choose to build a future together. It felt refreshing to see a love story handled with such decisiveness.

Then comes the question that lingers over everything: Who is Do Ra-mi really?

Mu-hee tells her psychiatrist she hasn’t seen Do Ra-mi in a while, and the doctor suggests she might represent someone from her past. That hint grows heavier when Mr. Cha visits Ho-jin and reveals the painful truth about Mu-hee’s parents. Her mother wasn’t married to her father. There was manipulation, tragedy, and a story Mu-hee had buried.

When her aunt bluntly tells her she looks just like her mother, something shifts. Watching Mu-hee stare into the mirror and realize that Do Ra-mi was never an alter ego but a reflection of her mother was devastating. The collapse that follows feels less physical and more emotional. The flashback of her mother trying to feed her the poisoned cake, the cruel words about never being loved or happy, explains so much about Mu-hee’s fears. Those words shaped her entire life.

At the hospital, after three days unconscious, Ho-jin rushes in. The relief in their smiles says more than dialogue ever could. Then another twist: her parents are alive. Her father is actually the “uncle” living abroad, and her mother’s whereabouts remain unknown. The truth was hidden because Mu-hee said she didn’t remember. It’s overwhelming, but it also feels like the beginning of something.

Hiro’s storyline quietly comes full circle. Back in Japan, auditioning for a Hollywood role, he admits he’s learned that if he doesn’t fight for what he wants, he’ll live with regret. Watching him mature without bitterness made me unexpectedly proud.

And then comes the heartbreak that isn’t really heartbreak. Mu-hee decides she must find her mother, and the only way is through her father. At the airport, she tells Ho-jin they should break up. Not because she doesn’t love him, but because she wants to return without fear, without unfinished business. She even jokes that when she comes back, she’ll threaten him into dating her again properly. It’s so her, vulnerable but playful.

While she’s gone, life keeps moving. Yong-u and Ji-seon leave for the UK. Ho-jin’s mother donates her late husband’s books. The world doesn’t stop, and that’s comforting in its own way.

Then Christmas arrives. The crew celebrates finishing the show. Ji-seon proudly shows off her engagement ring. And Ho-jin receives a message from Mu-hee, inviting him to finally see the Milky Way.

The last scene is everything. At the dark sky reserve, she meets him and uses her translation app to tell him how much she missed him. Even that detail feels perfect for this drama. Love expressed through language barriers, literal and emotional. She brings clovers. He is speechless for once. When they kiss and the observatory opens above them, revealing the stars, it feels like the entire series exhaling.

They don’t just choose each other. They choose to stand under the same sky, fully seen, without fear.

As a viewer, I didn’t just watch their story. I felt it. And that final image under the stars is going to stay with me for a long time.

DramaZen's Opinion

Episodes 11 and 12 of Can This Love Be Translated? felt like an emotional unraveling in the most beautiful way. Episode 11 had that quiet tension building underneath every scene. The scandal spreading online, Ho-jin and Mu-hee choosing to date without promises, Hiro’s quiet heartbreak, it all felt messy and painfully human. No one was a villain. Everyone was just trying to protect themselves while still wanting love.

Then Episode 12 took everything deeper. Instead of focusing only on romance, it peeled back Mu-hee’s past and showed us where her fears really began. The revelation about Do Ra-mi and her mother was devastating, but it made so much of Mu-hee’s behavior finally make sense. I appreciated that the finale didn’t rush to a fairytale ending. The temporary breakup felt mature, necessary even. And that final reunion under the stars was soft, symbolic, and earned.

These two episodes reminded me that love isn’t just about chemistry. It’s about healing, timing, and choosing each other after you’ve faced your own shadows. I didn’t expect this drama to hit so emotionally by the end, but it truly left me feeling reflective and warm.