“Andante” is a tender youth drama that turns a sleepy rural town—and a hospice—into a classroom for life
Introduction
Have you ever been forced to slow down so much that you finally heard your own heart? That’s the ache and quiet wonder of “Andante,” where a city-raised boy stumbles into a countryside school and a hospice that changes everything. I watched Lee Shi-kyung (played by Kai) fumble, resist, and then soften, and I found myself asking: when did I last let life move at the speed of kindness? The fields, the small-town gossip, even the bus schedules seem to push him toward people he would’ve ignored back in Seoul. As the show lingers on ordinary moments—a shared tangerine, a shy glance, a silent walk by a river—it nudges us to remember how love often whispers before it shouts. If you crave a drama that heals without preaching and lets you breathe between the beats, “Andante” is the one you’ll carry with you.
Overview
Title: Andante (안단테)
Year: 2017
Genre: Coming-of-Age, Romance, Drama
Main Cast: Kai (Kim Jong-in), Kim Jin-kyung, Baek Chul-min, Lee Ye-hyun
Episodes: 16
Runtime: ~60 minutes per episode
Streaming Platform: Viki
Overall Story
When Lee Shi-kyung (Kai) is uprooted from Seoul and dropped into a rural town, he thinks it’s punishment. He drags his sneakers through dirt roads, glares at the slow internet, and rolls his eyes at the quiet. But the new school is warm in ways he doesn’t expect, and the small village has its own rhythm—neighbors who know your name, teachers who notice your silence, and a hospice at the edge of town where final goodbyes happen gently. Meeting Kim Bom (Kim Jin-kyung) unsettles him; she’s private and brave in the same breath, the kind of girl who listens before she speaks. The drama lets their awkward friendship bloom at walking pace, showing how two people can learn to match steps even when fear keeps tripping them.
Early on, Shi-kyung’s sister, Lee Shi-young (Lee Ye-hyun), becomes his reluctant compass. Their bickering is funny, but it hides a deeper tenderness—two kids figuring out how to be a family without pretending to be perfect. At school, Park Ga-ram (Baek Chul-min) jolts Shi-kyung out of his sulking with a mix of honesty and mischief. The classrooms are small, the chalk squeaks, and the science lab smells like ethanol and old wood; those details matter because they ground the emotions in a place that feels lived-in. Each hallway encounter shifts their relationships by inches: a borrowed pen, a shared umbrella, a dare to speak the truth. Slowly, Shi-kyung stops counting the days “until I get out” and starts counting the reasons to stay.
The hospice storyline is the beating heart of “Andante.” Shi-kyung signs up to volunteer for the wrong reasons and stays for the right ones, learning the protocols—disposable gloves, measured breaths, charted vitals—alongside the unteachable art of presence. Nurses coach him in the quiet heroics: how to sit without fidgeting, how to hold a paper cup steady, how to listen long enough for someone to say what really hurts. Bom’s connection to the hospice deepens the stakes; her calm isn’t detachment but courage dressed like gentleness. Watching families navigate anticipatory grief, the show suggests that endings can be humane, and that caring is a kind of literacy we all deserve to learn.
Money worries ripple beneath the surface, the way they do in real life. The town talks about hospital bills and whether health insurance will cover another test; parents do quiet math at kitchen tables while kids pretend not to notice. A neighbor confides that a small life insurance payout kept their family from losing the house when illness struck, and the conversation lands like a lesson Shi-kyung wasn’t ready for. Instead of feeling preachy, these moments expand the world: responsible adulthood isn’t only grades and jobs—it’s choosing to protect the people you love. The drama treats these topics with care, showing how futures are built from boring paperwork and brave decisions.
Shi-kyung and Bom’s relationship never rushes, which makes every small step feel huge. A shared laugh in the library feels like fireworks because they earned it through days of awkward silence. When Bom finally lets him in on a difficult truth, he doesn’t respond with a grand speech but with consistent presence—walking her home, learning the names of the hospice staff, showing up even when he’s scared. Their romance is more about respect than conquest, more about learning than winning. It captures that quiet teenage miracle: realizing that love can be steady, not just loud.
The show is just as interested in parent-child dynamics. Shi-kyung’s mother carries her own exhaustion, and her rules are a clumsy kind of love. A late-night talk at the bus stop turns into a truce, the sort of conversation where both people apologize without using the word. In the village, elders fold the kids into rituals—market days, school festivals, simple meals that taste like history. Cultural details hum in the background: the way you take your shoes off before entering, the soft etiquette of pouring someone else’s drink, the communal habit of checking if you’ve eaten. These rituals cushion the heavier scenes, making grief and hope feel like parts of the same thread.
School isn’t an escape hatch but a mirror. Exams still loom; group projects still fray nerves; a homeroom teacher notices who sits alone. Ga-ram dreams of medicine, and his ambition isn’t selfish—it’s a promise to go back to the hospice as a doctor who can do more. The kids study between volunteer shifts, and the library buzzes with whispered mnemonics and shared snacks. Even friendships face the stress test of secrets, jealousy, and the fear of being left behind. Through it all, the countryside refuses to hurry; sunsets arrive on schedule, reminding them that growth can’t be crammed the night before.
When loss finally touches the friend group directly, the drama turns toward healing with unusual kindness. Bom encourages Shi-kyung to try grief counseling, not as weakness but as maintenance for a hurting heart. Group sessions show teens stumbling through language they were never taught at home, learning to name anger, guilt, and relief without shame. The series suggests that bravery isn’t stoicism; it’s letting yourself be helped. And in a town where everyone knows everyone, healing becomes a communal practice—neighbors dropping off soup, classmates taking notes for an absent friend, a teacher offering retakes with firm compassion.
“Andante” never dangles a fairy-tale fix. Instead, it offers a map: move slowly, tell the truth, choose each other. Shi-kyung learns that caring for someone means showing up on hard days, not just the pretty ones. Bom learns that vulnerability can be shared without losing herself. The village proves that small places can hold big stories, and the hospice teaches that the end of a life can still be full of life. By the time the city calls again, what once felt like exile has become home—and the boy who arrived with headphones on leaves with his heart open.
Highlight Moments / Key Episodes
Episode 1: Shi-kyung’s first day in the countryside turns into a comedy of errors—missed buses, muddy shoes, and a classroom introduction that goes sideways. Yet the final scene, where he trails behind Bom on a narrow path lined with cosmos flowers, quietly sets the tone: this is a place that will change his pace and his priorities.
Episode 4: Volunteering at the hospice begins as a dare, but a gentle nurse teaches Shi-kyung how to sit with silence. When a patient asks for music instead of conversation, he fumbles with a playlist and learns that attention can be a gift. The moment reframes him from reluctant helper to beginner learner.
Episode 7: A school festival exposes fault lines—rivalries, secrets, and Ga-ram’s fierce ambition to study medicine. Bom’s smile falters during a rehearsal, and Shi-kyung notices, choosing care over performance. The night ends with fireworks that feel earned rather than decorative.
Episode 10: A family emergency drags old arguments to the surface. Shi-kyung and his mother clash in a kitchen that suddenly seems too small, then find each other again at a late bus stop. Their halting apology becomes a pivot point for the whole family, including Shi-young, who learns she doesn’t have to hold everything together alone.
Episode 15: Grief arrives, and the kids show up for one another with soup, notes, and long walks. Shi-kyung joins a support group at Bom’s urging and discovers language for feelings he thought he had to hide. The episode refuses melodrama, choosing honest tears and steady hands instead.
Memorable Lines
"If we walk slowly, we can still arrive together." – Kim Bom, Episode 3 This single sentence sums up the show’s philosophy: pace isn’t the enemy of progress. She says it after Shi-kyung rushes ahead, only to realize he’s left her behind on the village path. Her words coach him to match steps, not just destinations. In the episodes that follow, this becomes their unspoken vow—choose presence over speed, care over conquest.
"I thought a hospice was about endings. Turns out it’s about how we live the days we have." – Lee Shi-kyung, Episode 6 It’s a tiny revelation whispered in a ward that smells like soap and citrus. The line lands after he watches a nurse adjust a blanket with sacred attention, and it reframes his entire volunteer work. From here, he stops treating tasks as chores and starts treating them as chances to honor someone’s story.
"Being strong isn’t holding it in; it’s letting yourself be held." – Lee Shi-young, Episode 10 She says this to her brother after their family quarrel, eyes puffy but voice steady. The sentence becomes a hinge that allows the siblings to soften toward each other. It also opens space for their mother to admit she’s tired, turning a house of tension into a home that can breathe.
"Your fear doesn’t scare me." – Kim Bom, Episode 12 Bom offers this with a calm that doesn’t demand a promise in return. It’s said during a late walk when Shi-kyung confesses what he can’t fix, what he might lose. The line is both boundary and embrace, giving him permission to be honest while reminding him that honesty is how love grows.
"Some goodbyes are love in its bravest form." – Park Ga-ram, Episode 15 Ga-ram says it after a shift at the hospice, when the group is too tired to pretend they’re okay. His observation helps the friends lay down the burden of pretending to be strong. It also pushes Shi-kyung to try counseling, proving that courage and tenderness can live in the same breath.
Why It’s Special
What moved me most about “Andante” is how it treats a hospice not as a bleak backdrop but as a classroom for compassion. The show pays attention to tiny rituals—fresh sheets, measured breaths, a volunteer’s steady hand—and turns them into human lessons. Watching teenagers learn how to sit with someone else’s fear felt more radical than any twist. That quiet courage, repeated in small scenes, is the drama’s true heartbeat. It’s a story that invites us to slow down without drifting apart.
The rural setting isn’t just scenery; it’s storytelling. Empty roads, slow buses, and gossiping neighbors become forces that reshape the city kids, insisting they look up from their screens and into each other’s faces. When the plot pauses for sunset or a shared snack, it’s not filler—it’s the series showing us how intimacy grows when time isn’t rushed. That deliberate pace is the promise hidden in the title itself.
Performance-wise, the chemistry works because the acting is intentionally unshowy. Kai plays Shi-kyung with an endearing awkwardness—shoulders hunched, eyes unsure—that gradually relaxes as he learns to be useful rather than impressive. Kim Jin-kyung’s Bom anchors the tone; she’s warm without being saccharine, a teenager who knows when silence speaks. Together they build a romance that feels less like fireworks and more like a steady lantern on a windy night.
I also loved how the series treats family conflicts with nuance. Parents are flawed but trying; siblings bicker and then become each other’s shelter. The writing refuses easy villains, choosing instead to explore why people protect themselves with prickliness or jokes. That empathy makes the resolutions feel earned, not engineered. Even the “bad decisions” land like honest mistakes rather than plot devices.
Direction and editing lean into natural light and patient cuts, letting scenes breathe. Moments that another show would speed through—a walk down a hospital corridor, a quiet meal—are allowed to unfold until we feel what the characters can’t yet say. That restraint pays off when emotions crest; the catharsis is soft, but it lingers.
School life is sketched with affectionate realism: the scuffed desks, the anxious group projects, the teacher who sees more than he says. Ambition and jealousy show up, but so do apologies and do-overs. The show keeps exams in the picture without turning them into the whole picture, reminding us that learning to care is as important as learning to test well.
Most of all, “Andante” respects grief without turning it into spectacle. It suggests that even in our hardest seasons, we can choose rituals of care—journaling, counseling, communal meals—that keep us tethered. That message, delivered through a village that gently holds its kids accountable, makes this drama feel like a hand on your shoulder when you need it most.
Popularity & Reception
When it aired on KBS1 from September 24, 2017 to January 7, 2018, “Andante” found a small but vocal audience that appreciated its healing tone and youth-drama warmth. The broadcast details and Sunday timeslot framed it as a family-friendly watch, and the show has continued to travel via legal streaming.
On Viki, viewers highlight the tenderness of the hospice storyline and Kai’s gentle portrayal of a late-blooming teen; the title remains accessible there with English subtitles, which helped international fans discover it years after broadcast. Community reviews consistently praise the pacing and the “comfort watch” vibe.
General database listings like IMDb and AsianWiki further cement the series’ cast and credit details, and casual ratings on those platforms reflect the show’s niche appeal: not flashy, but quietly beloved by fans who want character growth over cliffhangers.
Cast & Fun Facts
Kai (Kim Jong-in) steps into Lee Shi-kyung with the vulnerability of someone brave enough to look clumsy on screen. You can feel the idol discipline underneath—the careful posture, the precise beats—but he lets the edges blur so Shi-kyung can learn in real time. Off stage, he talked about shaping a different image through acting around the drama’s release, which tracks with how the character grows from posturing to presence.
Kai’s casting also drew attention because it paired a high-profile performer with a quieter KBS1 slot, inviting fans to follow him into gentler territory. Listings and credits confirm his lead status across major databases, and the Viki page has long served as a gateway for global viewers discovering him beyond performance stages.
Kim Jin-kyung brings a model’s poise and an actress’s listening to Kim Bom, grounding the show with honest, unhurried reactions. Her background as a runner-up on “Korea’s Next Top Model” and later variety appearances gave her a public presence before this scripted role, which may be why Bom feels simultaneously composed and tender.
Kim Jin-kyung would go on to appear in titles like “Perfume,” showing a taste for roles that mix sweetness with bite. AsianWiki’s profile lists “Andante” among her early credits, underscoring how naturally she slipped from runway to character work here.
Baek Chul-min (also known by the stage name Go On) shines as Park Ga-ram, the popular student with medical dreams. He threads ambition with kindness, giving the friend-group a spine and a conscience at once. His earlier turns in “Kill Me, Heal Me” and “Solomon’s Perjury” help explain the calm confidence he brings to Ga-ram.
Baek Chul-min’s filmography shows a steady climb through varied genres, and that range pays off in scenes where Ga-ram shoulders responsibility without self-righteousness. It’s the kind of performance that makes you root for a kid to become the doctor he dreams of being.
Lee Ye-hyun plays Shi-kyung’s sister with energy and bite, the kind of sibling who nags because she cares. Her later work—like family and youth dramas—highlights her knack for making spirited characters feel lived-in rather than loud.
Lee Ye-hyun turns what could’ve been a stock “sassy sister” into the show’s emotional thermostat, cooling tempers or raising stakes with a look. Profiles note her continued activity across TV, which makes sense watching how deftly she balances comedy and concern here.
Behind the camera, director Park Ki-ho and writers Park Sun-ja and Kwon Ki-kyung craft a tone that’s reflective without dragging, using spacious frames and straightforward dialogue. Official listings group them as the core creative team, and you can feel their shared belief that small kindnesses deserve screen time.
Conclusion / Warm Reminders
“Andante” is the rare coming-of-age story that trusts gentleness to carry the plot. If you’ve ever wished for a drama that makes space for real conversations—with yourself, with your family, with your grief—this is that warm space. It even touches on practical realities that shape love, from late-night talks about health insurance to the sobering math of life insurance, and the courage it takes to seek grief counseling when the heart is tired. Watch it when you need proof that moving slowly isn’t the same as standing still; sometimes, it’s the only way to arrive together.
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