‘Delightfully Deceitful’ Netflix Series Review - Slick, Sharp, and Surprisingly Sincere

If someone had told me a show could successfully combine revenge, psychological manipulation, courtroom drama, and deadpan comedy and still keep me emotionally invested, I’d have raised an eyebrow. But Delightfully Deceitful did exactly that. And not with over-the-top twists or forced emotional monologues, but with style, self-awareness, and two very flawed people who shouldn’t work together, but absolutely do.

Lee Ro-woom, played with razor-sharp coolness by Chun Woo-hee, is not your classic misunderstood anti-heroine. She’s calculated, emotionally distant (with good reason), and gloriously unapologetic. After spending a decade in prison for a murder she didn’t commit, Ro-woom isn’t interested in healing. She wants retribution, and she’s going to do it with the same skillset that made her a brilliant fraudster before her fall. Except this time, she’s technically on the side of justice.

Enter Han Moo-young, played by Kim Dong-wook, the lawyer who gets nosebleeds when he feels too much (literally). He's empathetic to the point of being a liability in his profession. In the wrong show, this could have made him a walking cliché. But Delightfully Deceitful knows how to ride the line between quirky and believable. Moo-young isn’t naive; he’s aware of how broken the system is. He just insists on giving people the benefit of the doubt anyway, even when he knows it’s going to backfire. Especially when it’s going to backfire.

The dynamic between Ro-woom and Moo-young is the glue of the series, but what makes it so enjoyable is that they don’t immediately fall into any familiar trope. They’re not enemies-turned-lovers (thankfully), nor are they mismatched buddies from a feel-good sitcom. Instead, they’re two people whose traumas have twisted them in opposite directions: she refuses to feel, and he can’t stop. Watching them circle each other, clash, and eventually collaborate is where the show really hits its stride.

But this isn’t just a character-driven piece. There’s an actual plot here, and it’s tighter than it has any right to be for a 16-episode show. The core revolves around Ro-woom’s revenge plan, targeting a group known as “Red Eye” that orchestrated her false imprisonment. These aren’t just cartoon villains; they’re smug executives, therapists with secrets, and wealthy elites who believe they’re untouchable. Ro-woom and Moo-young, along with a quirky band of accomplices (including a hacker, a mild-mannered probation officer, and a psychiatrist with her own backstory), begin to take them down one by one.

The pacing is, for the most part, impressively smooth. The cons are satisfying to watch, the legal scenes aren’t needlessly dragged out, and even the flashbacks (which are often overused in dramas) are placed strategically. One minute you’re watching a court case unfold, the next you’re thrown into a con involving forged identities and fake charities, and somehow, it all makes sense.

Tonally, it’s a delicate dance. The show doesn’t try too hard to be funny, which is exactly why the dry humor lands. There’s a moment where Ro-woom calmly critiques someone’s kidnapping technique mid-abduction, and it doesn’t feel absurd; it feels completely in character. Likewise, Moo-young’s genuine moral crises are treated with just enough seriousness to make him endearing, not exhausting.

That said, the show isn’t flawless. Around the middle of the series, it begins to feel like it’s circling a bit. A few of the revenge plotlines get a tad repetitive, the corporate villain gets exposed, cue smug downfall, rinse and repeat. Some of the secondary characters, especially the Red Eye members, lean toward the one-dimensional. And while I love a good “justice served” moment, occasionally it all wraps up a little too neatly. Real life doesn’t give you perfect revenge packages, and I found myself wishing for just a bit more mess, a bit more moral discomfort.

Also, for a series that builds so much tension early on, the final episode plays it relatively safe. It's satisfying, yes, but I didn’t walk away with my jaw on the floor. I kind of expected at least one betrayal, or a long-game twist that changed how we saw the whole show. Instead, we get a solid wrap-up, which isn’t bad—it just doesn’t push boundaries the way the rest of the series sometimes dares to.

Still, I can’t pretend I wasn’t fully entertained. The acting is top-notch across the board. Chun Woo-hee is captivating; she never overplays her character’s coldness, instead letting it slip in carefully measured glances and clipped dialogue. Kim Dong-wook walks a fine line with Moo-young, making his excessive empathy believable rather than performative. And the rest of the ensemble cast knows exactly when to add levity, emotion, or plot-driving chaos.

What I appreciated most is that Delightfully Deceitful doesn’t try to teach you a lesson. It’s not moralizing about the criminal justice system, or screaming “Capitalism bad!” into the void. It shows you flawed people trying to survive in a corrupt world, sometimes lying, sometimes stealing, occasionally hacking, and often failing, but always trying. The emotional moments sneak up on you. The laughs are understated but sharp. And the story, while a bit convenient at times, never feels lazy.

In a sea of glossy thrillers and overly dramatic courtroom shows, Delightfully Deceitful is a breath of fresh air. It’s smart, fast-moving, character-rich, and just offbeat enough to keep you intrigued. It doesn’t demand your devotion, but if you give it your attention, it rewards you with a clever and consistently engaging ride.

It’s not revolutionary television, but it knows what it’s doing and it does it really well. If you like your protagonists morally grey, your plots twisty, and your laughs a little dry, this one’s worth the binge. Just don’t trust anyone too quickly.

Final Score- [7/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times