Netflix ‘The Pride of the Temp’ Season 2 Review - Shaking up the Office, One Crisis at a Time

I dove into Season 2 of The Pride of the Temp with a grin and a healthy dose of skepticism, because the first season set a high bar and I was curious to see how the writers would keep things fresh. And, for the most part, they succeed. The show picks up in a way that honours what made the original compelling: smart writing, a strong lead performance, and a sharp take on corporate life, while also trying new things. Haruko (played again by the ever-steady Ryōko Shinohara) remains magnetic: she walks into each workplace with calm confidence, refuses to stay late, refuses to grovel to her bosses, and yet becomes indispensable. Her style of refusing to overwork and refusing to compromise, yet getting results, remains a breath of fresh air in a genre that often glorifies burnout and flatterers. The production values are solid: the cinematography is crisp, office interiors feel lived-in rather than stylised, and the pacing of each episode allows room for character dynamics and quieter moments, not just crisis resolution.

In this season, we see a deeper exploration of Haruko’s personal life (a little more than in the first season), which gives added texture: glimpses of her domestic concerns, her relationships with peers and subordinates, and occasionally how she questions whether her “temp hero” antics have limits. That development is welcome; she’s not just a one-dimensional fixer. The supporting cast also gets more breathing room: for example, Kensuke Satonaka and Tsutomu Asano (returning characters) have arcs that show them wrestling with their own workplace identities, failures, and ambitions. There’s a memorable episode midway through where a subsidiary’s morale is low because middle managers are demotivated; here, the show really nails how corporate malaise seeps downwards, and Haruko’s interventions are more subtle than before, less about dramatic speeches, more about observing culture and encouraging change. That kind of nuance is something this season gets right: we see the small tactical moves, the unglamorous conversations, the incremental shifts, not just fireworks.

On the writing front, I appreciated how the show balanced humour and drama. There are moments of genuine laughter, Haruko deadpanning her refusal to stay after 6 pm, or office types scrambling as usual, giving the show a lightness. At the same time, when the stakes get serious (a sudden merger, a whistle-blower within the company, a deputy manager’s burnout), the series doesn’t shy away from implications: long hours, power games, self-worth tied to job titles. The direction pays attention to detail: in one scene, the aisle of cubicles is framed to emphasise how isolated a junior employee feels, then Haruko arrives and the camera shifts subtly to include him in the frame, a small gesture but effective. I also liked that the show didn’t fall into the trap of making Haruko superhuman in the sense of being perfect; she has to think on her feet, and she makes mistakes (and the consequences sometimes linger). That keeps her relatable.

If there’s a weak spot, it comes in at least two areas. First: the season’s theme of “what value does a temp have in a permanent-dominated world?” is compelling, but at times the episodes feel formulaic. Haruko arrives, diagnosis, change, resolution. While the variation in each company’s crisis helps, by episode six or seven, one begins to expect the pattern. The writers toss in twists (merger surprise, corporate espionage, family-run firm more chaotic than expected), but the structure remains largely consistent for a viewer hoping for full subversion of the format, that might feel slightly safe. Second: a specific subplot involving a junior female colleague of Haruko’s feels underdeveloped. The show introduces a character who’s clearly meant to reflect the younger generation’s anxieties, but I found her arc less satisfying: it ends, yes, but with fewer pay-offs and fewer deep scenes than I’d hoped. It’s a minor gripe in light of the overall season, but it did stick out a little for me.

Another small thing: the tone occasionally slips from refined to “slapstick office comedy” in a way that doesn’t always sit with the rest of the dramatic stakes. For instance, an entire sequence of people running around a boardroom table, papers flying, trying to catch a “leaked document” felt more like a sitcom than the sober workplace drama the series usually presents. It didn’t ruin the show by any means, but it slightly jolted the mood. Also, the resolution of the season’s final episode felt a little tidy after several episodes of layered internal politics; the last thirty minutes wrap up a major crisis in a somewhat pat way, making some of the emotional buildup feel smoothed over rather than lived through.

That said, the positives outweigh these quibbles. The character work is strong: Haruko’s quiet determination remains a highlight. Her moral code refuses to change over time, and it is still refreshing. The dynamic between her and her former manager Satonaka (who wrestles all season with his ego and his desire to do “good work” without being beholden) has new wrinkles this season, and it’s satisfying to see them both learn from each other. The ensemble is also better calibrated: you sense the supporting players are entirely real, not just devices for the plot. Directors choose to linger on a stunned face in a lunchroom or a moment of silence after a pitch fails, which gives the show depth.

From a production viewpoint, the cinematography and editing get a boost this season: more exterior shots of the city, more use of ambient sound in offices (phones ringing off a little, people walking by, coffee machines) make the world feel lived. The pacing is mostly strong: episodes don’t drag, they give time for reflection; yet they still deliver the tension and urgency of “we have one week until the merger” or “figures are down 20 per cent and morale is collapsing”. And I feel the show continues to resonate in terms of its thematic relevance: in an age when many of us feel overworked, undervalued, or stuck in roles that don’t respect our time, Haruko’s stance, skilled, assertive, boundary-aware, feels like a good model, while remaining embedded in the messy reality of work.

What I also liked: the show doesn’t over-romanticise the “temp hero” role. It shows the cost of being the fixer: being new in each environment, the lack of long-term job security, the challenge of building trust quickly, and the fact that not everyone wants to change. Haruko’s signature phrase of refusing overtime is underlined not as arbitrary rebellion but as respect for her own life—this season makes that more explicit. And the writing drops in neat touches: someone remarks, “You fixed us so fast we didn’t even know what was wrong,” and Haruko replies that means you didn’t have a lasting culture problem, just a symptom. That kind of line shows the show still has wit.

In summary: Season 2 of The Pride of the Temp delivers a confident follow-up that keeps the core charm (excellent lead, workplace insight, strong production) while deepening its characters and raising the stakes. Sure, it doesn’t always take completely unpredictable turns, and one subplot could have been better served, but it remains engrossing, smart, and, yes, occasionally quite fun. If you enjoyed the first season, you’ll almost certainly appreciate this one; for newcomers, it stands well on its own, too. I came away feeling entertained, impressed by how it treats the workplace with nuance, and quietly uplifted by Haruko’s example, while also wishing that the loose thread about the junior colleague got an extra scene or two. Overall: strongly recommended, especially for anyone who has ever felt stuck in an office and wished someone would walk in, rearrange the furniture, and say “we’re doing things differently now.”

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