Semantic Error is, understandably, something of a hard read for some people. The first novel features the romantic interest embarking on an all-out harassment campaign based on the fact that he's unaware (or unable to understand) that Sangwoo is neurodivergent. While the novel does a better job with this section of the story than the manhwa, it's still painful to read, especially if you've ever been subjected to bullying yourself. I wouldn't blame any reader who noped out of the series at that point. If you kept going, however, or are thinking of giving it a second try, things really do improve. Volume two in particular begins to delve into Sangwoo's history, and even if we're privy to more than Jaeyoung is, he starts to truly put the pieces together himself – and to want to understand the man he's rapidly falling in love with.

As with the first novel, this is divided between both Sangwoo's and Jaeyoung's third-person narration. Sangwoo's chapters are titled in binary code, while Jaeyoung's are given colors for titles, beautifully illustrating their very different fields and ways of thinking. Sangwoo is specifically struggling with the idea that Jaeyoung is more than a “bug in his code.” Before getting to know the older student, Sangwoo's life was built on self-imposed rules and patterns; he did this thing at that time with no variation. As readers, we can recognize that this is a coping mechanism for him; the way he makes sense of a world that doesn't behave in ways he can understand. The narrative flashes back to his childhood to show us that his parents (specifically his mother) did have him tested for neurodivergencies, and while we're not told what his specific diagnosis is, it's clear that he inherited it from his mother and that she was instrumental in helping him to figure out how to move through the world. This confirmation, as well as the information that his family supports him, helps to ground his character and help us understand him more fully. Not that it was ever unclear that he was regulating his world, but us learning about him facilitates Jaeyoung putting the pieces together. Sangwoo may still be weird in his eyes, but it's an oddity that he's beginning to understand and appreciate.

Part of how Sangwoo copes with his quickly burgeoning relationship with Jaeyoung is in insisting (to himself) that it's strictly physical. While he still suffers from some serious internalized homophobia (Jaeyoung is openly bisexual), he can more comfortably write this off as a case of lust. This becomes the greatest barrier to the relationship because Sangwoo steadfastly refuses to act like Jaeyoung is his boyfriend. He can't bring himself to acknowledge his feelings, instead pushing them down deeper and deeper inside of himself until he can't function anymore. His meltdown is both earned and expected – after all, looming over the book is the fact that Jaeyoung is going to leave for the U.S. after completing his final credits, and Sangwoo will be left behind. When he breaks down, it's because he can't compartmentalize his feelings any longer, but his drive (fueled by some really bad advice from Yuna) becomes completely self-destructive in a way he can't quite fathom.

Although Jaeyoung has his own baggage – he several times notes that he's an asshole playing at being nice, although he's underselling himself – he is more actively working to deal with his issues. We learn more about his backstory as well, including the fact that he's largely estranged from his family and has an awkward relationship with his identical twin brother. There's an implication that he's been using relationships (and sex) to cover up his own emotional scars, and being with Sangwoo is forcing him to acknowledge that fact. To be with Sangwoo, he has to better understand where both Sangwoo and himself are coming from, and as the more flexible half of the couple, it's up to him to lay a lot of the groundwork. It's not easy, as the book makes clear, and both men act badly more than once, but it feels necessary to the plot. This isn't angst for angst's sake; it's two people struggling with their mental health and finding a way to be together that works for both of them.

J. Soori's writing is a cut above a lot of web and light novels. While the two characters' voices don't necessarily need to be as distinct as if the book were in the first person, there's still a clear “Sangwoo” versus “Jaeyoung” voice, and Jihye and Yuna have distinct dialogue patterns as well. (As a fun note, Jihye's chapter is titled in French, reflecting her major.) Jaeyoung's vocabulary changes depending on who he's talking to as well, while Sangwoo's remains static in a reflection of his flat affect. It's worth noting that there are several explicit sex scenes in this volume, but they're not overwritten the way a lot of light/web novels are and are more in line with what you'd find in a western romance novel.

Semantic Error still isn't going to be a story for everyone, even if you're a fan of queer romance fiction. But it is an engrossing one, and volume two is much more palatable than its predecessor – and I'd recommend the novels over the comics so that you get the full picture.