The sound of sizzling tteokbokki and the distant, muffled traffic were the only things breaking the silence of Do-hyun's thoughts. He sat alone at a pojangmacha, the steam from a bowl of odeng rising into the chilly air.
Guilt was a bitter, uncomfortable thing, a constant companion since he had left Jaemin's apartment building. Beyond the things he had said, the terrible accusations, Do-hyun's alpha instincts screamed at him, a confusing mix of indignation and a strange, cold jealousy.
What was he angry about? The fact that Jaemin had a secret, or the fact that another man, this Jaehyun, a beta, knew it, and he didn't?
His phone buzzed on the metal table, the screen lighting up with an unsaved number. He almost ignored it, but something made him answer.
"Sunbae-nim?" a timid voice asked. It was Kim Seojun. His voice was heavy with shame and anxiety. "It's me, Kim Seojun. I'm sorry for calling. I know you're probably angry at me."
"It's fine. Sorry I haven't been back for rehearsal." Do-hyun asked, his voice gruff and tired. What was he supposed to do after being unceremoniously turned away at Jaemin's door? Go to rehearsal and pretend nothing had happened? His stubborn alpha pride wouldn't let him. Still, he felt guilty. "How has it been?"
Seojun hesitated. "Same… same?" he said uncertainly. Do-hyun somehow knew that what he really meant was that all their months of hard work were rapidly unravelling.
He sighed. "Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Okay… Anyway, Sunbae-nim, I was just… wondering… Did you go to see him? Conductor-nim? What happened? Did you find out where he went?"
"He wouldn't see me." Do-hyun felt a wave of frustration. He had tried to face him, and then had tried to find out more about him. For the past two days, he had been searching for anything on Seo Jaemin, trying to stave off the taste of defeat from his ruined mission to hash things out, but had managed to find nothing more than Jaemin's basic profile:
Name: Seo Jaemin.
Age: 28
Education: Vienna Academy of Music (double major in Conducting and Composition).
Awards: Maestro's Lumina Prize (Vienna): First Place; Valkyrie International Conducting Competition (Tokyo): Second Place
Apart from the official announcements for the awards he had won, there were no news articles, no social media, no pictures, no trail in any music journals. The man seemed to have simply appeared out of thin air. His name was a ghost in the annals of music history.
"I don't know," Do-hyun said roughly. "I can't find anything about him."
He had no idea what to do, what to search for, no idea where to even begin understanding who Seo Jaemin was.
Seojun was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice wavering, as if he were trying to recall a distant, painful memory. "I heard a rumor… a few years back. About a conductor named Choi Seungcheol."
Do-hyun scoffed. "'Choi Seungcheol'? Are you alright? Our conductor's name is Seo Jaemin, you remember? Seo. Jae. Min. How on earth does 'Choi Seungcheol' sound anything like 'Seo Jaemin'?" he scolded impatiently, trying to shove a piece of hot odeng into his mouth without scalding his tongue.
"No no no, just listen to me for a moment!" Sensing that Do-hyun was about to hang up on him, Seojun scrambled. "He was supposed to be a genius, but they said he stole a piece from another musician... a masterpiece," he quickly explained, then paused. "It was called The Conductor's Oath."
Do-hyun's odeng dropped back into the bowl, instantly unheeded. "... What?"
Seojun continued, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "People were talking about a falling out that became a huge scandal, but then everything online about it was suddenly scrubbed one day. Rumours say that it was so completely stolen, the original composer's name was just… erased."
Do-hyun's hand, which had been holding his phone loosely, tightened. A single name, a single title. The single clue, the same one Manager Park Sangho had given him back in the office that day, but he had been too angry to remember. It was a thread that led into darkness, a secret that lay hidden in plain sight.
He thanked Seojun and hung up, his mind now a racing blur of furious energy as he gulped down the rest of his meal. He wasn't looking for Seo Jaemin anymore. He was looking for The Conductor's Oath.
He went home and began to search. He tore through articles, scrolled through obscure music forums, and opened old academic papers.
It was a blur of information. The name "Choi Seungcheol" appeared again and again. Articles detailing his rise, his sudden and brilliant success with "The Conductor's Oath," and his eventual fall from grace when he was caught in another scandal.
But the whispers about the original composer remained, a persistent undercurrent in the comments sections of online forums, a ghost story that only a select few music lovers knew. They all agreed on one thing: the original composer had disappeared, his identity and his work erased as a part of a brutal act of betrayal.
Then, all of a sudden, he stumbled upon it. An old musicology blog, a niche community of music lovers. An image, a single photograph of the original manuscript of The Conductor's Oath. At the very bottom, name in a flourish of elegant, swirling script, there he was.
Seo Jaemin.
The truth slammed into Do-hyun with the force of a sledgehammer. The conductor he had called a coward. The man he had accused of manipulation. The omega he'd intimidated with his alpha scent and violent reactions. He was a victim, a wounded thing who had faced the most brutal form of betrayal imaginable—the theft of his soul—and had still found the courage to stand at a podium again, trying to reclaim his stolen dream, and fighting to save the Seoul Philharmonic Symphony with it.
Do-hyun ran a shaking hand down his face. He felt awful. He'd kicked the man when he was already down, had been down for years, and was just trying to get back onto his feet together with this dying orchestra. The thought made him drop his face into his hands, wracked with guilt. How could he ever make this right?
Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk beside him, the sound startling in the quiet of his room. He picked it up.
A new message. From a number he now had saved.
"Kang Do-hyun-ssi. Could we talk, please?"