The silence that followed Do-hyun's words was deafening. It stretched, long and suffocating, between the two men. Jaemin's eyes, wide with shock, were fixed on Do-hyun's face. He didn't move. He barely seemed to breathe. It was as if Do-hyun had spoken a forbidden name, a secret incantation that unsealed a part of him he had worked so hard to keep hidden.
"How…?" Jaemin finally whispered, his voice shaking. "How do you know that name?"
"I searched," Do-hyun said simply. "After I left your apartment, I knew there was something more. My search for you led me to a rumor, and that rumor led me to your music."
The fear in Jaemin's eyes slowly faded, replaced by something even more painful—a deep, weary sadness. He leaned back in his chair, running a trembling hand over his face. The composure he always held so tightly slipped away, revealing the jagged edges of an old wound.
"It was the piece I wrote at the Vienna Academy for my graduation project," Jaemin began, his voice barely a murmur, as if the words themselves were too heavy to bear. "I poured everything into it—every lesson, every failure, every hope. I called it The Conductor's Oath."
He paused, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Choi Seungcheol was my best friend. My mentor, my… my brother in music. He was a brilliant musician, but his compositions never quite resonated the way mine did. We were so close. I trusted him with everything. When I finished the piece, I gave him the only copy of the score. I wanted him to be the first to hear it, to celebrate with me."
Do-hyun listened, his own guilt warring with a fierce, protective indignation that was entirely new. A sharp, possessive note entered his cedar scent, a low growl only he could hear.
"He took it," Jaemin continued, reaching up to rub the nape of his neck as his voice hardened with a bitter edge. "And he presented it as his own at his graduation recital. He… he said he had come up with it, as a joke. People believed him. He was an alpha, after all.
"I was just a young omega, and he used that against me when I tried to reclaim it as mine. He painted me as a manipulative, emotionally fragile omega who would stop at nothing to get ahead. The faculty, the press, the public—they were so ready to believe it. Nobody believed that an omega could have the ability to compose something like that, not when an alpha was claiming it for his own.
"In the end, he had the support of the school and the faculty. My name… it was erased. From the score, from the program, from everything."
Jaemin looked at Do-hyun, his eyes pleading for understanding. "They said I was talented at conducting, but that I couldn't compose, and so I had tried to steal from another. And that if I were to steal from another musician once, how could I be trusted with the honor of conducting a symphony? The public shaming… it was too much. There were protests, petitions. I had no choice but to leave.
"So I hid, I gave up everything. I came back to Seoul, to a place where I was just another anonymous face. I never wanted to put myself in a position so vulnerable again."
His hands clenched into fists under the table, a hidden, muted action channelling the years of repressed anger and pain that he had been powerless to express.
"But then the SPS—" His voice wavered for a moment before recovering, "I had just begun looking for work again when Manager Park called me up personally to offer me the position, and I saw… a chance to rebuild my career… the dreams I had to surrender… I guess," he gave a small, wobbly laugh that rang through Do-hyun's core, "I guess I was so arrogant that I thought I could save the SPS too."
Do-hyun swallowed, throat dry. "It's not arrogance," he said hoarsely. "You can. You have been. We've never been able to play this way until you came."
Jaemin smiled up at him tiredly. "Thank you for saying that. But I'm sure any other conductor worth their salt would have been able to unlock your gifts as well. You're all incredibly talented musicians, every single one of you." His gaze met Do-hyun's as he added softly, "Especially you."
Do-hyun's heart thudded hard, but before he had time to respond, Jaemin continued, "I thought I could start afresh and leave my past behind, but our… argument… made me realise, if people find out who I am, those old rumours will resurface, and this time it won't just be me that they stain, and I…" he bit his lip, nails picking at his skin as he looked away, "I can't do that to you," he whispered.
Do-hyun didn't answer immediately, couldn't figure out what to say. As the silence between them stretched longer with each second, Jaemin's head bowed lower and lower with shame.
Finally, Do-hyun spoke. "Seo Jaemin."
Jaemin's head fell lower yet, anticipating the rejection, the goodbye.
"I'm an alpha too, you know."
Caught offguard, Jaemin's eyes snapped up to Do-hyun, who was gazing at him with gentle eyes and a crooked grin from across the table. "What?"
"It's not arrogance to want to save us," Do-hyun said, his voice low and steady. "God knows we needed saving, and you showed us it could be done. The hope we have... it's something you've earned, Conductor-nim. It's what we want to give back to you."
"But, I—"
"We know exactly who you are, Seo Jaemin-nim," Do-hyun continued, not letting Jaemin protest. "Well, maybe the rest don't know this particular thing, but… Everyone knows that you're a fucking good conductor, the only one who could have freed our music and given it back to us the way that you did. That wasn't a fluke. You're not a fraud."
"You don't understand, my past, it will—"
"Stay in the past, where it belongs." Do-hyun tone was firm. "And if it ever comes knocking, I promise you, you will never have to face it alone. We'll be there, and we'll fight alongside you… If you'll let us."
Jaemin's eyes glistened, throat bobbing as he choked down his rising emotions.
"Let me fight for you," Do-hyun said, voice dropping to a low but unwavering murmur. "Use me, Seo Jaemin; as a violinist, as an alpha, as a soloist, as a concertmaster, as a shield… Whatever you need me to be, I will follow your command."
He reached across the table, hand stopping to hover before Jaemin.
"Because nobody else deserves to be at the head of this orchestra."
He held Jaemin's gaze, his hand and promise hanging in the air between them, solid and certain. Jaemin's breath hitched, and a single tear escaped and slid down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away, but reached out slowly and took Do-hyun's offered hand.
The moment their skin made contact, a jolt shot through them both, the same feeling as in the rehearsal hall, but with an instantaneous, overwhelming transfer of emotion.
Jaemin felt a wave of pure, unadulterated sincerity—a torrent of Do-hyun's frustration, his profound guilt, and most of all, his fierce, protective determination to make things right. He felt the weight of Do-hyun's pledge, a silent vow that went deeper than words, an alpha's solemn promise that he would not fail him. For the first time, he felt the true, unfiltered cedar of Do-hyun's core scent through the mix of anger and regret he'd smelled before.
For Do-hyun, the touch was a gut-punch of profound loneliness and fear, a deep-seated vulnerability that he could sense in every trembling line of Jaemin's body. He could almost feel the echoes of the past betrayal, a wound that had never truly healed. And beneath the mask of bland sandalwood, he could finally catch the faintest, most heartbreaking note of Jaemin's true scent. It deepened his resolve, confirming that this was a fight he had to win.
Jaemin looked up at Do-hyun, and for the first time in years, a flicker of genuine hope returned to his eyes. He slowly nodded.
"Okay," he said, voice thick with emotion. "Okay."