The silence that followed the final note of the Adagio was heavier than any sound. The emotional intensity lingered, a ghost in the air.
Do-hyun's heart pounded a frantic, uneven rhythm. He stared at Seo Jaemin at the podium, the man's hand still slightly raised, and felt a cold dread settle in his bones. That brief moment of perfect harmony… it was impossible. His mind screamed for a logical explanation—a fluke, a coincidence, a lucky guess. But his body remembered the feeling, the uncanny pull of his bow to Jaemin's hand, the way their auras had seemed to lock, a perfect key fitting into a lock he hadn't known he had.
Around him, the orchestra buzzed with a low murmur as the musicians packed up their instruments for the day.
"I told you!" Kim Seojun exclaimed, his voice hushed but ringing with vindication. "Did you see that? He's like… a music whisperer! He didn't even need to shout." He gestured wildly with his oboe case.
Jan Chaewon, however, simply watched Do-hyun, who had remained rooted to his spot, a small frown on her face. Her beta senses were keen, and she saw the shock etched on Do-hyun's features as he watched as this new conductor—no, Seo Jaemin—casually organised his sheet music, his slender frame still radiating that frustrating, quiet confidence. It was not the shock of a defeated rival, but something deeper. Something that had rattled him to his core.
Quickly making a decision, Do-hyun stood, packed his violin, and followed after Jaemin, who had retreated back to his office. Hearing his footsteps, Jaemin paused and turned around.
"Kang Do-hyun-ssi? Is everything alright?"
Now that he was facing him, the anger Do-hyun had brought with him suddenly felt clumsy and misplaced. His voice, when it finally came, was rougher than he intended. "I... I came to talk about what happened back there in the rehearsal."
He had planned a confident, alpha-like accusation, but instead, he sounded like a man drowning. The last time he had been this disarmed was with Minseo, and the thought was a sudden pang in his chest.
Jaemin turned to enter the office, gesturing vaguely toward a chair. "The rehearsal went well. The orchestra is progressing." He moved open a bottle of water, his movements graceful and efficient.
Do-hyun didn't sit. "Don't play games with me. You know what I'm talking about. What you did with the Adagio back there. That was not a fluke. What did you do?"
Jaemin took a drink of water. "I did nothing. I simply led. It is my job."
If not for the fire that the casual dismissal lit in his chest, Do-hyun would have found the bob of Jaemin's throat… distracting. "It was more than that. I felt it. It was like... I could feel your intentions." He finally lost his composure, his voice rising, his hands clenching into fists. "Tell me what that was, Seo Jaemin. Because I've never felt anything like it."
Jaemin's gaze was unsettlingly calm, as if he were staring at a curious but easily-solved puzzle. "It was music, Kang Do-hyun-ssi," he insisted. "You are a brilliant musician, but you have been fighting against your fellow players for too long. For the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the pulse of the orchestra as a whole."
Do-hyun shook his head. "No. That's a lie. It was more than that. I felt like I was being… pulled to you." He felt a flash of desperation. He was on the verge of admitting to something he had no name for to this man who was looking at him with an infuriating lack of emotion.
Jaemin took a slow breath, a quiet, almost imperceptible tremor passing through him.
"What you felt, Kang Do-hyun-ssi, is what is possible for us. For the orchestra."
Do-hyun's jaw clenched. "You will not tell me what I feel. You will not try to dominate me."
A flicker of something—a brief, pained memory?—passed through Jaemin's eyes. He didn't back down. He simply looked at Do-hyun with a disarming sadness, a quiet plea in his eyes. "Whatever it is, it is powerful. We can use it. We can save the Seoul Philharmonic Symphony. We can make music that the world has never heard before.We can create something beautiful. Let's focus on that."
To that, Do-hyun had no answer. He could feel the frustration building, a hot, angry surge that his body wanted to unleash. But there was nothing to fight against. The beta's neutral scent, so faint it was barely a whisper, was like a quiet, unassailable fortress that Do-hyun's alpha energy simply could not breach.
It was infuriating. Do-hyun was certain that Jaemin had played a trick earlier, a trick that had gotten under his skin. But what was it?
"You have a gift," Jaemin said, breaking Do-hyun's thoughts, his gaze settling on the violin he carried. "But you are a soloist by nature. Your music is precise, powerful, and undeniably beautiful. But it is a song you sing alone. To save this orchestra, you must learn to listen to the song of others."
Do-hyun felt a jolt of alarm. This beta, this stranger, had just seen a truth he had refused to acknowledge for years. He had always played for himself. He had always demanded perfection, but he had never offered connection.
"What do you suggest, then?" Do-hyun finally asked, the question a heavy, grudging admission of defeat.
Jaemin's eyes held a subtle, knowing glimmer. He didn't smile. He just waited.