Inside the quiet sanctuary of Jaemin's home, time had ceased to exist, replaced by a rhythm of soft whispers, shared breaths, and a healing that ran far deeper than the physical. Everything outside their four walls, the swirling tempest of noise and judgment went ignored.
For Do-hyun, these days were a revelation. Jaemin, stripped of his professional armor, was a canvas of vulnerability and strength. Even through the haze of his rut, Do-hyun had learned to read every subtle shift in his scent, every line of his shoulders, and had found a profound peace in his presence.
In turn, Jaemin's steady presence had quelled the fire of Do-hyun's need, shortening the duration of the rut and leaving them both with a quiet, lingering sense of contentment.
But the real world was waiting, and their orchestra needed them. They were out there, picking up the pieces from the ruins of the Revival Gala. As conductor and concertmaster, they couldn't stay locked away forever.
And so, a week and a half after taking refuge, they prepared to emerge into reality.
As Do-hyun fastened the last button on his shirt, he glanced at Jaemin, who stood by the window, a sliver of sunlight catching his profile and making his hair glow like dark honey.
Remnants of the scent from his heat still clung to him, a sweet, earthy testament to their time together, but it was now laced with a fresh, resilient sharpness. Despite the line of tension running through him now, his silhouette was one of quiet confidence, a stark contrast to the haze-filled omega who had stood before him and called him "Alpha" just days ago.
The change was more than physical, a settled serenity of a ship that had finally found its harbor.
Moving to stand behind Jaemin, Do-hyun put his arms around his shoulders and nuzzled lightly into his hair, taking in his soft floral scent. "Ready?" he murmured.
Jaemin sighed, a soft sound of resignation. "I don't know. This feels like the calm before the storm. He wouldn't have stopped, just because the Gala ended that way. He's out there, somewhere, planning his next move."
Do-hyun's hands tightened around him in a reassuring squeeze. "Then we'll face it together. Let them throw whatever they have at us. I'll be right here, beside you."
Jaemin leaned back into his touch, a silent acknowledgment of the strength his alpha offered. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, drawing on that comfort, before turning to face Do-hyun, his gaze clear and steady. "Let's go."
…
The music world was in a mess of hysterical chaos. Video footage of the moment Jaemin had collapsed on stage, leaking wave after wave of powerful omega pheromones, and Do-hyun had rushed to his side, had gone viral.
It was the stuff of a modern-day fairytale, the moment when an omega in disguise had been forced to reveal his true identity, only to be swept up in the rescuing arms of a strong and dashing alpha. The public had been whipped into a frenzy of wild speculation, sensational headlines screaming from every newsstand, painting a dramatic tale of secrets and shocking revelations.
But through it all, like a poisonous whisper, a new narrative, insidious and subtle began to take root.
Multiple anonymous social media accounts that seemed to have sprouted up overnight began to dredge up old news about Seo Jaemin's background, using it to question his professional capabilities. They painted him as a fragile genius whose talent was a flimsy façade that cracked under pressure, pointing to every misstep, every moment of perceived weakness, as proof that an omega had no place on the conductor's podium.
Other "leaks", although far more subdued, hinted at Kang Do-hyun being a predator, taking advantage of an omega caught in a moment of distress. The whispers turned to shouts, and the symphony's once-spotless reputation was now under siege.
"I still can't believe it," Jung Eunji said, fiddling with the strings on her viola. They sat in the musician's lounge, the air thick with nervous anticipation. Manager Park Sangho had summoned them all to the rehearsal hall to give them updates on the situation and announce what would happen to the Seoul Philharmonic Symphony next.
"Believe what?" Han Chaewon retorted. "That the media is a flock of vultures? Or that the public is a fickle, gossiping mob?"
Kim Seojun, sitting next to Eunji, grinned. "No, no, that our conductor is an omega. And that the two of them are so in sync. Don't you remember how Conductor-nim could just look at Kang Do-hyun sunbae-nim and their music instantly snaps into perfect alignment? It was like they're conducting and playing with the same mind."
Hwan Se-jin, the trumpet player, sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his hair. "There's definitely something between them. My mate said the same thing when we watched the footage from the gala. The way Kang Do-hyun-nim reacted? Pure instinct."
Yoon Hyeonwoo, the principal cellist, grunted, his gruff voice cutting through the chatter. He was an older alpha, and this kind of blatant, public nonsense was an affront to him. "Doesn't matter what they are. What matters is the noise. This all feels like someone trying to create a firestorm to discredit our Conductor-nim."
"Exactly!" Chaewon's eyes flashed with anger. "They're trying to argue that an omega has no place leading an alpha-dominated orchestra. It's so fucking insulting! A conductor's authority comes from skill and passion, not their secondary gender. But that's what this is really about, isn't it? The same old prejudices, just wrapped up in a new scandal."
"But not everyone is buying it," Eunji said softly. "I saw some of the comments. There are people out there who are calling out the comments as a smear campaign. They see right through it."
"That's because we've made it clear," Hyeonwoo said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Our Manager Park Sangho-nim has been making phone calls to his contacts in the press. Giving them the real story."
At that moment, the lounge door opened, and Park Sangho walked in, his expression one of calm satisfaction. Behind him, Kang Do-hyun and Seo Jaemin entered side by side, a silent, unified front.
A hushed murmur ran through the room as the musicians' eyes widened. There were soft, hesitant calls of "Conductor-nim!" and "Kang Do-hyun-nim!" A few of the younger players started to stand, but Jaemin raised a hand to stop them, offering a small, grateful smile. He looked a little wan, but his scent of cherry blossoms, now completely free of the beta mask of sandalwood, was strong, settled, and reassuring.
Do-hyun simply nodded to them, his gaze sweeping the room, a silent message of thanks to the family that had stayed faithful in their absence.
Manager Park held up a tablet. "Thank you for coming, everyone. These past two weeks have been difficult for all of us, I'm sure, and it's time we gave you a formal update on how we've been trying to handle this PR scandal.
"We've issued a statement to the press. We've said that Maestro Seo Jaemin-nim was recovering from a sudden medical issue, and that Maestro Kang Do-hyun-nim would be by his side as he recovers."
He looked over the room, his eyes lingering on each of them before finally adding, "The Seoul Philharmonic Symphony stands with our conductor."
Do-hyun felt a wave of profound relief wash over him. Manager Park had been playing a different game all along. He had let the public speculate just long enough for the orchestra to rally, creating a deep, unifying loyalty that would now serve as an unbreakable shield.
Beside him, Jaemin took a deep breath, composing himself before taking a step forward, his gaze sweeping over the faces of his musicians. He held up a hand to quiet the room, his expression one of quiet solemnity. "Before we go on, there's something I need to say.
"I owe all of you an apology. For months, I was not honest with you about who I am, because I was afraid of the very thing that is now happening. You deserved better than that."
But Jung Eunji was already shaking her head. "Conductor-nim, you have nothing to apologize for," she said, her soft voice firm. "We know you. We know your heart for the music."
Han Chaewon nodded in agreement. "She's right," she said, her eyes flashing. "You saved us from becoming a parody of ourselves, stuck playing the same tired pieces. We know what a master you are, and I don't know about the rest of you, but no matter the rumours, I don't want anyone else conducting the SPS."
A collective murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Jaemin's mouth softened into a small smile, and his eyes, glistening with moisture, swept over them. He nodded once, a gesture of profound gratitude, before his professional demeanor returned.
"The world outside may doubt our professional integrity and our musical talent," he said, his voice ringing with a new, quiet authority that left no room for doubt. "The gossip, the headlines—Let them say whatever they want about us. Our answer to all of it will be our music. Park Sangho-ssi is a master of public relations," he nodded gratefully to Manager Park, who nodded back in return, "but we are masters of our craft.
"I have already drafted up a new program for our next season, and the pieces are more ambitious than anything we have ever attempted so far. I hope you're ready to get to work, because we are going to create something truly unforgettable." He turned, a small smile curving his lips as he looked at Do-hyun.
"Let's write our next movement together."