Jaemin's throat tightened as a murmur ran through the room. It wasn't agreement, exactly, but it wasn't defense, either. It was the sound of fear finding a scapegoat.
"Ever since you came," Han Min-woo said, his voice shaking, "it's all been rumours, scandals, and violence. Would we be losing our funding if the concertmaster hadn't assaulted a renowned conductor? Or if the omega conductor wasn't the center of a pheromone scandal?"
"That's enough," Do-hyun growled.
But Han Min-woo still didn't back down. "Is it? Because now I'm out of a job. We all are. Because of your stupid personal drama, your goddamn love triangle!" In a show of uncharacteristic bravery, he turned back to Do-hyun, chin jerking up in defiance. "Yeah, I said it. Are you going to throw something at me now, Kang Do-hyun? Maybe your music stand, or the podium?"
Fists tight, Do-hyun stepped forward, ready to snarl and pounce and crush the insubordination, the insult to his mate, but Jaemin's quiet voice stopped him.
"Don't."
Taking a shuddering breath, Jaemin stepped forward. He looked at Min-woo, not with anger, but with a crushing sadness.
"You're right," he said hoarsely, his voice on the brink of breaking. "This is my fault. I brought him here. And none of this is Kang Do-hyun's fault. He was only protecting me."
He looked out at the terrified, angry faces of the orchestra members. He had failed them. The thought felt like a knife in his gut.
"Our plans are cancelled," he announced, voice strained. "I'm... I'm sorry, everyone."
The silence that followed was damning. Unlike two days ago, with Choi Seungcheol, no one stood up to shout Han Min-woo down. No one rallied. The reality of unpaid salaries and cancelled contracts was louder than loyalty.
With a sound of disgust, Han Min-woo grabbed his case and stormed out. A dozen others followed him, the click of latches and the zip of cases sounding like gunshots in the quiet hall.
Kim Seojun paused on his way out. He looked at them, his expression pained.
"I'm sorry, Conductor-nim, Sunbae-nim, but my mother… Her hospital bills… I—I'm so sorry."
As the oboist bowed deeply in apology before hurrying after the others, Jaemin's throat tightened.
It was just as Choi Seungcheol had said. These were people who had done nothing wrong, who just wanted to earn a decent living doing what they loved. He hadn't intended to ruin them, but all it took was him being here, and they were all being dragged down together with him.
Guilt reared up from where it had been churning in his gut, threatening to suffocate him as the sound of footfalls grew soft and distant. Within a few minutes, the hall was empty.
Or so Jaemin thought, until a gruff voice broke the silence, echoing from the back of the room.
"My wife always thought something like this would happen someday."
Yoon Hyeonwoo was still sitting in his chair in the cello section, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling.
Jaemin's head dropped lower. He couldn't bear to look at the older man as he continued to speak.
"She's been squirreling away cash in a tin under our bed ever since we got married. Kept saying 'orchestras are unstable, you never know when the roof will cave in.' I used to grouse at her, told she was being paranoid and unsupportive."
He let out a long, suffering sigh.
"I'm going to have to go home tonight and tell her she was right. She's never going to let me live it down. So… I don't really want to go back yet."
"What vibrant fighting spirit, Yoon Hyeonwoo-sshi," Han Chaewon noted dryly from the second violin section. "The spirit of marital defeat. Solid motivator." She turned to Jaemin and Do-hyun. "Sounds like you've pretty much given up. But that pisses me off. If we fold now, that Choi asshole wins. And, frankly, I hate his smug face."
"I... I don't want to leave either," Jung Eunji piped up from her seat, her voice small but firm. "I like the way we sound now. It feels… more real than anything."
Jaemin looked around. A handful of woodwinds were checking their phones, but they hadn't packed up. Hwan Se-jin was absentmindedly polishing his trumpet, looking bored by the drama.
When he caught Jaemin's amber gaze on him, he said simply, "I'm too old to start auditioning again, so if there's any chance of fighting our way through this, count me in."
"You're not even 35 yet, you punk," Yoon Hyeonwoo retorted.
Hwan Se-jin just scoffed and shrugged.
Looking around the hall, Jaemin quickly counted the remaining musicians. There were about thirty of them left. It wasn't a symphony. It was a mish-mash, skeleton crew.
"We can't pay you," he said, his voice rough. "You know that, right? Manager Park isn't lying. The money is gone."
"We heard you the first time," Yoon Hyeonwoo grunted. "Just pay us when the tickets sell. Or buy us dinner. I'm not picky."
Han Chaewon blew out a heavy breath. "I might have to borrow from my friends if this really drags on, but to me, that's just another reason not to delay our plans any longer. Let's get started."
"But… the music," Jaemin argued weakly. "We can't use a lot of the pieces we've been practicing, not with these numbers. Without them, we'll just sound thin. Weak."
"So change the arrangements," Han Chaewon shot back, as if it was the most obvious solution in the world. "You're a composer, aren't you? You know how the pieces fit."
She looked at him, her expression challenging.
"It's not the first time someone has done this. Fine, we might still have to switch out some of our current repertoire, but I'm sure you can make a lot of the other pieces we've been working on more intimate."
Jaemin gulped. "If we mess up, there's nowhere to hide."
Han Chaewon's eyes narrowed. "Everyone will hear it. So we'd better make sure we're god-fucking perfect."
Jaemin stared at them. They weren't offering him their hearts on a platter; they were offering him their stubbornness.
He looked at Do-hyun. The alpha was watching the group with a small, tired smile, the first Jaemin had seen on his face all day.
"Well," Do-hyun said quietly. "They have a point."
He turned to Manager Park, who was still standing by the door, looking stunned at what he was hearing.
"How much to move forward with the booking?"
"For the rental and security deposit…" Manager Park did the mental calculations. "And then there's still other costs that we can't avoid; cartage, rush printing and marketing—"
"I'll cover it."
"Do-hyun." Jaemin whipped towards him, the flare of panic inside him making him completely forget the professional front they had agreed to uphold in front of the rest of the orchestra. "You can't just—That's your money—"
"It is. And I get to decide what I do with it." Do-hyun's answer was low and gentle. "Everyone is making sacrifices to see this through. What kind of concertmaster would I be, if I didn't give whatever I can as well?"
He nodded at Manager Park. "We'll work out the exact details in a bit. But we're doing this."
Jaemin stared at his mate. The fear was still there, choking him, but something else was rising to meet it. A cold, hard resolve. A determination to fight on, to the very last breath.
He turned to his orchestra. His small, cynical, stubborn orchestra.
"We have two weeks," Jaemin said. "I'll need some time to rearrange what we've got, and there's going to be lots to relearn."
He looked at them, making eye contact with each of his soldiers by turn. "It won't be the grand comeback that we wanted, but it will be ours."
"Sounds like a shit-ton of work." Han Chaewon lifted her arms up high in a full-body stretch. "Let's get started, before I change my mind."