The deliberate steps broke the low murmur of the nearby crowd.
Qui-Gon Jinn approached, hands folded behind his back, his expression calm but observant.
"Enjoying the show?" he asked as he reached the table.
Clone Jin-Woo didn't even look at him directly, just motioned to the empty chair across from him.
"Shouldn't you be with your Grandmaster? I hear there's going to be a big event today. Something about a duel."
Qui-Gon pulled out the chair and sat down smoothly, still watching him.
"Tell me something, Jin-Woo… how are you here, but also there?"
His tone wasn't accusatory. Just curious. Probing.
Clone Jin-Woo gave a relaxed shrug.
"It's very simple," he said, taking another sip of his drink. "I'm not that guy. Just a successful merchant. Right place, right time."
A small smile touched Qui-Gon's lips.
"Then I hope Master Yoda wins," he said with the faintest edge of irony.
Reaching into his robes, he retrieved a small container — the red pill. He placed it gently on the table between them.
"The red pill you gave me… I think I need more than symbolism," he said. "It was just a representation. I need a clue."
Clone Jin-Woo didn't move, his expression unreadable beneath the shade of his hood, eyes half-lidded.
"Have you spoken with your old master yet?"
Qui-Gon nodded slowly.
"Yes. Dooku now doubts Chancellor Valorum, just as you said. He sees the decay. He believes Valorum will be replaced — and that whoever comes next might be the crisis that unravels everything. One way or another… the shift is coming."
Clone Jin-Woo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his tone calm.
"Then come back to Naboo," he said. "But earlier this time. Very early next month. You'll find your clue then… and you'll see where the rabbit hole leads."
Qui-Gon nodded again, silently. His fingers brushed over the red pill before slipping it back into his robes.
Beside Jin-Woo,
Morgan shifted slightly, her tone turning sharp and to the point.
"Mind giving us some private space? We have more serious matters to discuss."
But Qui-Gon simply gave her a faint smirk, matching Jin-Woo's earlier tone.
"No… I don't think I will."
Clone Jin-Woo leaned back in his seat, arms folding lazily across his chest.
"Tell me something, Qui-Gon Jinn. Since you're a maverick in your own faction…"
He paused, letting the weight of the question settle before continuing.
"Is the Jedi Order evil? In the eyes of the people."
Qui-Gon's gaze held steady.
"The Jedi Order has served the Senate for a long time. Yes, there's been misunderstanding… even failure. But evil?" He shook his head. "No. That's not the Jedi way."
Clone Jin-Woo tilted his head slightly.
"Let me clear your head a little."
"When the Jedi recruit new initiates — when they pick their own knights or younglings — what's the first thing they do? Think carefully. It's simple."
Qui-Gon was silent for a breath, then answered quietly.
"We ask the permission of the parents first."
Clone Jin-Woo smirk didn't move.
"Right. You ask permission. But let's not play polite now. Most of these 'recruits' come from Outer Rim worlds, don't they? From places where families barely scrape by — where their children are their only light."
"And then you show up, offering to take that light… so it can shine brighter than they ever could. But at what cost?"
Clone Jin-Woo eyes narrowed.
"You don't just train them. You take them. You strip away attachment, you sever family, you burn the bridge to their past. And you call that mercy."
He tapped the table once, slow and deliberate.
"Tell me, Qui-Gon. Do those children ever see their families again?"
Qui-Gon's calm demeanor shifted, just barely. Enough to show he was listening — and thinking.
"I see..." he murmured. "So we're already at fault from the very beginning."
"But I'll raise the stakes, Jin-Woo. My answer is this: The Jedi — for all their flaws — are still remembered as heroes. They're still seen as the ones who saved the galaxy."
Clone Jin-Woo tilted his head, just a little.
"They say when people stand at the top — when they have power — everyone crowds around. They cheer. They sing your praises. They'll kiss your boots..Some might even lick the shit off your soles if it keeps them safe."
"But when that power shifts… when the Jedi fall and the Sith rise… Will those same people — the ones who worship you now — still do it? Will they still wave their little flags, cry your names, uphold your ideals?"
Qui-Gon didn't speak. Not immediately.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was the kind of silence that demanded respect. The kind that settled between two men who had just opened a door to a truth neither of them could ignore.
Morgan didn't speak. She didn't need to.
After a few moments, Qui-Gon exhaled quietly and spoke.
"What you've said… the Council might reject it. Entirely."
Morgan cut in without hesitation, her tone dry and sharp.
"The monks will definitely reject it. Most of them right now probably think they're higher than Avalon itself."
Qui-Gon turned slightly, brow raised. "Avalon? You mean the Force… or heaven?"
Clone Jin-Woo chuckled once, low and bitter.
"They think they are the will of the Force. That their robes and codes make them untouchable. That every outdated decision they make is divine."
"And yet, to this day… they haven't reached what they've been preaching for centuries. Not peace. Not balance. Not clarity. All they've done is preserve a system that fears change. You tell me, Master Jinn. After all these years… what has the Jedi Order actually attained?"
Qui-Gon's expression was unreadable. Then, quietly:
"We both know the answer to that. But what must I do? They say an individual can make a difference. So where do I begin? Any leads to this rabbit hole you keep mentioning… besides next month?"
Clone Jin-Woo stared at him for a moment, then gave a simple nod.
"If you're still alive after next month's chaos…"
He let that implication hang. Qui-Gon's brow furrowed, but he didn't press.
Jin-Woo continued. "Start small. Search your own Temple."
"The Jedi Temple on Coruscant?" Qui-Gon asked.
"You say that like it's just a library with lightsaber racks," Jin-Woo replied. "But no. I'm not talking about weapons. Not some Sith relic. I'm talking about the foundation."
Qui-Gon blinked. ""That's the question I need to answer, isn't it, Jin-Woo? And honestly… I don't think even Master Yoda knows what lies beneath us."
Clone Jin-Woo's gaze sharpened. "I'm not kind enough to hand it to you. Dig. Read. Search under your own feet. And maybe… you'll start seeing what the Jedi Order really is."
Suddenly, a loud chime cut the air.
All three turned their heads as a nearby public holoscreen flickered to life. Across Naboo, every plaza and chamber with a view lit up with the same feed — a wide-angle shot of the Theed training ground. The crowd's murmurs fell to whispers.
Morgan leaned in, her eyes glinting.
"Quiet now," she said. "I want to see this."
Clone Jin-Woo and Qui-Gon both went still, their conversation forgotten for the moment.
Across the capital, all eyes turned to the screen.
—The real Jin-Woo, clad in his full Proto-Didact Exoframe Armor, stood masked and silent. The burnished plates of his suit caught the sunlight like a looming titan. His presence radiated stillness .
Across from him stood Master Yoda, his posture deceptively relaxed, cane in hand.
But just as the two combatants prepared to face one another, another figure stepped forward from the Jedi observation platform.
Mace Windu.
"I'll take his place," Windu said firmly. "Let me face him. I'm more… direct when it comes to combat."
Yoda didn't budge.
"Win, you cannot," the Grandmaster replied, his voice patient but resolute. "Face this man, I must. His experience… unmatched, it is."
Windu narrowed his eyes but said nothing more. He turned away and returned to his seat beside Plo Koon and Tyvokka.
Jin-Woo's voice carried clearly, mechanical and resonant from within his helmet.
"Just in case I win—Chancellor Valorum," he said coolly, "that one trillion credits donation… who currently holds the fund?"
Valorum, standing nearby, blinked and turned slightly to address the crowd.
"It's under the management of Admiral Ranulph Tarkin," he replied. "He's long promoted your legend. It seemed fitting."
Jin-Woo nodded slowly, his mask tilting slightly toward the aging admiral.
"Tarkin," he said, "I trust your military experience will guide you well through the problems ahead. Don't spend it all in one place."
A murmur swept through the onlookers.
Cameras zoomed in. Holoreporters whispered updates. Every newsfeed across the Core lit up with one headline:
THE ARMORED MAN ENTRUSTS THE GALAXY'S GREATEST FUND TO TARKIN
Tarkin stood tall, fists at his sides. "It will be an honor," he said firmly. "To be trusted with such a task by you, Armored Man."
Jin-Woo nodded once, then slowly turned back toward the small Jedi Master now standing before him.
Yoda stepped forward. "Armored Man," he said "answer me, you must. During the Yinchorri raid… strike us, did you?"
Jin-Woo's helmeted gaze tilted downward slightly. "You'll have your answer when you win. After all…" He took a step forward, each footfall solid and deliberate, "…the winner decides what the loser deserves."
"Oh, and Grandmaster… I haven't made my demand yet. You asked for my identity if I lose. Now it's time you accept mine, if you do."
Yoda's eyes narrowed.
"What ask of me, do you, Armored Man?" the old master said, slow and direct.
Jin-Woo didn't flinch. "I want the Jedi Temple."
"As My home," Jin-Woo continued, "should your ass be defeated."
Gasps echoed from the stands. Holoreporters froze, then scrambled to transcribe it. Across the galaxy — Core to Outer Rim — every viewer glued to the feed leaned in closer.
Windu stood up abruptly, eyes flashing. "You've lost your mind. That Temple is sacred. A symbol of peace. A beacon for the entire galaxy. You dare ask this of Master Yoda? You're no different than a tyrant."
Jin-Woo turned toward him — slow, calm, controlled.
"If we don't agree on equal stakes," he said coldly, "then cancel the duel now."
He looked at Windu directly, voice low but cutting.
"My face… my name… my identity under this mask — is worth more than this entire galaxy."
He turned back to Yoda.
"So. Do we have a deal, Grandmaster?"
Yoda stared for a long second, then gave a single nod.
"I accept the terms… Armored Man."
The entire crowd gasped — some swallowed hard, others instinctively stepped back.
Across the galaxy, the holofeed surged. Every channel that caught the broadcast lit up with commentary, speculation, and outright disbelief.
Among the elite circle flanking the edge of the Spectator Seats . one figure remained unnaturally still — Hego Damask, better known by the few who mattered as Darth Plagueis. Masked behind wealth and political charm, he stood beside San Hill, expression unreadable.
This man… he's doing what Sidious and I never dared attempt publicly. A duel that forces the Jedi into a corner before the galaxy's eyes.
Plagueis narrowed his eyes slightly, thoughts calculating fast.
But this is premature. If the Jedi scatter now… they'll regroup stronger. They always do. They adapt. That's the danger.
Meanwhile, Windu said nothing — no protest, no rebuttal — just leaned slightly toward Tyvokka and Plo Koon, speaking in a voice low enough that only the Force could carry it clearly.
"Prepare to engage him. If Master Yoda falters even once… we strike. That man isn't just a warrior."
Plo Koon nodded slowly.
"No. He's a mercenary. A beast hunter… to be precise."
Tyvokka didn't even blink.
"Then let's hope… we're not the next beast on his list."
At the center of the Naboo training ground which capital city The theed , the air hung heavy. Every spectator — Jedi, senator, soldier, noble — leaned forward, breath held.
Captain Panaka stepped between them, voice loud and unwavering.
"You both agreed before this duel — no killing. The bout ends when one can no longer continue or yields. Is that clear?"
Jin-Woo, clad in the full Protodidact Exoframe, nodded once.
So did Yoda, his eyes locked onto the towering figure before him.