Tarkin stepped forward first, voice sharp as a vibroblade. "Palpatine, my co-chancellor, you forget history when it's convenient. Your home—Naboo—was raided by the Trade Federation because the Jedi clung to their arrogance. They refused to believe the Sith had returned, and now look at where we stand. An ancient Sith slept beneath their own temple and escaped into the stars."
Tarkin continued, his tone rising. "If you study the pattern, it is clear: the Jedi Order is an outdated relic. When a galaxy-scale war comes, we cannot rely on monks who meditate while empires rise. And the younglings—Force-sensitives born into this Republic—they must be trained as real soldiers if they are assets of the Republic."
The line of Jedi shifted, subtle but visible—offense, grief, and restrained fury blending behind quiet stances.
Palpatine stepped forward with a soft, measured breath. His expression was a portrait of benevolence, eyes lowered in compassion for the Order. "Tarkin is exploiting grief for power," he said, voice woven with practiced sorrow. "You speak of unity, yet your words divide. You accuse an entire Order during their mourning. You act like a dictator, not a chancellor."
Several journalists leaned forward. The tension shifted.
Palpatine turned to the reporters, hands slightly raised. "The Jedi kept peace for a thousand years. A thousand years—long before either of us held office." His voice deepened, warm and heavy. ". They protected worlds that the Senate forgot. And now—now you speak as if they are to blame for everything?"
Tarkin's mouth tightened.
Palpatine didn't stop. "If we fracture our guardians, if we shame them into silence, if we erode the trust that binds the Jedi and the Republic—then we bring ruin upon ourselves. For if they decide not to defend us… if they decide to step away… the Republic will fall. Because the Jedi have faced the Sith before, and they will do so again."
Jin-Woo watched the reporters, the chancellors, the Jedi, and the tension tightening like a noose. They're repeating the same disease Chaldea's higher-ups had… proper human fucking history, crushing everything beneath its own arrogance. He let that thought slip through the telepathic link.
Morgan responded instantly, voice dry and edged. So much for the mourning that just happened. Do you want to join the party? XoXaan keeps pressing me to bring you too. To face Naga Sadow.
Jin-Woo murmured under his breath. "Yeah… I'm out."
He turned, ready to leave the mess to burn on its own.
But Yaddle stepped in front of him, small frame blocking his path with surprising resolve. "Jin-Woo… could you stay? At least until Chancellor Tarkin leaves. Please." Her eyes held urgency—fear not for herself, but for the younglings watching all this collapse.
Jin-Woo's answer came blunt and razor sharp, the way only he could speak without flinching. "Can all the Jedi here attack Tarkin's army and silence the reporters? Because right now, you all just got stabbed in the back. The Republic and its citizens threw you in the trash bin."
Reporters stopped talking mid-breath. Palpatine and Tarkin both turned toward him as if gravity itself had shifted.
One of the reporters, a young man who clearly had no idea who Jin-Woo really was—only that he was a "successful merchant from the Purple England Company"—lifted his chin and leveled his mic.
"Sir Jin-Woo, with respect, a merchant should have no right to be in this top—"
He didn't get to finish. Palpatine's hand snapped out faster than the camera crew could react. SLAP—the holocam jolted sideways, nearly hitting the ground.
Palpatine hissed under his breath, face pale. "Keep your voice down. If you don't want what happened in the Senate Rotunda that day to happen here."
Even Tarkin blinked, impressed. Nice save, he thought begrudgingly.
Jin-Woo turned toward the reporter. His expression didn't change, but something in the air folded inward—sharp, cold, absolute. When he spoke, it wasn't loud. It simply cut through the courtyard.
"Turn off your electronics. All of you. I prefer the true medieval era—when people listened instead of drowning in noise. Put my words in your minds ."
A different journalist, older and braver than the rest, stepped forward. "But Sir Jin-Woo, the Republic's citizens need to know the outcome that will happ—"
Tarkin didn't let him finish. He raised a hand, voice hard. "Do what Jin-Woo says. Understand? Don't argue. Don't question. Just do it."
The group of reporters went rigid. Then, slowly, reluctantly, every holocamera dimmed to black. Every recorder shut down. Every datapad powered off. A strange quiet filled the air—unnatural for Coruscant .
Jin-Woo snapped his fingers. A dark throne rose from the stone—smooth, tall, carved from shadow, its edges shimmering like cooled obsidian. He sat with one hand on the armrest, legs relaxed, eyes scanning the entire courtyard. Every party—the Jedi, the two Chancellors, the soldiers, the reporters—stood caught between fear and obedience.
He didn't want to speak. But it was time to clean the trash in one sweep, while he still sat at the top.
He pointed at the reporter who had spoken earlier. "You said the Republic's citizens need to know the outcome of what happened today. Right?"
The reporter swallowed hard. His voice cracked. "Y-yes, sir. For the citizens. To prevent panic and… uhh… uncertainty."
Jin-Woo's tone stayed flat. "Then tell them this. Everything is fine. The Jedi beat the Sith. Justice prevailed. The Republic stands. The Jedi are helping."
Another journalist stepped forward, nervous but compelled. "Wouldn't… that be a lie, sir? We journalists must tell the truth—"
Jin-Woo cut in, voice dropping like a hammer. "Bullshit, All of you—'voice of the people'—what you're loyal to is wealth, not truth. Whoever paid you today is why you're here. Whoever escalated this circus is why the Jedi are on their knees. So don't pretend you're some kind of moral compass."
No one argued. Not a single datapad dared to blink back on.
Jin-Woo leaned forward slightly, eyes darkened with purple. "I don't want you whipping up fairy tales of panic. I want a simple bedtime story that calms the entire Republic. Jedi good. Republic stable. Sith defeated. Put that in your heads. That's all."
The journalists stared at him in complete silence. His words were sharp enough to peel their illusions apart. And every single one of them understood—he wasn't wrong.
They nodded, still quiet. Still aware that one wrong question would end their careers—or worse.
Jin-Woo leaned back again. One problem down, he thought. Two more to go.
His gaze slid toward the two chancellors—both standing stiffly under the weight of a power shift neither expected. Two men who shaped the fate of the galaxy… and in Jin-Woo's eyes, the worst possible type of leaders it could have.
Palpatine: a smiling serpent still chained to Plagueis.
Tarkin: a militarist whose first instinct was always domination.
Both froze when Jin-Woo looked at them.
Tarkin immediately turned his head away, pretending to study a pillar. He didn't dare meet Jin-Woo's eyes.
Palpatine recovered first. His voice slid out smooth and polished.
"That was a very astute act, Jin-Woo. I'm impressed. You managed to calm the crowd when none of us could. If you would humble yourself a little—work with us, with the Jedi—we could guide the Republic toward a better, more united era."
Jin-Woo smiled faintly. Yeah. That's the Palpatine I know. Smooth criminal.
He tilted his head, eyes steady. "Palpatine, did you ever hear the saying that evil always finds its way?"
Palpatine blinked—too quick. "I'm… not sure I follow. What exactly do you mean by that, Jin-Woo?"
"That's your homework," Jin-Woo replied. "You're the chancellor. The voice of the people. Figure it out."
He flicked his fingers at both of them, casual as flicking dust from a sleeve. "And here's something else. Both of you—control your Senate. Work together. Maybe then one of you gets elected again. All those taxes and credits from every system in the Republic? They land in your laps. But your political rivalry? That'll tear you apart the moment you show weakness."
Tarkin's jaw tightened. He finally turned back, eyes sharp, offended. "From your tone, , you make us sound no different than Finis Valorum—a weak chancellor crushed under corruption. That is a very serious accusation."
Jin-Woo shrugged. "Yeah. That's what I think right now."
"Even as chancellors, your movements are restricted by a complicated bureau choking your decisions. Democracy is supposed to be for the people. But the people? They're always retarded."
Several reporters swallowed at once.
Jin-Woo leaned forward slightly, speaking as if explaining something obvious. "I'm not good at sugar coating anything. What did you expect? That I'd motivate you? Tell you to be brave? Go to a therapist instead."
The throne of shadow behind him dissolved into drifting petals. The chancellors' problem was solved, at least for now. Jin-Woo lowered himself onto the flowery Avalon floor , unexpectedly humble.
The Jedi stared. Qui-Gon's brows pressed together. He's powerful. Arrogant, at times. Willful. And yet… this? Sitting down? What is he aiming for?
Yoda took the cue. The Grand Master stepped forward and lowered himself opposite Jin-Woo, his glance measuring. "A strange behavior this is. Different from what you did on the rotunda."
Jin-Woo brushed a blade of ethereal grass from his knee. "I'm strong. Brutal when I need to be. My enemies get no mercy. But I'm not the type who bullies someone who's right at the core. Not to mention—" he motioned at the Jedi gathered around them, their robes dirt-stained and their spirits crushed, "—your status in this society is at the bottom right now."
Yoda nodded once, quietly accepting the truth.
Jin-Woo rested his elbows on his knees, looking at the gathered Council without judgment, only blunt realism. "So. What will you all do now? Because nothing is what you thought it was. everyone out there loves watching the Jedi fall ." His gaze moved across them. "Still… most of your members are intact. At least there's that."
Ki-Adi-Mundi lifted his chin, tone firm. " One of the Chancellor stands with us. And I'm certain the citizens of the Republic will understand our circumstances. You're being pessimistic, Master Jin-Woo."
Windu crossed his arms. "I agree with Ki-Adi. The Republic and the Jedi are inseparable. Our reputation is damaged, it will heal with time."
Jin-Woo placed a finger against the bridge of his nose, eyes narrowing slightly. They're still stubborn as hell. This is hard.
He dropped his hand and spoke with the bluntness of a blade.
"That's a very wrong way of thinking. Let me spell it out. If I hadn't walked in when I did… Tarkin would've taken the younglings. And all of you would've done nothing."
Ki-Adi-Mundi opened his mouth—ready to defend, ready to explain—
but Jin-Woo snapped his fingers once. "I'm not finished."
Every Jedi stilled. Even Tarkin—who until seconds ago had been trying to seize their children—straightened like he was before a warlord.
Jin-Woo pointed lightly toward the Strong Republic troops waiting outside.
"Right now, your position is miserable. If I step out of this temple, even for five minutes… you split. Tarkin will start his little campaign. He'll pick off your Order one by one. He'll take the younglings and the Padawans. some of you will follow him because you believe unity with the Republic is the only chance for survival."
Silence hit the courtyard like a dropped stone. Several Jedi who had relaxed before now swallowed hard. They suddenly realized why Tarkin hadn't moved. Why the soldiers hadn't advanced.. It wasn't because the Jedi were respected. It was because Jin-Woo hadn't left.