The crowd began to boo, shouting louder now.
"Fake!"
"Liar!"
"Techno Union scum!"
"Grievous go home!"
"Corporate rats OUT!"
A stone flew. Then another. Then a full barrage of debris hurled at Grievous and the cowardly officials behind him.
Wat Tambor's voice sputtered as he tried to activate his vocalizer. "Th-this is slander—!"
Another rock hit him square in the shoulder.
Jin-Woo lifted a single hand. Everything stopped.
The crowd froze in place — not out of fear, but out of aura. The weight of Jin-Woo's presence descended like a steel curtain. Silence washed across the square. .
"Then let's settle it right now," he said, his gaze sweeping across the sea of onlookers. "Whoever can beat me—step forward. Kill me. Take the armor. Take the title. Be the 'Armored Man' the galaxy remembers."
Gasps broke through the crowd. Senators shifted in their seats. San Hill paled. Wat Tambor's mechanical eye twitched. Lott Dod stumbled back a step. Mas Amedda stiffened,. Even Grievous, silent now, sensed the room was no longer his.
Valorum raised a placating hand. "Armored Man… I must inform you… there's been a public donation—one trillion credits, from citizens, militaries, senatorial funds. All under your name. It's… unprecedented. Are you sure you want to risk that title now?"
Padmé blinked. One trillion…? Her thoughts scrambled. And Jin-Woo's going to throw it away like it's nothing?
Before anyone could respond, a Twi'lek holo-reporter pushed through the front rows, nearly breathless. "A question—if you win, which, technically… you will… what are you going to do with all that money, sir? The galaxy doesn't even know where it went—what do you say to that?"
Jin-Woo slowly lowered his hand. Then, sharp and amused. His eyes, cold and unblinking beneath the visor, swept the plaza again.
"You all keep asking the wrong questions," he said. "Like goldfish circling the same bowl, bumping your heads on glass and wondering why the water never changes."
He turned toward the reporter.
"One trillion credits?" he echoed. "Tell me, who bled for that money? Who starved for it? Who watched their homes collapse while the same senators who 'donated' it argued for weeks over luxury spending bills?"
"You think this title, this armor, is worth a trillion credits? You think I want to be your hero? That I wear this for your adoration?".
"I didn't save fleets to be praised. I didn't crush the Mandalorian civil war to make holostatues of myself. I did it because someone had to. And I'll do it again. Not for your money. or parades."
"But because this galaxy is broken. And no amount of credit-bloated donations or politician handshakes will fix it."
Jin-Woo's voice dropped into a grim, biting line.
"So you ask me what I'll do with that trillion credits? Here's your answer."
"I'll burn it. I'll use it to light the funeral pyres of every coward, tyrant, and parasite choking the galaxy from within. And if I need to? I'll tear down every tower you've built with the bones of the innocent. And I'll build something better."
The silence that followed was sharp. The tension thick enough .
San Hill stood frozen. His eyes flicked to Grievous, who still stood tall like a proud statue, but the cracks in the illusion were showing. San Hill's thoughts were pure regret.
Why the fuck did I back a subbornite like him…?
But before he could speak, another figure stepped out from the crowd.
Clothed in muted senator robes. Calm. Measured steps.
It was Hego Damask. But San Hill knew immediately — this wasn't just the Damask Holdings head. This was Darth Plagueis.
San Hill stiffened. "S-Sir Damask… I never expected you to—"
Plagueis cut him off flatly. "Save your speech."
He stepped forward, his eyes locked onto Jin-Woo beneath the armor, not flinching once.
"Forgive my former pupil," Plagueis said. "He's still learning how to promote himself. Subtlety never was his strength."
Ranulph Tarkin scoffed, stepping forward without missing a beat.
"That's not 'promotion,' that's fraud, dumbass. Any shit-for-brains could tell that stunt just stained the Armored Man's name."
Plagueis froze for a moment, about to respond—
—but then the crowd stirred again.
Four figures approached from the far end of the platform.
Yoda. Mace Windu. Plo Koon. Tyvokka.
The air shifted instantly. Reporters snapped into silence. Cameras refocused. The Jedi Council didn't show up in full unless the event was seismic.
Plagueis stiffened. His mind reeled.
I gambled too hard... If Sidious forgot to keep his cloaking meditation in place—if the Jedi sense me—damn it, I'm no master in cloaking like him in long terms that's why I always task Sidious .
He fell back quietly into the crowd, saying nothing.
Yoda walked ahead, cane tapping gently, eyes locked onto Jin-Woo.
"Armored Man… we meet again."
Jin-Woo's helmet tilted slightly. Then he stepped forward and chuckled, voice rough with amusement.
"Hehh… the monkey really lives a long life, huh." His gaze shifted to Plo Koon. "And you… I guess you're a Jedi Master now. Like your master, Tyvokka."
Tyvokka crossed his arms, massive frame unmoving.
"Hateful as always," he muttered. "Still provoking anyone you pass by."
Plo Koon gave no reaction. Just a quiet nod. His eyes, unreadable behind the mask, remained on Jin-Woo.
Up above, the HoloNet feed locked onto the scene. Reporters murmured into comms. This was history. Jedi Grandmasters facing the Armored Man himself — a legend returned.
Yoda stepped forward, his cane planting firmly on the stone .
"Help the Republic… you might," Yoda said, voice low. "With you… a better person, the galaxy will be."
Jin-Woo didn't blink. His voice came out sharp.
"Does the galaxy look better these days, Grandmaster?" He let the words hang. "I like being straightforward. I don't talk just to hear myself speak. So—what do you want, Grandmaster Yoda of the Jedi Order?"
Yoda's ears twitched slightly. "We do not like each other. This, I know."
Jin-Woo didn't argue.
Yoda looked up at him, calm but resolute. "You said, 'Whoever can beat me—step forward. Kill me. Take the armor. Take the title. Be the Armored Man the galaxy remembers.' Hmm?"
Jin-Woo's smirk was buried behind the helmet, but it was there. "I did."
"Then duel," Yoda said, his eyes gleaming. "Right here. Right now. If lose you do… your armor, I do not want. But your face—unmasked, you will be."
Jin-Woo tilted his head slightly, voice casual."Wait a moment."
His gaze turned, sharp as a blade, toward San Hill.
"Oy, Muun. Below Hego Damask. Set your champion—didn't you say you had your own version of the Armored Man?"
San Hill opened his mouth, but before a word could escape,
Grievous moved. The cyborg's body tensed. His voice rasped through his modulated mask, loud and defiant.
"Armored Man is just a title," Grievous growled, pulling free both dual electrostaffs. "And like all titles, it can be taken. You stand here now—soon, defeated, and forgotten!"
Jin-Woo didn't flinch. His voice was low, provoking.
"Pleased with yourself, huh? You want praise now? Hm? Faker."
That was all it took.
Grievous let out a snarl and launched forward, electrostaffs sparking. He aimed for Jin-Woo's heart.
But before the strike landed—CLANK.
Jin-Woo didn't even move. His armor pulsed once.
And Grievous slammed straight into the floor—hard.
A gravitational wave burst outward from Jin-Woo's boots, slamming the cyborg down with such crushing force that the stone beneath cracked, then cratered—two meters deep.
Grievous lay there, sparking, twitching. Pinned.
The crowd gasped. San Hill took a step back., his face pale and expression tightening into one of regret.
Jin-Woo walked forward, calm and steady. His boots thudded with quiet menace as he approached the crater. Grievous struggled, but the gravity held him like an invisible vice.
"You come to gloat, Armored Man?" Grievous hissed, voice strained with static and pride. "Is that it? Is your hate for me so strong now—like all the others?"
Jin-Woo stopped beside the pit, his helmet tilted down.
"Why should I hate someone weaker than me?" he said, his voice like stone. "All I feel now… is disdain."
And with that, he raised one boot.
CRACK— He brought it down.
Grievous howled as Jin-Woo crushed his arm beneath his foot, wires snapping, servos grinding.
"Know your place," Jin-Woo said coldly, "foolish faker."
He turned away without another glance, leaving Grievous in the dirt, broken.
Jin-Woo walked calmly toward the Jedi — toward Yoda, who now stood at the center of the open square with Windu beside him, both already on guard.
Jin-Woo stopped a few meters away, expression unreadable behind the mask.
"You sure you want it here and now, Grandmaster?" he asked, his tone even.
Before Yoda could respond, Panaka quickly stepped in, clearing his throat.
"If I may… we have a training ground nearby, Armored Man. Should you wish for a proper place to duel."
Jin-Woo didn't respond right away.
Instead, he glanced sideways. Panaka and his security squad—grinning ear to ear—held out datapads with glowing holosheets.
"Please," Panaka said, as if it were a routine matter. "Just a quick signature. For the archives."
There was a pause. Jin-Woo lifted one hand. A pulse of gravity swept out—silent, immediate.
CLINK—SHRRRRK.
The holosheets snapped in half mid-air, sliced clean by the force. They fell like shattered leaves.
Written across the broken fragments in faint light was one word: GET LOST.
Panaka blinked, glancing down at the wreckage. His squad stared at their shredded holosheets in silence.
Then, in perfect unison, they bowed slightly and said, "Thank you, Armored Man."
Panaka straightened, sighing with a smirk. "We'll need bigger holos next time… if we want his signature."
Jin-Woo said nothing, but his gaze flicked — twenty meters across the square — where another version of himself sat calmly at an outdoor café table. The clone. Positioned precisely fifteen minutes before the drop, seated beside Morgan, just far enough from the crowd to avoid suspicion.
Now—
POV: Clone Jin-Woo.
He set the cup down, watching the flickering newsfeed on a nearby holo-projector with practiced boredom. Then, without turning, he spoke low.
"Morgan… did you just upgrade this body again? Why the hell does it feel like I've got five brains and seven hearts jammed inside me now?"
Morgan smirked without looking at him, arms folded.
"Because I did. The reason your partial soul couldn't stabilize in that clone without assistance from a Korriban Sith spirit was simple—Kamino's tech couldn't handle your physiology. Not even when you're not using your primary power."
Clone Jin-Woo tapped his temple lightly and exhaled.
"Feels like I've become that Michael Jackson demon from Demon Slayer."
Morgan blinked. "I have no idea what a 'Demon Slayer' is, or why their Michael Jackson has seven hearts."
Clone Jin-Woo snorted.
"Don't worry about it."
He leaned back in his chair, glancing up at the sky where the real him had just rocked the parade.
"Let the galaxy chew on that entrance. I'm just here… for plausible deniability."