Jin-Woo raised a finger. "First off," he said, not looking at her yet, "there's someone else here who's been dying to ask the right questions."
His eyes drifted toward the far end of the room.
Straight at Qui-Gon Jinn.
Qui-Gon straightened, his hands behind his back. "Jin-Woo… are you saying this woman—if what you told me is true—is a god of the Force itself?"
Jin-Woo shrugged slightly, tone casual. "I don't care about the label."
Then his eyes narrowed. "But if you really want answers, this is your moment. You've been curious for years, haven't you?"
He leaned back, lacing his fingers together. "Why the Jedi have lost their edge. Why your Order's become confused and reactive. Why you chase shadows while calling it prophecy."
He let it hang, then grinned . "And here's the funniest part. It's the question you never ask—but every single Jedi thinks it." He looked Qui-Gon dead in the eye. "You don't even know what balance means, do you?"
Qui-Gon said nothing. Not yet. His gaze drifted to the Daughter.
The Daugther gave a calm nod . "Then speak, Force wielder," she said softly. "Ask. And I will answer the best I can."
Qui-Gon's brows furrowed. He hesitated for only a breath before speaking. "…Are you of the Force? Or something… above—"
The Daughter raised her hand gently. "Change your question." "I will not answer that. And I will add this—no, I am not the Chosen One. Nor will I ever be. The Chosen One… is already here."
Her eyes flicked for only a fraction of a second toward the door Anakin had left through.
Qui-Gon inhaled sharply, processing—redirecting.
"…Then," he said slowly, "has the Council… failed to see this?"
Then the Daughter turned her head slightly. "Jin-Woo," she said flatly, "you didn't tell them, did you? What they've done. Millennia ago."
Jin-Woo leaned back in his chair, legs crossed. "Not my homework," he said dryly. "I've been giving hints to quigon ."
The Daughter's gaze settled on Qui-Gon again. "You're a foolish group," she said. "You banded together and built something ancient right atop your own temple. You all pretend not to see it. I won't tell you what it is. It's your burden to uncover."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again—steady now.
"…I see. Same as Jin-Woo.You both give hints. And it's my job to dig deeper. Into the very foundation of the Jedi Temple itself."
He took a slow breath, gaze now sharper, more focused. "This is my next question," he said. "The child… the one who glared at Jin-Woo before leaving. Is that what I think it is?"
The Daughter's expression didn't change. Her voice remained calm—but there was weight behind every word.
"He is the Chosen One," she said. "And yes, he will bring balance to the Force."
Then her tone shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. "But you will not like how he brings it. If you live long enough to see it… you will understand. Your number is too many. And most who carry Jedi name have forgotten what that even means."
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed., dawning understanding.
He glanced briefly toward Jin-Woo. "…What you said," Qui-Gon murmured, "is exactly what she just confirmed. I suppose some of the questions about 'balance'... are already answered."
Jin-Woo gave a faint shrug, smirking slightly. "You can call her the Daughter," he said. "Since she is the Light Side itself anyway. Try not to get too religious about it."
Qui-Gon nodded slowly, then spoke again—his tone quiet, but direct. "…The child. Anakin. Is he part of your design?"
The Daughter didn't answer immediately. Her eyes drifted toward the doorway where Anakin had exited, then returned to Qui-Gon—measured, knowing, ancient.
"No one truly knows how the Force thinks," she said. "But there are theories."
She paused, chose her words carefully. "There are whispers of two… mad men who tried to manipulate the Force itself," she said, voice growing more cautious. "They tampered with midichlorians, hoping to subdue the Force to create life."
She didn't name them. But Jin-Woo knew. Plagueis. Sidious.
"But the Force… was angered," she continued. ". It retaliated. And in that backlash, something was born. A correction."
She looked back to Qui-Gon. "The Chosen One."
Then she pointed. Directly at Jin-Woo.
"But I can give you a far more concrete answer than myth or theory. He exists… to counter him. That man—Sung Jin-Woo.
She lowered her hand slightly, gaze still locked. "He's an invader. A being outside the will of the Force. A rupture. The Force didn't just make a Chosen One to bring balance. It made him… to ensure Jin-Woo wouldn't tip it."
"I was tasked by the Father," she said slowly, "to protect the Chosen One. To watch him. Guard him. Especially from you, Jin-Woo—should you ever decide to get rid of him."
Her eyes sharpened. "And what confuses me—what unnerves me—is that deep in your heart… I know you felt it. You felt it the moment your eyes locked . The first time you actually considered someone could be your natural enemy."
She leaned in slightly, studying him. "So why?" she asked. "Why haven't you killed him? . Why, Jin-Woo… are you sparing the one being who could end you?"
Jin-Woo tilted his head slightly. The grin that rose on his face wasn't arrogant—it was cool, smooth, and deliberate. Calculated mischief in the center of storm-like silence. "What I felt from him…" he said slowly, "was that if he grows the way fate wants him to… he can beat me. But with the Force itself."
"If I don't get serious… I think I'll be cornered. And between you and me? I kinda want to see how far he'll go."
The Daughter's expression ,tinged with something almost bitter. "You lie, Jin-Woo," she said quietly. "You've never been serious. Not even against Abeloth. You held back. You toyed with her."
She looked down briefly, voice low. "We—the Ones—only managed to seal her . And you left her in a worse state, not even dead, just… corrupted."
Qui-Gon took a step forward, his voice level.
"Daughter," he said, "this is my final question. And I hope… you'll give me a real answer. Is this how balance returns? Through conflict?"
The Daughter didn't hesitate. "Yes," she said simply. "Through great conflict. The Sith will be destroyed," she continued, "just as the prophecy says. But your Jedi… your numbers will be thin. Scarce. So I suggest you craft the outcome yourself, Master Jedi. Not through cryptic prophecies. But through understanding."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Then slowly nodded.
The Daughter turned her gaze back to Jin-Woo. Her tone returned to steel.
"Now. Back to the topic. I cannot allow my mother to remain infected by your parasite."
Jin-Woo exhaled lightly, drumming one finger against the armrest of his chair. Then shrugged—casually, ."And I can't let my hard work be destroyed," he said. "I don't like being ordered . How about that?"
Qui-Gon broke the silence. His tone wasn't accusatory—just tired. Reflective. "Jin-Woo… is this Abeloth really what made you like this?" he asked. "I mean—you're. A hero. Doesn't a hero… know when to spare his enemies?"
Jin-Woo turned his head slowly, eyes locking with Qui-Gon. "Do you have slight idea how powerful Abeloth is, huh? How insane she is, huh?!" . I hate collateral. she's not just some Sith lord or force spirit you can trap in a temple."
"She can make another gateways if she's smart enough. She's. A leftover consequence of divine failure."
The Daughter narrowed her eyes, tension crawling back into her voice. "And what makes you so sure the Flood won't end her? That it won't mutate? Create a new biowarfare apocalypse in this galaxy?"
She stood halfway from her chair.
Jin-Woo didn't flinch. Instead, he reached into his shadow. With a motion smooth as thought, he materialized something between his fingers—pulsing, grey-red, twisted like a relic torn from a dreamscape.
It beat once. Abeloth's heart. Still sealed in crystalline flesh, impaled long ago.
He placed it gently on the table between them. It pulsed faintly—like it hated being near him.
"Because this," he said coolly, "is what I'm worried about."
He stared at the heart—then looked straight at the Daughter.
"She's in stalemate right now—locked in place, barely holding her form against the Flood. This heart… it's how I monitor her. But if I kill the remaining Flood now… she'll start absorbing the dead remains. She won't just be the The Bringer of Chaos anymore." "She'll become the Goddess of Corpses. After all…. She's an artificial celestial—reborn from the Font and the Pool."
Across the table, the Daughter's gaze remained locked—not on him now, but on the pulsing, crystalline heart resting in his palm. Her composure didn't waver, but her eyes… something passed through them. Something ancient. Heavy. A flicker of longing that no celestial being should have allowed to surface.
She wanted it. But because part of her—deep beneath the centuries of balance, order, and detachment—hoped.
Hoped that the heart could bring back what once was. But she knew… touching it would risk restoring Abeloth herself.
Jin-Woo saw it. Instantly. He said nothing at first. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he let the heart sink back into his shadow—disappearing in an instant, sealed in darkness no god or mortal could breach.
His eyes met hers. Cold. Calculating. Curious. "Don't tell me," he said smoothly, "that because I managed to put Abeloth into a state worse than death… you started wondering if maybe…"
He leaned forward slightly. "…if maybe I could put you all back together again."
The Daughter didn't speak.
Jin-Woo's voice dropped just enough to cut beneath the surface. "The Father. The Mother. The Son. And you. Back to your happy little family. Like it was… half a hundred thousand years ago."
The Daughter's lips parted—but no words came.
Because from the beginning… that had been her buried thought. A whisper she had smothered for eons. She dared not speak it. Not with the Father's presence still echoing across Mortis. Not with the Son's volatile hunger always watching. Any desire to reunite with the Mother would've been seen as madness.
So she repeated the same demand: Release her. Over and over.
But now, stripped bare by Jin-Woo's gaze, her true objective was no longer hidden. She only… nodded.
Jin-Woo didn't smile. He didn't mock. His tone remained calm, steady.
"I don't like doing anything for free," he said flatly. "Especially when it's not my problem. If you want to keep talking about your crazy ideas… stay with me. Be part of my group. Then maybe we'll talk more."
His gaze sharpened. "And I already know. The Father and the Son can detect spoken words… but not thoughts. That's why you're quiet. That's why you keep playing your part. But I'm sure as hell they wouldn't dare come near me right now."
The Daughter didn't argue. She only nodded again—quietly, accepting.
Jin-Woo turned toward Qui-Gon. "Qui-Gon," he said. "You've been quiet. Seems like this time, you're the one who wants to ask something."
The Jedi Master didn't flinch. His voice came blunt, direct.
"Jin-Woo… are you a go—"
"No," Jin-Woo cut in sharply, "We're not talking about that.. And if you try again, we'll have a problem. Besides… most gods are just a waste of space."
He tilted his head toward the Daughter without even looking at her. "Take her, for example. The galaxy is drowning in corruption. The Senate's a mess. The Jedi have completely lost their way. Did she guide anyone? Intervene? Try to stop it? She didn't do anything until I arrived."
The Daughter's expression remained unreadable—but she didn't deny it. Her eyes stared forward, flat and unblinking. Because it was the truth.
Because it was the truth.
Jin-Woo's gaze shifted toward Morgan.
morgan met his eyes and gave the faintest signal—imperceptible to any normal being. A whisper of movement. Then her voice echoed in his mind, laced with sly amusement.
"The other god… or at least the dark side itself -the Son. He's here. Watching from Tatooine's upper airspace."
"We had our little stare contest. But he backed off. Back into his hiding hole."
She tilted her head slightly, lips curling just a fraction. "Guess he sensed it. The mana of two Monarchs. Mine—Transfiguration. Yours—Shadow."
Jin-Woo didn't respond aloud. He only nodded once.
His thoughts drifted, quiet and sharp. The Daughter… she's wise. Very wise. But too damn pure. So pure she can't even sense her own brother staring down from orbit.
What a half-ass set of gods, huh?
He scoffed inwardly. Oh well. Doesn't matter anyway.
Jin-Woo, Qui-Gon, the Daughter, and Morgan stepped out of Watto's junk shop . The sky above Tatooine was still split—half covered in heavy, unnatural darkness, the other half a clear and radiant blue. A reflection of what had just transpired… and what still lingered.
Qui-Gon glanced upward, thoughts spinning quietly.
The sky itself... It tells the story.
The Chosen One is a counter to Jin-Woo. the balance to his shadow. Jin-Woo isn't the Dark Side.. His shadow isn't corruption—it's the true form of death.
Just like Jango and Jaster once said… The Armored Man isn't evil. He's not twisted like the Sith.
He's death itself. Pure. Absolute. And I'll speak more… when the time is right.
Beside him, the Daughter walked in silence. But her own thoughts drifted like ripples across a still pond.
This split in the sky… it happened even while Jin-Woo suppresses his power. What happens when he no longer hides?
Can the Chosen One truly oppose that? Truly counter it?
Her gaze subtly shifted toward where Anakin had gone.
No… Jin-Woo is… amused. Maybe even intrigued. Like he wants the boy to become powerful. Equal to him.As if… he wants a worthy opposite.
Jin-Woo stopped in his tracks.
Up ahead in the bustling market, a commotion had broken out. Sebulba, the Dug podracer, was being pummeled—furiously and flamboyantly—by a group of people in a brawl that looked straight out of a manga. Limbs flailed. Dramatic poses. Excessive, exaggerated punches in rapid succession.
And the culprits?
Rey stood confidently, cracking her knuckles. Next to her was Jar Jar Binks, looking smug for once. And at the center of it all, bouncing slightly on his heels, was Anakin—his small fists still clenched.
Rey looked over and called out, grinning.
"We kicked an enemy, Jin-Woo."
Jin-Woo just stared for a second. Then shook his head. A short laugh escaped him—low, almost fond.
"…Idiots," he murmured. But his smile lingered.