The room was still wrapped in the quiet glow of Jin-Woo's Avalon—the soft pink clouds drifting near the ceiling, the illusion of distant forests, the fresh scent of spring carried through the chamber. Jedi who moments ago trembled now stood calmer, their breaths steadying under the veil of a realm that did not belong to this galaxy.
Mace Windu stood rigid near the front row, arms folded, jaw tight. His eyes tracked Jin-Woo—watching every breath, every shift of posture. He clearly had questions. Demands. But Jin-Woo's current behavior—respectful, quiet, almost gentle—forced him to hold back.
Jin-Woo felt it anyway.
He turned slightly, hands still in his pockets, gaze sweeping the room. "I know," he said, voice calm. "You all want answers. Especially now. This might be the most important moment of your lives… so ask."
The words dropped like stones in silence.
Yoda looked up at Mace Windu, nodding once. "Go ahead, Windu. Ask Jin-Woo what disturbs us."
Windu inhaled slowly through his nose, then stepped forward until the Avalon glow framed his silhouette. "Jin-Woo," he said, steady and direct, "how long have you known there was a Sith shrine beneath our Temple?"
Jin-Woo didn't blink. "A very long time."
Murmurs rippled through the Jedi. Windu's fingers curled slightly at his side.
"How long," Windu pressed, "is 'long'?"
"Long enough," Jin-Woo said, "that I knew before the Trade Federation crisis. Long enough that I knew it existed before any of you realized something was wrong."
Windu exhaled once, controlled but irritated. "You could have warned us, Jin-Woo. Dooku wouldn't have been possessed. Our Order wouldn't be in ruins. Our reputation wouldn't be at its lowest."
Jin-Woo tilted his head, expression flat. "Oh, shit, man… if Dooku were alive right now, he'd roast you for that. You need to grow a hair or two."
A few Jedi stiffened. No one laughed. Even the wind outside the temple seemed to pause.
Jin-Woo… this is very bad timing, Qui-Gon thought, jaw tight.
The shift in Jin-Woo's aura was immediate. His eyes glowed faint purple, the light reflecting against the coffin's edge. His voice dropped lower—calm, clean, cutting.
"Then let me ask you something simple. If I told you—ten days ago—that this Temple was built on top of a Sith shrine… would you have believed me?"
Silence. Real silence. Heavy enough to ground every Jedi in the room. Because the answer was obvious.
Ki-Adi-Mundi stepped forward, struggling to keep composure. "But let us say you insisted. You could have pushed harder. Warned us again and again. Pressed the danger. If you had—then maybe we would have believ—"
Jin-Woo cut him off without raising his voice.
"No. You wouldn't. And I have a very strict rule in life: strong self-preservation. I don't hand my treasure to a pig and beg it not to trample it."
Many Jedi flinched. The insult wasn't subtle—but it wasn't emotional either. It was a statement. A fact.
Jin-Woo continued, gaze steady. "I told Qui-Gon. And Obi-Wan. But always in pieces—puzzles to solve. Secrets to discover. If I gave the full truth… a hundred percent of it… you would have branded me a madman. Or worse, a Sith."
He let the words settle. No one interrupted.
"Would any of you," Jin-Woo said slowly, "have believed me if I said an ancient Sith who could detonate a star was sleeping under your feet?"
No answer came. Because there wasn't one.
Windu clenched his jaw, frustration and acknowledgment mixing behind his eyes.
Yoda only breathed out, as if accepting the bruise on his own judgment. "Hard to hear, this truth is. But needed, it may be."
Jin-Woo didn't soften. He met Windu's eyes, voice steady. "Sorry to say… but I'm not the type who plays martyr. Or hero. That's a do-gooder job. Recently I read something in Korea." His gaze drifted past the room, voice low but cutting. "A hero will sacrifice the person they love to save the world. A villain will sacrifice the world to save the person they love."
The line hung sharp in the air. Even the youngest younglings understood its weight.
Jin-Woo continued. "Both are tragic . But my question is this—especially to you, Windu." He stepped closer, letting the purple glow in his eyes flare just enough for intent, not threat. "How many bodies of your comrades are you willing to pile up before you realize there is no ending to this meaningless objective you chase? From what I see… none of you have been punished enough. And you still believe the light will prevail simply because it always has."
The words hit the temple like a stone thrown into still water.
Obi-Wan glanced around. Jedi heads lowered. Even younglings stared at the floor, suddenly aware of cracks in ideals they'd carried since infancy. A wound deeper than the battle outside.
Yaddle watched them all with a tightening jaw. In her thoughts, sharp and heavy: If Jin-Woo leaves now… Tarkin will act wild again. He'll take advantage of our fracture. I must shift the heat before this room splinters in half.
She clapped her small hands once—firm, decisive.
"I think," Yaddle said, voice soft but unshakably clear, "we all have had enough for today. Thank you, Jin-Woo, for this beautiful garden. And thank you, Mace Windu, for defending our honor. We are truly grateful."
The tension cracked—just slightly. Enough for everyone to breathe.
Jin-Woo looked away, shoulders loosening by a fraction. Windu mirrored the motion, jaw still tight, but he didn't reach for his saber. The hostility between them didn't vanish — it simply settled, like coals under ash.
To soften the air, Jin-Woo allowed a faint smile to cut through his usual calm. "Though I'll apologize for one thing. Only one. I didn't know there was an active ancient Sith beneath your Temple. Most dead Sith — even Sith spirits — are on Korriban. Or Moraband, as your Order calls it."
The room shifted. Jedi exhaled in guarded relief. The flowers of Avalon glowed softly around them.
That was when Palpatine stepped forward, smoothing his robes, wearing grief like a perfectly tailored mask. "A very sharp observation… my friend. If you wouldn't mind—"
Jin-Woo cut him off instantly, voice calm, tone sharp. "What? Do you want to travel to Korriban so badly, Chancellor? Hoping to speak to some ancient Sith personally?" His eyes narrowed just enough. "You seem very eager."
Palpatine froze for half a breath — a flicker of unease behind his well-trained smile. He felt exposed. But Jin-Woo's gaze made him feel as though the future had already been read.
Palpatine forced a controlled laugh, bowing his head.
"Forgive me, Sir Jin-Woo. I simply meant… this matter is one for the Jedi. Not for someone like me — a mere co-chancellor elected by the people."
Palpatine stepped back, face humble, voice measured. Inside, his thoughts clawed at one another. Does he truly see the future? If he does, my position is dangerous. Plagueis will demand results.
Reporters pushed through the Temple entrance in a noisy wave—cameras raised, holo-mics blinking red, voices overlapping like static. Their footsteps echoed against cracked stone, too loud, too eager for a place drenched in mourning.
"Chancellor Tarkin!" one reporter shouted, shoving a recorder forward. "What is your intention in bringing an armed division to the Jedi Temple? Are the Jedi incapable of defending the galaxy?"
Another turned immediately to Palpatine, mic nearly touching his cloak. "Chancellor Palpatine, sir, do you still trust the Jedi Order? You've stood with them for years. Has that changed?"
Several Jedi stiffened. The Temple was open to the public, yes—but never like this. Not during a funeral. Not while the Senate's power was still pressed against their throats.
Yaddle watched the crowd with a sinking weight in her chest. By the Force… politics already. Must we bleed and answer questions at the same time?
A third journalist pushed closer to the coffin, aiming his holo-cam directly at Yoda.
"Grandmaster Yoda! Is this the right moment for you to resign as Grandmaster? You've held the post for nearly eight centuries, and the situation around the Order seems to be deteriorating. Should the Jedi become more transparent with the public?"
The question hit the courtyard like a stone dropped in still water. Heads turned. Breaths tightened.
Jin-Woo's eyes drifted across the scene—reporters shouting, Jedi frozen, Tarkin and Palpatine standing like statues under the scrutiny. He examined their faces. Neither Chancellor had called these reporters..
Someone else staged this. Third party. Someone who wants the Jedi's reputation crushed to sand.
His jaw tightened.
The Jedi were hung out to dry. The Shrine exposure. Dooku's possession. Sadow's escape. Tarkin's aggressive entrance. And now… a media storm pouring salt over the wound.
Jin-Woo stayed silent, but one thing settled sharp and cold behind his eyes: Whoever orchestrated this wants collapse, not reform.
The reporters kept shouting.
"Master Windu, do you acknowledge responsibility for the failure beneath the Temple?"
"Master Plo Koon—should the Jedi relinquish military authority after this incident?"
The Order had no answers ready. They were still grieving.
Tarkin cleared his throat. "Ah-hum."
But before speaking, he flicked a glance toward Jin-Woo. A silent check. survival instinct. Tarkin knew exactly who was insane enough to pull a stunt that could get senators erased from existence. Jin-Woo wasn't watching him; the Shadow Monarch's gaze was somewhere else entirely.
Opportunity. Tarkin stepped forward, lifting his chin.
"My dear citizens of the Republic," he announced, voice projecting across the courtyard and directly into every hovering recorder. "We have been struck today not because the Republic is weak, but because the Jedi have grown complacent. For years, they assured us the Sith were extinct—and yet one was buried beneath their very Temple. Their negligence invited this disaster."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. The journalists leaned in, sensing blood.
Tarkin pressed harder. "This is why I insist—if the galaxy allows it—that the Jedi must undergo military drills, not endless meditation. You cannot defend the Republic by sitting cross-legged in quiet rooms while ancient threats sleep under your feet."
Several Jedi stiffened. A few younglings hid behind robes. The courtyard's mood turned colder by the second.
Palpatine did not intend to lose this stage.He stepped in smoothly, voice controlled, sympathetic, almost fatherly. "Chancellor Tarkin," he said, "your speech burns salt into fresh wounds."
Palpatine turned toward the cameras, his expression a masterwork of disappointed sorrow.
"Have you all forgotten the good the Jedi have done for millennia? Before the Sith threat returned, the Jedi stood between every world and chaos. They defended the Republic from pirates, syndicates, warlords, and crimes most of you never even learned about. They are guardians—whether flawless or not."
He faced the journalists directly.
"And you," he said, tone tightening, "you speak as though you owe them nothing. As though your safety, your peace, your entire way of life was not built on their sacrifices. You citizens of the Republic… have grown ungrateful."