After seven days of hyperspace travel, the Naboo shuttle finally descended into Coruscant's atmosphere. Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi had expected a modest welcome—perhaps a few aides, or a small delegation from the Chancellor's office.
Obi-Wan glanced out the viewport, lips quirking with sarcasm.
"Master, I think everyone is very eager to welcome us."
Qui-Gon's tone remained calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"My young Padawan… they're not here for us. They're here for Jin-Woo. And I suspect they'll be relieved he isn't the one stepping out of this ship."
The hangar was overflowing. The Senate had gathered in full, their robes and colors blending into a sea of tension. Murmurs rippled across the chamber, all circling back to one memory—the "crazy merchant," Sung Jin-Woo. His stunt a week ago still burned in their minds: one overwhelming flare of presence that nearly crushed the Senatorial Rotunda. Jedi or not, no one doubted anymore—he could do what the Jedi did, but on a far greater, terrifying scale.
Even before the shuttle's ramp lowered, fear choked the room. They didn't know who was inside. For all they knew, Jin-Woo himself might emerge and level them where they stood. The Senate could only brace for the worst.
At the forefront stood the newly elected Chancellors—two, . Ranulph Tarkin, sharp-eyed and stiff with authority, and Sheev Palpatine, serene and smiling as though the tension could not touch him. Valorum's resignation had forced this strange dual arrangement, sold to the galaxy as "balance." The truth was obvious—it was born from fear. Fear of Naboo's independence. Fear of Jin-Woo. And what had nearly happened in the Rotunda.
Tarkin's jaw clenched as he leaned toward his fellow Chancellor.
"Palpatine. You're Nabooan by birth. Why don't you visit your people first, instead of standing here with me?"
Palpatine's mask of calm never wavered. He gave a practiced laugh—warm, charming, carefully disarming.
"Oh, we will. Without question. But let us be honest with ourselves.". None of us dare act recklessly now. Not after what we have seen. None of us wish to provoke… that man."
A shudder rippled through the senators. No name was spoken, but they all felt it—Sung Jin-Woo.
At last, Senator Bail Antilles of Alderaan broke the silence. .
"I propose we send a peace offering. After all, it was we who cast suspicion on Queen Amidala. It was the Senate that fanned the flames and escalated matters to this point. If we wish to salvage trust, we must show contrition. A gesture of sincerity. Not hesitation."
Mas Amedda, Vice Chair of the Senate, flicked his tongue nervously before speaking.
"That will only show weakness. In the eyes of the galaxy, it would make us look as though we cower before one—"
He stopped himself before finishing. The air grew thick. Every senator glared at him at once, eyes screaming the same thing: Are you fucking serious?
Palpatine stepped in smoothly, his smile as polished as ever, rescuing Amedda's stumble.
"Please, do not fault Vice Chair Amedda. He only seeks to defend the dignity of the Senate. But he is correct on one point: we must proceed carefully. We should appease this… merchant, yes—but not in a way that undermines the Republic's image. Let us demonstrate that we are not hostile, while preserving our public strength."
At that moment, the ramp of the Naboo shuttle lowered. The gathered senators tensed, every muscle tight, as if they expected Jin-Woo himself to emerge and obliterate them where they stood.
Tarkin muttered, "Everyone—do as planned."
The Senate guards moved forward, dragging a figure in stun cuffs: Senator Lott Dod of the Trade Federation. Every senator agreed—this entire disaster had begun because the Neimoidians had provoked the wrong man. The Republic could not punish Jin-Woo, but they could certainly throw the Neimoidians to him.
Lott Dod's head hung low, eyes averted. The guards forced him to his knees at the foot of the shuttle ramp. His voice cracked with desperation as he confessed.
"This… this is not our fault! We were tricked by a third party! The Viceroy acted on his own! The Trade Federation invaded Naboo—but we, the people of Cato Neimoidia, will fulfill whatever terms of peace Lord Jin-Woo demands!"
Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped forward, his arms folded, tone laced with biting sarcasm.
". Normally you Neimoidians spit nothing but contempt at us Jedi. But seeing you like this? I can't lie—it's satisfying. , isn't it? If you had simply confessed at the start, none of this would have happened."
Lott Dod's head snapped up, his eyes blazing.
"You Jedi—you dare humiliate me—"
A Senate guard silenced him with a swift kick to the leg, forcing him back down.
Palpatine exhaled softly, relief slipping through his mask as he looked to the Jedi.
"Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi, I presume? May I ask… is Jin-Woo with you?"
Qui-Gon Jinn appeared beside his apprentice, his tone calm and deliberate.
"No. He did not come. He said he had matters of his own to attend to."
The moment those words left his mouth, the Senate chamber collectively exhaled. A long, shaky sigh filled the hangar—hundreds of voices blending into one. "Fiuuuuuuuuhhhhhh…"
Qui-Gon allowed himself a small smile. Everyone has been walking on the edge of panic since that day. To them, Jin-Woo's absence is the only reason they can breathe again.
Tarkin's lips curled, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Then that means you Jedi have already been discarded by him, isn't that right? My condolences. But if we remain united, and with the militaristic vision I will see completed, we can show the galaxy our strength as well."
Qui-Gon didn't flinch. His calm tone landed like a stone dropped into still water.
"Actually, it's the opposite. We have maintained friendly terms with Jin-Woo. And more importantly…".…we captured the assassin—the one likely behind the Trade Federation's support."
Gasps rippled through the chamber as Obi-Wan stepped forward, guiding a hovering Force cage into view.
Inside sat Maul. Shackled, cuffed, utterly humiliated. His body bore the ridiculous marks of his "treatment"—cartoonish lumps swelling across his head, scorch marks on his tunic, and his tongue still raw and red from too much chili and spice. His eyes were lifeless, dulled into a dead-fish stare. The once-proud Sith apprentice looked more like the victim of a drunken street brawl than the terror he was meant to be.
A hush fell over the senators, all eyes widening in disbelief.
Palpatine's gaze lingered on the prisoner. His Sith mask stayed hidden, his politician's smile practiced and perfect. Inside, he seethed—he knew exactly who that was. Maul. His apprentice, dragged like a beaten animal in front of the Senate. But he showed nothing, only stepping forward with a look of practiced curiosity.
"May I ask, Jedi Knights—what will you do with this prisoner of yours?"
Obi-Wan's voice was firm, though there was a trace of satisfaction in it.
"We'll deliver him to the Jedi Council. He will be interrogated thoroughly. Because my master, Qui-Gon Jinn, was right from the start. Our enemy is still out there. And this one—" he looked at Maul, "—is the proof."
Palpatine's expression remained smooth, but inside his thoughts churned. This is dangerous. My identity as Darth Sidious must eventually be revealed—as the hidden mastermind who orchestrated everything, to ignite war between the Trade Federation and the Republic. But. Not prematurely. If the Jedi turn their focus too sharply now, their hunt for the Sith could unravel my plans. They might even find me before they ever corner Joever Bideney—the monster they're sworn to pursue first. If that happens, I am doomed.
He opened his mouth, ready to steer the discussion and buy himself breathing room.
But Ranulph Tarkin stepped forward first, his voice booming, sharpened by arrogance and ambition.
"And what gives you Jedi the right to decide this prisoner's fate? To be frank—he should not be turned over to just your Order. He must be brought before the Republic. Questioned, judged, by all of us. This is not solely your domain."
The chamber rippled, senators whispering uneasily. The tension thickened.
Palpatine raised his hand with practiced calm, his tone smooth as silk.
"My co-Chancellor, I understand your concerns. But in this instance, I believe it would be best if we allowed the Jedi to take—"
"Shut your mouth, dementia-ridden old man," Tarkin snapped, eyes blazing with contempt,
"What we need is answers. Now. Not Jedi secrecy. The Republic deserves transparency, not to blindly follow whatever the Jedi suggest."
Gasps rippled through the Senate.
Palpatine's mask of composure never wavered. He inclined his head slightly, nodding as though chastised. But inside, his cold smile grew. Perfect. Tarkin's ambition makes him reckless. By attacking me so publicly, he raises my image without realizing it. I become the benevolent Chancellor—reasonable, patient, forgiving—while Tarkin brands himself as the militarist tyrant. The contrast will only make me shine brighter. And if Tarkin succeeds in seizing Maul, so much the better. My apprentice is silenced, and my Sith identity remains safe.
The Senate chamber was on edge, tension thick enough to choke. Tarkin's glare burned, Palpatine's smile lingered, and whispers rippled through the gathered senators.
Then—without fanfare—the crowd parted. Senators stepped back instinctively, as though their very bones told them to move. Two figures entered, cloaked in authority older than the Republic itself:
Grandmaster Yoda, small yet commanding, leaning on his gimer stick.
And beside him, Mace Windu, Master of the Order, his presence sharp and unyielding.
The two most powerful Jedi alive had arrived. Every senator's voice stilled. Even Tarkin and Palpatine took a step back, deferring without a word. Only one thought lingered in the chamber: minus that merchant, Jin-Woo. Whatever he is. Whatever he really is.
Yoda's eyes narrowed, his voice slow, deliberate, weighty with the Force.
"Succeeded, you have… Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan. Captured, the Sith assailant is."
All eyes turned as Obi-Wan gave a short bow, his voice clear.
"With respect, Masters—we didn't do the heavy lifting. It was all Jin-Woo. He single-handedly crushed the Trade Federation's invasion. Without him… Naboo would have fallen."
Mace Windu's lips tightened, his gaze flicking to Qui-Gon.
"…Never thought I'd say this, Qui-Gon. But you were right. The enemy is already here. And we did not believe it."
Qui-Gon inclined his head, voice calm, but there was a glint of vindication in his eyes.
"My pleasure, Master Windu."
The Jedi Temple Guards moved swiftly at Master Windu's signal, their armor glinting as they bowed once and took hold of Maul's Force cage. The hum of the repulsorlift echoed faintly as the Sith prisoner was carried away, destined for the Temple's deepest cells where even the most dangerous Force-users would be held under relentless watch.