Jango turned to Jaster, wiping his palm on his armor.
"Some of my men are stationed on Galidraan," he said. "Sent to handle a protest. Keep them in check."
Just then, one of the Death Watch soldiers stepped forward, about to speak—until Jin-Woo raised a hand to stop him.
"Yes, I know," Jin-Woo said, voice even. "A certain Jedi Master named Count Dooku received false intel from your late boss Tor Vizsla. He thinks it was the True Mandalorians who tried to assassinate Satine Kryze, not Death Watch."
Jango and Jaster turned toward him, eyes narrowed. Neither said a word.
"…Why are you both looking at me like I'm a Jedi?" Jin-Woo muttered.
Jaster shook his head and smirked. "There goes your chance, Jango. A gentleman's bet—lost before it even began."
Jango scoffed. "No way. Jedi are goodie two-shoes. My card's still on the table."
Jin-Woo folded his arms. "Then I'll deal with Dooku. I've always wanted to duel him anyway."
Jaster raised a brow. "And you think he'll listen?"
Before Jin-Woo could answer,
Jango cut in. "You might not realize this, Jaster, but the Armored Man is pretty damn popular in the Republic. Without him, most of the Jedi would be rotting in some plague-ridden tomb thanks to that Rakghoul outbreak."
Jin-Woo smirked under his helmet. "If not for me, half of them would be in Frozen coffin … and I'd be posting memes of their recovery photos across the Holonet."
"…Memes?" Jango blinked.
Jin-Woo waved it off. "Just a joke. That's all."
As the Mandalorian carrier hissed open on the icy plains of Galidraan, Myles and a squad of Mandalorian supercommandos stood on alert, weapons ready. The chill in the air didn't match the tension rising in their stance—until they recognized the figures stepping out.
Myles blinked. "Jango? You're here… and your mentor's still alive?"
Jango gave a casual nod. "Good to see you, Myles."
But Myles' eyes shifted immediately past them—and froze.
Trailing behind Jango and Jaster was a small unit of armored figures. Death Watch.
Myles' entire stance shifted in an instant, his hand flying to his sidearm. "Death Watch?! Are they holding you hostage?!"
Jaster stepped forward calmly. "On the contrary," he said, voice firm. "They're under my banner now."
Myles furrowed his brow, disbelief written all over his face—until something else caught his eye.
A tall, imposing figure stepped down from the ramp behind them.
The exoframe. The helmet. The weight of his presence.
Myles gasped. "Is that—wait—IS THAT HIM?!"
He turned, yelling over his shoulder. "Quick! Give me paper and a Stylus ! NOW!"
One of the supercommandos stumbled around frantically, handing over a notepad and a flimsy stylus. Myles sprinted forward like a kid at a holostar premiere.
"Please!" he said, practically out of breath. "Can you sign this?! Just one signature, please, Armored Man!"
Jin-Woo paused mid-step. He tilted his head slowly, then let out a dry, amused breath. "Am I a celebrity now?" he muttered.
Jango snorted behind him. "Told you you were popular."
Jin-Woo glanced back dryly, then looked down at Myles. Without a word, he took the notepad—and split it into four clean pieces.
"Get lost," Jin-Woo said flatly.
Myles stared at the torn pieces in his hands as if they were pure gold. "Thank you, Armored Man!" he grinned like a lunatic. "This is exciting—nice paychecks and now I've got an idol!"
Jin-Woo muttered, "I think there won't be any paychecks after today."
As the group continued moving, the local governor of Galidraan emerged, flanked by two guards in ceremonial armor. He bowed slightly.
"Welcome, Jango Fett. And… Armored Man," the governor said carefully. "As you can see, the protest situation—"
"Where's Dooku?" Jin-Woo cut him off without looking at the crowd.
The governor blinked. "I assure you, there are no Jedi present."
Jin-Woo exhaled with mild irritation, voice sharpening. "I'm pressed for time. Where is Dooku? If he's not here yet, where is he planning to land with his battalion of goodie-two-shoes knights?"
The governor faltered, clearly intimidated by the gaze beneath that helmet. "I… I give up. He'll land in the snow plains… far side of the planet, in the white valley basin. It's remote."
Jango stepped beside Jin-Woo, placing a hand on his hip. "Armored, I'm coming with you."
Jin-Woo gave him a glance.
"Consider it curiosity," Jango added with a half-smirk. "I wanna see this Dooku guy in person."
The wind howled across the snow-swept plains of Galidraan, flurries dancing around the landing struts of Mandalorian ships. Jin-Woo stood motionless, his dark silhouette stark against the white, with Jango at his side.
Through the comms, Jango's voice crackled. "Jaster, if things go south… you take off. Land only when I signal."
Jaster's voice came back with a huff. "Don't die, Jango. And as for the Armored Man…" a pause, then dry sarcasm, "…pray he doesn't turn this planet's landscape into a new map."
Jin-Woo remained silent.
Moments later, the sharp hum of repulsorlifts announced the arrival of a Republic transport. The Jedi shuttle descended from the clouds, white against white, until it touched down with practiced precision. Its ramp lowered, steam hissing into the frozen air.
Count Dooku emerged first, his regal cloak billowing, followed by several Jedi Knights behind him—stoic, cautious, already tense.
Dooku's eyes swept the scene before resting on Jin-Woo. He frowned.
"I never expected the Armored Man to be present in a plot to assassinate Satine Kryze," Dooku said, voice calm but edged. "Or… perhaps there's something I've missed."
He took a few steps forward.
"Master Tyvokka and Plo Koon spoke highly of you. Quite highly, in fact." He folded his arms behind his back, eyes narrowing. "So tell me… why are you standing among Mandalorians accused of treachery?"
Jin-Woo remained still as the flurry of movement unfolded behind him. The ramp of the Mandalorian transport hissed, and a dozen Death Watch members stepped out in formation, weapons lowered—not in surrender, but as a declaration.
One stepped forward, voice unwavering. "It was our group," he said loud and clear. "We planted the false information. It was Tor Vizsla, our former leader, who orchestrated the lie. The one who caused the chaos."
"The Armored Man is not to blame. In fact… he's the one who ended Tor Vizsla. He's the one who made us take responsibility. If you want to punish someone for the chaos on Mandalore… punish us."
Jin-Woo's head turned slightly.
"Damn…" he muttered, tone unreadable. "Never thought I'd hear that from you lot. What about Pre Vizsla?"
Another Death Watch soldier stepped up. "Jaster's watching over him. We're keeping him away from the bloodshed. Like you instructed."
Dooku's expression shifted slightly. Not to surprise—but perhaps mild curiosity. He offered a slow nod and turned his eyes toward Jin-Woo once again.
"Then it's concluded. A rare display of accountability… impressive," he said. "It seems I've won my wager with Master Windu. If he were here, I'd be bragging endlessly about how speaking first solves more problems than saber-swinging. Civilized, as it should be."
Behind Dooku, the Jedi Knights—previously tense, hands twitching near lightsabers—lowered their stances slightly, a visible sigh of relief spreading through the line.
But Dooku wasn't finished. He took one more step forward, eyes narrowing again.
"However…" he said slowly, "I would like to speak to you, Armored Man. ."
He paused. "If possible… would you be willing to show your face?"
A wave of tension surged through the Death Watch soldiers. Even Jango, standing just behind Jin-Woo, exhaled slowly. Several of the younger Death Watch gulped audibly, remembering what happened the last time someone asked him to remove his helmet.
Jin-Woo didn't move. The wind howled gently across the snowy plains of Galidraan, brushing against his exoframe as he stood like an immovable statue.
"No," he said simply. "I don't think I will."
Dooku's brow furrowed, the air around him growing colder with tension. "A shame," he said with a breath, his voice dipping into something heavier. "However, I must insist. The Republic needs strength like yours. For the greater good. And if you won't join willingly…"
He took another slow, deliberate step forward. "…then I may need to drag you in myself."
Jango let out a tired sigh from behind Jin-Woo, shaking his head. "There goes my bet," he muttered. "Just like you told me… everyone changes eventually."
Jin-Woo didn't look back. "See you in twenty years, Jango. I expect you to become a valuable asset by then."
Dooku's gaze shifted between the two of them. "A wager?" he asked, voice calm but curious. "That's a wager I don't recall hearing."
Jango crossed his arms, eyes cold. "Yeah. I didn't want to tell you. I don't like you. And thanks to you, I just lost my bet."
Dooku's expression remained composed, though a flicker of something darker passed through his eyes. "I see. So that's how it is."
Jin-Woo finally tilted his head. "We're shifting topics," he said flatly. "But for what reason?"
Dooku clasped his hands behind his back. "Master Tyvokka was supposed to die. He took a direct hit to his organs—vital ones. Even bacta wouldn't have been enough. But he lived… because of you. You regenerated them, didn't you?"
Jin-Woo gave a small nod. "Uh huh."
Jango blinked, stunned. "Wait… you can regenerate lost organs?"
Without a word, Jin-Woo detached a small section of his armor. The piece shimmered slightly as it extended and shifted—growing, reshaping itself into the form of a human heart, then a lung, then reverting back. Its surface rippled like liquid metal, alive and precise.
Dooku's eyes narrowed with fascination. "Then this armor… it's not just equipment. It's artificial, but it behaves like a living organism. That makes it priceless—especially for the Republic."
He stepped forward. "You see, we're no longer just peacekeepers. That ideal was removed the moment Joever Bideney emerged. Now we are guardians—true guardians—constantly outmaneuvering chaos. Any anomaly, any edge… we must use it. That's my principle."
Jin-Woo raised a brow behind the mask. "So, in short—you want to be more flexible. Less robes, more armor. That it?"
Dooku smirked faintly. "Precisely. That's my vision."
Jin-Woo exhaled, then stepped forward. "Are you even aware that most of the Republic's problems come from the fact that democracy's bloated with dead weight—people with no vision, no spine? Let's say I give you the formula for my armor. What do you think they'll do with it?"
He tilted his head. "No… I don't even need to explain what'll happen, do I?"
Dooku's face remained calm, but his voice tightened. "I'm aware. But once the Jedi see its potential—how it could save lives, reduce our casualties—it won't matter. They'll demand it."
Jin-Woo's tone sharpened. "And then it gets leaked. Mass-produced. Spread to every corner of the Republic." He gave a cold chuckle. "Exactly what I don't want. So no. Fuck off."
Dooku's eyes narrowed. With a snap-hiss, his blue lightsaber ignited. The blade cast a glow across the snow, humming with power. "Then we're at a crossroads," he said. "I propose the Mandalorian way—trial by combat. One of us yields. The winner decides the terms."
Jin-Woo gave a short nod. "I agree. But most of our personnel have returned to their ships… so let's do this the old-fashioned way. Alone. No audience. No witnesses."
Dooku turned to his Jedi Knights and lowered his voice. "Return to the ship. If I'm not back in an hour… contact Master Yoda."
The Jedi nodded reluctantly, then disappeared across the snowy plains, their boots vanishing into the icy mist.
From a distance, Jango Fett and death watchs gave Jin-Woo a last look, then returned to the Mandalorian transport without a word.
Dooku turned back, lifting his saber into a proper stance. "Now that they're gone... shall we begin?"
Without a word, Jin-Woo raised his hand—his Vectivus lightsaber igniting in a harsh black Saber , .
Dooku's eyes narrowed. "Is that the Darksaber...? No—the hilt's different." His tone dropped. "Who are you, Armored Man?"