As Jin-Woo leaned back into his chair again, taking in the lazy, golden atmosphere of Naboo's late morning sun, a small commotion caught his attention.
A young girl, about fourteen years old, had approached the counter—her tone polite but eager.
"Excuse me," she asked. "Is the Theed Cream Cakes still available?"
The waiter, looking slightly uncomfortable, glanced at Jin-Woo and Morgan's table before answering.
"Uh... the last one was just bought by that couple over there," he said, gesturing slightly toward them.
The girl's expression flickered with brief disappointment—but she remained composed and dignified.
And in that moment, Jin-Woo recognized her immediately.
Padmé Naberrie. Not Amidala yet. Still just a normal girl—a princess from the House of Naberrie. Still untouched by the heavy burdens of galactic politics.
Jin-Woo tilted his head slightly, a faint, unreadable smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
She's still pure... he mused silently.
It's about to become seinen from here onward.
Padmé, still a little shy but determined, approached their table, her hands nervously clutching the hem of her simple dress.
She bowed her head politely and spoke in a soft voice.
"Um... excuse me. Can I buy the Theed Cream Cakes from you... for fifty credits?"
Morgan, without even blinking, immediately answered "No. It's mine."
Padmé, undeterred, kept her composure. "I'll debt it," she said quickly. "I'll be sure to pay it back."
Jin-Woo leaned his elbow lazily on the table, resting his chin against his hand as he chuckled.
"Then... are you prepared to pay for a cake at, say... ten thousand credits?" he teased. "You sure about that? Your parents' budget might suffer a little deflation."
Despite the teasing tone, Padmé remained firmly rooted in place, her eyes determined, her small frame standing strong against the playful pressure.
Morgan, watching the scene with a tilt of her head, finally let out a small sigh.
She slid the Theed Cream Cakes across the table along with a third seat and motioned toward Padmé with an almost regal flick of her wrist.
"Your efforts are applaudable," she said in a mock-serious tone.
Jin-Woo laughed quietly, shaking his head.
"Dear Alien God..." he muttered under his breath. "Morgan somehow just gave away her own food to someone."
Morgan, narrowing her eyes in playful irritation, grabbed a piece of Nerf Cheese from the platter and, without warning, smacked it straight onto Jin-Woo's face.
Jin-Woo calmly peeled the cheese off his face, unbothered, and licked it once.
"Tastes like Cheese pie," he said casually, as if nothing unusual had happened.
Morgan simply huffed and floated lazily back in her seat, arms crossed in exaggerated frustration, while Padmé sat shyly at the edge of the table, carefully slicing into the Theed Cream Cakes with a visible sparkle of happiness.
Jin-Woo wiped his face clean with a napkin, then casually raised his hand.
Using a flick of Telekinesis, he compressed the leftover Nerf Cheese into a neat, smooth ball roughly the size of a ping-pong ball, letting it float idly beside him.
Padmé's eyes widened in amazement. "Wow... are you a Jedi?".
Jin-Woo only glanced at her sideways and answered. "No."
Padmé blinked, a little unsure, before shifting her gaze toward Morgan instead.
She pointed discreetly at Jin-Woo and whispered, "Does he always act so grumpy and rude?"
Morgan, resting her chin on her hand lazily, smirked without looking at him.
"Silent and grumpy, definitely. Now... added to his rudeness too,"
Jin-Woo gave a small, dismissive snort under his breath. "Hmph."
But before the moment could settle, a sudden commotion rose nearby.
A large number of people began gathering, pointing excitedly in their direction.
"Look—it's Padmé! The next ruler candidate of Naboo!"
Padmé stiffened instantly, gulping nervously as more and more people crowded the outdoor restaurant.
In seconds, the once-quiet space was overrun. Citizens swarmed the area, pushing toward Padmé, jostling and shouting all at once.
Some bumped Jin-Woo and Morgan's table, knocking over plates and destroying the carefully arranged trays of food. Morgan's half-finished meal was sent clattering to the floor.
The crowd surged closer.
"Padmé! You must become a good ruler! Better than King Ars Veruna!" one shouted.
"Prioritize the people! You have to protect us!" another cried.
Padmé's hands trembled slightly as she clutched her skirt, overwhelmed by the sudden wave of attention. Her eyes watered, the private, simple moment she had cherished shattered before her.
Jin-Woo leaned back slightly, unmoved, merely watching.
Morgan, however, slowly lowered her hand from her chin.
Her smile was gone. Her expression was cold—beyond irritated.
she drew her authority—the Queen of Lostbelt England.
In a blink, Morgan summoned her black-blue demonic spear, the air around, suppressed rage.
Without a word, she slammed the spear into the ground with a thunderous crash.
The effect was immediate.
The weight of her magecraft saturated the local area, pressing down
The once-bustling chatter of the crowd died instantly into terrified silence.
Morgan's voice cut through the air like a blade—cold, regal, merciless. "Piss off before I execute you here and now."
The citizens of Naboo, feeling the suffocating presence of something far beyond mortal comprehension, stumbled back in terror.
The once-curious crowd dispersed within seconds, fleeing into the streets without so much as a word.
Morgan slowly dismissed her demonic spear, letting it dissolve into motes of dark energy.
The sky above returned to its former sunny, peaceful day, as if the darkness had never touched it.
Padmé, standing there, her hands trembling slightly, looked down, eyes watering.
"I'm... I'm sorry," she said in a small, broken voice. "I... ruined your food... and your... couple's time..."
Before she could sink into deeper guilt, a soft shimmer opened behind Morgan's back—a discreet, pinkish portal summoned with a flick of her hand.
From it, Morgan carefully pulled out a restored Theed Cream Cake—the same one Padmé had been eating before the chaos.
Morgan set it gently onto the table in front of her, her voice unusually soft.
"Here. Eat. At least your food is still intact."
Padmé, overwhelmed and devastated, tried to speak, but only managed a choked sound.
"Imm... are..."
Her words slurred from the heavy emotions crushing her chest.
Jin-Woo leaned back casually, giving her a small, faint smile.
"At least you're happy," he said. "Everyone's happy. That's what matters."
Padmé froze for a moment, then, as if a heavy burden had lifted, she clutched the plate tightly and burst into grateful words. "Thank you... thank you...!"
Her voice cracked as she bowed her head deeply toward them, her tiny frame shaking under the rush of relief.
Morgan, still watching her, leaned slightly toward Jin-Woo and whispered dryly:
"...What's wrong with her?"
Jin-Woo tilted his head lazily, answering in a low, casual murmur.
"Senator Palpatine—also known as Sidious—pulled the strings. The previous king got almost dethroned... or dethroned... I don't care. And now a fourteen-year-old girl is being pushed to become queen. Crazy, right?"
Morgan, resting her cheek on her knuckles, shifted her gaze toward Padmé, who was quietly nibbling at her restored Theed Cream Cake with careful, delicate bites.
The corner of Morgan's mouth quirked up slightly.
"Little girl," she called out lazily.
Padmé looked up quickly, blinking.
"It's Padmé, miss," she corrected politely, her voice still a little shaky.
Morgan smirked slightly and shrugged. "Morgan. Call me Morgan."
She leaned back in her chair, studying Padmé with a casual air before continuing.
"What about Palpatine?" Morgan asked, her tone neutral. "What do you think of him?"
Padmé straightened a little in her seat, gathering herself.
"Senator Palpatine... he's a great man," she said firmly. "He puts his will behind the people of Naboo. He's always fought for our rights. I never expected I would need to become a queen, but... I know what's best is to serve the people."
Morgan's lips twitched slightly in a smirk, her eyes half-lidded.
"And the people are retarded," she said bluntly.
In her mind, a dark thought passed without a hint of guilt.
I should have blasted more Fairy Death Knights onto Palpatine back on Malachor.
Should've made sure he ended up in a coma... or at least close to death.
As Padmé finished her food, she carefully wiped her hands, then turned and bowed her head respectfully toward Morgan.
"Thank you again, Miss Morgan. I am very indebted to you."
Before Morgan could reply, a new figure entered the open-air restaurant.
His approach was smooth, deliberate.
Senator Palpatine himself [didnt recognize the residual energy of magecraft ] .
He moved through the small crowd with the ease of a seasoned politician, his face carved into a gentle, reassuring smile.
"Princess Padmé," he said warmly. "There you are. I've been looking for you. Those crowds must have been harsh on you."
Padmé smiled brightly at his presence, immediately stepping closer to him.
"Thank you, Senator Palpatine.."
Morgan sat motionless in her seat, her posture still casual and unreadable.
But inwardly, her mind grew sharper, colder.
You're the one who broke my Transfiguration mask once, Morgan thought with an edge.
I'll never forget that. That burn wound—caused by the explosion of the Fairy Death Knight—still scars you, old man.
She watched him without blinking, her calm gaze hiding the flicker of amusement that passed through her mind.
Padmé, meanwhile, noticed something odd about Palpatine's arm.
"Senator, what happened to your arm?" she asked innocently, pointing.
Palpatine, ever composed, raised his sleeve slightly, revealing a faint reddish mark near his forearm.
"Just a small wood burn," he said smoothly. "I like to make campfires now and then. Nothing serious."
As the conversation lingered, Morgan, resting idly in her chair, allowed a very faint pulse of Transfiguration mana to escape—an invisible, sharp ripple through the Force.
Only someone like Palpatine—someone attuned deeply to the dark currents of the Force—would notice.
Palpatine's gaze immediately sharpened. Slowly, he turned his attention toward Morgan.
Morgan, however, didn't acknowledge him at all.
She simply shifted her body lazily, turning her head the other way, acting as if he wasn't even worth looking at.
Palpatine's smile tightened ever so slightly before he refocused on Padmé, keeping his voice smooth.
"Princess Padmé, who are these two individuals you're with?" he asked lightly.
Padmé, glancing back at Jin-Woo and Morgan, answered without much thought.
"I don't know about the boyfriend... he's rude," she said honestly, making Jin-Woo snort faintly under his breath.
"But the female... her name is Morgan. She's very str—"
Before Padmé could finish the word, Jin-Woo casually raised his hand, activating a small holochannel from a hidden device on his wrist.
Immediately, a large holographic projection filled the area, showing a dramatic, flashy cowboy movie—loud music, galloping blurrs, and all.
Jin-Woo leaned back, waving lazily toward the hologram.
"Just a small-time actor and actress from the opera circuit," he said smoothly, his voice bored but believable.
Palpatine watched the projection for a moment, the fake movie playing out before him.
His smile returned, easy and disarming.
"Ah, I see. An opera..." he said, chuckling lightly. "I still love watching them to this day."
He shifted his attention back toward Jin-Woo and Morgan, a practiced smile still on his lips.
"I usually run an opera house," Palpatine continued smoothly. "I'm sure you could find a place at my—"
Before he could finish, Jin-Woo's gaze shifted—not at Palpatine—but toward Padmé.
With a calm, almost detached tone, Jin-Woo spoke.
"Not interested. And good luck with the coronation, Padmé.
Also..." Jin-Woo's eyes glinted slightly.
"Be careful with the old men. They usually love minors and... well, you know. Pedo stuff."
Without waiting for a reaction, Jin-Woo turned away, walking calmly, his coat fluttering lightly with each step.
Morgan followed him, hands lazily tucked behind her back, not sparing a glance toward Palpatine or Padmé.
For a moment, Palpatine's composed mask cracked. A small vein visibly popped at the side of his temple, the only betrayal of the silent rage surging beneath his practiced smile.
But with years of discipline, he quickly smoothed his face, taking a slow breath to regain his composure. "My preferences..."Still normal. A gentleman's taste."
Yet as he watched the pair leave, unease crept through him.
The male one... he thought grimly.
I couldn't sense his presence at all. Nothing.
But my instincts scream at me—he's stronger than anyone I've encountered.
Stronger than Yoda .
His gaze shifted slightly toward Morgan's retreating figure.
And the female... Morgan...
Memory stirred deep within him. The vision of Yogumunt, the strange masked Monarch who had taunted him at Malachor.
The half-broken mask. The cold, mocking voice: ["You'll see soon enough, Sith. Try not to die too soon."]
Palpatine's eyes narrowed slightly.
Is it her? he wondered.
The bone structure is different... but the presence... it's too similar to be coincidence.