[POV: Ngani -Zho]
Master Sinube sighed, stepping over the wreckage of the medical droids. "We have his name, and a severely damaged medical bay. You are all going to pay for this."
My spine ached. My robes were torn. My dignity was nonexistent. The Temple's prized medical facility was a junkyard. I had a small, five-year-old terrorist named Inosuke Hashibira utterly exhausted and locked in a Force Clamp deep beneath the Temple.
"We cannot hold him indefinitely, Master," Satele said, rubbing her temples. She was sitting cross-legged outside the containment field, maintaining her section of the Clamp. Her usual disciplined posture was slightly slumped. "The sustained Force drain is immense. He resists the grip even when unconscious. We'll be drained before his internal Force-Accelerated Metabolism allows him a full recovery."
"I know, Padawan," I replied, monitoring the boy through the transparent durasteel wall. Inosuke was now lowered to the ground, standing upright but rigid, locked in place. The boar mask was still firmly on his head. "If we release him, he will resume his attack. We must establish communication, Satele, something he understands. He clearly perceives logic as weakness and calm as treachery."
Satele leaned her head against the cool durasteel, thinking. "He understands survival, Master. He understands territory. And he understands hunger. He attacked us with the fury of a starving animal. If he truly is a creature of pure instinct, food is his motivation, his reward, and his fundamental language."
I considered this. The Jedi path taught detachment, contemplation, and peace. Inosuke, however, had the spiritual sensibilities of a hungry gundark. Perhaps the path of peace needed to start with a hearty meal.
I sighed. "Very well. Padawan, procure the largest, highest-protein, and least processed meal the Refectory can provide. No nutrient paste. No synth-meat. Real food, Satele. As much as he can possibly stomach. And ensure it is delivered by a non-droid member of staff. I won't risk the catering unit."
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Fifteen minutes later, Satele returned, not with a tray, but a hover-cart laden with rations that would feed a squad of troopers. The centerpiece was a massive, slow-roasted chunk of Bantha steak, cooked to a primal, bloody rare, accompanied by stacks of heavy field bread and a bowl of fresh, firm fruit that resembled bright orange Naboo apples. The smell alone filled the containment room with a rich, savory aroma that completely overwhelmed the sterile air.
I deactivated the Force Clamp.
Inosuke immediately collapsed onto the floor in a heap of fur and muscle. He didn't move for a long moment, simply breathing the free air with rapid, deep intakes. Then, his head snapped up.
He smelled the meat.
The transition from blind rage to focused, animalistic hunger was immediate and total. He scrambled to his feet, eyes darting from the meat to the Jedi standing outside the barrier.
"Food," he croaked, his voice rough from screaming, muffled by the mask.
I slid the heavy meal tray through a secure access slot in the bottom of the wall. It clattered to the floor with a loud thump.
Inosuke didn't hesitate. He launched himself at the food, completely ignoring us. He seized the entire Bantha steak, pulled the mask up just enough to expose his mouth, and began tearing into the meat with a raw ferocity that made both Satele and I take an involuntary step back. He devoured the food in huge, ragged bites, using his hands and teeth, paying no mind to the grease dripping onto the clean floor.
Satele, however, did not share my distant, observational calm. Her expression shifted quickly from fascination to sheer, civilized disgust. She watched the raw, uncontrolled consumption the dripping grease, the tearing sound, the lack of any discernible chewing and her brow furrowed.
"Master, he's… he's going to choke. And he's making a colossal mess. The Temple floor is polished!" Satele muttered, visibly recoiling. "He's treating a Bantha steak like a wild animal. This is unacceptable hygiene."
"Padawan, he has survived by this method for five years. We must allow him some comfort," I tried to rationalize.
"No, Master. Survival is one thing. Civility is another. He needs to learn the proper technique," Satele declared, her Jedi discipline kicking in, demanding order where there was chaos.
She seized a large, thick piece of the crusty bread and, using the Force, yanked it out of the container. Inosuke didn't even notice, too busy ripping at the remaining steak.
Satele used the Force like a pair of enormous, invisible chopsticks. She lifted the massive hunk of bread, buttered it precisely with a utensil that flew from the tray, and then, holding it carefully aloft, she opened the secure slot again.
"Inosuke Hashibira!" she called, her voice sharp.
The boy paused his savage meal, his boar mask tilted upward in confusion, grease smeared across the snout.
Satele used the Force to float the bread straight toward his face. "You will eat this properly. Chew slowly. Do not use your claws, use the tool." She floated a heavy, metallic fork near the bread.
Inosuke, outraged by the disruption, lunged at the floating bread, snatching it in his hands. "NO! I CONTROL THE FOOD!"
He then tried to eat the entire loaf in one go.
Satele's face pinched in revulsion. "Oh, the manners!" She reacted instantly, faster than thought. She used the Force not to restrain him, but to gently, yet firmly, open his mouth mid-gulp.
Inosuke gagged in surprise. He felt the invisible power the "magic" prying his jaws open. He thrashed his small head, utterly bewildered by the intimate invasion.
Satele seized the moment. She used her left hand to quickly pinch a small, manageable piece of the Naboo fruit. Then, using a precise, tiny burst of Force momentum, she placed the fruit squarely on his tongue, forcing him to chew the smaller piece.
Inosuke spat out a furious roar of rage, half-chewed steak and fruit flying everywhere. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, SQUISHY FREAK?!"
"I am teaching you table etiquette, savage!" Satele retorted, wrinkling her nose as she wiped the fruit splatter off the durasteel. "If you want to be treated nicely, you must eat with dignity! Look at your core it's amazing! But you eat like a vulptex! Slow down, you animal!"
I decided to intervene before Satele's fastidious nature drove the boy back into a Force-fueled frenzy. "Satele, enough! He is eating! That is the primary goal."
Satele stepped back, huffing, but her point was made. Inosuke was now watching her with a new level of fascinated hatred, but he seemed to be chewing the remaining food a fraction more cautiously.
When the entire cart was eventually clean, Inosuke let out a deep, satisfied grunt, then turned to face us, his boar mask lowered.
"Meat. Good," he declared, wiping grease onto his frayed haori.
This was our chance.
"Child. We are the Jedi. We brought you here to keep you safe. We know your name is Inosuke Hashibira."
Inosuke tilted his masked head. "Safe?" he snorted, the sound amplified by the snout. "Lies! You are weak-smelling freaks. I am the strongest! You trapped me."
"You are strong, Inosuke Hashibira," I conceded. "But you are in a new place, far from Naboo. This is a Temple. We want to teach you how to control your strength."
Inosuke scoffed, puffing out his chest. "I control everything! My fangs are sharp! I am the king of the mountain!"
Satele, realizing my diplomatic approach was achieving nothing, leaned forward, her eyes bright. She decided to abandon convention entirely and speak his language.
"Hey, Pig-Head!" she called, her voice sharp and challenging.
I shot her a horrified look. "Satele!"
Inosuke froze. He looked at Satele with a focused intensity that bordered on approval. "Pig-Head! You! You are faster than the tall freak! But you are weak! And you have dull fangs!"
Satele ignored my glare and grinned, leaning in close to the durasteel. "My fangs are plasma, little warrior. And they are sharper than anything you've ever tasted! I am Satele. And that tall freak, Master Zho, is faster than I am. We can move faster than you and throw rocks the size of your whole mountain with our minds." She held up a small, dense datapad, focused on it, and crushed it into a handful of metallic dust with a small, visible exertion of the Force.
Inosuke's entire posture shifted. His shoulders slumped slightly, not in defeat, but in sheer awe.
"MAGIC," he whispered, impressed.
"It's the Force," Satele corrected, her expression now a challenging smirk. "It's how we become the strongest. Right now, I am stronger than you. And Master Zho is stronger than me. If you want to be the strongest in this new world, you have to learn our magic."
This was the key. His entire existence was predicated on the pursuit of being the strongest.
Inosuke stared at the metallic dust. The promise of overwhelming, effortless power resonated deeply within his primal heart.
"Teach me the magic," he demanded, his voice low and serious. "Teach me the slice-and-dice magic!"
"We will," Satele promised. "But first, you have to follow our rules. No smashing the walls. No attacking the shiny demons they are weak, but they clean up our messes."
"CLEANING IS WEAK!" Inosuke shouted instantly.
"Agreed," Satele said, matching his enthusiasm with a wink. "But the Jedi demand cleanliness. So, we make a deal. For every day you don't smash anything, Master Zho buys you Bantha steak."
Inosuke's masked head rotated sharply toward me.
I felt faint, calculating the astronomical cost of my new 'Youngling Stipend.' "The meat is only if you behave," I confirmed, rubbing my chin. "And you must stay here for now. Until we can remove the mask and speak properly."
Inosuke suddenly pulled the mask down completely and stood perfectly still. He let out a deep, measured breath that visibly shook his small body. It was his signature move of concentration, but applied now not for fighting, but for listening.
"NO. MASK. LEAVE," he dictated, his voice firm and completely devoid of question. "TEACH. MAGIC. MEAT."
He had reduced the complex social contract of the Jedi Order into three primal, absolute commands.
I glanced at Satele. She simply shrugged, radiating a triumphant, "See? Simple!" energy.
"Very well, Inosuke Hashibira," I conceded, feeling the first stirrings of hope mixed with professional terror. "The Temple will begin teaching you the ways of the Force. Your initiation begins tomorrow morning. Now, rest. We will return with fresh water and clothes."
As Satele and I turned to leave, Inosuke, seated comfortably amidst the Bantha bones, let out a final, triumphant, piercing shriek.
"HAHAHAHA! I AM THE STRONGEST IN THE SOFT CAGE! I WILL BEAT YOU ALL!"
I looked back at the small, feral figure in the containment cell, a child with the raw power of a Revan and the destructive energy of a fully armed Sith battleship. My new life as a caretaker of chaos had begun.
"Oh and Satele."
"Yes, Master?"
"You are going to pay for the Datapad."