[POV: Ngani-Zho]
The sun rose over the Coruscant Temple, bathing the deep containment room in a faint, refracted light. The room had been hastily repaired, the walls patched, and the damaged droids replaced with tougher, non-communicative models. Inosuke Hashibira was standing rigidly in the center of the room, fueled by the staggering amount of Bantha steak he had consumed. The meat incentive was holding, for now.
I entered, followed by Satele, who carried a small, sturdy meditation cushion and a large bowl containing only a single, heavy grey stone.
"Good morning, Inosuke Hashibira," I said, ensuring my translator chip was active.
Inosuke immediately dropped into a low, predatory crouch. "FREAK! You brought the magic? Are we slicing now? Where is the big thing I smash?"
"No smashing, Inosuke. Not yet," I replied calmly, sliding the cushion across the floor. "Before we learn to slice with the mind, we must learn to see with the mind. This is meditation. It is how we become stronger than our bodies."
Inosuke sniffed the cushion suspiciously. "Soft. Weak. Is it a trick?"
"It is a tool," Satele interjected, adopting a firm, challenging stance. "The strongest warriors know when to be fast and when to be still. To use the Force, you must find the quiet place inside the chaos. Sit on the cushion. Be still. We will wait."
Inosuke looked from Satele to the cushion. The promise of "magic," the ultimate path to strength, was the only thing holding his instincts in check. Grudgingly, he stomped over and perched on the cushion, but he did not sit cross-legged like a civilized youngling. Instead, he dropped into a wide, power-stance squat, his knees nearly touching his masked ears, his back perfectly straight, his muscles taut and ready to spring.
I tried to guide him gently. "Now, close your eyes, Inosuke. Breathe deeply. Let the sounds of the Temple fade. Feel the Force as the energy that connects all living things."
Inosuke clamped his hands around his knees. He didn't close his eyes, but stared fixedly at the polished floor.
"I already know the energy! It's the air! It smells like weak freaks and food! What is the Force? Is it a slice? Is it a punch?" he grunted, the translation barely keeping up with his savage intonation.
"The Force is everything, Inosuke. It is the peace within the moment," I instructed. "Try to empty your mind."
Inosuke's breathing, which had been fast and shallow, suddenly became deep and intensely focused. He let out a series of audible, forced inhalations and exhalations, a continuation of his internal "Beast Breathing" or Force Focus, but applied to the goal of stillness. His body vibrated with the effort of holding still.
"Silence," he grunted, his voice ragged with strain. "My mind is empty! Where is the magic?"
I knew his mind wasn't empty; it was a screaming, internal monologue dedicated to the single thought, 'Find the Magic. Get the Meat. Fight the Weak.'
We endured forty-five agonizing minutes of this static combat. Inosuke's concentration wasn't on the Force; it was on the Herculean effort required to not move a muscle. His physical stamina was astounding, no ordinary child could maintain such an aggressive, static pose for so long, but his mind remained a battlefield.
Satele finally broke the silence. "He's using his muscles to force his mind to stop thinking, Master. It's like trying to stop a waterfall by building a dam with his will."
"Indeed. His entire energy is spent fighting his own nature," I agreed. "We must shift focus. Inosuke! End meditation. We will attempt the visualization exercise."
Inosuke immediately sprung from the cushion, launching into a series of full-extension, body-popping stretches that resembled an acrobatic fight with an invisible opponent.
"GOOD! Is this the magic? Do I pretend-slice the air?"
"Close," I said, sliding the heavy, smooth stone into the center of the floor. "Imagine this stone. Imagine it floating up off the floor using your mind. Use the energy you feel in your muscles, but instead of moving your body, move the stone."
Inosuke focused on the stone. He did not extend his hand. Instead, he slammed the mask down over his eyes, concentrating furiously.
For a moment, the air thickened. The Force field inside the room registered a massive, chaotic spike of energy. The rock twitched. A clear, strong, raw surge of power slammed into the stone, but not vertically. It hit it horizontally, reflecting his aggressive intent.
SMASH!
The rock, driven by Inosuke's massive, uncontrolled subconscious energy, shot across the room like a projectile from a heavy blaster, hitting the patched durasteel wall with a loud, ringing gong.
"Inosuke!" I exclaimed, rushing forward to inspect the new, deeper dent. "You didn't lift it! You slammed it! Where did you aim?"
"I aimed for the wall, freak! I was testing the cage! The magic works! It slices!" he shouted in triumph, his arms raised high.
Satele massaged her temple. "He's Force-pushing without knowing what a Force-push is. He's just projecting aggressive intent through his mind. He's the physical embodiment of the Dark Side's philosophy, but without the malice."
"This is unsustainable," I muttered, looking at the dent. "He is a danger to the Temple's structural integrity. He needs a reference point. He needs to see that other children exist, and that they are capable of quiet discipline."
I looked at Satele, making a split-second decision. "Satele, prepare him. He will attend the Youngling Class this afternoon."
Satele paled slightly, her previous enthusiasm instantly evaporating. "Master, are you certain? The other younglings are learning basic levitation and the Jedi Code. He just finished trying to use the Force to create a dent in our wall. This is a containment breach waiting to happen."
"He needs context, Padawan. He needs to see his peers. He needs to see small humans acting civilized. He needs a baseline comparison to his own savagery. And the Temple requires that we attempt integration."
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The Youngling Classroom was a brightly lit, high-ceilinged chamber where twenty children, ranging from four to seven standard years, sat in neat rows, practicing the fundamentals of object levitation. They were a mixture of species, Twi'leks, humans, Mirialan, and a curious little Rodian, all quietly focused on making colorful wooden blocks hover.
A fragile silence fell as Satele and I entered. I gripped Inosuke's small hand firmly. He was still wearing his boar mask, but Satele had managed to wrestle him into a hastily sanitized, oversized brown tunic, replacing his shredded, filthy haori.
Inosuke, overwhelmed by the sight of twenty small, weak-smelling life-forms sitting quietly, stopped dead in his tracks. His breathing hitched.
"So many weaklings! They are like a pile of soft, tiny animals waiting to be hunted!" he whispered, loudly, his voice squeaking with the realization that he was surrounded by prey.
A small Twi'lek boy, Kith, looked up from his floating block and nervously hid it behind his back.
I maintained a tight grip on Inosuke's hand. "Younglings," I announced, forcing a strained smile. "This is Inosuke Hashibira. He is a new initiate to the Order. Treat him with kindness and respect."
I addressed the children generally, but spoke directly to Inosuke. "Inosuke, these are your peers. You will learn the Force with them."
Inosuke let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. "HAHAHAHA! These are not peers! They are PREY! I'm the strongest! I will beat them all!"
He ripped his hand from mine with a violent jerk and launched himself forward, not to fight immediately, but to assert dominance. He stopped in the center of the room and dropped into his wide, aggressive squat, his tiny, powerful arms flexing.
"OI! LISTEN UP, YOU TINY WEAKLINGS! I AM INOSUKE! I AM THE KING OF THE MOUNTAIN! I'M THE STRONGEST HERE! COME FIGHT ME NOW, OR I'LL SMASH YOUR TINY HEADS!"
The silence was broken only by the soft thud of twenty floating blocks hitting the floor as the younglings broke their concentration in sheer terror. The Rodian boy began to quietly cry.
Satele groaned, burying her face in her hands. "He's terrorizing the entire class, Master. We've set back their levitation skills by a week."
I immediately reached out with a strong Force Anchor to keep Inosuke from attacking. The boy bucked against the invisible grip, screaming obscenities.
"LET ME FIGHT, FREAK! I'LL SHOW THEM MY SLICE AND DICE! I'LL BEAT THE FAT ONE FIRST!"
I grabbed him by the tunic. "No fighting, Inosuke! You will sit quietly and observe!"
"NO! I AM STRONGEST!" he shrieked, and in a demonstration of the extreme flexibility noted in his medical report, he bent backward, his spine unnaturally arching, and managed to kick me precisely in the shin despite being held at arm's length.
I ignored the sharp pain and dragged him toward the exit. The integration experiment was an unmitigated disaster.
As I pulled him, Inosuke, in a final act of chaotic defiance, threw his head back and roared at the cowering children: "REMEMBER MY NAME! INOSUKE! I'M GONNA BEAT YOU WHEN I GET MY MAGIC SWORD! YOU CAN'T RUN FROM ME!"
I slammed the door shut on the traumatized class. Satele leaned against the wall, utterly defeated.
"I think," she said, her voice strained, "that the concept of shared learning failed to translate, Master. He views all group activity as competitive hunting."
"Indeed," I sighed, hauling the still-thrashing boy back toward his containment cell. "It translated perfectly. He sees them not as friends, but as challenges. The only way to teach him control is to show him someone stronger than himself, and we need a new tactic, Satele. A much more expensive and authorized tactic."
I knew what I had to do. The Council would be furious about the medical bay, the younglings' therapy bills, and the sheer audacity of this child's existence. But I had no choice. I had to report the terrifying extent of his feral nature and demand the resources to contain and train him. The Unorthodox Training Protocol was no longer an option; it was a necessity.