As a new morning begins with his new life, he starts combat drills with seasoned Mandalorians and receives lessons in the Mando'a language from clan elders.
Long afternoons in the forge to understand how to make new armor from Baskar.
He now spends his nights spent learning Mandalorian history, oaths, and honor.
In his free time, he spends it with Jango, part training, part getting into trouble as a brother.
As Jack picked up the language faster than expected. Cassandra says dryly, "Your neural augmentation allows accelerated language acquisition. You'll be fluent in approximately one year ."Jack shrugged. "Work in progress,"
Jack muttered, "Let's keep that between us. Or they'll give me homework even if Ner vod is a great elder." "Spartan," she sighed, "you are homework."
The forge roared like a living beast.
Jack shed his armor piece by piece, leaving only the black underlayer until even that clung with too much heat. He pulled it off and stepped into the glow bare-skinned, his body catching the firelight.
Jango, entering behind his father, stopped short.
Jack barely noticed. He was focused on the beskar plate heating on the anvil.
But to Mandalorian eyes, the warrior beneath the steel was a sight: pale skin marked with some old scars that are healing, with a lean, powerful frame shaped by Spartan augmentation, strong shoulders, and a tapered torso built for endurance. Messy, light blond hair falling into bright, ice-blue eyes young man's body, but a soldier's gaze.
"You really are built, " Jango murmured.
Jack didn't look up. "Keep staring, and I'm charging rent."
Cassandra chimed. "He means thank you."
"No, I don't."
But the corner of Jack's mouth twitched.
Verd Fett studied him with the scrutiny of a smith inspecting raw ore. Finally, he nodded once.
"You look like a fighter. Steel suits you. Flesh does too."
Jack blinked. "…Not sure that's a compliment."
"It is," Verd assured him. "You look like clan."
Jack hesitated just a heartbeat."…Thanks."
The Armorer handed Jack a glowing slab of beskar.
"You seek to forge your first piece, Jack'ika."
He exhaled. "Just say 'armor.'"
"Mandalorians appreciate poetry."
"Great," Cassandra said. "You're among your people."
Jack hammered the metal, sparks scattering like stars. Beskar resisted him stubbornly, unyielding, but Spartan strength wore it down. Each impact echoed through the hall, a rhythm older than Mandalore itself.
When he quenched the plate and lifted it from the water, it gleamed with a familiar silhouette, his silhouette. A Beskar replica of his MJOLNIR pauldron.
Jango grinned. "Told you you'd fit in."
Jack shook his head, but not in denial.
Jack's workshop became a storm of sparks, wires, and half-dissected tech. Cassandra projected translucent diagrams across his HUD as he fitted a UNSC shield capacitor under the new Beskar pauldron.
"Spartan, integrating this technology carries a fifteen percent chance of catastrophic."
"It'll work," Jack said.
"It could explode."
"It'll work."
Jango poked the device. "Will it explode now?"
Jack pushed his hand away. "Go bother someone else."
"Is that a yes?"
Cassandra sighed. "I'm surrounded by children."
After two days, the first hybrid system hummed to life, beskar armor reinforced with Spartan shielding.
Jack rolled his shoulder."Feels like home."
Verd Fett inspected Jack's upgraded pauldron.
"I want this for all warriors of the clan."
Jack blinked. "All of them?"
"Yes."
"That's… excessive."
Verd nodded. "Correct."
Jack smirked. "Alright then. Overkill it is."
For a week, Jack and Cassandra worked with relentless focus. Soon, every Fett warrior walked with a faint shimmer beneath their beskar.
Tor Fett stared at his glowing gauntlet." This is madness. Beskar doesn't need shields."
Jack shrugged. "Occupational hazard."
Tor laughed. "You are insane."
While Jack hammered metal, Cassandra quietly hammered the galaxy.
She infiltrated banking networks, Republic guild databases, and corporate archives.
Black market communication nodes
The Hutt Cartel's financial logs
"Spartan," she reported, "you now possess eight bank accounts, three investment portfolios, and one… explosives budget?"
Jack sighed. "Jango?"
The boy waved proudly from across the room. "I made that one!"
Jack rubbed his temples. "I need supervision."
"You have me," Cassandra said.
"That's what I'm afraid of."
By the end of the third week, Jack and Jango trained together daily.
"Your footwork is terrible," Jack said, nudging Jango's ankle with his boot.
"No, it's not."
Jack swept his leg lightly. Jango stumbled.
"Now it is."
Jango glared. "Why do you move like everything wants to kill you?"
"Because it usually does."
Jango laughed a sharp, fearless sound.
Cassandra whispered, "He reminds me of you. Before Reach."
Jack paused. Then quietly, "That's why I'm keeping him alive."
Jango elbowed him. "Come on, big brother. Teach me the flip move."
"No."
"Yes!"
"No."
Cassandra helpfully added, "Statistically, he'll break something."
"See?" Jack said.
Jango groaned. "Why are you both like this?!"
Jack smirked. "Bad influences."