The transition from the relative academic quiet of the Coruscant Temple back to the vertical, neon-bleeding entropy of Sub-level 1313 was a localized shift in lifestyle that Revan Shan met with a custom-filtered espresso, a fresh crate of Naboo-spice donuts, and a very particular brand of 11th-Doctor-esque pedagogical fervor. As 66 BBY etched its name into the galactic archive, the Maverick Master found himself focusing on the "Final Polish" of his Padawan's graduation into a localized siege engine.
Revan sat in his Sovereign's Command Chair, which was currently reclined at a forty-two-degree "Observational Assessment" angle in the center of the penthouse's training bay. Calculus, the orange-and-brown patriarch, was currently batting at a loose thread on Jaro's training tunic, while Theorem, the sleek juvenile, was industriously trying to "audit" the structural integrity of the Black Pearl's landing struts through the open hangar doors.
"You see, Jaro," Revan murmured, his voice a dry, rhythmic rasp. "According to my 9th Doctorate in Advanced Mathematics & Logic Programming, the universe is a series of variables competing for space. Most Jedi think they are the solution to the equation. But according to my heart, a Jedi is merely the person who ensures the numbers don't lie to the vulnerable. You're eighteen now. You're a mountain of purple fur and blue light. It's time to stop learning how to survive and start learning how to be kind."
Jaro Tapal, now standing a full seven feet tall with the physical presence of a tectonic plate, ignited his Double-Bladed Saberstaff. The green blades hummed with a rhythmic power that vibrated the floorboards. "I am ready for the audit, Master. But you've always said kindness is a difficult variable to calculate."
"The most difficult," Revan sassed, clicking his Sonic Screwdriver to activate the training grid. "Eleven, activate Audit-01, 02, and 03. Ahsoka Protocol: Level 10. Let's see if you can balance three Sith droids while reciting your Xenobiology thesis."
The Synthesis Audit: The Triple-Blade Logic
The training bay erupted into a symphony of blue and red light. Three Mark IV Sith Training Droids, their Beskar-alloy frames gleaming, lunged at Jaro with a coordinated Form VII Juyo assault. Simultaneously, ten Marksman-H Remotes circled the perimeter, firing erratic, high-velocity stinger bolts.
Jaro moved with the fluid, heavy-duty efficiency of Form VI Niman, weaving his Soresu foundation into the sweeping, crushing arcs of Form V Djem So.
> The Cohesive Combat Integration (\Gamma_{c}):
> By his internal audit, Jaro didn't just block. He utilized Force Repulse at the moment of impact with the first droid, using the kinetic backlash to propel himself into a backward roll—Form IV Ataru mobility—while catching a blaster bolt with his palm using Tutaminis. He channeled that energy directly into a Force Push that knocked the second droid into the flight path of the third.
>
"Statistical perfection!" Revan cheered, tossing a lemon candy into the air and catching it. "But your Form II footwork is 3% too wide on the pivot! Minimize the effort, Jaro! If you waste energy, you're auditing the wrong side of the ledger!"
Rooftop Tag: The Parkour Audit
When the monotony of the salle became a localized failure of interest, Revan led Jaro out onto the staggering rooftops of 1313.
"New game, Jaro! It's tag, but with Advanced Dimensional Mechanics applied to gravity," Revan grinned, his 11th-Doctor-spark flaring. "Rule one: Use Force Enhance. Rule two: If your feet touch a designated 'safe' walkway, you lose. Rule three: Parkour is mandatory. I want to see you integrate Form IV Ataru acrobatics with Form II Makashi precision. Catch me if you can!"
Revan took off like a rhythmic blur, leaping from a localized ventilation pipe to a hanging neon sign, then backflipping over a passing freighter. Jaro lunged after him, his massive frame a shadow in the smog-choked air. They danced across the skyline, a Master and Padawan auditing the geometry of the city. To the citizens of the underworld, they were just two flashes of light in the dark, but to Revan, it was the only way to ensure Jaro's mobility matched his strength.
The Serenno Trip: The Sourpuss and the Candy
In the mid-months of 66 BBY, Revan decided the "Academic Phase" needed a diplomatic variable. They jump-snapped to Serenno aboard the Black Pearl.
"Why Serenno, Master?" Jaro asked as he calibrated the ship's Kyber-Quantum processing array.
"Because Master Dooku is there," Revan replied wittily. "And according to my audit, he always looks like a sourpuss. He's personally trained by Yoda, he's highly respected, and he's remarkably tidy—but he needs a lemon candy and a reminder that the galaxy isn't a museum."
They met Dooku in a high-walled garden overlooking the jagged mesas. The Count-to-be was as sharp as a vibroblade, his Form II Makashi stance evident even in how he sat for tea.
"Revan," Dooku nodded, his voice a refined baritone. "I see you still travel with a small army of droids and a Lasat who could double as a siege tower."
"According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, Dooku, a siege tower is a very effective way to make a point," Revan sassed, sliding a small bag of Naboo-spice candies across the stone table. "Eat one. You look like you're trying to calculate the taxation of the entire sector in your head. It's bad for your rhythmic balance."
Dooku looked at the candy with localized suspicion but took one nonetheless. "The Council is concerned about your wandering, Revan. They say you are building... anchors."
"I build safety nets, Dooku," Revan's voice softened into the 12th Doctor's gravity. "Because the floor is about to fall out."
The Kindness Audit: The Slaver and the Statistic
The trip wasn't just for candy. Cortana had flagged a rhythmic anomaly in the Serenno industrial sector. A corrupt industrialist, Baron Vane, was using a "Mining Loophole" to effectively enslave a localized population of Twi'lek refugees, claiming they were "contracted laborers" to pay off imaginary debts.
Revan and Jaro didn't go as Jedi; they went as the Auditor and his Assistant. They infiltrated the mine, finding the Twi'leks living in a state of 100% moral deficit.
"Right then," Revan whispered as they looked down into the pit. "Jaro, today's lesson is the most important one. According to my 10th Doctorate in Galactic History, people often ask why the Force allows darkness. They think the galaxy is a bad place because of the Sith."
He pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver, clicking it to "shush" the security cameras.
> "Look at the numbers, Jaro. In terms of statistics, the good people—the kind people, the civilians just trying to have a latte and raise their families—outnumber the truly bad guys by 96%. Of the remaining 4%, 3% are only 'bad' because of their circumstances—hunger, fear, or a localized lack of options. Only 1% of the galaxy is truly, irredeemably evil. The 96% is why we do this. We don't fight for the 1% shadow; we fight for the 96% light."
>
Revan looked at the Lasat, his 12th Doctor eyes bright with a weary, fierce love.
"So, try to be nice. Do good. Try to be nice to everyone you meet, but never, ever fail to be kind. Being nice is a social contract; being kind is a rhythmic choice to save a variable that can't save itself. Now, let's go show Baron Vane a localized masterpiece of kindness."
The "Audit" was swift. Jaro utilized his Saberstaff to deactivate the heavy machinery with surgical precision, while Revan used his dual Westar 35s to stun the guards before they could fire. Revan then used the Sonic Screwdriver to slaved the Baron's private credit-ledger to the Twi'lek refugee fund.
"Baron," Revan said wittily as the industrialist blustered. "Your business model has just suffered a 100% loss of integrity. According to my audit, you're retiring early. Try to be nice to your new cellmates."
The Sovereign's Nap: End of 66 BBY
The year concluded with the Black Pearl ghosting through the Serenno sunset. Revan was slumped in his chair, Calculus purring on his lap. Jaro Tapal was sitting on the floor, using his Kyber Green Sonic Screwdriver to repair a localized short in a training remote, his mind clearly turning over the "96% Lesson."
"Status, Cortana," Revan whispered.
"Serenno mine is freed. The Twi'leks have been relocated to your Ryloth Sanctuary with a localized starting grant," Cortana reported. "The 3 Billion credits are stable. And I've flagged a rhythmic pulse from Naboo: Sheev Palpatine is now nineteen. He has just met a wealthy financier named Hego Damask."
Revan stilled, his eyes remaining closed. "Damask. The Muun is playing the long game. The 1% is starting to move the pieces."
"Brilliant," Revan yawned, the chair reclining to the Calculated Nap Angle of 134.5 degrees. "Adventure is the journey, D6. And 66 BBY was a masterpiece of Lasat logic and teaching the difference between 'nice' and 'kind.' Try to be nice, 65 BBY. I have a feeling the audit is about to get a lot more expensive."
He closed his eyes. The Maverick was eighty-three, his Padawan was a beacon of blue light, and the galaxy continued its slow, binary drift. But in the heart of a black freighter, the books were balanced, the cats were warm, and the Auditor was dreaming of a galaxy where the 96% finally learned to speak for themselves.