## **Chapter 312**
While Jasmill rushed off to attend to some sudden business, I remained at the table, calmly continuing my assault on the remains of an expensive meal. Outwardly relaxed, inwardly… less so. My mind kept circling back to the information she'd let slip—and to my own offhand remark about forming a parallel design group. That hadn't been entirely spontaneous. No… more like something I'd been thinking about for a while, finally slipping out.
And then the devil, as usual, nudged me further.
Those new SPHA variants… especially the heavy ones. Turbolasers, ion cannons, missile platforms—even that mass driver. If I could get my hands on one—or at least the schematics—I could adapt the concept. Scale it. Integrate it into something far more… ambitious.
The valiant a new class.
A dreadnought deserved more than standard armament. It needed something excessive. Something that made people hesitate before even thinking about engaging.
But that was a problem for tomorrow. Or the day after.
Today… I had something else to deal with.
And then it hit me.
The event.
High-profile. Political. Public.
Which meant one very inconvenient thing: I couldn't show up dressed like a wandering monk.
I frowned, staring down at my sleeve as if it had personally betrayed me.
A Jedi robe would stand out—and not in the right way. It would be like showing up to a formal reception in sleepwear. Comfortable, yes. Appropriate? Not even close.
And the worst part?
I had absolutely no idea what *was* appropriate.
Fashion was… not my field of expertise.
My thoughts immediately began sorting through possible advisors—and rejecting them just as quickly.
The Jedi? No. They'd tell me to "be mindful of the Force" and show up in the same robes.
Ahsoka? …No. Whatever she'd suggest would somehow turn into a battlefield-ready outfit with personality.
Zule? The "fallen aesthetic" wasn't exactly what I was going for.
O'Connor? Zeltron taste was… excessive.
Lee Noriega? Definitely not. That would end badly.
"…Right. Ceri."
I pulled out my comlink.
"Ceri, quick question," I said the moment he answered. "What does a Jedi general wear to a formal political event?"
There was a brief pause.
"…Sir, as far as I am aware, no such uniform exists."
I blinked. "What?"
"There are no officially designed ceremonial uniforms for Jedi generals," he continued calmly. "However, there *is* a command manual addressing potential confusion following the recent rank reforms."
"…Of course there is."
Apparently, even this galaxy had paperwork for everything.
"So your recommendation?"
A pause. Then, dryly:
"As a Jedi, sir, you should know better."
I cut the connection.
"Useless."
A few minutes later, I found myself at a public information terminal, pulling up locations. Tailors. Designers. Anything remotely connected to formal wear.
Coordinates locked.
Taxi hailed.
Decision made.
—
Two hours—and a painful number of credits—later, I stood in front of a full-length mirror.
The result?
…Not bad.
A variation of traditional Jedi attire—but refined. The fabric alone probably cost more than a small speeder. The outer layer—a snow-white cloak, or perhaps a cape—fell cleanly over my shoulders. Elegant. Controlled. Intentional.
Definitely not a raincoat.
The assistants had insisted on the white.
"It complements you," they'd said.
I wasn't entirely convinced—but I couldn't deny it worked.
I studied my reflection more critically.
Left arm—mechanical. No hiding that.
Hair—longer than standard, similar to Skywalker's, but more unruly. Half dark, half pale. A side effect of things I preferred not to think about.
Scars—three prominent ones across my face. Lightning-like patterns across my body, faint but visible.
A walking contradiction.
A Jedi who didn't quite look like one anymore.
I activated the comlink again.
"Ceri. Opinion."
His response came almost instantly.
"…Given the circumstances, sir—it suits you."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Everyone knows you've been in constant combat," he added. "Your appearance reflects that. It is… not inappropriate."
I looked at my reflection one more time.
Not inappropriate.
"…I'll take it."
Turning away from the mirror, I adjusted the cloak slightly.
"Let's see how well this holds up outside a battlefield."