Chapter 5: Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Disappointment Spreadsheet
Obi-Wan Kenobi had faced many trials in his life: Sith Lords, galactic disputes, ankle-biting Senators. But none compared to the silent, soul-draining torment of updating the Jedi Progress Tracker.
The datapad flickered in front of him, its pristine white interface glowing like the judgmental smile of the Force itself.
He tapped the stylus against the edge of the pad. "Let's begin the pain."
The first row: Initiate: Ben Kryze
Lightsaber Forms: Intermediate progression, favored Soresu.
Meditation Log: Cryptic. (Entry 7: "The river flows upstream when you punch the stream hard enough.")
Disciplinary Actions: None—though several eyebrow raises were noted.
Recurring Question: "Can Jedi marry if it's for political reasons?"
Obi-Wan sighed, dragging his stylus over the last entry and tapping "delete." The screen gave a sympathetic chime. He didn't appreciate the tone."I am raising Satine with a lightsaber," he muttered.
The Force did not disagree.
Next row: Padawan: Anakin Skywalker
Lightsaber Forms: All of them. Simultaneously. On fire.
Meditation Log: Absent. (Excuse: "Meditation is for people who don't have rocket boots.")
Disciplinary Actions: Forty-two incidents and counting.
Notable Entry: "Confiscated pod-like speeder from lower levels. Claimed it was 'educational.' Crash resulted in minor Senate panic."
Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd only looked away for an hour. An hour.
A polite cough echoed behind him.
"Master Kenobi," came the voice of Jocasta Nu, ancient and judging. "Still logging emotional disruptions in place of actual progress?"
He gave her a bland smile, the kind that only barely concealed the internal screaming.
"Master Nu," he said, "your wisdom is, as ever, sharp enough to trim my patience."
She leaned in, peering over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. "I see Skywalker's log is… colorful."
Obi-Wan flipped the screen discreetly, revealing Ben's entries again. "Just taking a break from the fireworks."
"Mm. The younger one," she said, adjusting her spectacles. "The Mandalorian. Precocious. Tends to sit upside-down in the Archives and quote the Jedi Code backward."
Obi-Wan gave a defeated nod. "Yes, he refers to it as 'Sith-proofing.' I believe he's joking. Most days."
Jocasta sniffed. "A Jedi does not joke."
"He does," Obi-Wan muttered, scrolling down to a note labeled: Ben built a paper mâché Holocron titled "Definitely Not a Trap."
The silence stretched long and uncomfortable.
"I had to confiscate it," Obi-Wan added, in case she assumed he encouraged the behavior.
Jocasta's expression suggested she assumed it anyway. "You'll need to monitor him more closely. We've received reports of encrypted outbound messages from within the younglings' dormitory. I'm sure you're aware."
His stomach sank. "I am."
He didn't mention that he'd already seen one—had, in fact, quietly removed the flag on it. The sender was technically anonymous, but the encryption was stylized in such a way that only one small Mandalorian menace could be responsible.
The fact that Ben's encryption header included the phrase "Aunt Satine's Completely Legal Homework Assignment" was… not subtle.
Still, Obi-Wan had chosen not to intervene. Not yet. Not unless it crossed a line.
"Have any of the messages been read?" he asked, carefully neutral.
"Only the headers," Jocasta said, sharp eyes still boring into him. "But should we discover emotional compromise, the Council may be forced to reconsider certain placements."
He smiled again, brittle as a Hoth sunrise. "Understood."
Jocasta wandered off, robes sweeping the floor with the arrogance of a librarian who believed herself omniscient. Obi-Wan waited until she was out of earshot before sighing and slumping against the archive terminal like a man defeated.
He tapped his stylus again. The datapad blinked at him, waiting.
He scrolled back to Ben's file and added a new line:
General Status: Meditating. Probably scheming.
Then he walked out of the Archives, datapad tucked under one arm like a physical weight. The hallway outside was sunlit and quiet, the stone warm beneath his boots.
He didn't trust Jocasta Nu. Well—he did. In the same way one might trust a vibroblade to be sharp and placed exactly where you would sit down without looking.
The truth was, he didn't know what he was doing.
Ben was different. Smart—dangerously so. Not just bright, but aware. Like he already knew the rules of the game and was waiting for someone to catch up.
He had his mother's eyes. That terrifying blend of wit and weariness. And Obi-Wan had no idea how to reach him without either hurting him—or being hurt himself.
He stopped walking.
Then, on impulse, he opened the Progress Tracker one more time and typed a private note under a locked field.
Personal Observation (Hidden):
"Ben Kryze is highly intelligent, emotionally guarded, and prone to questions that Jedi doctrine is not built to answer. He is neither lost nor disobedient—but he is watching me, and I think he knows more than I do about how this ends. Force help me, I hope I don't fail him too."
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then, after a hesitation, he added:
"Also, confiscated a crayon drawing from Anakin titled: 'Me vs. Every Sith Ever.' His lightsaber appears to be on fire. Again. I don't think he understands how Kyber crystals work."
With a grim smile, he clicked the datapad shut.
It was going to be a long week.
...
It started, as these things usually did, with someone bigger than me trying to hit me in the face with a training saber.
Not that I blamed him. Kylan was twice my size, all gangly limbs and righteous Padawan posture. The sort of kid who took every kata like it was life or death, and every correction from a Knight like it was a personal insult. His lightsaber style was clean, controlled, and—unfortunately for him—entirely predictable.
Which is why I ducked under his third overhead strike, pivoted past his left side, and tagged him in the ribs with a flourish that might've been unnecessary. Might've.
He stumbled back, panting. "You were taunting me."
"Incorrect," I said. "I was demonstrating superiority."
The training sabers powered down with a hiss. Master Tyyyvak let out a low Wookiee huff from across the mat, somewhere between "sigh" and "grumble." She didn't even have to say anything. Her disappointment could probably be weaponized.
"Okay," Kylan snapped. "Let's hear it. What was wrong with how I fought this time?"
"Well," I said, twirling my saber in a way I knew would annoy him, "it was competent. But also—how do I put this—embarrassingly derivative?"
"Derivative?" Kylan echoed, voice rising like I'd insulted his entire bloodline.
"Look, you're clearly doing Soresu," I said, "but watered down with Ataru footwork and Niman blade arcs. You've taken three elegant forms and combined them into a stylistic crime."
From the other mat, Ahsoka called out, "He's not wrong. You fight like a droid with commitment issues."
Kylan looked like he was about to combust. "This coming from you two?"
"I'm not saying we're better," I lied. "I'm saying we're interesting."
Ahsoka grinned at me across the sparring circle. "Speak for yourself. I am better."
Tyyyvak banged the end of her staff on the floor, a sound that echoed through the gym like a thunderclap. Even the older Padawans paused their drills. Somewhere in the rafters, a training droid beeped in alarm and powered down out of sheer instinct.
The silence was almost peaceful.
And then, the door hissed open.
Yoda entered.
That, by itself, would've been enough to make most younglings swallow their tongues. But what made it worse was that he didn't say anything. He just walked in, leaned on his gimer stick, and stared at us like we were a bad poem written on temple walls in permanent ink.
He looked from me, to Ahsoka, to Kylan. He sighed. Long. Deep. Spiritual.
Then he turned around and left.
"I feel like we just failed a test we didn't know we were taking," I muttered.
"Speak for yourself," Ahsoka said. "I've made him sigh worse. I'm a personal project."
Master Tyyyvak raised both furry arms and barked a full sentence in Shyriiwook, teeth visible, expression wild with Wookiee exasperation. Every syllable came out like thunder, low and textured and slightly singed at the edges.
Ahsoka lifted a hand to translate, then paused.
"Actually," she said, turning to me, "why don't you try translating? Let's see how much you've picked up."
Oh, great.
Okay, brain. Time to impress the only Wookiee Master who hasn't tried to throw me off a balcony yet.
I closed my eyes for a second and replayed the tones in my head. Shyriiwook wasn't a language so much as an avalanche of meaning. Pitch, volume, breath. Everything mattered. Which was cool… until you messed up one vowel and accidentally told a Wookiee their mother smelled like warm Bantha milk.
"She says," I began, cautiously, "that we fight well… but talk too much."
Tyyyvak nodded. That was a good sign.
I hesitated. "Especially me."
Tyyyvak crossed her arms. Still nodding.
"And… I can't argue."
A beat. Then she grunted a soft sound—amusement, maybe—and clapped a paw on my shoulder so hard I nearly folded in half.
Ahsoka gave me a thumbs-up from across the room. "Nice! She likes you."
"I think that was an affectionate death-threat," I whispered.
"You're learning."
Kylan groaned and sat down hard on the edge of the mat. "I still don't get how you two keep winning duels."
"It's because we're small," I said, flopping down next to him, "and low to the ground. Like chaos in compact packaging."
"It's because you get in our heads," Kylan muttered.
I looked at Ahsoka. "Should we tell him?"
She nodded solemnly. "Yeah."
We both leaned forward and said in perfect unison: "We live there now."
Kylan made a sound like a dying droid and fell back dramatically. "I give up."
Tyyyvak gave another long growl from the edge of the mat and began pointing to the next group of sparring pairs. Everyone scattered like they were fleeing a thermal detonator. Training resumed.
I stayed seated a moment longer, watching them move.
It wasn't that I didn't like sparring. I did. A lot. But sometimes, when I was still, I could hear the rest of the Temple humming—like I was plugged into something deeper than just footwork and saber arcs.
And today, something was off.
Maybe it was Yoda's sigh.
Maybe it was the way Master Tyyyvak's shoulders were just a bit too tight.
Maybe it was the knot in my stomach I couldn't quite explain.
I looked down at my training saber. The glow strip flickered gently, still warm from the spar. I ran a thumb over the emitter, thinking about how it wasn't real. Not yet. Not like the ones we'd build someday on Ilum.
Someday soon.
My gut twisted again.
"Hey," Ahsoka said, dropping down beside me, "you look like you're about to write a poem."
"Don't tempt me. I've got a whole notebook labeled 'If the Jedi Let Me Feel Things.'"
She laughed. "You okay?"
I shrugged. "Yeah. No. Maybe. Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
I bumped my shoulder against hers. "You're telling me."
She leaned back on her hands, squinting up at the skylight. "You know we're gonna be Padawans soon, right? Like, real ones. Chosen by a Master. Sent on missions. Given responsibilities."
I grimaced. "Don't remind me. I still can't even reach the top shelf in the cafeteria."
She snorted. "Obi-Wan's going to pick you. Everyone knows it."
I didn't answer right away.
Because the thing was—yeah. Probably.
But knowing it didn't make it safe.
And some part of me still wondered if it was a good idea. If he thought it was a good idea. Or if he was just… stuck. With me.
"Hey," Ahsoka said, nudging me. "You're doing that face thing again."
"Which one?"
"The one where you act like your brain is eating itself."
"Accurate."
I looked over at her. She was watching the other younglings train with this expression I couldn't quite read. Half proud, half sad. Like she was already somewhere else.
"You think we'll still be friends?" I asked, softly. "After we get assigned?"
She glanced at me. "Ben. We're already bonded for life by trauma and sarcasm."
That made me smile. "Good."
"Yeah," she said, her voice lighter now. "We're gonna be fine."
We both looked up at the rafters. A training droid sparked and spun in circles above us, completely unsupervised.
I thought about Ilum. About the kyber crystal calling my name.
About whatever was waiting on the other side of all this.
And I nodded. "Yeah. We are."
...
There's a spot in the Jedi gardens where the stone paths loop around in a lazy circle, like whoever designed it got bored halfway through and just decided to copy-paste the same curve over and over. I liked it because it was quiet, shaded, and had benches you could sit on without someone judging your posture.
That's where I was heading when I spotted her.
At first, all I saw was a pair of boots hanging in the air. Just… dangling there.
It took me a second to realize there was a whole person attached, suspended upside down from a branch like a Zabrak-shaped fruit. She had her arms folded, eyes shut, horns catching dappled sunlight, and a look on her face like gravity was something that happened to other people.
Weird.
But not that weird.
Yoda once made Luke Skywalker meditate while doing a handstand. Or… he will. It's weird to reference future events in the past-tense, but who even knows if that future will come to pass. But, I'm getting off track. There's lots of ways to meditate, as long as it clears your mind. I'm not the best at sitting still, but moving katas always helps me to center myself. Ahsoka prefers the more traditional criss-cross applesauce approach, but to each their own.
So maybe this was just… her thing. Maybe some people connected with the Force better while all their blood rushed to their heads.
I leaned against the trunk. "So, uh… you okay up there?"
She didn't answer right away.
Finally, without opening her eyes, she said, "I am listening to the currents of the Force."
"Cool," I said. "I'm listening to the currents of blood pooling in your face. Who are you?"
"You don't know?" One golden eye cracked open. "You're in my crèche."
"I am?"
She blinked at me slowly, like she was deciding whether to acknowledge my existence or throw me into a bush. "You've been here for years."
"Sure, but that doesn't mean I remember anyone. Besides Ahsoka."
Her other eye opened, and now she was staring at me with both of them, which was worse. Zabraks always looked intense, but this one was weaponized intensity.
Something about her tugged at my brain. Not in the normal "I saw you in the cafeteria line once" way. No—this was the other kind of familiarity. The one that made you feel like you'd accidentally stepped sideways into a different franchise.
A presence I have not felt since… 2008.
Earth years, of course.
I have no idea what the year is in this galaxy. It's so hard to explain to everyone the concept of BBY when the Battle of Yavin hasn't happened yet. Maybe I should start using "ABN" — After the Battle of Naboo. That sounds reasonable. Ish.
What was I talking about?
Meh. I'm sure it was nothing important.
"Ben," she said suddenly. "That's your name, right?"
"Yep."
"I'm Maris Brood."
I nodded slowly. "Nice to meet you." Okay, it's seriously bothering me. Where do I know her from? Ugh. You'd think being a zabarak Jedi would have narrowed it down. Pretty sure she's the only one in the entire Order.
Don't quote me on that. I'm an initiate! I don't know everyone.
She didn't offer to shake my hand—hard to do upside down—but she gave a short, stiff nod like we'd just signed some kind of mutual non-aggression pact.
"So, Maris," I said, "is this a… regular meditation thing for you, or…?"
"I find the inversion sharpens the senses," she said, closing her eyes again. "It forces the mind to adjust to a different perspective."
"Yeah, I get that," I said. "I once did a meditation session while hanging halfway out of an air duct. Master Tyyyvak was not impressed."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "You sound… unserious."
"That's because I am," I said. "If I took the Force as seriously as it takes itself, I'd never sleep again."
That earned me a tiny smirk—just for a second, but I caught it.
I pulled myself onto the branch below hers. "So, what's your story? You've got the whole 'intense, aloof, possibly in training to overthrow the galaxy' vibe going."
She raised one eyebrow without opening her eyes. "And what vibe do you think you have?"
"Me?" I said. "I'm the guy who points out when someone's fighting style is embarrassingly derivative. Or," I added, "the guy who distracts people while Ahsoka wins the sparring match."
"Hmm." She tilted her head slightly, as if considering. "That explains the… energy."
We sat in silence for a bit. I listened to the leaves rustle, the faint hum of temple life drifting in from far away.
Finally, she asked, "Why are you here?"
"In the garden?"
"In the Temple."
"That's a big question," I said. "You first."
She didn't answer right away. Then: "To prove myself."
I snorted. "You and every other kid in the crèche."
Her eyes opened again, sharp. "Not like them."
There it was again—that flicker of something I couldn't place.
I shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm here because… well, because I'm supposed to be. And because they keep feeding me. That's really all it takes."
Her lips twitched like she was fighting another smile. "You're strange."
"Pot, meet kettle."
She shifted on the branch, flipping gracefully to land beside me, perfectly upright, not even wobbling. Her gaze lingered on me for a beat too long, like she was trying to read a page she half-remembered.
"See you around, Ben," she said, before walking off toward the inner courtyard.
I watched her go.
Yep. Definitely something off there.
The fun kind of off.
...
Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the chamber, hands folded neatly into his sleeves, surrounded by twelve of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy—most of whom were currently wearing the same expression: the polite but unmistakable face of someone bracing for bad news.
This was… not the most encouraging start to the conversation.
Still, he had a mission.
He'd come here intending to speak of Anakin's progress—his genuineprogress. The boy had come far since Naboo, grown into his training, learned control. Well, learned some control. Enough, Obi-Wan thought, that he could begin to consider… alternatives.
The sooner Anakin was knighted, the sooner Obi-Wan could fulfill his promise to Qui-Gon and do right by his padawan. And the sooner he could turn his attention to a certain Mandalorian youngling, whose chances of aging out into the Service Corps grew with every passing year.
Ben deserved more than that. He deserved the chance to reach his potential—to be trained properly, by someone who would understand him. Someone who would not mistake sharp wit for arrogance or independence for defiance.
Even ignoring Ben's brightness, his determination, Obi-Wan made a promise to Satine that he would be there for his s—Satine's… nephew. Yes. Her nephew. And if Obi-Wan had to keep reminding himself of that, well, that was between him and the Force.
He owed it to the boy. The least he could do was train him.
Obi-Wan drew a calming breath and began.
"Masters, I wished to speak briefly regarding Anakin's development as a Padawan learner. He has shown marked improvement in the past year—"
"He stole a Republic StarCraft," Mace Windu interrupted, "and used it to 'podrace' in the lower districts, Kenobi."
Obi-Wan hesitated. "…In fairness, he did win."
Mace's eyebrow twitched.
A poor defense. Even to his own ears. But he was already in too deep. Best to double down… and this is why Jedi shouldn't gamble. As much as he adored his Master, he really did seem to pick up Qui-Gon's worst habits, hadn't he?
"And," Obi-Wan added, "he donated the winnings to an orphanage."
"That may be," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, leaning forward, "but in the process, he caused a six-speeder pileup. The pilots are still recovering."
"And," Mace said, "he renamed the craft 'Skyhopper Supreme.'"
Across the room, Plo Koon's mask shifted in a way Obi-Wan had learned to interpret as barely contained amusement.
Yoda's ears drooped slightly. "Fine line, there is, between valor and idiocy."
Obi-Wan inclined his head. "A line I am attempting to teach him to recognize. And I believe he is… gradually… learning."
Several of the Masters exchanged looks that suggested "gradually" was a charitable reading.
Depa Billaba spoke up. "We appreciate your dedication, Obi-Wan. But knighting a Jedi prematurely is dangerous. Even more so when that Jedi is…" She trailed off delicately.
"The Chosen One?" Obi-Wan supplied.
A faint smile tugged at her mouth. "Your words."
Obi-Wan kept his expression politely neutral. "If you wish my honest opinion, Masters, I believe Anakin is—"
"He also," Mace said, "attempted to negotiate peace between two swoop gangs last month by challenging both leaders to a race. Simultaneously."
"In his defense," Obi-Wan said smoothly, "that did work."
"Until," Mace said, "the gangs joined forces to try to recruit him."
Plo Koon made a low, thoughtful sound. "A certain… creative diplomacy."
Ki-Adi-Mundi pinched the bridge of his nose.
Yoda rapped his gimer stick lightly on the floor. "A Knight, young Skywalker is not. A handful, he is. Much work, still there is."
Obi-Wan inclined his head again, forcing himself not to sigh. The Council was immovable on this. They always were, until the moment they weren't—and Obi-Wan had no way of knowing when that moment would come.
Still, he couldn't help glancing at the chamber doors as if he might find Ben standing there, waiting to be told he had a future beyond the Service Corps.
One day, Obi-Wan promised silently. One day, he will make this happen.
...
The best part about living in the crèche was that bedtime didn't mean actually sleeping. It meant piling into the communal space, sprawling across cushions and beanbags, and talking until one of the night caretakers gave up trying to enforce quiet hours.
Ahsoka sat cross-legged on the floor, enjoying her role as center of attention. She had an audience. And an audience deserved a story.
"So," she began, drawing out the word for maximum suspense, "Ben went into the gardens today and met—wait for it—" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "The weird tree girl."
Half the group gasped.
Ben, slouched in a corner with his arms folded, groaned. "This is exactly why I can't tell you anything."
"She was meditating upside-down on a branch," Ahsoka continued, ignoring him. "Like, full-on hanging by her knees. And apparently, she talked to him."
One of the younger initiates whispered, "Did she curse him?"
"No," Ahsoka said, eyes sparkling. "But she could have. Ben, tell them—didn't she give you, like, the 'I know your deepest secrets' look?"
Ben glared. "She was just looking at me."
"That's what someone under a spell would say," muttered Kavi, a human boy about their age.
Now the room buzzed with speculation.
"Maybe she's a mind-reader."
"She could be a Sith runaway."
"Swamp witch."
Ben threw his hands up. "She's in our crèche. You all see her at meals. She's just… quiet."
Ahsoka tilted her head. "You're defending her?"
"She just seemed lonely," he muttered. "Not my fault everyone here acts like they've never seen a quiet person."
That only lit the gossip fire higher.
"Oh no," Kavi gasped theatrically. "He's in love with the swamp witch."
A chorus of "Oooooh"s went up.
Ben buried his face in his hands. "I hate all of you."
"No, you don't," Ahsoka said sweetly. "You'd be bored without us."
Before he could argue, one of the night caretakers popped their head in. "Lights out, younglings."
They all groaned in unison. The gossip fizzled into muffled giggles as the room began to scatter, but not before Ahsoka caught Ben's eye and mouthed, swamp witch.
He mouthed back, never telling you anything again.
And, of course, they both knew he would.