After officially becoming Anakin's disciple, I adopted the traditional hairstyle of a Padawan. I grew out a single, braided lock of hair and let it drape over my shoulder—a silent badge of my station.
Technically, the tradition dictates that the rest of the head should be shorn short, but my parents were so vehemently opposed to the idea that I compromised, keeping the rest of my hair at a modest length.
On this planet—much like in the Republic—long hair is a common hallmark of femininity. I understood my parents' feelings; to them, a buzz cut would have been an inexplicable act of rebellion. I wanted to honor the old ways, but those traditions now lived only within me.
Even Anakin—who was "unconventional" on his best days and a "rule-breaker" on his worst—told me not to sweat the small stuff. I eventually agreed, mostly because I had no desire to see my mother in tears. However, I stood my ground on the braid. That was non-negotiable.
It's been surprisingly well-received by others, though I suspect there will be a fair amount of drama when the time comes to cut it off.
You see, tradition dictates that the braid is severed only when a Padawan is elevated to the rank of Jedi Knight. I've personally decided to tie that milestone to the day I receive my Pro Hero License. If I mentioned that now, it would spark an endless argument, so I've kept my mouth shut. When the day comes... well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
In the meantime, I've successfully enrolled in primary school. "Successfully" is perhaps too strong a word, as education is compulsory in this country; you'd have to try quite hard not to get in.
For someone with the mind of an adult, primary school is, for the most part, an exercise in profound boredom. Still, I don't consider it a total waste. Learning to blend in and communicate with children can be a vital skill for certain undercover missions.
I treat my attendance as a form of mental discipline, though it's certainly far removed from the "real" training I need. Consequently, I sat my parents down for a serious talk about grade-skipping. We've agreed to move forward with the process, and by the time the second semester rolls around, the details should be finalized.
In my private life, my world revolves around my Quirk, the Force, and lightsaber drills. But man cannot live by training alone; even a Jedi needs to breathe. Most people turn to hobbies to unwind, and I am no different.
My hobby of choice? Engineering.
"That should do it. Let's run a systems check."
Today, I was conducting a field test for a small droid I'd cobbled together.
It was shaped like a ball, barely the size of a child's head—hardly an "astromech" by Republic standards. Its functions were modest: it could roll across flat surfaces and send alerts to specific terminals under certain conditions. While its AI was sophisticated for this planet's standards, by the Republic's metrics, it was primitive.
Still, this was the limit of what I could achieve. I've never been particularly gifted with hardware—I'm "competent" by galactic standards, but a master by local ones—and I was working with a child's clumsy fingers, zero specialized parts, and no proper laboratory. Considering the circumstances, I'd say I did a damn fine job.
"Boot sequence looks stable," Anakin remarked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. "Then again, with my expert advice, I'd expect nothing less."
His arrogance might have been grating to some, but it was just Anakin being Anakin. He was a natural-born genius who could master almost any craft he touched, and he had the skills to back up his ego.
When it comes to machinery, he is the finest pilot and engineer I have ever known. Hardware is his soul. Without his guidance, I never would have finished this build so smoothly. However, I have him beat when it comes to software. The AI was entirely my own work, and I pride myself on the fact that few could replicate its complexity under these conditions.