The Queen's curiosity peaked when she heard of the return of the dreaded "Monix." She demanded to know who was his manager, Rue had given her an image of Anakin, but did not know his name. A fan of fighting, she didn't care too much for the talent of this particular tournament. Often chastising Rue and Harley for the lackluster names, threatening to pull the plug on the tourney entirely since they had the auction ready to go. But the mere appearance of the most hated person in all the Zygerrian race compelled her to change her mind.

Anakin wasn't open to the idea at first. "What does a manager even do?" He asks.

"A manager usually accompanies their wrestler to the ring." Kyle answers.

"I'm not doing that." Anakin bothered Kyle for his wrestling background, one of the few to know about it through the grapevine when he first showed up at the Jedi Temple.

Obi-Wan believed there was no better way to accomplish the overall bigger goal, and coaxed Skywalker into accepting the terms. "Same plan as before, let's tweak the story only a little." He tells him.

Ahsoka sighs. "Does that mean I have to put on the outfit again?"

(Scene break)

Walking into the locker room, watching his fellow wrestlers dress for their upcoming matches Kyle felt right at home. A feeling he never experienced at the Jedi Temple. Old friends he hasn't seen in little over a year casually slipping into a pair of tights, flashbacks to the battles Kyle endured during his time as a wrestler on Songin. Some of the hardest fought achievements of his career was taking the undefeated Plaxico to a draw in a sixty-minute marathon match. Standing at a magnificent seven foot, six inches, Plaxico soars above everyone else and made quick work of all his enemies.

In the Jedi Temple, Kyle's biggest rivals were Ahsoka and Barriss. Fantastic Jedi, future Knights the way they conduct themselves. Kyle could never beat, routinely finding himself flat on his back then standing triumphantly over him. One time he did beat Barriss in a friendly match. it wasn't clean to say the least. A joker garnered Barriss' attention and Kyle pounced, winning the match. Not to long later, she avenged her defeat in convincing fashion.

After enough defeats Kyle felt insignificant, that he never would each the level of his peers and though they all tried to help in their own way, sometimes he felt like a lost cause. But when standing atop of the illuminated canvass, Kyle felt their was an answer to just about any opponent thrown at him.

Plaxico notices Kyke and makes a beeline towards him. Initially, the Padawan worried the towering behemoth would crush him like a bug for ending his cherished undefeated streak. Instead, Plaxico just extended his hand. "It's good to see you. I still want my rematch you promised me." Plaxico reminds him. Kyke then remembers, before he left Songin he told Plaxico he'd give him his chance to avenge his tie. Of course, that never happened. Kyle left Plaxico carrying the bag.

Harley told Kyke where his locker was located, waiting for him was a pair of black wrestling tights, extremely plain, only a white stripe going down each side of his leg. Not exactly what he was accustomed to wearing, but then again, the promotion wasn't expecting him to come riding in at the eleventh hour. Kyle wasn't the long haired, pony tailed flashy upstart with pizzazz to set himself apart from everyone else. His hair was shorter than his pinky finger and the only pony tail he had was his Jedi Padawan braid to signify his status in the Jedi Order. Luckily, with anonymity being key here, nobody noticed and believed it was just part of Kyle's evolving style.

He had to get ready, his match was soon. He groaned as his thighs fit a little snug into his plain tights. He looks at himself in the mirror, his muscle decreased due to the shift in diet and exercise regiment the Jedi instructed him to adhere to. As a wrestler, your whole livelihood is predicated on brute strength. Yet another instance where Kyle was a square peg in the round hole.

He sat on the bench, alone, tuning out the noise of mindless chatter to collect his thoughts. He was here primarily to end the horrendous practice of slavery on Kadavo, somehow ending up back in his previous life as a means of going undercover. Anakin was his "manager," from a fictitious promotion. Rue and Harley have the ear of the Queen. The objective for Kyle is simple, just win enough for her to recognize them. Maybe gain her company. It was a far fetched plan, but it was all they could do.

With each step closer to the curtain the nerves grew. With one step forward, he wished to take two steps back. Nobody talked to him as he parted the black curtain and walks down the small ramp straight towards the ring. Fans in the arena howling obscenities at their returning enemy. Standing in the center of the ring, being pelted with garbage he figured the torment would let up once the "good guy" showed up.

Soon enough, it did. The crowd threw themselves at the near 500 pound, six-and-a-half foot mastodon. Funnily, the "Mastodon" is what the ring announcer introduced him as. Kyle would have gone for Wampa or Akul, more large and menacing animals than the precursor to the bantha.

Kyle came face to face with this monster, towering over him greeting his opponent with a snarl. No words were said, no one flinched. Kyle knew the importance of not showing weakness in matches even if you're at a noticeable and comical size disadvantage. The moment you let them know you're concerned you've already thrown in the towel.

The bell rang, each fighter standing firm in their respective corners. Mastodon raises his hands to get the crowd roaring and off their feet, before pointing at Kyle and when he did that their cheers quickly turned to ravenous boos.

They circle one another, Mastodon tries to grab a hold of Kyle, but he sidesteps and starts chopping at his knees by diving headfirst for them. The Mastodon finds himself in a situation similar to trying to kill a bug flying just out of his reach. When he swatted, Kyle was already on the opposite side working the legs to compromise Mastodon's balance.

Kyle got too confident and deviated from his original plan, whipping a hobbled Mastodon to the ropes knowing he was to come back, Kyle intended to deliver a trustworthy superkick to seal the deal, except his opponent was wise to what was in store and grabbed Kyle hard by the neck and slammed him against the canvass. Anakin and Ahsoka watched from the Queen's luxury box, trying their damnedest to conceal their identities, but the maliciousness is the attack made them grimace.

Kyle was slow to get up, crawling to the ropes for support. The world began to spin and Kyle wandered like a drunk man into the middle of the ring. Mastodon took his cue and shoulder tackled Kyle four times before going for the pin, the referees hand slap the mat only twice as he lifts his shoulder.

Mastodon grows frustrated, picking Kyle up by his short hair and decides on whipping him to the ropes, not learning how that fared for Kyle just a few minutes ago. Mastodon prepares to back body drop Kyle, lowing his head to accept his body, Kyle reverses and kicks Mastodon square in the face. Enraged, Mastodon charges, clotheslining Kyle over the top rope, him following to the floor except Kyle held on to the top rope with both hands and acrobatically pull himself back in the ring.

"I never seen him look so athletic." Anakin noticed. "He's usually stiff as a board."

Kyle looks down to see Mastodon splayed on the floor, the referee starts his slow count to ten. Nobody in the arena wanted to see Kyle win, let alone see the match end in a count-out. But the fans didn't get what they wanted and Kyle was awarded the victory. Not the most satisfying way to win a match, but given the circumstances, Kyle will take it. All that matters is he advanced to the next round.

Mastodon gets up, glares at Kyle and tells him to approach him with one finger. Cautiously, he does. Mastodon extends his hand through the ropes, Kyle grabs it and tries to give a hard shake, but his palm is enveloped by the bigger Mastodon. "Good luck." He tells him before sauntering up the ramp. Everyone looked ready to riot, so Kyle believed it best for his own sake to follow suit.

(Scene break)

Up in the luxury box, Miraj watches with great interest, as Anakin sits besides her, and Ahsoka in her slave attire serves them both drinks. Proxy wears a look of disinterest, wishing he was anywhere but where he currently is.

"I have to say, your majesty, I didn't think someone so high class could enjoy something so... low brow?" Proxy carefully punctured.

"It is the sport of royalty, Proxy. It separates the weak from the strong. Those who are worthy for honors." She tells him. "Quell, you understand?" She looks at Anakin.

"This never was my cup of tea." He confesses. Miraj was disappointed.

"Then why are you a manger?"

"It's good money, and I stole Monix myself, from Bruno Denturri." He reminds her.

"You caught him in a compromising position." Miraj spat. "You killed him when he couldn't fight. In there, it is an even playing field. There is a fine line between sport and murder. You knew it when my last slave threw herself out the window. She was weak." Miraj recalls fondly, when Lars saved her from being stabbed in the neck. "Do you think about that, Lars? A little girl is dead because you chose me?"

"What does this have to do-" Anakin was getting unnerved at the question.

"There is no honor in this life anymore. In sport, it still matters. That young boy wants to shake his competitors hand. Even though he would have shown him no mercy."

"Maybe he's a good sport only in victory." Proxy nonchalantly points out.

"Don't delude yourself."

"Your majesty, if I may switch subjects." Proxy spoke up. "We can postpone this tournament. We have only a finite window to profit off the auctions."

"Nonsense. With you here we'll be fine."

(Scene break)

Only the strongest of wills could keep themselves from breaking at the mere sight of the slave pits. Governor Roshti, weak, near death wished for the Jedi to go away for fear of making the conditions for his people worse than they already are. The slave auctions were soon. Only reason they weren't going on right now is the tournament superseded it in importance.

"You need to leave before they recognize you." Roshti warns once again. It was too late. Obi-Wan had been made, a hand was placed on his shoulder and judging by his attire and race, it wasn't one of the slaves.