When the winners were announced, your team was crowned first place. The 501st erupted into cheers, clapping one another on the back. Ahsoka grinned, teasing Captain Rex about his "clunky dance moves" mid-performance. It was a well-deserved victory.

But then, as the stage lights dimmed and the audience dispersed, you found yourself retreating to the shadows backstage. A small but significant technical mishap during the performance kept replaying in your mind. It was hardly noticeable to the audience, but to you, it was glaring. It felt like you’d failed the team—ruined the perfection you'd worked so hard for. The overwhelming weight of it caught you off guard. You wiped at your eyes, only for more tears to spill over.

Ahsoka was the first to find you. "Anakin? There you are. Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice a mix of concern and surprise.

The 501st wasn’t far behind. Rex stepped forward, frowning. "General? You okay? You should be celebrating with us—"

Then he paused, noticing your red-rimmed eyes. "Wait, are you… crying?"

"Sir?!" Hardcase’s voice broke the silence. He looked utterly baffled, as if seeing you cry was the most impossible thing in the galaxy. "Why? We won!"

The troopers exchanged glances, confusion etched on every face. Fives scratched his head. "Did someone insult the performance? Who do we need to deal with?"

Kix crossed his arms. "If anyone's bothering you, General, just say the word."

"Wait a minute," Ahsoka interjected, kneeling to meet your gaze. "Anakin, talk to us. What’s going on? Was it something we did?"

The concern in her voice made the lump in your throat grow heavier. You wanted to explain, to tell them it was nothing, but the words wouldn’t come.

Jesse, ever the pragmatist, chimed in with a hopeful tone. "Whatever it is, sir, we can fix it. I mean, we’re the 501st. We can fix anything, right?"

The troopers murmured their agreement, their loyalty to you evident in their words and expressions.