Listen up, slimeballs… everybody thinks being a Hutt means sitting on a throne, getting soft, letting other people fight your battles. That was never my path.

I’m Rotta. Son of Jabba. Born into power… but power means nothing if your body and mind are weak.

I was hunted before I could even defend myself. Kidnapped during the Clone Wars. Survived betrayal, war, criminals, and every lowlife in the galaxy who thought the son of Jabba would grow up spoiled and useless.

They called me ‘Stinky.’ They laughed at me. Good. Let them laugh.

Because while they were talking… I was training. You don’t inherit greatness. You build it. Rep by rep. Day by day. Your bloodline gives you a name. Your discipline gives you legacy.

So train harder. Eat better. Stay dangerous. Because the galaxy doesn’t respect potential… it respects strength.