“Please do this.”
Ariadne was in a bit of an awkward situation.
When Petrucia was told that her father would pay a penalty and cancel the purchase of the wax that had not yet arrived at San Carlo, Caruso, who could not accept this, came to see her in person.
Ariadne answered with a frown.
“You know I’m not asking you to do anything unreasonable. It’s my right under the contract to cancel.”
'You may refuse to accept goods before they are delivered by paying a 30% deposit.'
This is also written in the contract between Ariadne de Mare and Bocanegro and is also a common practice in the commercial world of the Central Continent.
“I know very well. It is we who are causing trouble. That is why I came here to ask you a favor.”
CEO Caruso looked up at Ariadne with an earnest face.
“Our company has staked its life on this matter. We have used up all the funds we could to purchase the items you requested. It is a matter of life and death. If things continue as they are, Bocanegro will go bankrupt.”
Ariadne furrowed her brow.
She absolutely hated people who kept their promises and told stories that were different from their own.
However, it was clear that Bocanegro and Caruso were forced into the contract by her strong will.
When she seemed to be struggling, CEO Caruso threw the next number.
“When we share the profits, we will cut our company’s percentage.”
It's a reluctant offer. It's the worst. It's a move that will destroy future growth potential.
But if this were not done, there was no guarantee that the top would still exist next month.
“It’s 7:3 now, but until 8:2...”
Ariadne immediately realized how determined CEO Caruso was.
At first glance, it seems like a good idea, like swimming with your feet on the ground. But is it really good in the long run?
It's good that her profits are increasing, but if she keeps hitting like that, there's no way to know if CEO Caruso's eyes will turn red later and he'll be wielding a club and aiming at the night road.
“How much money do you need right now?”
“If it’s around 10,000 ducats (about 10 billion won)...”
'That's a large sum considering you only asked me not to cancel the wax contract.'
Ariadne's eyes narrowed. Seeing her gaze, CEO Caruso flinched and corrected the price.
“Actually, I think even 5000 Ducati could handle something really urgent.”
“...Then let’s do it like this.”
Ariadne spoke up.
“I will lend you 5000 Ducatos.”
She can afford to borrow that much from the money the de Mare family makes.
Of course, she had to fill it in before the Cardinal noticed.
But in two months at the latest, grain prices will be through the roof. At that time, 5,000 ducats will be worth a penny.
“In return, we will adjust the ratio to 7.5:2.5.”
It's not without risks, Ariadne muttered to herself.
CEO Caruso looked at Ariadne with a moved expression.
He stared at her for a long time, then barely opened his mouth.
“...This is my first time seeing someone like you, Miss.”
“Is it that weird?”
“That’s not it...”
He laughed awkwardly.
“You seem like a celestial merchant, but sometimes you seem like a religious person. However, you also have an incredible amount of charisma that is hard to see from that perspective.”
Are you talking about giving generously like a priest? Ariadne laughed silently.
She is both calculating like a merchant and seemingly altruistic like a priest, yet she also has charisma. Isn't that the perfect material for a monarch?
“I’ll send it to you by this afternoon.”
She was going to end the conversation. She had a lot of work to do.
As Ariadne prepared to send CEO Caruso away, CEO Caruso called her as if he had made up his mind about something.
“But, Lady de Mare.”
“What’s going on?”
“..I think you should know about a rumor going around in our trading circles.”
Rumors of the trading world? Ariadne tilted her head. Noticing her expression, CEO Caruso snickered and added.
“It’s a story about cigarette smugglers.”
Ariadne was becoming increasingly clueless. What in the tobacco smuggling world could possibly be of any importance to me?
“I heard that you recently lost your mother to a bad accident.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
Why is this story coming out?
“In the meantime, homeless people got involved.”
Ariadne nodded with a bitter smile.
“I heard that was the case.”
“Actually... I heard that it wasn’t your mother who ordered those vagabonds around.”
Suddenly, things got very interesting here. Is Lucrezia falsely accused of murder?
Ariadne has no particular desire to restore Lucrezia's reputation, but why on earth is CEO Caruso saying this to her?
He was a man who could have noticed that Ariadne was not on good terms with her stepmother.
But there must be a reason.
“Please tell me more.”
CEO Caruso leaned forward and lowered his voice as he spoke.
Ippolito... Payment... Direct instructions...
Ariadne's eyes began to grow larger.
“...It’s really pretty.”
“You’ll be good, right?”
“Right? Pretty kids are nicer.”
“Again, again, you are talking nonsense. You are the daughter of a cardinal. Unlike us lowly people, you must have good faith and a great personality.”
“Are you drooling?”
"What?"
“Look beyond what you can see.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Isabella, standing in the garden of the Rambouillet hospice, holding a ladle, listened to the murmur of the poor.
'It's worth helping the poor.'
Although Isabella was often looked down on in high society these days, the slums, especially when she went there with a lot of food, welcomed her with unexpected cheers and enthusiasm.
When a stranger appears in a slum, it is common to initially shy away and keep your distance.
But that didn't happen because Isabella only visited the service places where the 'Silver Cross Ladies' had established a foundation over a long period.
In addition, the harvest of spring wheat, which is usually harvested in the fall, was delayed due to an unidentified infectious disease spreading through the southern granary.
The plague was only circulating in the south, so it was no different from someone else's story, but with the harvesters collapsing, there was no way to get the ripening grains from the fields to the city, and food prices in San Carlo were rising uneasily.
Places like the Rambouillet Relief Home she visited today that feeds large numbers of poor people on a minimal budget have already given up on providing grain subsidies and turned to self-sufficient foods like turnips.
So, the hospitality shown to the 'Silver Cross Women's Association' who brought proper food was beyond imagination.
“Everyone! Get in line!”
Isabella, dressed in a snow-white linen dress, raised her voice.
Then the poor lined up in the food line as they usually did.
“Oh my! Can’t I hear the precious young lady’s words?”
Ottavio de Contarini appeared, shouting at the poor who were huddled together instead of standing in a line.
Since today's service site was not a convent but a public facility, both Ottavio and Ippolito, whom she had been waiting for so long, were able to come together.
“Thank you, Ottavio.”
“What are you talking about? It is my pleasure.”
Isabella, with her flaxen hair tied up in a half-updo and looking like a truly beautiful country girl, smiled with her purple eyes closed prettily.
Ottavio answered calmly, praying earnestly to the heavens that his blushing face would not be noticed.
Ippolito de Mare looked at Ottavio with pity as he openly fell for his foxy sister.
No, this is a fool. But there was someone who condemned Ottavio's antics with an intensity that could not be compared to Ippolito, who was simply pitiful.
“Ottavio! Don’t drive the poor people so cruelly.”
It was Camellia de Castiglione who followed him to discipline his fiancé.
She said, glaring at her fiancé, Ottavio de Contarini, with menacing eyes.
“There’s no need to fight here. Men, go over there and read the Meditations to the sick.”
With incredible strength, she managed to push Ottavio and Ippolito across the food line.
Ottavio felt a little disappointed when he saw his fierce and evil fiancée.
Compared to the always friendly Isabella, Camellia would raise her voice and try to pressure Ottavio by making excuses whenever she had the chance.
“Isn’t guarding the food lines something men should do?”
Ottavio, who was pushed into a corner, grumbled to Ippolito.
Ippolito nodded and clapped his hands in agreement.
“Yes. Reading the Meditations can be done by women. What if a bunch of women get together and distribute food to the poor and a riot breaks out?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Someone needs to be there to protect them...”
Ottavio couldn't shake off his regret and kept looking towards the food line where Isabella and Camellia were standing.
Today, Camellia showed up all dolled up, not wanting to be pushed around by Isabella in terms of looks.
Shiny silk dresses and ornate jewelry were not at all appropriate for relief work.
On the other hand, Isabella, who was busy distributing food while Camellia ignored her, was wearing only a simple white linen dress.
Isabella, working with her sleeves rolled up, looked incredibly pure and innocent.
Ottavio shook his head.
That was when.
“Are you kidding me right now?”
A loud voice echoed through the garden of the Rambouillet Relief Home.
“Who brought this to put on their nose!”
A poor woman who had entered a relief home with her three children raised her voice.
Behind them, the crowd could be heard rumbling.
“I think the food ran out.”
“What? Don’t joke around. Even the people at the front of the line didn’t get anything.”
“Without that, we’ll just have turnip stew today.”
“I hate turnip stew!”
“Hey. There’s no turnip stew. Those guys are doing grocery service, so they didn’t make any turnip stew today. You’ll have to go hungry until tomorrow.”
"What?!"
Until now, the only one who had raised her voice was the woman whose food had stopped right in front of her, but now that she realized she was going to starve, sporadic complaints began to erupt from throughout the line.
“There’s really no food?!”
“Are you crazy?”
“Are the rich guys here to make fun of the poor? With so much money, you brought only a tiny amount of food?”
Isabella waved her hands in embarrassment.
“I wanted to serve you all good food, but I think the amount I prepared in advance was a little lacking!”
The Silver Cross Women's Society was a service organization rather than a charity.
In other words, the main activity of the organization was for noblewomen to feel satisfaction while doing physical labor, and it was not an organization whose purpose was to use the nobles' private wealth to feed the poor.
However, doing things 'carelessly' did not suit the ladies' temperament.
“Turnip stew? Who eats something so horrible?”
“It’s a bit much to make such low-quality food with our own hands... Even if we’re just commoners, shouldn’t we provide food that people can eat?”
“We still have 2 ducats and 30 florins (about 2.3 million won) left on our membership fee.”
“Then you can prepare corn soup and oatmeal bread with that. There’s no need for meat for the poor to eat, right?”
So they put on aprons and, for the first time in their lives, cooked with their own hands, preparing childish relief efforts for the poor.
“This is my first time preparing this much food!”
The ladies of the Silver Cross Women's Association were delighted, but all they had prepared was enough for 120 people at most.
This is because some of the membership fees were spent on refreshments for the ladies, meeting fees, and the cost of new aprons.
On the other hand, the number of poor people waiting for food at the Rambouillet relief home was well over 500.
Maybe 800 people, or more than 1000 if they include the sick people waiting to die inside.
“Give me my food!”
Rough rage and unrefined shouting began to ring out.
“Give me some soup and bread to put in my baby’s mouth!”
“My child has been waiting anxiously since last night!”
“Give me my meal right now!”
“Who the hell is this empty-headed person who prepared food like this? Take responsibility and give me the food!”
“Give her away! Get out!”
Isabella was left alone in front of a huge crowd. Her pretty lips trembled.
It was the Countess of Baljo who insisted that they should have corn soup and oatmeal for 120 people rather than serve turnip stew with her own hands, but Isabella was in no position to hand her over to the crowd.
If the Countess were to be thrown to the angry mob now, she might escape for the moment, but from tomorrow on, Isabella would once again be an ugly duckling who could not fit into society.
Countess Baljo was hiding in a tent at the back where she had temporarily stored the remaining food and cooking utensils.
She was furious, saying, "You ungrateful beggars!" but she didn't seem to have the slightest intention of coming out and talking to the poor directly.
“Is that her?”
The front of the line was now so disorganized that it looked more like a protest than a line.
The one standing closest to them was Camellia de Castiglione.
Moreover, she stood out in a sparkling silk dress.
“Give me some soup to feed my baby!”
Camellia took a step back in embarrassment. She slowly backed away, gradually getting closer to Isabella, who was standing behind the distribution table.
“Look at what you’re wearing!”
“Jewel..!”
“They took everything from us?”
“No, no!”
Camellia tried to explain that everything she was wearing was earned honestly by her father.
But such facts were no longer important.
“It’s a jewel!”
A hungry, blind pauper ran towards Camellia.
The poor man's hand scratched Camellia's cheek and Camellia screamed.
"Ah!"
But no one helped.
The screams further agitated the poor. Now three or four of them rushed towards Camellia at the same time.
If there's a problem, the person who attacks first will be dragged away.
From now on, when the responsibility is blurred, the person who grabs Camellia's earrings and bracelet first is the owner.
Camellia was startled when several people rushed at her, so she grabbed Isabella, who was nearby, and held her out in front of the poor as a shield.
“Whoa!”
Isabella's high-pitched scream rang out.
Chaeking!
And the harsh sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard echoed through the garden of the Rambouillet Relief.
“Get your filthy hands off her!”
Ottavio de Contarini stood with his sword drawn, glaring at the poor.
“Ottavio!”
“...Ottavio.”
The two women shouted Ottavio's name at the same time.
Ariadne was in a bit of an awkward situation.
When Petrucia was told that her father would pay a penalty and cancel the purchase of the wax that had not yet arrived at San Carlo, Caruso, who could not accept this, came to see her in person.
Ariadne answered with a frown.
“You know I’m not asking you to do anything unreasonable. It’s my right under the contract to cancel.”
'You may refuse to accept goods before they are delivered by paying a 30% deposit.'
This is also written in the contract between Ariadne de Mare and Bocanegro and is also a common practice in the commercial world of the Central Continent.
“I know very well. It is we who are causing trouble. That is why I came here to ask you a favor.”
CEO Caruso looked up at Ariadne with an earnest face.
“Our company has staked its life on this matter. We have used up all the funds we could to purchase the items you requested. It is a matter of life and death. If things continue as they are, Bocanegro will go bankrupt.”
Ariadne furrowed her brow.
She absolutely hated people who kept their promises and told stories that were different from their own.
However, it was clear that Bocanegro and Caruso were forced into the contract by her strong will.
When she seemed to be struggling, CEO Caruso threw the next number.
“When we share the profits, we will cut our company’s percentage.”
It's a reluctant offer. It's the worst. It's a move that will destroy future growth potential.
But if this were not done, there was no guarantee that the top would still exist next month.
“It’s 7:3 now, but until 8:2...”
Ariadne immediately realized how determined CEO Caruso was.
At first glance, it seems like a good idea, like swimming with your feet on the ground. But is it really good in the long run?
It's good that her profits are increasing, but if she keeps hitting like that, there's no way to know if CEO Caruso's eyes will turn red later and he'll be wielding a club and aiming at the night road.
“How much money do you need right now?”
“If it’s around 10,000 ducats (about 10 billion won)...”
'That's a large sum considering you only asked me not to cancel the wax contract.'
Ariadne's eyes narrowed. Seeing her gaze, CEO Caruso flinched and corrected the price.
“Actually, I think even 5000 Ducati could handle something really urgent.”
“...Then let’s do it like this.”
Ariadne spoke up.
“I will lend you 5000 Ducatos.”
She can afford to borrow that much from the money the de Mare family makes.
Of course, she had to fill it in before the Cardinal noticed.
But in two months at the latest, grain prices will be through the roof. At that time, 5,000 ducats will be worth a penny.
“In return, we will adjust the ratio to 7.5:2.5.”
It's not without risks, Ariadne muttered to herself.
CEO Caruso looked at Ariadne with a moved expression.
He stared at her for a long time, then barely opened his mouth.
“...This is my first time seeing someone like you, Miss.”
“Is it that weird?”
“That’s not it...”
He laughed awkwardly.
“You seem like a celestial merchant, but sometimes you seem like a religious person. However, you also have an incredible amount of charisma that is hard to see from that perspective.”
Are you talking about giving generously like a priest? Ariadne laughed silently.
She is both calculating like a merchant and seemingly altruistic like a priest, yet she also has charisma. Isn't that the perfect material for a monarch?
“I’ll send it to you by this afternoon.”
She was going to end the conversation. She had a lot of work to do.
As Ariadne prepared to send CEO Caruso away, CEO Caruso called her as if he had made up his mind about something.
“But, Lady de Mare.”
“What’s going on?”
“..I think you should know about a rumor going around in our trading circles.”
Rumors of the trading world? Ariadne tilted her head. Noticing her expression, CEO Caruso snickered and added.
“It’s a story about cigarette smugglers.”
Ariadne was becoming increasingly clueless. What in the tobacco smuggling world could possibly be of any importance to me?
“I heard that you recently lost your mother to a bad accident.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
Why is this story coming out?
“In the meantime, homeless people got involved.”
Ariadne nodded with a bitter smile.
“I heard that was the case.”
“Actually... I heard that it wasn’t your mother who ordered those vagabonds around.”
Suddenly, things got very interesting here. Is Lucrezia falsely accused of murder?
Ariadne has no particular desire to restore Lucrezia's reputation, but why on earth is CEO Caruso saying this to her?
He was a man who could have noticed that Ariadne was not on good terms with her stepmother.
But there must be a reason.
“Please tell me more.”
CEO Caruso leaned forward and lowered his voice as he spoke.
Ippolito... Payment... Direct instructions...
Ariadne's eyes began to grow larger.
***
“...It’s really pretty.”
“You’ll be good, right?”
“Right? Pretty kids are nicer.”
“Again, again, you are talking nonsense. You are the daughter of a cardinal. Unlike us lowly people, you must have good faith and a great personality.”
“Are you drooling?”
"What?"
“Look beyond what you can see.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Isabella, standing in the garden of the Rambouillet hospice, holding a ladle, listened to the murmur of the poor.
'It's worth helping the poor.'
Although Isabella was often looked down on in high society these days, the slums, especially when she went there with a lot of food, welcomed her with unexpected cheers and enthusiasm.
When a stranger appears in a slum, it is common to initially shy away and keep your distance.
But that didn't happen because Isabella only visited the service places where the 'Silver Cross Ladies' had established a foundation over a long period.
In addition, the harvest of spring wheat, which is usually harvested in the fall, was delayed due to an unidentified infectious disease spreading through the southern granary.
The plague was only circulating in the south, so it was no different from someone else's story, but with the harvesters collapsing, there was no way to get the ripening grains from the fields to the city, and food prices in San Carlo were rising uneasily.
Places like the Rambouillet Relief Home she visited today that feeds large numbers of poor people on a minimal budget have already given up on providing grain subsidies and turned to self-sufficient foods like turnips.
So, the hospitality shown to the 'Silver Cross Women's Association' who brought proper food was beyond imagination.
“Everyone! Get in line!”
Isabella, dressed in a snow-white linen dress, raised her voice.
Then the poor lined up in the food line as they usually did.
“Oh my! Can’t I hear the precious young lady’s words?”
Ottavio de Contarini appeared, shouting at the poor who were huddled together instead of standing in a line.
Since today's service site was not a convent but a public facility, both Ottavio and Ippolito, whom she had been waiting for so long, were able to come together.
“Thank you, Ottavio.”
“What are you talking about? It is my pleasure.”
Isabella, with her flaxen hair tied up in a half-updo and looking like a truly beautiful country girl, smiled with her purple eyes closed prettily.
Ottavio answered calmly, praying earnestly to the heavens that his blushing face would not be noticed.
Ippolito de Mare looked at Ottavio with pity as he openly fell for his foxy sister.
No, this is a fool. But there was someone who condemned Ottavio's antics with an intensity that could not be compared to Ippolito, who was simply pitiful.
“Ottavio! Don’t drive the poor people so cruelly.”
It was Camellia de Castiglione who followed him to discipline his fiancé.
She said, glaring at her fiancé, Ottavio de Contarini, with menacing eyes.
“There’s no need to fight here. Men, go over there and read the Meditations to the sick.”
With incredible strength, she managed to push Ottavio and Ippolito across the food line.
Ottavio felt a little disappointed when he saw his fierce and evil fiancée.
Compared to the always friendly Isabella, Camellia would raise her voice and try to pressure Ottavio by making excuses whenever she had the chance.
“Isn’t guarding the food lines something men should do?”
Ottavio, who was pushed into a corner, grumbled to Ippolito.
Ippolito nodded and clapped his hands in agreement.
“Yes. Reading the Meditations can be done by women. What if a bunch of women get together and distribute food to the poor and a riot breaks out?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Someone needs to be there to protect them...”
Ottavio couldn't shake off his regret and kept looking towards the food line where Isabella and Camellia were standing.
Today, Camellia showed up all dolled up, not wanting to be pushed around by Isabella in terms of looks.
Shiny silk dresses and ornate jewelry were not at all appropriate for relief work.
On the other hand, Isabella, who was busy distributing food while Camellia ignored her, was wearing only a simple white linen dress.
Isabella, working with her sleeves rolled up, looked incredibly pure and innocent.
Ottavio shook his head.
That was when.
“Are you kidding me right now?”
A loud voice echoed through the garden of the Rambouillet Relief Home.
“Who brought this to put on their nose!”
A poor woman who had entered a relief home with her three children raised her voice.
Behind them, the crowd could be heard rumbling.
“I think the food ran out.”
“What? Don’t joke around. Even the people at the front of the line didn’t get anything.”
“Without that, we’ll just have turnip stew today.”
“I hate turnip stew!”
“Hey. There’s no turnip stew. Those guys are doing grocery service, so they didn’t make any turnip stew today. You’ll have to go hungry until tomorrow.”
"What?!"
Until now, the only one who had raised her voice was the woman whose food had stopped right in front of her, but now that she realized she was going to starve, sporadic complaints began to erupt from throughout the line.
“There’s really no food?!”
“Are you crazy?”
“Are the rich guys here to make fun of the poor? With so much money, you brought only a tiny amount of food?”
Isabella waved her hands in embarrassment.
“I wanted to serve you all good food, but I think the amount I prepared in advance was a little lacking!”
The Silver Cross Women's Society was a service organization rather than a charity.
In other words, the main activity of the organization was for noblewomen to feel satisfaction while doing physical labor, and it was not an organization whose purpose was to use the nobles' private wealth to feed the poor.
However, doing things 'carelessly' did not suit the ladies' temperament.
“Turnip stew? Who eats something so horrible?”
“It’s a bit much to make such low-quality food with our own hands... Even if we’re just commoners, shouldn’t we provide food that people can eat?”
“We still have 2 ducats and 30 florins (about 2.3 million won) left on our membership fee.”
“Then you can prepare corn soup and oatmeal bread with that. There’s no need for meat for the poor to eat, right?”
So they put on aprons and, for the first time in their lives, cooked with their own hands, preparing childish relief efforts for the poor.
“This is my first time preparing this much food!”
The ladies of the Silver Cross Women's Association were delighted, but all they had prepared was enough for 120 people at most.
This is because some of the membership fees were spent on refreshments for the ladies, meeting fees, and the cost of new aprons.
On the other hand, the number of poor people waiting for food at the Rambouillet relief home was well over 500.
Maybe 800 people, or more than 1000 if they include the sick people waiting to die inside.
“Give me my food!”
Rough rage and unrefined shouting began to ring out.
“Give me some soup and bread to put in my baby’s mouth!”
“My child has been waiting anxiously since last night!”
“Give me my meal right now!”
“Who the hell is this empty-headed person who prepared food like this? Take responsibility and give me the food!”
“Give her away! Get out!”
Isabella was left alone in front of a huge crowd. Her pretty lips trembled.
It was the Countess of Baljo who insisted that they should have corn soup and oatmeal for 120 people rather than serve turnip stew with her own hands, but Isabella was in no position to hand her over to the crowd.
If the Countess were to be thrown to the angry mob now, she might escape for the moment, but from tomorrow on, Isabella would once again be an ugly duckling who could not fit into society.
Countess Baljo was hiding in a tent at the back where she had temporarily stored the remaining food and cooking utensils.
She was furious, saying, "You ungrateful beggars!" but she didn't seem to have the slightest intention of coming out and talking to the poor directly.
“Is that her?”
The front of the line was now so disorganized that it looked more like a protest than a line.
The one standing closest to them was Camellia de Castiglione.
Moreover, she stood out in a sparkling silk dress.
“Give me some soup to feed my baby!”
Camellia took a step back in embarrassment. She slowly backed away, gradually getting closer to Isabella, who was standing behind the distribution table.
“Look at what you’re wearing!”
“Jewel..!”
“They took everything from us?”
“No, no!”
Camellia tried to explain that everything she was wearing was earned honestly by her father.
But such facts were no longer important.
“It’s a jewel!”
A hungry, blind pauper ran towards Camellia.
The poor man's hand scratched Camellia's cheek and Camellia screamed.
"Ah!"
But no one helped.
The screams further agitated the poor. Now three or four of them rushed towards Camellia at the same time.
If there's a problem, the person who attacks first will be dragged away.
From now on, when the responsibility is blurred, the person who grabs Camellia's earrings and bracelet first is the owner.
Camellia was startled when several people rushed at her, so she grabbed Isabella, who was nearby, and held her out in front of the poor as a shield.
“Whoa!”
Isabella's high-pitched scream rang out.
Chaeking!
And the harsh sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard echoed through the garden of the Rambouillet Relief.
“Get your filthy hands off her!”
Ottavio de Contarini stood with his sword drawn, glaring at the poor.
“Ottavio!”
“...Ottavio.”
The two women shouted Ottavio's name at the same time.
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