Speculation, slander, and smear campaigns erupted in full force.
This wasn't unusual. Netizens have rich imaginations, and conspiracy theories always find fertile ground on social media. The issue was the speed of the spread. In the blink of an eye, the narrative rolled out like a tidal wave, climbing the trending charts with abnormal velocity.
At first, tags like "#MiracleOfSingapore" and "#KaiNewKing" dominated the traffic.
It wasn't just the Tifosi; even casual fans couldn't contain their excitement. Charging from P15 to win in Singapore was a performance for the history books. It was undeniably the race of the 2018 season so far. Chaos and accidents had ultimately paved the way for a miraculous moment.
However, it didn't take long for the "#DramaKing" tag to explode, climbing the charts with destructive force.
People complained that Kai was making a fuss over nothing. Why were the other drivers fine? Even the other rookies were okay. Why was he the only one who collapsed? That brilliant acting performance deserved an Oscar.
When netizens tried to find the original tweet from the Red Bull mechanic to verify the claims, it had been deleted. Those who forgot to take screenshots were left empty-handed. The situation became murky, with everyone fiercely arguing their own version of the "truth."
The focus had quietly shifted.
If there wasn't a coordinated push behind the scenes, it would be impossible for the narrative to change so quickly.
As to who was behind it, there was no point in investigating now. The 2018 championship battle had truly entered the "by any means necessary" phase. The fight was no longer confined to the track. Hidden daggers and dirty tricks were flying everywhere, making it impossible to defend against them all. The world was a noisy, chaotic mess.
The bustling, boiling noise filled every corner. Even World Champions like Hamilton and Vettel weren't immune to the omnipresent pressure. For a young rookie, staying clear-headed amidst this cacophony would be a severe test.
Obviously, Hamilton had keenly sensed the incoming storm. Although Kai's youthful whirlwind had swept the paddock in Melbourne at the start of the season, Hamilton hadn't been nervous. His focus remained entirely on Vettel.
But now, things were completely different. After the summer turmoil and the low point at Spa, Ferrari had truly transformed.
From Monza to Singapore, Kai had consecutively won head-to-head battles. His dual excellence in strategy and track execution had turned the tide. Even if the Ferrari was slightly inferior to the Mercedes and on par with the Red Bull, Kai had still chewed through the hard bones and engineered a strong rebound.
In Singapore, Kai, Hamilton, and Verstappen took the top three spots. Vettel, Bottas, and Ricciardo occupied fourth to sixth. The finishing order perfectly reflected the current standing of the "Big Three": Ferrari, Mercedes, Red Bull, repeating in a loop.
The constantly unlucky Ricciardo had finally finished a race. Although it was only P6, it was precious. Behind him, Alonso, Sainz, Leclerc, and Hulkenberg rounded out the top ten.
Leclerc was undoubtedly a focal point again. Even driving a Sauber, he consistently scored points, proving his talent with unbelievable performances time and time again. In a way, his achievements were just as impressive as Kai's dominance in the Ferrari.
However, the spotlight remained firmly on Kai.
As Kai had said before, driving a midfield car to its limits to score a few points proves talent, but it can never match the traffic and exposure of driving for a top team. In a top team, good or bad, the attention is always there.
Moreover, Kai was leading a strong Ferrari resurgence! The gloom and pain of the summer break seemed to have been swept away, and the dawn was breaking again.
After this battle, not only did Ferrari overtake Mercedes in the Constructors' Championship, but in the Drivers' Championship, Hamilton's lead had shrunk to a mere three points. The battle for both titles had entered a white-hot phase.
But the points gap wasn't the main issue. The real key was that the maturing Kai was showing a completely different side of himself. The consecutive retirements in Baku and Barcelona were likely just low-probability events. This meant every upcoming race was critical, and the margin for error was shrinking rapidly.
The real contest was only just beginning.
But Hamilton wouldn't back down.
In the F1 world, to become a World Champion, you must have a killer instinct. You must be prepared to get your hands bloody and go for the throat.
He was ready. He just didn't know if the baby was. After all, this wasn't Hamilton's first rodeo.
In 2007, his rookie season, Hamilton led the championship, entering the final two races with a 17-point lead. But then he retired in Shanghai (the infamous gravel trap incident). Then, in Brazil, while chasing the pack, he made a rookie error, accidentally pressing the pit lane speed limiter button. The car slowed down, and he dropped from 6th to 18th.
Ultimately, that season, Hamilton lost the championship to Kimi Raikkonen by a single point, missing the chance to win the title in his rookie year and handing Raikkonen his only World Championship.
Until the final moment, the outcome is never certain. Pressure, accidents, confrontation—these are the eternal focal points of the paddock.
Hamilton had experienced it firsthand. The unforgettable, bloody lesson was branded into his bones. He was ready to let Kai experience the bitter taste he had never forgotten.
Since returning from the summer break—Spa, Monza, Singapore—Hamilton had finished second three times in a row. It was time to return to the factory and put his head down.
His gaze lightly swept over Kai, and without pausing, Hamilton turned and left.
Arriving at the mixed zone, facing the overwhelming barrage of reporters, Hamilton stood tall, openly accepting the challenge. "Congratulations to Kai!"
"He drove a brilliant race and earned the win. He deserves respect. But we are still fighting. We are still in the hunt. We will regroup and get back on track as soon as possible. The World Championship is a marathon, and we are prepared to face all challenges."
Neither humble nor arrogant, firm and unyielding, Hamilton continued to display his class in front of the media.
However, the interview couldn't continue. A rustling commotion arose from behind, and even Hamilton couldn't help but turn to look.
Kai's figure slowly appeared in their line of sight. Though weak and exhausted, he stood proudly, like a pine tree on the edge of a cliff, fearlessly embracing the wind and rain. Even after winning an epic race, he was neither arrogant nor rash, exuding a deep-seated calmness from the inside out.
Effortlessly, he became the focal point.
The reporters in the mixed zone couldn't contain their restlessness. They looked at Hamilton with awkward expressions. Some sneaked away quietly; others left openly. Some stayed but looked distracted, hesitating before finally turning to surge toward Kai, only to end up on their tiptoes at the back of the mob.
In a short moment, Hamilton's area was practically deserted. Only hearing the new person laugh, who cares if the old person cries?
This paddock now belonged to Kai, didn't it? Peak traffic, scorching hot.
It wasn't just the fans; even the reporters couldn't resist.
But that still wasn't all.
The crowd gathered three rows deep ahead was shouting themselves hoarse, igniting a new wave of heat that crashed down—
"Kai!"
"Kai!"
Again and again, like a religion, screaming with all their might, blood boiling, burning their souls, like moths to a flame.
It was so overwhelming, so powerful, it created a buzzing roar in the eardrums, making the whole world seem to spin at high speed.
Hamilton took in the entire scene. The sight of absolute worship and universal submission was spectacular, unfolding like a grand painting.
Who cared about yesterday's news?
However, Hamilton wasn't sad or disappointed. Since the hype was already this crazy, why not add some fuel to the fire and push it to the absolute limit?
Hype is a double-edged sword. Just like building a god, once people push you to the altar, the next step is dragging you down. The deafening noise and omnipresent, bizarre pressure can easily make you lose your way. A moment of carelessness, and it goes to your head.
This was exactly what Wolff had been orchestrating.
And so.
Hamilton flashed a smile and said amicably to the reporters, "My interview is over, right? If there are no more questions, I'll take my leave."
Not only was he not angry, but he proactively gave the reporters an out. Hamilton flicked his sleeves, turned gracefully, and walked away unburdened.
As expected, regardless of the noise on social media, the Singapore night was reveling in a carnival. The rolling heatwave continued to rise, threatening to ignite the entire Marina Bay.
And the moment Kai stepped onto the podium, it peaked.
Rocco Cesari stood in front of the TV, motionless like a statue, but his blood was boiling, burning fiercely. He had been waiting and searching, and finally found that figure on the broadcast.
Tall, slender, slightly frail. His short black hair hung down wetly, making his baby face look even more youthful and immature. He was just a kid. Right now, this kid looked utterly exhausted, barely able to stand.
Yet, he stubbornly straightened his back, holding an energy bar, stuffing it into his mouth before stepping onto the podium. Sweets are supposed to make people happy, but his face was scrunched up as if he were being punished. He was eating purely to survive.
He just stood there quietly. Even exhaustion couldn't mask the vigorous life force bursting from within. A soaring fighting spirit announced his presence amidst the surging waves. Anyone who underestimated him would suffer the consequences.
It was this kid who carried Ferrari's hopes on his thin shoulders, dragging them step-by-step toward the dawn at the end of the world.
For the past few years, Rocco had habitually looked for Vettel's figure. But from now on, he needed to start getting used to looking for this kid.
After Verstappen and Hamilton, it was finally Kai's turn to take the stage.
His calves and knees were weak from cramps, his steps slower than usual. But he still held his chin high, politely greeting Verstappen and Hamilton before stepping onto the podium step by step.
So slow, it seemed he would never reach the top step.
Hamilton stood with his hands clasped in front of him, head bowed, his expression unreadable. Verstappen, however, kept sneaking glances at Kai. He looked slightly hesitant, wanting to offer a hand but unsure if he should.
Seeing all this, Rocco couldn't control his emotions anymore.
"Kai!"
That was their Ferrari driver. No matter how dark, no matter how difficult, he always gave his all on the track, burning himself without reservation, fighting to the end, leaving no regrets.
"Kai!"
That was their Ferrari leader. Shouldering the team's flag on the edge of chaos and despair, firmly leading the lost Tifosi forward, not just for victory.
"Kai!"
Again and again. Rocco's eyes filled with tears. These shouts weren't just cheering for Kai; it was a way for Rocco to find strength for himself.
Rocco straightened his back, feeling the powerful, pounding heartbeat in his chest. No matter how many thorns and obstacles lay ahead, he would follow that kid and fight to the end, without regrets!
In the bar, there was dead silence. Solemn and heavy. No one made a sound; only Rocco was shouting alone, like a fool.
Majestic. Resolute.
Then, other voices began to gather, awakening the dormant passion and hot blood within their bodies. Their wait had been too long, so long they had forgotten what true hope tasted like. Only now did they finally react. After the hot blood of Monza faded, a sense of reality had been injected into their veins.
That energy gathered mightily, swirling above the Apennine Peninsula, tearing through the tunnel of time and space, pouring down upon Singapore.
A sea of humanity. Millions of hearts beating as one.
"Kai!"
In front of Kai, a vast ocean unfolded, loud and boiling. The night lights reflected off the shimmering tears, creating a brilliant sea. So turbulent, yet so calm, it seemed capable of embracing the entire universe.
But right now, Kai truly had no strength left. So he placed his right hand over his heart, quietly feeling its beat, and his smile fully bloomed.
Boss, do you see? After Monza, we are seeing the Red Sea in Singapore too. Our blueprint is lighting up city after city.
Step by step, we keep moving forward.
Until the national anthem ended, Hamilton and Verstappen both opened their champagne. Seeing Kai raise his hands in surrender, looking quite comical, neither could hold back a chuckle.
Hamilton simply aimed his bottle at Arrivabene, who had joined them on the podium.
Verstappen, standing nearby, hesitated before putting his champagne aside. "Can you still stand? Do you need help?"
Kai looked surprised, completely not expecting Verstappen's reaction. He quipped, "Aren't you going to just push me off right here?"
"Haha," Verstappen understood the joke and laughed out loud.
But he quickly grew reserved again. "Do you need help? If not, I'm leaving."
Kai tightened his lips. "Thank you!"
True to his word, Verstappen said no more. Acting as a crutch, he supported Kai as they left the podium. After two steps, he realized something. "You're not going to stay and enjoy the applause? Is that okay?"
Kai gestured behind him. "Didn't you notice I even abandoned the trophy?"
"Ah." Verstappen only just noticed. He gestured for Kai to wait, jogged back to the podium with short steps, gathered both Kai's winner's trophy and his own third-place trophy in his arms, and returned to Kai with a goofy grin.
The silence lasted exactly one second before Verstappen's chatterbox nature took over. "I didn't realize you were so skinny. You couldn't even last one race. So frail, yet you drove such a brilliant race."
He paused, a bit awkward, but repeated, "Brilliant race. That strategy was absolutely insane. But honestly... at Turn 5, you totally fouled, right?"
Kai's eyes widened. He might have no strength, but he wouldn't yield on this. "You're the one who fouled! You didn't leave any space! We can check the replay..."
"Then let's check the replay! How could I have fouled?!" Verstappen's posture instantly shifted, the shadow of his father Jos clearly visible. Like father, like son.
And so, the two drivers who were like fire and water on the track, mutually despising each other, actually started arguing back and forth, determined to prove who was right.
Lorenzo had been standing below the podium. He maintained a calm exterior, but his insides were churning. Kai's physical condition was genuinely bad.
When he looked up, he saw Verstappen supporting Kai. Although their faces were red from arguing, they weren't throwing punches. Lorenzo's jaw almost dropped.
Pointing dumbfoundedly at the two, he stuttered, a rare occurrence. "When... did you two..."
However, Kai and Verstappen looked completely unfazed.
Kai shook his head. "I don't know him."
Verstappen: ... He paused, a beat too slow. "I don't know him either."
As soon as he spoke, Verstappen turned to Kai, looking like an exemplary youth helping an old man cross the street. "You can walk on your own now, right?"
Kai looked disgusted. "I could walk on my own from the start, okay?"
Without another word, Verstappen cleanly abandoned Kai and just... left.
After a few steps, he turned back, held up Kai's winner's trophy, didn't hand it over, but just bent down and placed it on the ground. He gave Kai a nod, then turned and strode away without looking back.
Lorenzo watched this, completely dumbfounded.
A smile appeared in Kai's eyes. He wasn't surprised at all. "Mate, help me grab the trophy, will you?"
After every race, if the team achieves a breakthrough or gets on the podium, they take a group photo to commemorate it. Today, Ferrari had completed an epic, desperate comeback; there was no reason to miss it. Everyone was cheering and jumping, heading to the garage entrance for the photo.
Kai went back to the driver's room first to rehydrate and refuel. The doctor needed to check him again to ensure his body was fully recovering.
Unexpectedly, a roar came from the temporary pit lane structures at the Singapore circuit. Thin walls can block sight, but they can't stop sound.
The soundproofing was basically zero. The roaring inside was clearly audible, exploding against the background noise of the track, unleashing fury.
"...FUCKING JESUS CHRIST! HE! CANNOT! ATTACK! ME! MAURIZIO, DO I NEED TO REPEAT IT? I CAN SAY IT AGAIN."
"HE! FUCKING! CANNOT! ATTACK! ME!"
Kai and Lorenzo exchanged a look of silent understanding.
Lorenzo offered, "Should we step out for a bit?"
Kai laughed. "Why? Are you worried he'll be uncomfortable, and if I stay, he won't be able to vent his feelings thoroughly?"
His nonchalance made Lorenzo laugh too. "See? You're always so considerate. No wonder all the girls like you."
Clearly, in the Team Principal's office, Vettel had completely lost control of his emotions. He didn't care about the terrible soundproofing. If the sound got out... then let it get out.
He found it hard to accurately distinguish if it was anger, frustration, or something else, but he didn't feel any support from the team.
Things shouldn't be like this.
If Ferrari wasn't worried about becoming a laughingstock and being besieged, then he had no reason to cover up for them. He had nothing to lose anyway.
"Maurizio, you should know we are on the same side. You don't actually think that if that kid becomes the core of the team, you'll still be Team Principal, do you?"
"Oh, no. Sorry. My mistake."
"If I leave Ferrari, I have countless options. But your job is hanging by a thread. You should stand with me. You should be glad I'm still fighting, that I still want to stay here and lead the team to the championship. We are tied together. You shouldn't swallow your pride on the pit wall."
"I am the Number 1 driver!"
"Where is your iron fist? Where is your toughness? I didn't see that guy get punished!"
He had had enough!
"That clown thinks he's a genius, thinks he's the main character! He controls the narrative, and the whole world has to revolve around him! He has absolutely no team spirit! He's reckless and impulsive on the track, completely ignoring the team's interests! Someone needs to tell him to wake up; he is not the center of the universe!"
Suffocating. A mass of boiling, tangled emotions was trapped in his chest with no outlet. Vettel felt like he was going to explode.
Arrivabene remained silent, his temples throbbing. Paddock politics were never that simple.
True, with Marchionne gone, Kai had become vulnerable. In the face of capital, talent wasn't that important. But the problem was that Kai kept winning. The Tifosi were becoming Kai's biggest bargaining chip. As an Italian company that values its domestic market, the board and shareholders had to listen to those voices. The balancing of interests was blurring everyone's stance.
More importantly, Kai wasn't a pushover.
With other drivers—like Barrichello back in the day, or Bottas now—you could threaten them with their seat or contract renewal, and to prolong their careers, they would usually submit.
But Kai was different. He didn't care. He lived in the present with no thought for tomorrow. Even if Ferrari terminated his contract on the spot, Kai would probably just laugh out loud, turn around, and walk away without a care in the world.
Not because Kai was certain he could find a job with any team, but because he genuinely didn't care about his paddock seat. Even if he switched to a different racing series, he could still establish himself and shine.
No leverage meant he was hard to control.
Arrivabene had a massive headache too, but he couldn't tell Vettel any of this. It would only worsen the situation, potentially leading to a total collapse.
"Seb, do you believe in yourself?" Arrivabene tried a different approach, throwing out a question.
Vettel was caught off guard and didn't follow the rhythm.
Arrivabene looked straight into Vettel's eyes. "Do you believe you can still win the World Championship? Do you believe you are still the top driver in the paddock? Do you believe you are still a contender for this season's driver's title?"
"If you believe, then I believe. You are still Ferrari's Number 1 driver. We are still fighting."
Vettel froze, temporarily unsure how to respond.
BANG!
A heavy crash. The door to Arrivabene's office was violently shoved open, groaning as if it were about to shatter. Vettel charged out like an angry bull, his eyes shooting daggers. There was no trace of a smile on his boyish face.
He strode forward like a gale, seemingly entirely unaware of Kai and Lorenzo sitting cross-legged by the garage entrance. He swept past them like a storm. If he didn't vent soon, he might actually explode.
The storm made a grand entrance and a grand exit.
Click! Click-click-click!
Before Kai and Lorenzo could react, a flurry of shutter sounds and flashes erupted. The sheer volume of the clicks revealed the photographers' urgency and excitement.
Kai followed the sound and saw three reporters in various postures, all unanimously aiming their telephoto lenses and firing away at them.
The three reporters were completely engrossed in their work. They had finally captured evidence of the conflict within the Ferrari garage. Adrenaline rushed to their heads. It took them a moment to realize what was happening. When they pressed the shutter again, they realized they had been spotted. Kai's eyes were looking straight at them.
Crap. Busted.
The hot air instantly froze.
So, what now?
In that brief moment, their thoughts raced. All three considered turning and running—the thirty-six stratagems, running away is the best. But in that half-second, they saw Kai raise his right hand in their viewfinders, wave friendily, and even flash a smile.
"The lighting is so bright here, and you're still using flash? Aren't you worried about overexposure?" Kai called out.
The three reporters: ...
They looked at each other, bewildered. They didn't know how to react. Was this normal?
Receiving no response, Kai spoke up again. "So, is this a candid shot? Do you need me to cooperate and pretend I didn't see you? Are candid shots this blatant nowadays?"
The three reporters stood like wooden posts, completely losing their ability to react.
Lorenzo couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up. "What should we do? I think you scared them into malfunctioning."
Kai looked innocent. "Didn't you see how cooperative I was? They've probably never seen such an accommodating driver."
The two actually started chatting casually, leaving the reporters completely lost.
Finally, someone reacted. They were taking unauthorized photos. If the Ferrari garage caught on, they would be in trouble. Running was the best option.
Suddenly, they stood up straight, turned, and fled.
In the blink of an eye, the three scattered like startled birds, and the world was peaceful again.
Lorenzo looked at Kai. "Is it really okay? Shouldn't we chase them?"
Kai looked calm. "I don't have the energy to chase anyone right now. Besides, there are three of them and only two of us. Chasing them is a waste of effort."
"Oh." Lorenzo actually nodded seriously, accepting the logic.
After a pause, Lorenzo snapped back to reality. "Was he doing that on purpose just now? Pretending not to see us?"
Kai was taking small bites of an energy bar. Earlier, his sense of taste had been messed up; everything tasted bitter, pure torture. Now that he was recovering, he could taste the energy bar again, and he felt much better.
He knew Lorenzo meant Vettel. "Probably not. Our hiding skills are just too advanced. We blended perfectly into the shadows."
"Like ninjas?" Lorenzo said.
They exchanged a look and couldn't hold back, both bursting into laughter.
Then Lorenzo refocused. "About the reporters, is it really fine?"
Kai shrugged lightly. "Making something out of nothing is their job. It really doesn't matter about the photos. If they want to, they can spin a story from any screenshot. The paddock is exposed 360 degrees to the media. These things are unavoidable. They can always find the screenshot they want; it's just a matter of timing."
Lorenzo chewed on that for a moment. "So you mean you don't care at all and just let them scram. Okay, got it."
From ahead came Clear's call. "Champion! Where is our champion?"
Kai heard it. "Photo time!"
Lorenzo prepared to help, but this time Kai stood up on his own. "I finally feel like my limbs belong to me again."
As expected, Vettel wasn't absent from the team photo. Not only was he there, but he was all smiles, looking completely back to normal. Only a few people noticed that Vettel and Kai had zero interaction—no conversation, not even eye contact.
After the team photo, Kai, having recovered some energy, asked the team to check with Race Control. Before they dismantled the barriers and the pit lane, could he go out onto the track for one last photo? Getting the green light, Kai jogged over and grabbed Charles to come help as his photographer.
Just then, his phone buzzed. Kai pulled it out and answered immediately, while still shouting, "Charles! Hurry! I need help!"
The bright laugh and overflowing energy made Jiang Mo, on the other end of the line, sigh in relief. She waited for Kai to finish speaking before asking, "So, how are you feeling now?"
"Everything is fine. Just dehydration and cramps. I'm recovered now. I just told Lorenzo I need to double my cardio when I get back. I can't look this pathetic next time."
Jiang Mo's smile grew. "So what are you going to do now? The race is over, aren't you going back to the hotel to rest?"
"In a minute, in a minute," Kai said cheerfully. "I asked Charles to take a picture of me sitting in the middle of the track. It's a street circuit, and such a grueling race. I need to document it properly."
"Mom, I gotta hurry. Race Control is waiting to dismantle the walls. I'll send you the picture later! Charles! Coming, coming!"
Speaking hastily, he hung up without even saying goodbye.
Jiang Mo held the phone, exhaling softly. Only now did she truly relax, her knees suddenly feeling weak, and she collapsed into a chair.
The delayed fear hit her. All the terror and anxiety poured out. Her stomach cramped, her heart pounded.
Zhang Qiaomu sat quietly beside her, putting an arm around Jiang Mo to comfort her. "It's fine, it's fine. I knew it. Kai is so amazing..."
Unexpectedly, as soon as she spoke, her own tears fell.
Jiang Mo looked up at her friend frantically wiping away tears and laughed weakly. "The guy in question is bouncing around the Singapore track taking souvenir photos, and here we are sitting, terrified and looking like a mess. Isn't this backward? Now I finally understand why football coaches have so many heart attacks."
Boom. Everyone burst out laughing, the atmosphere finally lightening.
Meanwhile, at the Singapore circuit, the Mercedes garage was still brightly lit. Toto Wolff was holding a closed-door meeting with the entire team.
In both Monza and Singapore, Mercedes had held the advantage but suffered a reversal. It wasn't just about losing morale and surrendering the lead; it was about fueling their opponent's momentum. Retreating again and again, with nowhere left to retreat. They had to find the root of the problem and turn things around. They couldn't delay any longer.
George Russell hadn't left either. He stayed in the garage, feeling the lingering heat in the air.
Closing his eyes, he could still hear the fanatic cheering. The whole world was spinning because of Kai alone, a total eruption.
Opening his eyes again, Russell saw Kai run onto the track and sit cross-legged, showing off his winner's trophy. Leclerc was acting as the photographer. Through the air, he could hear Kai roasting Charles's terrible photography skills. The two argued and laughed loudly, the atmosphere lively.
Russell's mouth tasted bitter.
He didn't know when Toto Wolff appeared beside him, watching the scene but saying nothing, letting the silence stretch in the air.
Even though Wolff didn't speak, Russell felt the invisible pressure. He knew Kai had practically snatched the trophy from Hamilton's hands. Mercedes was facing an unprecedented challenge. He also knew Wolff's expectations for him. Last year, Russell was still racing against Kai. But now, Kai was openly battling Hamilton for the World Championship, while Russell wasn't dominating F2; instead, he was caught in a fierce fight with Albon and Norris.
Wolff's silence fell heavily on Russell's shoulders like unspoken disappointment, threatening to crush him.
~~----------------------
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