Depressed, frustrated, and angry, George Russell felt a lump in his throat he couldn't swallow. He wished he could rip his chest open and show Toto Wolff his unwavering loyalty.
"...Toto," Russell finally spoke. It was difficult, his thoughts jumbled, but he needed to make his intentions clear.
However, Wolff, who had been silent and seemingly had no intention of speaking, beat him to it. "George, you know I believe in you, right?"
Russell froze.
Wolff shrugged. "I know there are endless rumors in the paddock lately. They think I'm interested in Kai Zhizhou, but you should know that's fake news."
"Kai Zhizhou... he's a wanderer. No one can tie him down, and he has no loyalty. He fights for Ferrari today, maybe Red Bull tomorrow, or Force India the day after. He might be excellent, but ultimately, he's just a high-priced mercenary. Untrustworthy."
"Mercedes doesn't need mercenaries. Loyalty is paramount to us."
"I believe in you. I always have, and I still do. I believe you are the future hope of our team. I've said it, and I've acted on it. Last year, you raced him in GP3. This year, you've polished your skills in F2. I believe you are ready. When you step onto the track with him again, you can beat him fair and square."
"George, what about you? Are you ready? Do you still remember the dream you painted in that PowerPoint presentation you brought to me?"
Russell's blood boiled, his emotions surging. It felt like all his blood was rushing to his heart. He wanted to bow down and dedicate his life to Wolff. "Of course. World Champion. I still remember."
Ambition erupted like a geyser. "Toto, trust me. I will continue Mercedes' championship tradition. I will lead the team to the summit."
At any cost!
When Russell looked back at the figure on the track, his fighting spirit was a roaring inferno.
The Singapore night grew deeper. The echoing roars of F1 cars gradually went to sleep amidst the ocean waves, but the city itself couldn't sleep.
A classic race, a legendary race. It propelled Kai to unbelievable heights. The masses submitted, bowing in worship.
People eagerly recounted every detail of the Singapore Grand Prix. The engine failure in qualifying was the prologue to a legend. But this time it was far more than that. Having broken into the mainstream, casual observers reviewed Kai's meteoric rise for the hundredth time.
After just one year in GP3, he skipped a grade and entered the paddock. Ferrari's titan, Sergio Marchionne, withstood the pressure and silenced the dissenters to give the baby driver a seat. The voices that once feared Kai would become a second Verstappen were slapped in the face, forced to watch as Kai mirrored Hamilton's miraculous rookie year. The trajectory of the 2018 season generated unprecedented interest.
The F1 spotlight grew hotter, its mainstream appeal remaining sky-high.
While casual fans enjoyed the spectacle—the championship battle was indeed thrilling—the experts saw the underlying truth: the winds of change were quietly shifting.
Before the season started, the voices betting against Kai were the vast majority. After all, Verstappen was the immediate cautionary tale. But now, the situation had fundamentally changed.
True, young rookies like Hartley and Sirotkin were disappointing. Sirotkin and Stroll were even blamed for dragging Williams from fifth in the Constructors' Championship last year to dead last now.
But this stood in stark contrast to the brilliance of other youngsters.
Leclerc, driving a Sauber, repeatedly scored points, outperforming Raikkonen over the year. Even Verstappen seemed to have finally unlocked his potential, transforming and firmly occupying the Number 1 seat at Red Bull, consistently suppressing Ricciardo. Add in Kai, who led the grid in Grand Prix victories, and it was undeniable—the youth were truly rising.
Exactly one year ago, the FIA introduced policies to help young drivers adapt better to the step up to formula cars. Did this mean the paddock was truly facing the perfect opportunity for a massive generational shift? The chaos at Force India, the turmoil at Williams and McLaren, the Red Bull-Renault divorce—driver seats were opening up everywhere.
Instantly, all eyes turned to the junior formulas. In F2, the trio of Russell, Norris, and Albon battled for supremacy.
But it didn't stop there. GP3 quietly entered the spotlight, considering Kai had emerged from there last season.
This year, another "Kai Zhizhou" had appeared in GP3: Britain's Jack Hughes.
Actually, Hughes had been making waves for a few years. He was 24 this year. Unlike his peers, he didn't start karting until he was 16. In just a few short years, he moved from lower-tier racing into formula cars, joining the fierce competition of GP3 for the first time this year.
An outsider, incredibly gifted, a late bloomer—Hughes carried a fairy-tale aura, which won him massive sponsorship.
Who doesn't love a fairy tale?
However, the reason Kai was Kai was because he was irreplicable. Hughes's season... was slightly below expectations. Despite driving for ART, he was currently only 8th in the standings. Nicolas Todt's plan to unearth a second miracle wasn't panning out.
But ART's leadership banner had been successfully passed on. Anthoine Hubert had stepped up.
After finishing last among ART's four drivers last season, Hubert had matured significantly this year, leading the team and firmly holding the top spot in both the driver and team standings.
Moreover, unlike Verstappen or Kai, Hubert was known for his steady efficiency, reminding people of the legendary French four-time World Champion, Alain Prost. So far this season, excluding the Red Bull Ring in Austria, he had been on the podium in every Feature and Sprint race.
Did this mean Hubert could adapt to the pace of F1 more quickly? Which team would emulate Ferrari and take that audacious first step?
One wave after another.
Under the interference of all these factors, news of driver and team contract renewals during the summer break had noticeably quieted down. The tug-of-war between the two sides had become far more complex. Now, three races after the summer break had concluded, the only drivers with confirmed seats for next year were Hamilton, Verstappen, Ricciardo, and a select few others.
Oh, right, and Stroll and Perez, backed by mountains of capital.
Every other position was a variable.
From this year's championship fight to next year's paddock landscape, everything was chaotic and unclear, adding even more sparks to the fierce competition on the track.
It was against this backdrop that another massive fire was added to the paddock's chaos this season—
BREAKING: Conflict between Vettel and Kai intensifies! The two refuse to speak within the team.
UPDATE: Vettel issues an ultimatum to the team: It's either Kai or him. Ferrari must choose.
The leaks came one after another, and not just from one or two outlets. Rumors flooded social media.
They claimed Vettel left the garage, completely ignoring Kai. Photos filled every corner, each source swearing they had the inside scoop, acting like beetles that had infiltrated the Ferrari garage, knowing every detail. The two Ferrari drivers had completely severed ties.
However, if it were just that, it wouldn't be too serious. Such things happened in the paddock every few weeks. Not just Ferrari—Hamilton and Bottas at Mercedes, Verstappen and Ricciardo at Red Bull were in similar storms. No need to overreact.
The key was that this leak included another bombshell—
After the Singapore Grand Prix, Frédéric Arnault, the third son of the LVMH Group CEO, appeared in person. He not only visited Kai to congratulate him but also provided his private jet to fly Kai back to Nice.
Rumor had it that Arnault personally gifted Kai a custom TAG Heuer watch and a high-end Louis Vuitton travel bag. When Kai left Singapore, he was carrying that exact gift.
Everyone knew Kai was an official ambassador for Richard Mille. The watchmaker had spotted Kai's potential early on, and their gamble was paying off handsomely. They were undoubtedly one of Kai's most loyal partners, and Kai wore a Richard Mille watch every time he stood on the podium, making it one of the most visible brands in the paddock.
But now, LVMH was entering the fray?
If it were just an endorsement deal, the impact would be limited; the only difference would be the number of zeros on the check in Kai's pocket. But paddock insiders knew LVMH was wealthy and ambitious. Any move by this luxury conglomerate could create massive waves.
What if LVMH was preparing for a full-scale entry into F1?
What if LVMH saw Kai as the face of F1 for the next decade?
If capital of LVMH's magnitude chose to stand behind Kai, it would be equivalent to Telmex backing Perez—a super-massive move capable of altering the paddock's power structure. Kai's value would be entirely different.
Looking at the internal rivalry between Vettel and Kai now, this infighting might lead to a very different conclusion. Things were suddenly getting interesting.
If it were just Vettel and Kai having a spat, it was nothing new in the paddock. Argue every three days, blow up every five, make up at the end of the day. Even if they hated each other, they still had to pinch their noses and work together.
But if LVMH-level capital entered the arena, the story changed completely.
The crux of the matter was: Was LVMH truly preparing a full-scale entry into sports? So far, their sports sponsorships had been dabbling, just playing around. Frédéric Arnault was still a fledgling. How things would develop remained unknown.
Moreover, even if it were all true, was LVMH definitely going to sponsor Kai? What was happening now might just be a short-lived craze, like a summer downpour—fierce but fleeting. LVMH shouldn't rush.
Regardless, the speculation and heated discussions couldn't be stopped. It was incredibly lively.
When reporters cornered Frédéric Arnault, the young man, not long out of university, displayed a maturity beyond his years.
"I deeply admire Kai. Monaco, Hockenheim, and Singapore—those races were so spectacular, they made me completely fall in love with racing."
"Sponsorship? Hehe, we are friends. At least I think so. I hope we are friends."
He said something, yet seemed to say nothing, leaving all possibilities open, giving reporters and netizens ample room for imagination.
So, what did Vettel think?
Had Vettel and Kai truly torn up their relationship? Did they completely ignore each other in private? Was the Ferrari team totally split into two camps? How did Arrivabene plan to handle this thorny issue, and would it affect Ferrari's plans for the World Championship?
The noise and chaos practically turned the paddock upside down.
It was already a massive story. There are no small matters with Ferrari. Anything involving Ferrari is a big deal, magnified five or ten times. Even trivial things can become known to everyone in the paddock.
And now, with Mercedes and Red Bull fanning the flames from behind, the topic of "Ferrari Infighting" quietly trended on social media. Although not ranked high, its duration was extraordinarily long, showing no signs of cooling down even after three or five days. In an era where traffic is measured in hours, this was a phenomenal feat.
However, Vettel vanished, and Kai hid away in Maranello. Both drivers dove deep underwater, leaving no cracks to exploit. Even though reporters and paparazzi cast a wide net, they couldn't find a breakthrough.
After the Singapore Grand Prix, there was a one-week break before the next race in Russia. Kai immersed himself completely with the engineering team in Maranello—helping with tests, providing data feedback, refining setups. He worked overtime every day, buried in work.
Reporters used every trick in the book to breach the Maranello defenses.
Someone even climbed the wall to get inside the base, but before they could land, a cafeteria worker spotted them and yelled, "Paparazzi! Paparazzi!"
At that shout, local residents surged out. Brooms, mops, and sticks extended from both sides of the wall, swinging at the reporter like they were swatting a cat.
The reporter, stuck on the wall and attacked from both sides, panicked and fell. The Maranello residents swarmed and caught the reporter, preventing serious injury from the vertical drop, but then carried the guy out of the base like a sacrificial pig offered to a river god, marching grandly.
The victim was scared out of their wits, struggling to break free, eventually scrambling away on hands and knees, fleeing in panic while the Maranello residents roared with laughter behind them.
When other reporters heard about it, no one was laughing. No one dared provoke the Maranello base again, terrified the locals might actually use them as sacrifices if they got too worked up.
Amidst the stormy seas, Ferrari's Maranello base maintained a rare, peaceful harmony.
However, this didn't stop the rampant conspiracy theories on social media. Netizens' imaginations ran wild, fueled even further by the two drivers' radio silence. The bizarre speculations wouldn't stop.
Without any evidence, Vettel's fans believed Ferrari had given up on him, completely shutting him out of Maranello. Vettel tried to help, but there was no place for him there.
Kai's fans believed Vettel was resting on his laurels. He treated Kai like a mule, enjoying himself outside while Kai did the dirty work, only for Arrivabene to share Kai's results with Vettel for free.
Other gossip suggested Maranello was xenophobic. They refused help from both Kai and Vettel. Vettel left in anger, while Kai worked tirelessly but fruitlessly, completely shut out. The internal power struggle within Ferrari's technical team was supposedly severe.
Regardless, none of it was based on facts. People just let their imaginations fly. The virtual swordfights and shadow-chasing on social media intensified relentlessly.
It was in this atmosphere that the Russian Grand Prix slowly kicked off. The teams and drivers arrived in Sochi. Even before the press conference, reporters and fans at the paddock entrance were impatiently clamoring.
"Kai, are you and Seb really not speaking?"
"Rumor has it you're leaving Ferrari. Is it true?"
"Is your relationship with Seb beyond repair?"
A barrage of questions rained down, mixed with countless curses. "Beat Vettel!" "The old king is dead, long live the new king!" "You're not fit to tie Seb's shoes!" "Trash!" "Go play in the mud!" Insults and cheers collided and tangled, reeking of blood, creating an incredibly chaotic scene.
However, Kai had no intention of answering. Smiling brightly, he waved and kept walking, selectively ignoring the vicious remarks.
Until a reporter yelled, "Seb said you're a nobody, insignificant, not worth paying attention to. What do you think?"
Suddenly, Kai stopped and looked toward the voice.
The air suddenly went quiet.
Not a dead, absolute silence; sounds could still be heard in the distance. But that noise faded into the background, highlighting the immediate silence. In a small circle with Kai at the center, everyone held their breath, their bodies stiffening, as if hitting the pause button.
In that brief moment, they realized Kai's aura—
Smiling, calm, composed. But the resilience radiating from within generated a pressure, a tough stance of facing a thousand pointing fingers with a cold glare, exactly like his demeanor on the track.
They had all seen Kai race. They stood quiet as cicadas in winter; no one dared make a rash move.
Then, the smile on Kai's lips slightly deepened. "What did you just say? Could you please repeat that?"
For a second, Will Buxton froze, as if facing Medusa.
Having started at NBC and officially moving to the F1TV official channel this year, acting as the official representative for the Netflix documentary, Buxton had seen countless storms. It wasn't his first or second time facing Kai either.
But at this moment, Buxton still felt incredible pressure. He even felt that the Kai returning from the summer break was a completely different person.
Just like now, even though Kai was smiling and polite, the chill pierced Buxton's body, stinging his spine.
Bathed in Medusa's gaze, Buxton swallowed hard but still puffed out his chest. "I said, are you and Seb no longer speaking? There's only one World Champion. You must face the competition directly. Do you have the courage to slit Seb's throat to fight for the ultimate title?"
Kai didn't speak immediately. He quietly stared at the bulldog-like face before him, intentionally letting the air stay quiet for a moment.
Then, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. "You're lying to my face. Are you sure you don't want to repeat the question you just asked?"
The words were spoken lightly, seemingly without weight, and Kai was still smiling, but Sochi's biting wind seemed to suddenly drop in temperature.
Buxton's smile almost slipped. What should he do?
Admit defeat?
Explain that those questions were just fabricated clickbait to make Kai stop? They did it to other drivers too, but only a rookie like Kai would foolishly take the bait, or a hothead like Alonso would instantly blow up.
Wait, a rookie!
Buxton immediately steadied himself and straightened his back. Why should he be afraid of a rookie? The so-called "aura" was just an illusion they had hyped up, right?
So, Buxton repeated it, staring straight at Kai, throwing it right in his face. "Seb said you're a nobody, insignificant, not worth paying attention to. What do you think?"
Kai raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Oh. Exact words?"
Buxton froze. This wasn't right. He asks, Kai answers—that's how an interview works. Why wasn't Kai following the script?
Kai asked, "Those were Seb's exact words?"
"..." Buxton's breath caught in his throat. "Not 100% exact words..." Just the gist of it.
But Kai didn't let Buxton finish, cutting him off bluntly. "As far as I know, truth is the unshakable first principle of journalism. So, is truth no longer important? To grab eyeballs and create clickbait, reporters can twist and rewrite facts. So the next step is fabricating news out of thin air?"
"If that's the case, why do you need my answer? You can fabricate Seb's words, and then fabricate my response. Play both roles. Look, you've got an article."
"Mr. Reporter, what institution did you graduate from? I'm currently considering universities, and I think I'd better avoid that one."
Like a sudden storm, swift and decisive. Buxton was momentarily speechless, completely unable to react. He stared at Kai dumbfounded, his brain temporarily halting.
Kai tightened his lips, scanning the area, looking at the other media members who were getting restless. No words were needed; one by one, they avoided his gaze, guiltily looking away.
Once Kai ensured everyone got the message, he stepped forward and strode away.
The air remained frozen until Kai was completely gone, breaking the spell. Everyone gasped, hearts pounding, muttering that Kai wasn't someone to mess with. If they wanted to fan the flames or twist facts, they'd need to use their brains more; this young man wasn't easily fooled.
Buxton was embarrassed, but the awkwardness only lasted a moment. Staring deeply at Kai's retreating back, a faint smile appeared on his lips—
So, after Verstappen, the paddock has a new villain?
If Kai wanted to be the villain, Buxton would gladly help him.
Not far ahead, Silvia Frangipane, looking slightly heavy and sweating profusely, hurried toward him, worry in her eyes. "Kai, the media didn't give you a hard time, did they?"
Kai waved his hand. "Don't worry. If you can't beat them, run. Simple as that."
That little joke successfully put Silvia at ease. She took Kai's skateboard. "You couldn't be like that with Seb, could you? I know you. If you wanted to, you could make everyone like you."
"Haha, thanks for the vote of confidence, but the guys at Maranello would probably disagree. They're probably cursing me in their sleep," Kai smiled brightly.
Silvia shook her head helplessly. "You know what I mean. I'm talking about Seb. Your duel on the track, that's racing, understandable. But off the track, why can't you coexist peacefully?"
As she spoke, she pushed open the door to the Ferrari hospitality suite, where Vettel was sitting.
A second ago, Vettel seemed to be in a good mood, chatting and laughing, the atmosphere cheerful.
A second later, upon seeing Kai, the smile vanished from Vettel's face. He stood up, ready to leave.
Silvia wiped her sweat. "Sit down, Seb. And you, Kai. You two are the main characters of today's meeting. Both of you must stay."
Kai wasn't surprised. A quick glance showed the PR team, media heads, social media managers, and the executors who posted daily were all present, looking ready for action.
It wasn't hard to guess. Things weren't simple; they were likely being ordered to do some "official business."
Regardless of what happened behind closed doors in the garage, their public PR and brand image had to be maintained. It was all stipulated in their contracts.
They couldn't refuse.
So, Kai obediently sat down, only to find Silvia signaling with her eyes that he must sit in a specific spot.
Kai looked at her, filled with exasperation, but he complied, walking over and sitting directly opposite Vettel.
Vettel, however, remained standing, refusing to compromise, arms crossed in a defensive posture. "If you have something to say, say it fast. I only have five minutes."
Silvia shook her head, shedding her usual amiable demeanor to reveal her decisive side. There was no smile on her face, and her tone hardened. "No. The rest of your schedule is cleared. I've already notified everyone. If we don't settle this here, no one leaves."
"So you, Seb, sit down."
Crisp, clean, irrefutable.
The always amiable, friendly Silvia, the one who joked and chatted, the peacemaker who seemingly never got angry anywhere, anytime, now showed a completely different side.
And to Vettel, no less. Like scolding a child.
Vettel looked at her in disbelief, but Silvia didn't back down, her gaze firm, silently expressing her resolve.
Vettel took a deep breath, seeming to weigh his options briefly, before finally resigning himself and sitting down.
But he didn't sit properly. He sat sideways, legs gathered on one side of the wooden chair, slouching against the backrest, looking ready to stand up and flee at any moment. He only gave Kai a profile, unwilling to look at him directly. Compared to Buxton, this was the correct posture for facing Medusa.
Silvia rapped her knuckles on the table in front of Vettel, issuing a warning with her eyes. She didn't push harder, but she refused to yield.
Vettel sighed deeply in frustration, let out a groan, and finally turned around, drooping his eyelids to stare at the table, still avoiding any eye contact with Kai.
Seeing this, Kai turned to Silvia. "Doc, your partner must charge a fortune for therapy sessions, huh?"
Pfft.
Someone nearby couldn't hold it in, and muffled laughter rippled through the air.
Vettel's eyelids finally lifted, shooting Kai an expressionless glare, muttering "Smooth talker," but ignoring him further. He turned to Silvia. "So what's this all about?"
Silvia was about to speak when she caught Kai's look out of the corner of her eye. That look clearly said: See? The problem isn't me.
Silvia glared at Kai helplessly but didn't respond to him, cutting straight to the chase. "We called this meeting today because the situation is critical."
"'Seb vs. Kai' made the front page of La Gazzetta dello Sport. We don't need this. No one needs this."
The influence of La Gazzetta dello Sport went without saying, especially for Italians. If it were just the noise on social media platforms, Silvia might not care, but landing on the front page of Gazzetta changed the nature of the issue significantly.
"They're saying you're hostile and attacking each other. Toto Wolff and Christian Horner have been adding fuel to the fire, and now Gazzetta is joining the fun, practically waving their fists like children yelling 'Duel! Duel! Duel!' We can't let this continue."
Especially now, with the Constructors' Championship battle at a fever pitch, every team would use any means necessary, even just for a single point.
"We all know the media. They can describe a trivial matter like a comet hitting the Earth. Seb walking past Kai in the garage without saying hi turns into 'they've completely stopped talking in private'..."
Kai tightened his lips. "Maybe we joined Fight Club."
Silvia: "What?"
Clearly, she didn't get Kai's joke. What was Fight Club?
It's a movie. Kai meant maybe they had already fought it out in private. Just a little joke.
Unexpectedly, Vettel understood. For the first time today, he looked directly at Kai, seemingly surprised that Kai watched Fight Club and possessed such humor.
Kai also looked at Vettel, but didn't stop talking, responding to Silvia. "Never mind, just a joke. Please continue."
Silvia brushed it off. "We all know the media loves to exaggerate. In reality, you respect and care for each other. We just need to show that."
"If you're willing, you can even kiss occasionally."
Pfft.
The room chuckled.
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Like David and Victoria Beckham?"
Putting on a show of affection for the cameras just for PR?
That quip flipped the switch, and everyone burst into laughter.
Even Vettel couldn't hold it back. His tight lips finally curved up. "Maybe we should start by holding hands."
Kai looked at Vettel again. Clearly a joke; Vettel had his own humor. "So our first date ends at the cinema watching Fight Club. Your pick or mine?"
Just like official PR, getting their story straight for a fabricated event.
Vettel paused, very surprised. He completely didn't expect Kai to read his humor. "Mine. Because you're too scared to watch thrillers, right?"
Wait, what does that mean?
Haha, the group roared with laughter, unable to hold back anymore.
Especially seeing Kai's unhurried demeanor as he seriously considered it. "So your limit is Fight Club, not even Saw? Anything heavier, and you probably wouldn't be able to walk out of the theater on your own two feet?"
Laughter completely lost control. People were holding their stomachs, swaying with mirth. They had never seen Vettel and Kai exchange more than five sentences in private, let alone share the same wavelength of humor. This was a rare sight in the Ferrari hospitality suite.
Never mind the others, even Silvia was beaming, looking at Kai and Vettel with mild exasperation: Isn't this better? Leave the competition on the track. You can maintain a normal collegial relationship in private. Even if you're not friends, there's no need to be at each other's throats.
At this moment, the people coming and going in the paddock, amidst the noise and bustle, could faintly catch the laughter emanating from the Ferrari suite.
No cameras, no reporters, not a public event, yet such a cheerful atmosphere could be felt. What was going on?
Didn't the rumors say Ferrari was shrouded in gloom, with a power struggle spreading from top to bottom, the whole team tottering? So what was this?
These confusions peaked—jaws collectively dropping—when they saw the Ferrari team leaving, chatting and laughing, including Kai and Vettel.
What was going on with the two Ferrari drivers? Weren't they supposed to want to strangle each other on sight, refusing to share the same space, unwilling to even breathe the same air? So what was this relaxed, cheerful, field-trip vibe?
Could it be... it was all an act?
Of course, it was a possibility. People living in the 21st century knew this well: seeing isn't always believing. The sweet, loving couple might just be a facade. The brotherly harmony in the paddock might just be an act bound by contracts.
Vettel and Kai were no exception. They hadn't reached the point of Hamilton and Rosberg, tearing at each other's throats publicly. They could still manage to put on a show in public.
But this wasn't a press conference, a fan meet-and-greet, or an official promotional event. It was just a private meeting. Why put on an act?
So, what was the truth?
The baseless rumors, or the scene right in front of them? Which was real?
Even the old foxes in the paddock were confused.
Over the next two days, Kai and Vettel were highly cooperative. Whether recording Ferrari's official game, doing official interviews with the FIA and the Russian Grand Prix, or interacting with fans, they chatted and laughed harmoniously. They openly expressed admiration for their teammate—they respected each other's racing. Their methods might differ, but they competed in their own styles, leaving track issues on the track.
Furthermore, they shared the same goal: helping Ferrari win the Constructors' Championship. On this point, at least, they were 100% on the same front.
To everyone's shock, the hashtag "#Lettel" started trending on social media, slowly stealing the spotlight from "Ferrari Infighting."
Something seemed slightly off.
~~----------------------
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