Chapter 29 Wings Call the Storm
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
After surviving that fierce battle, dawn finally arrived. My body felt drained, yet from deep inside me welled up a strange strength—no doubt a gift from Ethelena’s Sex Sorcery.
If I had no plans today, I’d repay the sleeping Ethelena for yesterday’s generosity… though honestly, I could only see myself losing that fight.
I wasn’t sure when Tatia would come to this house, but I needed to prepare some healing medicine for her. Then again, given her defense, I could probably just use her as a walking wall and explore safely behind her.
I aimed to head to the City Mayor’s office just before noon, around the time her daytime tasks would be winding down. Ever since I nearly stopped the city’s functions once, the clerks looked at me with outright fear whenever I walked in.
Sure, I had caused that near-shutdown—but I also helped fix it afterward! Can’t they cut me some slack?
When I entered the mayor’s office that late morning, I found an unexpected guest sitting there.
”Hey! It’s been ages, hasn’t it? How have you been?”
”Torakuma? You’re the last person I expected here. Been well?”
There she was—Torakuma, sipping tea with the City Mayor as if this was perfectly normal.
Hold on… should she even be wandering around like this?
”I’ll have you know, I just found myself here,” the mayor added casually.
”And I, too,” Torakuma nodded, “was merely on my way to the privy when suddenly I ended up here.”
”What, did you cross dimensions again, Lost House noblewoman?”
If you walk around alone you’ll get lost again, so make sure someone stays with you! And Torakuma—stop nibbling cookies like some small animal. Ethelena would melt from that kind of cutesy act.
”Anyway, I saw it,” the mayor suddenly declared.
Torakuma tilted her head, clearly confused.
”That Arcane Armor… or should I call it that?”
”It fits the definition,” I said. “It runs on mana and supports the wearer.”
”Don’t give me that. What’s with these shape-memory alloy artificial muscles and wind-thrust flight mechanisms? Stop tossing absurd inventions on my desk!”
Direct complaints—was this the first time she’d done that? Both were features I’d added when I reinforced the Black Iron armor. Hardly new.
”They came about when I upgraded the armor. I reported it, didn’t I?”
”Wait. By ‘armor,’ you mean that cheap Arcane Armor you’ve always worn?”
”…Yes. It’s the only gear I use.”
Her face froze in shock. Didn’t she get my reports? Even when she congratulated me about Ethelena, I thought she knew.
”Show me.”
”Yes, ma’am.”
Her quiet order made me answer instantly. Torakuma just asked for more cookies, completely useless.
I pulled Black Iron from my inventory. The mayor examined it closely, running her fingers over the artificial muscles and the flight mechanism ports before letting out a heavy sigh.
”This is unregistered technology.”
”What? Impossible—I finished this days ago.”
”No. I handle your patents personally. Nothing has been filed.”
”You’ve got to be kidding me…”
”When exactly did you enhance it?”
”The day I promised to marry Ethelena. Right before testing the new Arcane Gun.”
At that, Torakuma shot forward.
”You’re marrying her at last!?” Her eyes sparkled like stars.
”Y-yeah. At least, we agreed to make it official soon.”
”Splendid! Remember, you promised to invite me to the ceremony!”
”I remember. But come on, I’m still a student—we haven’t planned anything yet!”
Now that I thought of it, in the dungeon she’d said she loved how Ethelena and I lived together. Maybe she really was what they call a “box fan”—supporting the whole pairing. Knowing her, she’d make him give a best-friend speech at the wedding.
”Heh, hehehehe… I see, I see…”
”Quit laughing like some creepy noble lady, will you?”
The mayor coughed sharply. “Play nice with foreign princesses if you must, but hurry and submit the details of this so-called ‘technology’ or I won’t authorize the new model.”
That got my attention fast. “Fine, I’ll draft it now.”
From my inventory, I drew a compact thought-input magic word processor. Not as fast as the workshop’s machines, but it would do. I had no choice.
”Is that speed normal?” Torakuma whispered.
”Of course not,” the mayor muttered back. “Few can even use those.”
”Knew it. He’s abnormal.”
”He’s always been an unconscious monster.”
I was being slandered just meters away, but I had no time to defend myself. Writing both specification and design sheets simultaneously took all my focus.
Twenty minutes later, I handed over the papers. The mayor skimmed them at lightning speed—no doubt honed by years of paperwork. That’s not a skill I’d ever want.
”So, what disaster are you brewing this time?”
”Disaster? Nothing. A trainee knight just asked me for armor.”
”That alone wouldn’t cause this mess. What did you sneak into it?”
”Why assume I snuck in anything?”
”Because I know you.”
I sighed. “Fine, listen…”
Torakuma leaned in with shining curiosity as I explained, omitting Tatia’s personal details. Her expressions shifted—eyes wide, brows narrowed, gasps escaping—like a little girl despite her refined beauty.
”That’s far too radical! We call muscles steel-hard, yes, but weaving muscles out of steel itself? Wordplay turned real!”
”It was because I thinned the armor for flight. To fix it, I needed another’s patent, so I came for permission—only to run headfirst into my own unfiled invention.”
”You should realize your creations are leagues beyond what others can grasp.”
”Everyone keeps saying that. But if I can make it, anyone should be able to.”
”Your self-esteem is always bizarrely low,” she sighed.
I knew that well. People often pointed it out. With no mentor in this life, just my game knowledge blended with modern science, how could I believe I’d easily surpass centuries of inherited craftsmanship?
I had sworn to this path, trained, studied, honed my craft. Still, it had been less than twenty years. No way I could beat traditions forged over hundreds.
”In my youth, I had no rivals. At higher education, everyone bragged of noble lineages and legacies. Lacking those, my confidence withered.”
Though, truthfully, I never felt my work lost. Among smiths who forged mithril and orichalcum, I was mocked for laying out steel blades. That bitter humiliation—when the mayor refused to let me use demonsteel—still burned in me.
That sword vanished afterward. I’d have to ask my teacher about it someday.
”…Tell me,” the mayor asked, eyes narrowing. “How did you even learn crafting? I’ve never heard of you having a master.”
”Because I had none. The skill itself taught me the basics. I just followed its guidance until I found my own best methods. Then, the instructions disappeared.”
And that was the truth.
If I had to name a master in Crafting, it would be the Crafting skill itself. At first I relied on its assistance, but eventually I felt something was off and broke away from it. Now I follow my own method, and that produces better results.
”…Sorry, what?”
”You… you’re serious, Tatara?”
…Wait, what? Did I just say something strange?
”Why are you reacting like that?”
”What do you mean, the skill ‘taught’ you?”
”Exactly what it sounds like. In the beginning, the skill showed me how to make things. But over time, it felt wrong, so I changed my process.”
Now the skill’s effect is little more than letting me draft blueprints in my head, or shifting materials to match my imagined shape.
”…Tatara. I’ll ask just in case—has this ever happened with other skills?”
”Uh… maybe just ‘Hammer Mastery.’ It gave me a sense of how to swing properly.”
Ethelena said the same when she took the ‘Gun Aptitude’ skill, so I thought that part was normal.
”I think we’ve just uncovered the core of your Crafting abnormality,” Torakuma muttered.
The mayor nodded. “If the world-rooted skill itself was teaching you… then yes, this explains everything.”
Hold on. If what I did was “abnormal,” then what are these skills doing for everyone else?
”Tatara, you once said something, didn’t you?”
”What exactly?”
”That mithril and orichalcum, despite being different metals, can both be handled with the same basic techniques as other metals.”
”Yes, I did say that.”
”I didn’t point it out back then, but—no one else can say that.”
”…Huh?”
Wait a second. Then how the hell are they processing mithril or orichalcum? Didn’t anyone ever question how the skills act on materials?
”Then tell me—how have you all been using the skill?”
”We let it act directly on the material. That’s what Crafting is. If your level’s too low, the skill just bounces off.”
”…Are you joking?”
So they never researched it? Never asked why the skill failed? They just used it blindly.
I did the opposite. I chased every difference I found between game knowledge and this world.
And I succeeded—working magic metals that were supposedly impossible at Rank I.
I succeeded in refining my craft to raise performance.
More than skills unlocking what I could do, it was me expanding what I could do that pushed skill levels higher.
That’s what it means to blend game knowledge with real experience.
”You all sat on your skills and never dug deeper. That’s laziness, plain and simple. Don’t call me abnormal before you’ve even tried.”
It was the same with Appraisal—skills stretch when pushed hard enough. Even Sex Sorcery… it evolved to boost my stamina just so I could survive Ethelena’s overwhelming surges. Barely, but it kept me alive.
People who awaken so-called “unique skills” probably did so by struggling desperately for power. Racial traits too, born from survival’s edge.
Compared to that, chasing the limits of a skill is child’s play—you just have to ask what more it can do.
”…I see. You judge everything through your own values,” the mayor murmured. “Your diagrams and formulas are written with such care that anyone should understand them. You can’t fathom that others can’t.”
”Wait a second. You’ve been following my blueprints, haven’t you? Doesn’t that mean you understand my theories?”
”I haven’t been recreating them.”
”What? You’ve made demonsteel, shape-memory alloy, even pseudo-orichalcum!”
”Yes. But I didn’t recreate them.”
”…What’s that supposed to mean?”
”If what I make doesn’t match yours, it isn’t recreation.”
Her words were laced with frustration. Was this the famed top crafter of the city… admitting weakness?
”The first time I ever felt defeated by you,” she continued softly, “was when I saw the spell formula that powered your Arcane Armor.”
She traced her finger over my old diagrams, her face caught between regret and nostalgia.
”You aimed to create Arcane Armor that even low-level crafters could build—cheap, simple. And even your so-called failures were beyond our reach. We barely managed a weak pseudo-orichalcum, while you dismissed it as underperforming. Honestly, I wanted to strangle you.”
She said it with a half-laugh, but her words were still terrifying.
”But my instincts told me this—here in Whirlwind, you would create technology that would last a hundred years.”
Her eyes locked onto mine.
”Tatara. After graduation, would you consider teaching?”
”…Hah!?”
That was not what I expected.
”To spark a reform in how Whirlwind views Crafting, this is what we need. That’s what I—and the rest of the city’s leadership—decided.”
”Wait. That thing Rogas said about me being the next Chief Crafter—”
”Oh, so he already mentioned it? Yes, it’s under discussion. Only two oppose it: the commerce chief, for economic reasons, and the internal affairs chief, because of your low family rank. But since Chief Crafter is defined by skill, rank doesn’t matter.”
”Even if I’m a student, barely qualified, they’d accept me?”
”They will. Without a doubt.”
”Where does that confidence come from?”
She smirked, pulling several documents from her inventory and handing them to me.
Sheets signed in blood by names I recognized.
”…I know these names.”
”Of course. They’re the heads of the city’s major schools and noble houses.”
”…Eh?”
”In other words,” Torakuma said, peeking over my shoulder, “these are the people who already acknowledge you.”
I froze. All the city’s top masters, recognizing me?
”…Why though?”
”You created things none of them could. Worse, you glanced once at their secret arts and treated them like ordinary techniques. To deny you would be madness.”
”What? I didn’t know that!”
I remembered being forced to publicly forge demonsteel, remembered the veteran masters inviting me into their workshops, where I accidentally copied their methods right in front of them…
”…Tell me, Tatara. Do you remember the faces of those who attended your demonsteel demonstration?”
”No… not clearly. Wait, don’t tell me those people—”
The mayor grinned like a villainess. A trap years in the making.
”You know, how many times have you actually gotten direct complaints from fellow crafters?”
”…Only once comes to mind—about the new Arcane Gun’s reproducibility. I don’t recall ever being confronted before.”
”That was me.”
”You!? Mayor!?”
I nearly shouted. She just shrugged.
”Don’t you understand?”
”…That no other crafter ever filed a complaint against me?”
”More precisely—no crafter could.”
I honestly couldn’t see the difference.
”Their pride is too high. They’d never stoop to whining at juniors, or even great-grandchildren by bloodline. If they lash out, it means they saw someone who shouldn’t exist.”
”…So basically, until now you’ve been the only one barely managing to replicate me. And that’s why the others screamed at you instead: ‘If you can do it, why can’t we?’”
”…I’ve been serving as Chief Crafter as well, though at this point I’ll have to hand over the title,” the mayor sighed.
”In other words, you’ve been suffering because of Tatara,” Torakuma said with a wry smile.
”Back when I heard stories from her parents about how doting they were, I never imagined things would turn out like this.”
…Wait. That’s the first I’ve heard of this.
”My parents were just ordinary explorers, right?”
”Yes, they were normal enough.”
”Tatara… you sure you’re not possessed by something strange?”
I mean, okay, I do have memories from a previous life, but still.
”Hold on. Those times you came to our house when I was a kid—”
”Your parents bragged about you. When I went to check for myself, I found a mountain of notebooks where you’d already deciphered ancient language.”
”…And then some adults tried to forcefully carry them off until the Chief Knight stopped them.”
”Well, of course they would. Ancient research notes decoded by a translator versed in both Crafting and Alchemy? That’s treasure.”
”That’s more like a thief’s reasoning.”
”How rude. I’m a noble.”
”Then that makes you a noble-thief.”
”Tatara, stop twisting words just because they sound the same.”
The mood had loosened a little.
”Still, it’s quite the coincidence,” Torakuma said. “You ended up with Crafting, Alchemy, and now archaeology as well.”
”I only picked up archaeology in middle division, after passing level 10. I had extra slots and thought it might help with research.”
”…Wait.”
”What is it?”
”Tatara, you didn’t start with archaeology?”
”Nope.”
”Then how did you decipher those ancient texts as a child?”
”Studying.”
The mayor gave a small laugh. “It was the most shocking event of the last twenty years—an elementary student translating ancient language without any skill support.”
”…So Tatara’s been ‘Tatara-ing’ since childhood.”
”Don’t turn my name into a verb.”
Great. Apparently, I was synonymous with absurdity. And honestly, this constant treatment was starting to piss me off.
”Mayor.”
”Yes?”
”You want me to teach because you want my methods to become the children’s common sense, right?”
One confirmation. If they called me abnormal, then I’d build a foundation to flip that around.
”Exactly. I want more people able to adapt your theories and mass-produce your inventions.”
”If I’m abnormal, then the whole city will be full of abnormal people.”
”And then the old values will crumble, and a new age will dawn.”
Her words were so clear-cut that I couldn’t help but laugh. Fine then. I’d create a world where calling me out-of-step meant you were the one left behind. The only ones who’d still treat me the same would be Ethelena and my idiot peers, and that much I could live with.
”…There’s one thing I’ve been wondering,” Torakuma said.
”What is it?”
”Can Tatara even teach a class?”
”Really? You ask that now?”
”Well, your papers are clear enough, but… I do worry.”
”Unbelievable. I’ve already taught juniors from the academy, you know. Just two of them, but still.”
”Eh?” Both of them stared at me like startled pigeons.
”…So there are already mini-Tataras out there?”
”Tatara, name them.”
”Shamir and Est.”
”What exactly did you teach them?”
”Right now? Weapon-making tips, tricks for working demonsteel… and how to use Appraisal.”
”…What was that last one?”
The mayor’s face twisted with a mess of emotions—half curious, half not wanting to know.
”My personal method of using Appraisal. Those two already said it was weird, but it’s just how I’ve always done it.”
”If other crafters called it strange, maybe. But when complete novices say it’s strange…” Torakuma trailed off.
”As for me,” the mayor muttered, pressing a hand to her stomach, “I’m already feeling sick at the thought of you using skills the wrong way.”
She was in pain already, not just worried.
”I told them this too: what exactly is Appraisal referencing? Back when I first used it, I had fun looking at all sorts of things. But that raised a question—shouldn’t it fail to show anything I’ve never seen before?”
”…Tatara, curiosity is a virtue, yes. But doubting the skill itself? That’s… misguided.”
”Excuse me? Doubting common sense is what drives progress.”
”…I can’t deny that, but it still feels off.”
Both Torakuma and the mayor sighed together. Maybe I should’ve just kept quiet.
”…Should I stop here?”
”No. Continue. Your… let’s call it your misalignment, might be exactly what’s needed someday.”
”Fine. So first came the question: what does Appraisal actually reference? If it were just pulling from my memory, then I shouldn’t be able to appraise mithril or orichalcum the first time I saw them, or read the names of weapons I just forged.”
”…That’s true, actually.”
”Go on.”
”My guess is that Appraisal touches the world’s memory through the skill itself. When I first made demonsteel, Appraisal didn’t work. That means the world didn’t ‘have’ demonsteel until then.”
”…Wait. Appraisal failed?”
”Yeah. Most of my so-called new tech shows up outside its scope at first. Ethelena’s Lonisera, Calmys’s Fiero—Appraisal couldn’t read their performance until they were actually used.”
”…And most recently, that new Arcane Gun.”
”Exactly. Until we test-fired it, Appraisal couldn’t tell me its power, range, or mana cost.”
The mayor frowned, clearly deep in thought. Maybe she’d seen something similar before.
”Were there any cases outside your own creations?”
”None that I recall.”
The Archangel’s sword, though… that was another matter. Its data was so dense that my brain nearly boiled when I tried to read it. Probably the same principle.
”…Which brings me to the real point.”
”Ugh, I already feel full from the appetizer…” Torakuma groaned.
”This was just the prelude,” the mayor muttered.
”Right. The issue is usage. The juniors outright denied it, but I always assumed everyone did this—doesn’t anyone use Appraisal in a deeper way?”
Her eyes sharpened dangerously. I swear she looked ready to kill.
”…Specifically?”
”By focusing harder, I can appraise something at a conceptual level. That’s how I got the hint for demonsteel.”
”…That’s the stupidest use of a skill I’ve ever heard.”
The wrinkles between her brows deepened. Looks like the juniors were right—this wasn’t normal.
”Mayor, have there been any similar records? Anything close?” Torakuma asked.
”Not once. Not in this city, past or present. Tatara is the first.”
”Damn. I hate being first in things like this.”
I’d only ever explained this conceptual use to those two juniors. Even telling the mayor, I wasn’t sure if she could really grasp it.
”What kind of hint did you get for demonsteel?”
”I filled the conceptual gaps and distortions in ordinary iron with mana. Basically, I tried Alchemy’s method of ‘fixing base metals’—and the result was demonsteel.”
”…If you were trying to make gold and ended up with something else, then yes, I can see why you’d call it a ‘failure.’”
Right. Calling demonsteel a failure wasn’t just because it was an artificial mithril reject. It was also an alchemy failure.
Still, in terms of being a technology that could be passed down, it was a failure.
”You said your juniors pointed that out to you, didn’t you?” the mayor asked.
”Yeah. Two students from the academy’s specialized course. They always came to observe. When I showed them how to make demonsteel, the conversation just sort of flowed that way.”
”So, two more victims.”
”Don’t call them that.”
Come to think of it, Est once mentioned that her teacher reacted oddly when she asked about visiting my workshop.
”And those two—could they actually use the method you taught them?”
”It’s too soon to say. I only explained it recently. I’ll ask them next class.”
”Good. If they succeed, report it to me. Candidates for inheriting this ‘Tatara Theory’ are precious. I want samples.”
”Stop treating my cute juniors like test subjects.”
”So we’re just… not questioning the whole ‘Tatara Theory’ thing anymore?”
”At this point, I might as well own it.”
If things kept going this way, those two might end up under the mayor’s protection. In the academy’s game-like events, their weak social standing often dragged them into trouble. Maybe this would sidestep that.
”How skilled are they, as crafters?”
”They’re still in middle division. Besides, it’s against academy rules to let them work in the workshop, so I haven’t seen their results.”
”…Right. That is a rule, isn’t it.”
”You’re the academy’s representative, you know. Maybe act like it?”
Honestly. Rules that could choke off advancement if ignored, and she’d nearly forgotten. Not that she hadn’t already judged my workshop unusable for anyone else, with all the modifications I’d crammed into it.
”Tatara,” Torakuma spoke up, “wasn’t this whole talk supposed to be about the armor patents?”
”…Right.”
I’d completely forgotten until he reminded me.
”This armor full of strange mechanisms—who even asked for it?”
”Client confidentiality. Can’t say.”
”Oh no, you will. Patent use requires us to confirm necessity. At least tell us the client’s name.”
”…If I said it was an ‘old man case,’ would that get me out of this?”
”…What!?”
The mayor’s reaction was explosive. So she did know about Tatia. Maybe she’d even heard from the old man himself about her noble bloodline.
”Wait… then this mechanism is… I see.”
”Just because you know who’s using it, doesn’t mean you have to act like it’s cursed.”
”Cursed plus cursed. Feels like hell just opened in front of me.”
”…So I shouldn’t have asked?” Torakuma’s eyes went dead. Too late for regrets now. That wandering-bloodline curse was her to bear.
”I did notice the light armor design. Does that mean her defenses are already absurdly high?”
”High enough I wondered if she was secretly a humanoid golem. I won’t say numbers, but they were insane.”
”Status is personal. You know sharing between spouses like you and Ethelena is extremely rare, right?”
”Well, in Ethelena’s case, her father Baral kept her wrapped in restrictions. That played a big role.”
”…He really was that overprotective, huh?”
So the mayor had spoken with Baral too. She had met my parents before—so it was possible.
”And the patent you wanted was the one about sensing bioelectric signals from prosthetics, wasn’t it?”
”Yeah. I wanted the artificial muscles to tighten reflexively, like a spinal response, to boost defense instantly.”
”…That idea alone gives me a headache.”
”Why? With refinement, it could be applied to new prosthetics too. It’s useful.”
”Maybe so. But if I don’t approve it, you’re stuck.”
”Not really. Worst case, I’ll build a formula that reacts to thought and mana reflection instead. It won’t overlap existing patents.”
”Then do that from the start.”
So, no permission after all. She clearly had her own reasons.
”Fine. Why won’t you let me use the patent, Mayor?”
”Oh? You noticed there was a reason?”
”I’m terrible at politics. Just tell me straight.”
”You’ll have a hard time as Chief Crafter if you stay that blunt.”
”Come on, I was born a commoner.”
”True. With all the outrageous things you’ve done, I forget that sometimes.”
”And I had to negotiate with my father just to let Torakuma stay in this city,” she added.
”Torakuma’s case was supposed to be a reward, though.”
The conversation started wandering again. But the mayor’s intention was clear enough.
”Wait. You’re trying to use this armor, and the client’s achievements, to make me more convincing as Chief Crafter, aren’t you?”
”Oh, you figured it out? Good boy~”
”…That’s rough.”
”Keep it up and I’ll kill you.”
Her words were sharp, but her smirk was older than her years.
”True enough,” Torakuma mused. “If Tatara produces a revolutionary armor and a knight uses it, the city will notice.”
”And if it’s built without leaning on existing patents, the impact will be even greater,” the mayor said. “If you can do it, then do it.”
”Feels like a boss just dumped an impossible task on me.”
”Not to you, Tatara,” she said. “Nothing’s impossible.”
”It’s not impossible—it’s just that the formula work is a nightmare.”
I’d have to dig through piles of reference material to even begin.
”Until the knight-in-training finishes gathering the materials, it’s on hold. Did you get Rogas’s cooperation?”
”No. He flat-out refused. Said he wouldn’t help just for a child.”
”…You really should think about positions and responsibilities, you know.”
”I’ve never heard her life story. If he won’t tell me, why should I consider it?”
”…Fine. Just make sure you protect Rogas’s kid.”
She tossed Tatia’s safety into my lap like it was nothing. Well, I’d already taken responsibility. In battle, Tatia might end up protecting me, but from politics and obligations—I’d shield her.
”Anyway, I’d better head home. Need to draft formulas and check the archives.”
”Remember—absolutely no taking documents out.”
”Obviously.”
The city’s archives had the strictest security—physical and magical. Just stepping out of line would turn you into charcoal.
And yet, somewhere in there sat the notes I’d written as a child. Just thinking about it made me want to die.
”See you, Tatara. Next time, bring Ethelena too!”
”Yeah, Torakuma. If I can.”
I waved back lightly and left the office.
Time to study. Time to make something new.
That night, I sat down with the patent formulas I’d crammed into my head and began constructing a completely separate control formula. Adjusting it against Black Iron Armor, the feedback clicked into place. It would fit Tatia perfectly.
I was satisfied with my progress—until Ethelena and Tatia came home.
When I went to greet them at the entrance, I found them both in tatters.
”Tatara… I don’t think I can handle just the two of us with Tatia,” Ethelena whispered, exhausted.
Her drained face contrasted starkly with Tatia’s bright, satisfied grin.
I froze.
What the hell had happened?
I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know.
Notes:
• Calmys – War God’s knight, Mayor’s guard chief, whip-master hiding as a swordswoman; sharp tongue, big-sister vibe to Tatara, grants him and Ethelena church protection.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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