𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗿 for 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 - 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸
⤷ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀.ᐟ ˎˊ˗ you’re in the stadium while watching them do what they’re were supposed to do, you started to cheer for them.
they definitely heard you from afar cheering on for them.. what will they do next?
⤷ 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴.ᐟ ˎˊ˗ ego jinpachi ৴ michael kaiser ৴ sae itoshi ৴ isagi yoichi ৴ rin itoshi ৴ bachira meguru ৴ nagi seishiro ৴ shidou ryusei ৴ chigiri hyoma ৴ don lorenzo ৴ kunigami rensuke ৴ aoshi tokimitsu ৴ mikage reo ৴ bunny iglesias
𑣲 EGO JINPACHI
the final whistle blows. and just like that blue lock wins.
the field is loud with cheers, players collapsing, shouting, celebrating.
ego stands at the edge with his arms crossed, eyes already cutting through the noise. the score doesn’t surprise him. the result doesn’t either.
it went how it should. then he hears it. your voice.
“ego!”
it cuts through the crowd in a way nothing else does. he stiffens, just slightly.
“that was amazing! your plan worked perfectly! they won because of you!”
ego exhales through his nose. “…obvious,” he mutters. “they followed the optimal route.”
but he turns this time.
fully.
his eyes find you in the stands, clapping, smiling like you’re proud of him. not the goals. not the players. him.
something shifts.
his shoulders drop a little. the tight line of his mouth eases. he adjusts his glasses, not to hide—just to give himself a second.
“…you’re too loud,” he says quietly.
but there’s no bite to it.
when the players run past him, celebrating, ego gives his usual sharp orders. yet his voice is calmer. steadier. like the edge has dulled just a little.
after the match, when you meet him in the hallway, he stops when he sees you. really stops. studies your face like he’s confirming something.
“…you were watching,” he says.
you nod.
he looks away for a moment, then back again. “the execution wasn’t perfect,” he adds. “but your assessment wasn’t wrong.”
it’s a strange thing to say. careful. almost kind.
later, alone in the monitoring room, ego replays the match footage. when a goal lands exactly as planned, his lips twitch—barely.
he thinks of your voice in the stands. the way you said his name like it mattered.
“…annoying,” he murmurs.
but this time, he doesn’t sound irritated.
he sounds… pleased.
𑣲 MICHAEL KAISER
the clock is almost out.
michael’s lungs burn, legs heavy, sweat dripping into his eyes. the score is tied. the crowd is loud, restless, desperate.
he hates this feeling.
pressure crawling under his skin, old thoughts trying to drag him down.
the ball comes to him. his instinct takes over.
one sharp turn. a burst forward. the shot leaves his foot clean and fast.
goal.
the stadium explodes. for a second, michael can’t breathe. but then he hears it.
your voice.
“michael!”
clear. loud. shaking with excitement. “you did it! i knew you would!”
his chest tightens.
his grin comes fast and wild, almost reckless. he pumps his fist, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out of his ribs. for once, the cheers don’t feel like noise.
they feel like validation.
he looks up, scanning the stands until he finds you. you’re clapping, eyes shining, yelling his name like it belongs to you.
something in him cracks open.
“…yeah,” he mutters, breathless. “i did.”
he points toward the stands without thinking. just for a second. just enough.
after the match, when the team crowds around him, michael laughs louder than usual. his confidence is back, burning bright.
but when he finally breaks away and finds you, his voice drops.
“you saw that?” he asks, almost unsure.
when you nod, he lets out a shaky laugh and pulls you into a tight hug, forehead pressing to yours.
“…i really needed that,” he admits quietly.
and the sound of your cheer stays with him long after the stadium goes quiet.
𑣲 SAE ITOSHI
the match is intense from start to finish.
sae moves across the field with sharp control, every pass clean, every decision precise. he doesn’t look at the stands. he never does. crowds are noise. distractions.
until he hears it. his name.
“sae!”
the voice cuts through everything. he stiffens for half a step.
then you cheer again, louder this time. “that’s my midfielder! you’re amazing!”
his eyes flick up before he can stop himself.
he sees you. wearing his jersey. his number. his name on your back.
something tight in his chest pulls hard.
he almost misses the next pass.
almost.
he recovers instantly, jaw setting, focus snapping back into place. the rest of the match blurs. his movements are sharper. faster. more decisive, like he’s proving something.
when the final whistle blows and his team wins, sae exhales slowly.
he doesn’t celebrate.
but his eyes find you again in the stands.
after the match, in the tunnel, he pauses when he sees you. the noise fades around him. sweat still clings to his skin, breath steady but deep.
“…you wore it,” he says.
it’s not a question.
you nod, smiling.
he looks away for a moment, then back. his hand lifts, fingers brushing the sleeve of your jersey, careful, almost reverent.
“…don’t do that,” he murmurs.
you tilt your head. “why?”
his thumb presses lightly against the fabric. “…it makes it hard to ignore.”
he lets his hand fall, composure returning. but when he walks away, there’s the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.
𑣲 RIN ITOSHI
the score is bad.
rin hates that.
his team is behind, the clock is running out, and the pressure is thick in his chest. every mistake feels louder. every second burns.
his jaw tightens. not like this.
he forces his focus forward, shutting out everything else. the field narrows. the ball, the goal, the path between them. nothing else matters.
then he hears it.
“rin!”
your voice. sharp. desperate. believing. “don’t give up! you can still win!”
his breath catches for half a second.
he doesn’t look at the stands. he can’t. if he does, he knows he’ll lose control. instead, his grip tightens, eyes burning with new fire.
“…tch,” he mutters. “like i would.”
he moves.
faster than before. smarter. reading the field like it’s written just for him. he steals the ball, drives forward, scores.
the crowd screams. again. another play. another chance. another goal.
the scoreboard flips.
win.
when the final whistle blows, rin stands there, chest heaving, sweat dripping, hands shaking just a little.
then he looks up.
he finds you.
you’re cheering so hard it looks like it hurts, smiling like you knew this would happen all along.
his expression softens—just a crack. barely there.
after the match, when you reach him near the sidelines, he avoids your eyes at first.
“…you were loud,” he says.
you laugh.
his fingers curl into his jersey, knuckles white. “…don’t do that,” he adds quietly. “it messes with my head.”
but when you smile at him, proud and warm, he doesn’t pull away.
instead, he leans closer and murmurs, almost too soft to hear,
“…keep cheering anyway.”
because somehow, hearing your voice was what pulled him back when everything was about to fall apart
𑣲 ISAGI YOICHI
isagi’s head is full. too many thoughts, too many paths, too many what ifs. his heart pounds hard in his chest, doubt creeping in like it always tries to.
am i reading this right? what if i mess it up?
the score is close. one mistake could end everything.
he presses his hands into his shorts, breathing slow, forcing himself to think. he scans the field, eyes sharp but tired. he sees the openings, the movements, the future he wants to create.
then—
“isagi!”
your voice breaks through the noise.
he flinches, surprised.
“you’ve got this! trust yourself!”
his chest tightens.
you’re there. watching him. believing in him. for a moment, his doubt screams louder.
“what if i fail in front of you?” then something changes. “what if i don’t?”
his breathing steadies. the field clicks into place like a puzzle snapping together. the routes, the timing, the perfect spot.
“yeah…” he whispers to himself. “i see it now.”
the ball comes to him.
he moves, not rushing, not hesitating. every step is clear. every choice his own. he passes once, runs, gets it back, and shoots.
goal.
the sound of the crowd washes over him, but all he hears is your cheer. loud, excited, proud.
his eyes widen. then he smiles—wide and real, not holding back.
he pumps his fist, laughing under his breath. “i did it.”
when the match ends and his team wins, isagi feels lighter. like a weight he’s carried forever finally loosened.
the later, when he finds you, he rubs the back of his neck, cheeks a little red.
“…i was really scared,” he admits. “but when i heard you, everything felt clear.”
he looks at you, eyes bright and honest.
“thanks for believing in me,” he says softly. “even when i wasn’t sure i could.”
and this time, he believes it too.
𑣲 BACHIRA MEGURU
bachira moves like he always does, laughing under his breath, feet light, the ball glued to him. the field feels fun today, like it’s inviting him to play harder, freer.
then he hears you.
“bachira!”
his head snaps up.
there you are.
his grin spreads instantly, wide and unguarded. his chest warms in a way that has nothing to do with running.
“…found you,” he whispers. the monster inside him hums happily.
from that moment on, he plays differently. more daring. more playful. every dribble feels like a little show, every pass like a joke meant just for you.
the ball comes back to him near the goal.
he doesn’t hesitate. one clean move, one sharp shot—
goal.
the stadium explodes.
bachira laughs out loud as he turns toward the stands. his eyes search quickly, urgently, until they lock onto you.
then he lifts his hands.
his fingers come together, slowly, clearly, forming a heart.
right at you.
he holds it there for a second longer than needed, smiling so brightly it almost hurts to look at. then he points at you, taps his chest, and laughs.
“that one’s yours!”
his teammates shout at him to hurry, but he jogs back still grinning, cheeks flushed, energy buzzing.
after the match, when he finally reaches you, he’s still glowing.
“did you see?” he asks, eyes shining. “i made it just for you.”
he leans in close, voice softer now.
“when you watch me,” he says, “soccer feels like love.”
and he laughs again, because with you there, it really does.
𑣲 NAGI SEISHIRO
nagi feels it in every part of him. his legs are heavy, his chest tight, and his head is full of too many thoughts at once.
the scoreboard is against his team, the other team dominating, and every pass he tries to make feels slow, clumsy, like he’s moving underwater.
he hates it, hates how helpless it feels, hates how his own mistakes keep repeating in his mind.
he stands there for a moment too long, watching his teammates run past, their movements sharp and precise while he feels stuck.
his hands twitch at his sides, restless, but every move he makes seems wrong.
maybe i’m the reason we’re losing, he thinks, heart tightening. maybe i don’t belong here.
maybe i’m just… slowing everyone down. the thought presses into his chest, heavy and cold.
then—
“nagi!”
the voice slices through the noise of the stadium, sharp and warm at the same time. it’s yours. clear. full of energy, full of belief.
“you can still do it! i believe in you!”
he freezes for a second, caught off guard, and then slowly his head tilts up.
he sees you in the stands, leaning forward, eyes bright, hands cupped around your mouth, shouting his name with everything you’ve got.
your smile is steady and confident, like nothing could break it. it reaches him. it hits him in a way nothing else has all day.
something in him shifts. the weight in his chest eases slightly, and the knot of doubt loosens, just enough for him to remember what he can do.
“…you’re loud,” he mutters under his breath, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. but it isn’t mocking—it’s acknowledgment.
acknowledgment that somehow, hearing you, seeing your face, believing in him, makes all the pressure feel lighter, like the noise of the stadium and the fear of losing suddenly don’t matter as much.
the ball rolls toward him. his legs respond without hesitation. no clumsiness, no doubt, just movement, fluid and sure, as if his body remembered what his mind almost forgot.
he traps the ball perfectly, feeling the control, feeling the rhythm of the game settle into him.
one defender approaches, then another, and he weaves through them with precision, steps light, eyes sharp, timing perfect.
the opening appears, almost like it’s been there the whole time, waiting for him to see it.
he shoots.
goal.
the stadium explodes. the roar is deafening. the scoreboard flips. victory.
nagi exhales deeply, shoulders dropping, feeling a tension he didn’t even realize he’d been holding finally release.
his chest feels lighter, the tightness gone, replaced by something soft, warm, almost dizzying. he looks up, and his eyes find you again.
there you are, still cheering, still smiling, still believing. the world quiets around him for a moment, like everything else fades and all that exists is you.
“…guess i didn’t lose after all,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with relief, a small smile finally breaking through.
later, after the match, when he finally meets you by the sidelines, he scratches the back of his neck, eyes soft, face still flushed from the game but glowing in a different way.
“when you cheered,” he admits quietly, almost shyly, “it didn’t feel like a pain anymore. it felt… like i could do it.”
he pauses, looks down at his cleats for a moment, then back at you, a small, hopeful grin spreading.
“…next time… cheer again,” he says softly, a quiet request hiding in his words.
𑣲 RYUSEI SHIDOU
shidou thrives in chaos. letting instinct take over. defenders stumble, the ball rolls fast, passes are reckless but perfect in their randomness. it’s exactly how he likes it.
but suddenly, a sharp sound cuts through the roar of the stadium.
“shidou!”
your voice. clear, urgent, full of excitement, echoing over the chaos.
he freezes mid-dribble for half a second. it shouldn’t matter. he shouldn’t notice. chaos is his home.
but he does.
“…huh?” he mutters, almost laughing. a grin spreads across his face, wild and uneven.
his eyes scan the stands until they find you, leaning forward, hands cupped around your mouth, yelling his name like you’re the only person there.
just enough for him to feel something he rarely allows warmth. a strange pull, a tether to the ground in the middle of all the noise.
then instinct kicks back in. faster. sharper. smarter. his movements are alive with energy, but now, there’s purpose behind them—just enough to aim for the goal, just enough to take control of the chaos.
he winds up, shoots.
goal.
the crowd erupts, but shidou doesn’t move toward them.
he looks at you again, grinning wide, chest heaving, hair sticking to his sweat-soaked face. his fingers twitch in the air like he wants to reach out but doesn’t.
“…that one’s for you,” he mutters, barely loud enough for you to hear.
after the match, when the players are celebrating around him, shidou stalks straight toward the stands.
his grin softens a fraction, chaotic energy still there but now tempered by something quieter, something he can’t usually name.
“…you really saw that, huh?” he says, leaning slightly forward, voice rough but sincere.
you nod.
he lets out a laugh, sudden and unpredictable, then shoves a hand through his hair. “…don’t stop cheering, got it? it… keeps me alive.”
𑣲 CHIGIRI HYOMA
the match is intense, but chigiri moves through it like he owns every step.
defenders stumble in his path, passes bend to his will, and he smirks almost constantly, daring anyone to keep up.
he loves it—he thrives on being faster, sharper, better than everyone else.
and then he hears it.
“chigiri!”
your voice cuts through the roar of the stadium. it’s not loud like the crowd, not part of the chaos.
it’s yours. bright. teasing. sharp. confident.
he freezes mid-dribble, barely, just long enough to feel it. it’s a strange feeling, something heavier than the match itself. his grin twitches, uneven, slightly caught off guard.
“…what?” he mutters under his breath, trying to play it off. cocky, casual, like he doesn’t care.
but his eyes flick up to the stands anyway, scanning until they find you, arms clapped, face glowing, cheering him on.
and suddenly, the confidence he’s always had feels… warmer. softer. like he doesn’t just want to win for himself—he wants you to see him at his best.
he shakes his head slightly, trying to push the thought away.
“…don’t make me think too much,” he says, voice rough but playful. he dribbles past a defender, smirking, letting his ego shine.
but even as he shows off, he keeps stealing glances at you. your cheer makes him bolder, faster, sharper—but also… quieter in a strange way he doesn’t like admitting.
by the end of the match, chigiri hasn’t scored the final goal or done anything dramatic for you. he doesn’t need to.
when you meet him after the game, he approaches with that cocky swagger, grin wide, hair sticking to his forehead.
“…so you were watching?” he asks, trying to sound casual, teasing.
you nod, smiling.
he smirks, flicking his hair back and pretending to look unimpressed. “…hm. thought so.”
then, for a moment, his grin softens. just a fraction. his shoulders relax slightly, and his gaze lingers on you longer than he thinks anyone would notice.
“…cheer louder next time,” he murmurs, almost to himself, almost joking. “makes me feel… unstoppable.”
𑣲 DON LORENZO
lorenzo moves like he’s untouchable. his every step is confident, precise, even a little playful.
defenders try to read him, but he changes direction, tempo, and angle too quickly—they never know what’s coming. he thrives on unpredictability, on being one step ahead, always just a little wild.
then, a voice cuts through the noise.
“lorenzo!”
your voice. sharp, clear, full of energy, and completely impossible to ignore.
he falters for a split second, just enough to feel it in his chest. his smirk twitches.
instinctively, he glances toward the stands, scanning until he finds you, arms waving, eyes bright, smiling like you’re daring him to do more, to show off even harder.
for a moment, the chaos of the field—the shouts, the ball, the pounding of feet—falls away. he’s only aware of you.
he shakes his head slightly, a laugh escaping, low and wild.
“…so you’re watching me,” he mutters, almost to himself. “hm… bold.”
the next play comes fast. lorenzo moves with that same confident swagger, dribbling, feinting, taunting defenders with impossible little tricks.
he isn’t trying to score, not yet. he’s playing for himself. for the rush.
but every now and then, his eyes flick to you. your cheer pushes him forward.
he adjusts his speed just a fraction, times his moves just so, making each flick of the ball, each twist of his body, sharper and more precise than before.
the crowd scream around him, but he’s aware only of your voice in the stands, calling his name, bright and steady.
it makes his chest tighten in a strange way, a mix of excitement and something softer he doesn’t like to name.
after the match, lorenzo walks off the field with that usual cocky stride, hair sticking to his forehead, sweat running down his temples. he finds you immediately.
“…so, you came to see me,” he says, voice low, teasing. “…hm. i like that.”
you grin.
he smirks back, tossing his towel over his shoulder, trying to act like he’s unaffected.
but when he leans just a little closer, letting his hand brush yours as he passes, his eyes soften. the grin doesn’t falter, but there’s warmth behind it, unspoken and quiet.
“…cheer for me next time too,” he murmurs, almost to himself, almost teasing. “makes me… feel alive.”
𑣲 KUNIGAMI RENSUKE
the match has been tense from the start.
kunigami runs across the field, sweat soaking his jersey, muscles burning, but something keeps nagging at the back of his mind. he hasn’t scored yet, not even close, and he can feel it.
every miss, every failed attempt sticks in his chest like a weight. the other team is strong, quick, organized. his team is relying on him.
“come on… get it together”, he mutters under his breath. his jaw tightens. he’s usually so controlled, so fair and steady. but today… today he feels it slipping.
then—
“kunigami!”
your voice cuts through the noise of the stadium. bright, warm, clear.
“you can do it! i know you can score!”
he freezes mid-dribble, cheeks heating almost immediately. his eyes snap to the stands, scanning frantically until they find you.
you’re there, arms raised, smiling, bright eyes focused on him like he’s the only player that matters.
he stammers under his breath, “you’re cheering… for me?”
the question is quiet, more to himself than anyone else. his shoulders tense, then relax a little, heart beating faster in a way that has nothing to do with running.
the fluster makes him clumsy for half a second, but it also sparks something else—something sharper, more confident.
he nods to himself, muttering, “…i can do this.”
the ball comes toward him again. his legs move fast, but this time his mind feels lighter, sharper.
every step is clearer, every angle obvious. he fakes left, pivots right, dodges a defender, and sees the opening.
he shoots.
goal.
the screams of the crowd is massive, but kunigami barely hears it.
all he notices is your wide, cheering face. your smile. your belief in him. and suddenly, he feels like he’s done more than just score—he’s proven something to himself.
he wipes sweat from his forehead, still flustered, cheeks pink, breathing hard. he glances at you again and lets out a small laugh, nervous and happy all at once.
“thanks,” he mutters, almost embarrassed. “… you made me do it.”
after the match, when he walks toward you, he scratches the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for just a second before finally looking up.
“i didn’t think i could,” he admits quietly. “but hearing you it helped. more than i expected.”
𑣲 AOSHI TOKIMITSU
aoshi’s chest feels tight. his legs feel heavy, even though he’s running as fast as he can.
every pass, every move, every choice feels like it could ruin everything. his team is losing, and he can feel the pressure building up inside him.
the stadium is loud, people shouting and stomping, but it all feels like it’s pressing on him.
don’t mess this up… please don’t…
his hands twitch at his sides. his jaw is tight. his thoughts are spinning, doubt clawing at him like it wants to stop him.
“aoshi!”
your voice cuts through the noise. clear, bright, full of warmth.
“you can do it! i believe in you!”
his breath catches. he freezes for a moment, staring at the field. then he looks up and sees you in the stands, leaning forward, smiling, yelling his name like it matters more than anything else.
something in his chest changes. the tight, heavy knot of worry loosens. confidence sparks inside him.
“okay… i can do this. i have to do this.”
the ball rolls to him. he moves, faster and sharper now, each step sure and steady. he dodges one defender, then another, and sees the opening. he pushes himself harder than before.
he shoots.
goal.
the stadium yells, but all aoshi hears is your voice cheering for him.
it lifts him up, makes him feel like he can do anything. like he belongs on the field.
his heart pounds. sweat drips down his face. he spins toward the stands and finds you.
you’re clapping and smiling, eyes shining, still cheering. his chest tightens again, but this time in a good way.
when the match ends, he doesn’t run to his teammates. he runs straight to you, stumbling a little, breathless, cheeks red.
he hugs you tightly, forehead against yours, holding you like he can finally let go of all his fear.
“…i did it,” he whispers, voice shaking but happy. “…thanks to you.”
you laugh softly, hugging him back.
“…don’t stop cheering,” he says, quietly, almost embarrassed. “…please. i… i need it.”
𑣲 REO MIKAGE
reo runs across the field, moving like he owns it, every step sharp and confident. his teammates look to him for direction, but he’s always thinking one step ahead, always looking for the opening.
the score is close, and every second matters.
then he hears it.
“reo!”
your voice cuts through the crowd. bright, loud, full of energy.
he freezes for a tiny moment, heart skipping. then he looks up and sees you.
you’re leaning forward, smiling, clapping, shouting his name like you believe in him more than anyone else in the stadium.
a grin spreads across his face, wide and teasing.
“…you’re loud,” he mutters, almost to himself. but there’s no bite in his words—just something soft he can’t hide.
the ball comes to him. he moves faster now, sharper, more daring. he dribbles past one defender, then another, weaving through the chaos with that smooth, confident flair only he can pull off.
he sees the opening, the chance to finish this, and he doesn’t hesitate. he shoots.
goal.
the stadium explodes around him. fans are screaming, but all he notices is you.
he spins toward the stands, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, hair sticking to his forehead.
then he lifts his hands, fingers forming a perfect heart, and blows it directly at you.
“that’s for you!” he shouts, laughing, eyes sparkling.
his teammates cheer, some rolling their eyes, but he doesn’t care. he’s focused only on you, on the way you’re laughing, clapping, bright and happy.
after the match, when he finally reaches you by the sidelines, he’s still grinning, still full of that wild energy.
“…did you see?” he asks, voice playful. “i made it just for you.”
you nod, laughing.
he leans forward, brushing his hands over yours, still smiling that cheeky grin. “…your cheer… it made me do better. it made me… unstoppable.”
𑣲 BUNNY IGLESIGAS
bunny moves smoothly across the field, calm and precise, every step measured, every pass careful.
his teammates look to him, but he rarely shows emotion. he doesn’t shout, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even celebrate—he just focuses.
until he hears it.
“bunny!”
your voice. soft, but full of warmth and encouragement, cutting through the noise of the stadium.
he freezes for just a moment, heart skipping a beat he rarely admits exists.
his calm, polite mask wavers slightly. he scans the stands and sees you—cheering quietly but clearly for him, eyes shining, hands clapping with that soft, steady rhythm that makes him feel… safe.
“…you’re here,” he whispers to himself, almost inaudible. his lips twitch into a small, nervous smile.
suddenly, the pressure on the field feels lighter. the tension in his chest eases just a little.
every pass, every step, every choice he makes feels sharper, more confident. he moves with purpose now, not just careful, but certain.
the ball comes to him near the goal. he fakes left, spins, and shoots. goal.
the stadium erupts, but bunny barely notices the noise.
all he sees is you, smiling, clapping, proud and calm. the warmth in your gaze reaches him in a way no victory could.
he leans forward slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, cheeks pink despite himself. his voice is soft, almost shy as he says, “you… you believed in me.”
when the match ends, he walks slowly to you, hands slightly trembling, still trying to hide how much your presence affects him.
“…thanks,” he murmurs, finally letting himself relax. “…your cheer… it helped me. more than i expected.”
you smile at him, and he hesitates for a moment before offering a small, careful hug. his arms are gentle, holding you like he’s afraid to let go too soon.
“…don’t stop cheering,” he whispers quietly into your shoulder, voice low but sincere. “…it… it keeps me steady.”
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