The moment they crossed into Brazil's half, the pressure intensified sharply.
Le Kai didn't dwell on the ball. He shifted it quickly to Jia Zhenhua.
Jia advanced down the flank, squaring up against Alves. He didn't hesitate—two quick step-overs, then a sudden burst down the outside.
But Alves reacted instantly, matching him stride for stride and shutting the lane down.
Just as Jia Zhenhua started to panic, a voice came from behind him.
"Lay it back!"
He turned and saw Le Kai already closing in. Without hesitation, Jia rolled the ball back.
Le Kai cushioned it with the top of his foot, nudged it sideways, and surged forward in one fluid motion. Fernandinho lunged to press—but missed completely.
Now carrying the ball diagonally toward the edge of the box, Le Kai kept glancing up, tracking the goalkeeper's movement.
Cesar was locked onto him.
Too locked on.
Le Kai frowned inwardly.
This guy doesn't blink.
He released the ball quickly, switching play to Chen Man.
Chen Man tried again to use his pace to overpower Marcelo, but the distance was too short to fully accelerate. Marcelo stayed tight, forcing a mistake and winning the ball.
"Damn it!"
Chen Man cursed under his breath and immediately turned to chase back.
Le Kai spun around and sprinted as well.
The moment possession was lost, every Chinese player dropped their head and ran.
Fernando Kairui shouted instructions at the back, organizing the line. Watching the forwards and midfielders sprinting back in unison, he suddenly felt a strange sense of familiarity.
It reminded him of Atlético Madrid.
Under Simeone, that was exactly how they played—total commitment.
Attack together.
Defend together.
China wasn't Atlético Madrid, of course.
They couldn't truly execute total football.
At best, it was total defense—while the attack still depended on a handful of players.
Even so, their recovery was fast. They dropped back into shape before Brazil could launch a proper counter.
Seeing no clear opening, Brazil slowed down, circulating the ball around the edge of the penalty area.
China wasn't about to let them settle.
Wang Yi, Jia Zhenhua, and Chen Man pressed relentlessly, sticking tight, harassing every touch. Others stepped in and out, disrupting passing lanes.
Brazil's rhythm began to wobble.
And then—an opening.
Chen Man, relentless to the end, lunged in with perfect timing and poked the ball away from Oscar.
It rolled straight to Guo Liang.
"Run!!!"
Le Kai roared, exploding forward once more.
Wang Yi, Chen Man, and Jia Zhenhua—all of them sprinted.
This stretch was brutal. Sprint after sprint. But Brazil didn't immediately track back.
It was an old problem.
Explosive going forward.
Casual when retreating.
China seized it.
This time, six players surged forward.
Wang Yi.
Chen Man.
Jia Zhenhua.
Le Kai.
Guo Liang.
Gong Peng.
At first, Brazil didn't react strongly. In previous counters, only Wang Yi and Chen Man had gone forward.
This time—it was a wave.
"Get back! Get back! Drop!"
Thiago Silva shouted as he turned and ran, urging his teammates to recover.
But realization came too late.
Brazil's midfield was already behind the play.
They could only hope the defenders could delay long enough.
China knew it too.
Time was everything.
They had to shoot—now.
Guo Liang curled a perfect instep pass toward Chen Man.
Speed was Chen Man's greatest weapon. The tempo instantly lifted.
Duan Xuan's voice rose with excitement.
"China is breaking fast—six players in the counter! Guo Liang finds Chen Man, and this suits China perfectly!"
Marcelo stepped up, but Chen Man didn't overplay it. One touch sideways—clean, decisive.
The ball went to Wang Yi.
Wang Yi drove straight between Thiago Silva and David Luiz, slicing into the box.
As the center-backs closed in, he flicked the ball backward with his heel—without breaking stride.
The ball rolled into space.
Le Kai was there.
But the shooting lane was almost completely sealed by bodies.
No time.
No hesitation.
Le Kai clenched his teeth and struck the ball with the top of his foot, lifting it deliberately.
His toe angled upward.
The ball rose, arcing cleanly over David Luiz. Luiz even leaned back, craning his neck—but it was nowhere near enough.
The ball drifted toward the goal.
Too high.
At least—that's what everyone thought.
All eyes followed it.
Chinese fans stood frozen, necks stretched, hearts pounding.
Go in.
Please—go in.
Then, impossibly, the ball dipped.
Sudden. Violent. Unforgiving.
It dropped straight into the top-right corner.
Dead corner.
César stretched with all his might, but it wasn't enough.
Goal.
84th minute.
2–2.
For a split second, the entire stadium fell silent.
Did it really go in?
Referee Howard Webb pointed to the center circle.
Goal confirmed.
BOOM——!!!
The stadium exploded.
Chinese fans leapt to their feet in disbelief.
They had almost accepted the end.
But the players hadn't.
"It's equalized! It's equalized! My God—China has equalized! Kai! Kai! The shield. The wall. Mr. Unbreakable personified needed to have the last words of the game. From sprinting and tackling all game, the Arsenal man comes up with the goods once again. Oh my days."
Duan Xuan had completely lost his composure.
No one could stay calm.
They had written the ending already.
And then—this.
Two consecutive surges.
The second one changed everything.
Tao Wei forced himself to analyze, voice trembling.
" We all thought it was over. The world thought it was over. Brazil thought it was over."
"And then Kai—Damn it—This man is unbelievable!"
On the pitch, Chinese players piled onto Le Kai, dragging him to the turf.
Laughing. Shouting. Almost crying.
It was real.
They had equalized.
Sky Sports commentator Paul Merson roared:
"It's 2–2! China is level—and once again, it's Kai! We've seen this so many times. Big moments, big pressure—and Kai delivers big time!"
"This is his quality! The Arsenal man always fights to the end!"
After catching his breath, Merson chuckled.
"After England's exit, I think this will be some comfort for Arsenal fans. Look at that—what a captain you have."
...
Oak Tree Bar, North London
"Kai! Kai! Kai! Kai!"
The name echoed through the bar.
Arsenal fans were losing their minds.
They might not understand Chinese football.
But they understood Kai.
.
"Wouldn't it be something if Kai were an England player?"
Billy stared at the screen, watching the sea of passionate Chinese supporters, his voice thick with envy.
England's group stage had been nothing but silence. Endless silence.
By the end, it wasn't disappointment anymore—it was a complete mental collapse.
The "Three Lions," once hyped as contenders, were reduced to "Three Kittens," brushed aside by Costa Rica, Italy, and Uruguay.
When the group stage ended, the collective psyche of English fans had already shattered.
The same media outlets that had loudly praised England before the tournament suddenly went quiet. At that point, anyone daring to mention the England team risked igniting a firestorm.
Best case? Online abuse.
Worst case? Fans were showing up at the media office doors, shouting in protest.
English supporters were fragile. Sensitive. Wounded.
A nation proud of being football's birthplace had just endured a humiliating World Cup.
Afterward, England's players were relentlessly attacked—on social media, personal accounts, and in headlines. It was brutal.
And the worst part? They couldn't defend themselves.
Just days after the elimination, Sterling went on holiday. Photos surfaced of him smiling on a yacht.
The reaction was instant and explosive.
Played like garbage—and still had the nerve to relax?
Under the fury of English fans, Sterling deleted the photos, shut down his comments, and said nothing. It didn't help.
Someone even tracked him to his vacation spot, waited overnight, and threw a rotten egg at him the next morning.
That person was hailed online.
That was the mood.
England fans were furious. Disappointed. Looking for answers—and replacements.
For Arsenal supporters, the thought was simple: if Kai were English, things wouldn't have ended like this.
Of course, it was impossible.
Billy knew that.
But this match… this match shocked him.
China had equalized against Brazil.
The hosts were in danger.
"Aos 84 minutos, a China empatou! Isso é extremamente perigoso para nós!"
The Brazilian commentator's tone was heavy.
("Eighty-fourth minute—China has equalized! This is extremely dangerous for us!")
It wasn't just him.
The players felt it.
The fans felt it.
For the first time, Brazil sensed real danger.
If things went wrong, elimination wasn't impossible.
Even Neymar's expression changed.
Earlier, he'd played freely, confidently.
Now, his face was serious.
This wasn't going to be easy anymore.
China finished celebrating.
Kai waved his arm sharply, motioning everyone back.
"Equalized! Holy crap!"
"Can we actually win?"
"There's hope!"
"One more—just one more!"
Their faces were glowing. Their exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
When people stand in darkness long enough, even the smallest light feels blinding.
And once they see it, they refuse to let go.
They hadn't come this far to quit.
Their formation dropped back instinctively. Everyone knew the truth—the equalizer came from Brazil's carelessness and a bit of fortune.
It wouldn't happen again.
Priority: stabilize.
If possible, drag it into extra time.
The match resumed.
Brazil attacked furiously.
They were anxious now.
They wanted the win. Needed it.
"Push up! Push up!"
.
.
"Shoot!"
.
.
"Track back!"
.
.
"Damn it!"
Frustration spilled from Brazilian mouths.
China, meanwhile, clenched its teeth and endured.
The pace skyrocketed.
Stamina drained from both sides.
In the 86th minute, Brazil made three substitutions at once.
Fred, Oscar, and Fernandinho off.
Jô, Ramires, and Willian on.
China responded as well.
Zhuo Yue finally came off, replaced by Jin Fucheng.
All substitution slots were gone.
Brazil's attacks grew even more aggressive.
China refused to bend.
A reckless Brazilian foul earned a yellow card—clear proof of their impatience.
Brazil did not want extra time.
Not at all.
They had lost their chance to end it early—and now they wanted to force a second ending.
China had no intention of cooperating.
Defend.
Survive.
Endure.
"They're trying to drag us into extra time!" Gustavo shouted, teeth clenched.
Brazilian faces hardened.
They couldn't accept losing to China.
They had to score.
But China wouldn't give them that chance.
Every player defended with everything they had left.
Legs aching.
Muscles trembling.
Lungs burning.
Still—they ran.
Some pinched their thighs, forcing themselves to stay focused.
Under this pressure, the Chinese players formed a steel wall, repelling attack after attack.
"Push past your limits!"
Coach Liu Hongbo roared from the sideline.
There was nothing more he could do now.
Everything depended on the players.
Even if they conceded now, they had already done enough.
But they didn't want that.
They wanted more.
At that moment, Liu Hongbo and his staff felt it—everything they'd done mattered.
Chinese football still had a future.
And they were lighting the way forward.
The fourth official raised the board.
Four minutes of stoppage time.
Kai frowned.
After so many fouls, four minutes felt generous.
"Last four minutes!" Kai shouted.
"Got it!"
"Hold on, brothers!"
"Run—don't stop!"
"Wang Yi! Get back and defend!"
"Clear it! Clear it!"
The shouts reflected soaring morale.
The crowd followed suit.
Chinese fans screamed until their voices broke.
They were few—but they wanted to be heard.
They wanted the players to know they weren't alone.
These fans came from everywhere. Different accents. Different lives.
But in this moment, they were all the same.
They were Chinese.
Same roots. Same blood.
Fighting for the same badge.
"Hold on!"
"Go for it!"
"Run!"
"Look up!"
"Two more minutes!"
Time crawled forward.
Brazil's attacks began to lose edge.
Kai glanced up and saw it—fatigue. Frustration. Doubt.
He checked the clock.
90+4.
Then—
The whistle.
Sharp. Final.
Regular time was over.
Brazil 2.
China 2.
China had held on.
Now came extra time.
And possibly—the cruel lottery of penalties.
Against Brazil.
But for now, they were still standing.
...
"Quick, sit down—don't stand!"
Because there was barely any time to rest before extra time, none of the players returned to the locker room. Instead, they dropped straight to the ground in front of the bench.
Chinese players lay scattered across the touchline, jerseys soaked through, sweat dripping steadily from their chins. Their chests rose and fell violently, eyes burning red with exhaustion.
Most of them shut their eyes, breathing hard, while coaches, medical staff, and even the team manager rushed over, kneeling beside them to massage cramped muscles and loosen stiff joints.
Assistant coach Zhang Chen dragged over a large cooler filled with ice packs. Without hesitation, he began stuffing them directly into the players' shorts to cool them down.
Practical, effective, no nonsense.
He moved briskly through the group, growing more confident by the second.
Grab an ice pack.
Pull open the shorts.
Drop it in.
Quick rub.
Move on.
"Coach… I don't need one, right?"
Ouyang Fei grabbed Zhang Chen's arm with one hand while awkwardly tugging at his own shorts with the other.
"I didn't even get on the pitch."
Zhang Chen paused, blinked, then nodded apologetically.
"Sorry. Muscle memory."
He straightened up, scanned the group, and nodded in satisfaction once he confirmed everyone had one.
Only then did head coach Liu Hongbo step forward.
He stood in the middle of the players, voice steady, expression calm, and began explaining the plan for extra time.
There wasn't much to explain.
No complicated tactics.
No clever attacking patterns.
Just one word:
Defend.
Everyone knew the reality—China drawing with Brazil in regular time was already a miracle.
But penalties?
That was different.
A shootout erased gaps in strength, reputation, and history.
Liu Hongbo's idea was brutally simple.
Stall.
Delay.
Drag it all the way to penalties.
And once it got there?
Leave it to fate.
He announced the formation without hesitation.
"Nine–zero–one."
A full iron-wall defense.
If penalties weren't on the table, Liu Hongbo might have even substituted Wang Yi just to stack another body in the back and build a literal wall of despair.
There was still one substitution available for extra time.
He used it immediately.
"Chen Man, you're off.
Che Jingdao, get ready."
After a brief rest, everyone had recovered a little—but "a little" was all it was.
Kai pulled the ice pack out from his shorts, rose slowly, and began jogging in place, stretching his legs and loosening his shoulders.
Then he looked around and shouted hoarsely,
"Alright. Time to go again!"
One by one, the Chinese players pushed themselves up from the ground.
They walked back onto the pitch.
At the same time, inside the CCTV commentary booth, Duan Xuan's voice carried unmistakable excitement.
"Extra time is about to begin! And honestly, this match has already exceeded every expectation we had before kickoff."
He leaned forward.
"Thanks to these players' sheer persistence, China has dragged Brazil into extra time!"
"Thirty more minutes," he continued, "fifteen minutes each half. If the score remains level, we'll go to the cruelest stage in football—a penalty shootout!"
When mentioning penalties, Duan Xuan didn't sound fearful.
He sounded eager.
Because beating Brazil in open play was close to impossible.
But penalties?
That was a coin toss.
After 120 minutes of relentless football, both teams would be physically and mentally drained to their limits.
At that point, reputation meant nothing.
It came down to technique—and luck.
And that was China's best chance.
As Duan Xuan spoke, extra time officially began.
Viewership numbers surged steadily.
Fans around the world were tuning in.
What was supposed to be a routine Brazil-versus-underdog match had turned into a shocker.
China had scored twice.
They had survived ninety minutes.
And now, they were threatening to knock the hosts out of the World Cup.
An unexpected match.
A mismatch on paper—yet utterly gripping.
No one had imagined the first Round of 16 match would unfold like this.
Not even Brazil.
Bang!
Extra time had barely started when Neymar fired a long-range shot from outside the box.
But Tong Lei stayed razor-sharp, diving cleanly and pushing the ball away.
In this match, Tong Lei's performance was outstanding in every aspect.
Rumors were already circulating—several Bundesliga clubs had taken notice, and a transfer abroad next season was very possible.
For Chinese football, that was nothing but good news.
One more overseas player meant another step forward in overall strength.
And the World Cup had always been this kind of stage.
Countless unknown players had used it to leap into Europe's top leagues.
Still, the most watched man on the pitch remained Kai.
Arsenal had made their stance clear.
They weren't letting him go.
Otherwise, Europe's giants would already be fighting tooth and nail for his signature.
.
"Push up! Push up!"
Tong Lei caught Brazil's corner cleanly in the air and immediately shouted instructions.
He launched a long kick downfield.
Kai controlled it with his chest in midfield.
Without turning, he twisted his body and struck the ball cleanly on the half-volley.
The pass sliced between Neymar and Gustavo, flying straight toward Wang Yi.
Wang Yi sprinted desperately—but Thiago Silva stayed tight behind him, using his body perfectly and denying him any chance to touch the ball.
"Wang Yi's stamina is completely gone," Duan Xuan said with a sigh.
Tao Wei nodded grimly. "He can't make those runs anymore."
Brazil attacked harder.
Faster.
More urgently.
They absolutely did not want penalties.
But China's defense was unyielding.
Nine players behind the ball.
No space.
No gaps.
Time ticked away.
Fifteen minutes passed in a blur.
Brazilian players began arguing, shouting at one another, frustration boiling over.
China's players didn't even have the energy for that.
They collapsed back onto the bench like corpses.
Second half of extra time.
China rebuilt its iron curtain.
The instruction was simple:
Don't let them into the box.
Let them shoot from a distance.
Never lose the second ball.
Kai gasped for air.
This match felt heavier than any he'd ever played.
Far heavier.
Yet he wasn't annoyed.
Because victory was still visible—faint, but real.
"Clear it!"
Tong Lei roared.
Kai swung his leg and sent the ball flying out.
His throat was too dry to shout anymore.
So Tong Lei took over.
Only the goalkeeper still had the lungs to command.
Brazil surged again.
On the bench, Chen Man sat trembling, legs shaking nonstop.
Watching from the sidelines was torture.
Every Brazilian attack felt like a knife to the heart.
"This is brutal…" he muttered.
Chinese fans in the stands screamed themselves hoarse.
Parking the bus?
So what?
This was survival.
This was exactly how underdogs fought giants.
And sometimes—just sometimes—the underdog won.
European commentators were already fully on board.
They wanted chaos.
They wanted headlines.
And nothing screamed World Cup drama like the host nation being eliminated.
Brazil grew more frantic.
Neymar repeatedly tried forcing his way into the box—but Kai stood firm, a human barrier, breaking rhythm after rhythm.
Brazil slowed.
Unnoticed by them, time was slipping away.
"Two more minutes!"
Duan Xuan and Tao Wei stood up simultaneously in the booth.
"Just two more minutes—hold on!"
Fists clenched.
Breaths held.
The studio felt frozen.
Then—
Thirty minutes.
No stoppage time.
The referee raised the whistle.
Duan Xuan shouted, voice cracking:
"The whistle goes! The penalty shootout is next!"
The sound cut through the stadium.
After ninety minutes.
After thirty more.
After 120 minutes of relentless battle—
China had done it.
They had dragged Brazil into penalties.
...
"Damn it… I can't move anymore. Give me one more minute, and I'll die right here."
One after another, the Chinese players collapsed in front of the coaching bench.
They were gasping for air, muscles screaming in pain—yet their eyes burned with excitement.
They had dragged Brazil into a penalty shootout.
That alone felt unreal.
The match wasn't over yet, but in their hearts, they had already tasted victory.
Tonight, they had gone far beyond their usual limits.
Again and again during the match, they had broken through physical and mental barriers, surviving a full 120 minutes of brutal intensity.
Assistant coach Zhang Chen continued moving among them with a bucket in hand, splashing water over overheated faces, then efficiently stuffing ice packs into their shorts to prevent heat exhaustion. He then handed out hydration drinks.
No complaints. No embarrassment.
At this stage, dignity had long since been abandoned.
Coach Liu Hongbo stepped forward, holding a sheet of paper.
It was time to decide the penalty takers.
"Wang Yi," he called out, "can you take the first one?"
Liu Hongbo didn't explain. He simply looked at Wang Yi.
Wang Yi lay on the ground, chest heaving. He raised his thumb slowly.
"I'm good."
"Excellent."
A faint smile crossed Liu Hongbo's face.
"Second—Che Jingdao. You okay?"
"No problem."
"Third—Jia Zhenhua."
"Alright."
"Fourth—Fernando Kairui."
Fernando clenched his fist. "Let's finish them."
Chen Man shot him a look.
"Where did you pick up that Beijing accent? Switching personalities again?"
Fernando snorted. "Mind your own business."
"Fifth…"
Liu Hongbo paused, then turned toward Kai.
"Kai. You take the fifth."
Kai pushed himself upright and glanced first at Wang Yi.
Wang Yi gave him another thumbs-up.
Kai smiled faintly. "Alright."
No one objected.
In truth, they had already guessed it the moment Wang Yi was named first.
In terms of composure, presence, and handling pressure on the biggest stage, Kai was unmatched.
Compared to Wang Yi, he was better suited to be the fifth man.
"Sixth—Guo Liang."
.
.
.
Once the list was finalized, the players leaned back again, trying to conserve what little strength remained.
At the same time, Tong Lei stood alone, quietly preparing himself.
Strictly speaking, substitute keeper Min Songle was better at penalties—but there were no substitutions left.
This was Tong Lei's battle.
"After 120 minutes of relentless football, we have arrived at the cruelest moment—the penalty shootout!"
Duan Xuan's voice was solemn, yet charged.
"No one expected this, but here we are. Regardless of the outcome, China can walk off this pitch with heads held high. They have pushed Brazil—the host nation—to the brink of elimination."
"Both teams are now standing on opposite sides of the center circle."
The stadium was deafening.
Chinese and Brazilian fans roared in unison, desperate to make their voices heard.
Penalty shootouts were merciless.
But silence was not an option.
Brazil went first.
David Luiz walked to the spot.
Tong Lei stood tall in the goal, arms spread wide, using every inch of his 1.9-meter frame to apply pressure.
David Luiz remained calm.
The whistle blew.
Run-up. Strike.
"Goal… David Luiz sends it into the bottom left corner."
Duan Xuan's voice carried clear disappointment.
If only that ball had gone wide.
Brazilian fans erupted.
"I'm up."
Wang Yi took a deep breath and stepped forward.
No advice. No speeches.
Only quiet nods and silent prayers.
The pressure was enormous.
Miss this—and the entire balance would tilt.
"Wang Yi steps up for China's first penalty…"
Before Duan Xuan could finish, Wang Yi had already run up.
A firm strike.
Straight down the middle.
Cesar dove to the right.
"Goal! Wang Yi with nerves of steel—right through the center!"
Brazil's second penalty: Willian.
Tong Lei forced himself to relax, eyes locked on the shooter.
The whistle.
Run-up.
Panenka?
Tong Lei hesitated for a split second—
Then the ball floated gently toward him.
He caught it cleanly.
"YES!"
Tong Lei roared.
The stadium exploded.
"Saved! Tong Lei saves it! Willian!!, with a Panenka at this stage, was too dangerous. He is now paying for his terrible decision!"
Now—advantage China.
"Go!"
Che Jingdao walked up.
Pressure heavy, steps steady.
Run-up. Shot.
Bottom left.
In.
"Che Jingdao scores! Cesar guessed right but couldn't reach it!"
Brazil's third—Marcelo.
Clean strike. Bottom corner.
Tong Lei guessed wrong.
Score: 2–2.
China's third—Jia Zhenhua.
The tension was suffocating.
Score this, and China would stay in control.
Run-up.
Shot—
The ball clipped the post and went out.
"Oh no!"
Duan Xuan clutched his head.
"Too much focus on placement!"
Jia Zhenhua walked back, head down. Teammates could only pat his back.
Brazil's fourth—Hulk.
Powerful build. Long run-up.
Tong Lei studied him carefully.
Power… or placement?
The whistle.
"Left!" Tong Lei shouted instinctively—
But his body dove right.
His fingertips brushed something.
He hit the ground, rolled, and looked back.
No ball.
Tong Lei sprang up, roaring at the sky.
"Saved! Another save! Tong Lei—China's guardian angel!"
The Chinese bench erupted.
Kai turned to Fernando.
Fernando spat angrily. "Don't put pressure on me."
Fernando walked forward, wiping his palms on his jersey.
Fourth penalty—Fernando Kairui.
Run-up.
Full power.
The ball smashed the crossbar, bounced off the keeper, and flew out.
Fernando dropped to his knees, clutching his head.
"I told you not to put pressure on me…"
Kai had to walk over to help him up, patting his shoulder.
That was penalties.
No mercy.
Brazil's fifth—Neymar.
Calm. Confident.
Top corner.
No chance.
Now all eyes turned to Kai.
He stepped out calmly.
No hesitation.
Kai took the ball, kissed it lightly, and placed it on the spot.
He stepped back.
Cesar smirked.
"Will you Panenka it?"
"Yes."
Cesar froze.
The rumor had spread too far.
Kai began his run-up.
Changed the rhythm at the last step.
Cesar dived left.
Kai gently flicked the ball down the middle.
Chip.
Goal.
Kai straightened, looking down at Cesar.
I told you.
3–3.
Sudden death.
Brazil scored their sixth.
The tension tightened again.
Guo Liang stepped up.
Hands shaking.
Thoughts racing.
What if I miss?
The whistle blew.
He reacted on instinct.
Inside-foot push.
Far corner—
The keeper guessed wrong.
But—
The ball brushed the post.
Out.
Silence.
The distance was tiny.
But it was enough.
China's World Cup ended there.
Their summer ended there, too.
...
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