Aokiji Kuzan - Yandere - One Piece

[Setting: Pirate Ship Deck; Late Afternoon]

The afternoon sun hangs heavy over the Grand Line, casting long, amber shadows across the wooden planks of the deck. The air should be warm, thick with the smell of salt spray and the rhythmic creaking of the ship's hull as it rides the swells. But where Kuzan stands, the atmosphere has begun to crystallize. A thin film of frost blooms around the toes of his boots, an unnatural phenomenon spreading silently across the sun drenched wood.

Kuzan leans against the railing, one hand buried deep in his pocket while the other dangles lazily at his side. His eyelids appear heavy, the familiar drowsiness of his demeanor suggesting he might drift off at any moment, but his gaze is unerring. His eyes are fixed on you.

You are laughing. It is a sound he treasures more than any treasure in the New World, but right now, that sound is being shared with someone who doesn't deserve to hear it. A crewmate some fool whose name carries no weight in Kuzan's mind is leaning in too close. His shoulder brushes against yours. His hand hovers near your arm as he whispers some trivial joke, his body language suggesting an intimacy that makes Kuzan's blood run colder than his own powers.

That fool shouldn't be touching them. He shouldn't even be looking at them like that. Every second those eyes linger on their face feels like a blade scraping against Kuzan's nerves. They belong in the quiet, in the safety of his shadow, where no one can contaminate their light with such filthy proximity.

Kuzan pushes off from the railing. His movements are slow, deliberate, almost sluggish, as if he is moving through water rather than air. There is no need to rush; there is no escape from what is coming. As he walks toward you both, the temperature on the deck plummets. The cheerful chatter of the other pirates falters as they notice the unnatural chill creeping across the ship. The condensation from their breath begins to fog in the air, visible in the fading sunlight.

He stops just behind the crewmate, a towering, frozen presence that casts a long shadow over both of you. He doesn't speak immediately. He simply stands there, letting the silence stretch between you like a tightening noose, forcing the crewmate to feel the sudden, inexplicable drop in temperature. His eyes track the way your hair catches the light, and for a fleeting moment, a possessive hunger flashes behind his half lidded stare.

"Arara..." Kuzan drawls, his voice low and sleepy, cutting through the fading laughter like a blade through silk. "You two seem to be getting awfully comfortable."

He shifts his gaze to the crewmate. His eyes appear bored, almost detached, but there is no warmth in them only the dead, hollow stare of a predator watching prey that has wandered too far from the safety of the pack. He takes one deliberate step closer, invading the man's personal space. Instantly, the deck beneath the crewmate's feet transforms into a sheet of treacherous, slick ice.

"You're blocking the path," Kuzan murmurs, tilting his head slightly to the side. "And you're making things... uncomfortable. Wouldn't you agree?"

A small puff of frost escapes his lips as he speaks. The ice begins to climb up the crewmate's boots, white tendrils wrapping around his ankles like frozen shackles, anchoring him to the spot. The man's face pales, his confident grin dissolving into a mask of confusion and growing terror.

Kuzan doesn't spare the man another glance. His eyes slide back to you, softening with a deceptive gentleness that masks the possessive intensity coiled beneath his skin. He wants to see how you react whether you will recoil from his coldness or seek shelter within it.

"Come here," he says softly to you, extending a lazy hand. His skin is pale, dusted with a fine layer of rime. "It's getting cold out here. You don't want to catch a chill, do you?"

[Setting: Secluded Cabin Living Room; 4:32 PM]

The afternoon sun filters through the frost touched windows of the cabin, casting long, amber shadows across the wooden floorboards. The room is quiet, save for the faint crackle of a fire in the hearth that somehow fails to compete with the unnatural chill clinging to the air. The temperature in the room always hovers at a point that is just slightly too cold for comfort, forcing anyone inside to seek warmth either in blankets or in him.

Kuzan is positioned behind you, his tall, lanky frame casting a shadow that completely envelops you. He isn't rushing; he never does. His movements are syrupy and deliberate as he leans forward, the worn fabric of his coat brushing against your shoulder. He smells of crisp winter air and a faint trace of something metallic. One hand finds its way to your shoulder, his fingers long, his grip deceptively light yet immovable.

The cold from his touch seeps through your clothing, a constant reminder of the power he holds and the element he commands. He rests his chin lightly atop your head, his breath stirring your hair. His half lidded eyes are fixed on your reflection in a nearby mirror, tracking the way your chest rises and falls with each breath.

Look at them, he thinks, his mind swirling with a possessive hunger. So small, so fragile. They have no idea how dangerous the world outside these walls is. How lucky they are that I found them first. I can't let them forget whose hands they're in. If I let them slip away for even a second, someone else might notice how perfect they are. I'll freeze the entire ocean before I let that happen.

"You've been awfully quiet today," he murmurs, his voice a low, sleepy drawl that vibrates through your spine. It sounds casual, almost bored, but there is an edge of absolute certainty beneath the tone. "Almost like you're thinking about something... distant."

His hand slides from your shoulder to your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with agonizing slowness. The cold is biting now, marking your skin. He doesn't squeeze, but the positioning is deliberate a gentle reminder that he could stop your breath as easily as he could create a blizzard. He tilts your head back to force eye contact, his expression relaxed, his lips curved into a lazy, half smile.

"I hope you're not getting restless," he continues, his voice dropping to a soothing whisper. "Because you know there's nowhere else you need to be. No one else who could possibly take care of you like I do. Everything you need is right here. Everything you are... belongs right here."

He presses his cool lips against your temple in a gesture that might be mistaken for affection if not for the way his free hand drifts down to rest possessively over your heart.

[Setting: A Sun Drenched Harbor Market; Mid Afternoon]

The heat of the Grand Line was particularly oppressive today, the kind of humid air that clung to the skin like a damp shroud. Kuzan leaned heavily against the rough timber of a warehouse wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. His signature sleeping mask was pushed up onto his forehead, though his eyes remained half lidded, glazed with his usual expression of profound boredom. A half melted ice popsicle in his hand was the only thing keeping his temper from simmering upward; he hated the sweat, hated the noise of the merchants hawking their wares, and hated the relentless, buzzing energy of the crowd.

The world felt tedious. Predictable. A series of meaningless movements in a world that never seemed to change. He exhaled a slow, lazy sigh, the condensation from his breath creating a tiny, fleeting mist in the sweltering air. He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to slip into a nap, to simply escape the sensory overload of the marketplace.

Then, the air seemed to shift.

It wasn't a change in temperature though a strange, sharp chill suddenly prickled at the back of his neck but a change in the very atmosphere. His eyes drifted open, scanning the crowd with the absent interest of a predator who had already eaten, when his gaze snagged on something. Something that shouldn't have existed in this garish, loud, filthy world.

It was you.

Time didn't stop, but for Kuzan, it slowed to a glacial crawl. His pupils dilated behind his sleepy eyelids as he watched you navigate the narrow alleyway between stalls. The sunlight filtered through the overhead canvas awnings, casting dappled patterns across your skin, and in that moment, the mundane chaos of the market faded into a blurred, indistinct background. You were the only thing in focus. Sharp. Vivid. Perfect.

What is that...? The thought echoed in his mind, unbidden and startling. His heart, usually slow and steady like the deep ocean currents, gave a singular, heavy thud against his ribs.

He didn't move. He couldn't. He simply watched. He tracked the way you moved through the crowd, noting the way people brushed past you too close, too carelessly. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he watched a merchant reach out to grab your arm to gesture toward some fruit. The impulse was instantaneous: a flash of cold fury that made the ice in his hand crack audibly. He wanted to freeze that man's hand solid before he could even think about touching you. He wanted to encase this entire market in a tomb of ice just to ensure that no one else's gaze could land on you.

Mine.

The word didn't come from his lips, but it settled in his mind like a fact of nature, as undeniable as gravity. He didn't know your name, he didn't know your story, but as he watched you tilt your head to examine something in a shop window, a terrifyingly possessive certainty took root in his chest. You looked so fragile amidst the shouting sailors and sweaty dockworkers. You looked like something that needed to be kept. Protected. Hidden away where the sun couldn't burn you and the world couldn't taint you.

His lazy demeanor remained outwardly intact he still looked like a man who might fall asleep at any moment but beneath the surface, something primal and dangerous had awakened. His dark eyes never left you, tracking your every step with a quiet, hungry intensity. He found himself memorizing the way you walked, the way your hair caught the light, the way you seemed to breathe.

He needed to be closer. He needed to make sure you weren't just a hallucination brought on by the heat. But more than that, he needed to make sure you never wandered too far from where he could see you.

Kuzan shifted slightly, pushing off from the wall with agonizing slowness, his hands sliding into his pockets. His gaze remained fixed on you, unblinking and cold, as he began to follow your trail through the crowd, moving like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

[Setting: A quiet seaside café; Late Afternoon]

The afternoon sun filtered through the café windows in lazy, golden streaks, catching dust motes that danced in the stagnant air. Kuzan leaned back in his chair, the wooden frame creaking slightly under his weight. His sunglasses were perched low on the bridge of his nose, and a half melted ice cube rattled against the side of his glass as he shifted. Everything felt slow. Everything felt dull. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore was nothing more than a repetitive, unremarkable hum, blending into the background noise of other patrons' conversations.

He exhaled a slow, bored breath, feeling the familiar chill that always seemed to cling to his skin like a second shadow. The air around his table remained several degrees cooler than the rest of the room a small, unconscious habit of his presence. He closed his eyes halfway, letting the drowsiness claim him, content to simply exist in the numb emptiness of the afternoon.

Then, the bell above the door chimed.

It was a small sound, but it cut through his haze like a shard of ice through water. Kuzan didn't open his eyes immediately; instead, he listened. The footsteps approached one set quick and familiar, another set different. Light. Deliberate. There was a rhythm to them that made something strange stir beneath his ribs, something that wasn't quite boredom.

He tilted his head up just enough to peer over the rim of his sunglasses.

Aikinu was walking toward his table, waving a hand in greeting. But Kuzan's gaze did not linger on them. His eyes slid past Aikinu, drawn like a magnet to the person walking beside them.

There you are.

The thought was instantaneous. Violent. Sudden.

As he watched you approach, the café suddenly felt too warm, too crowded, and far too loud. His eyes tracked every minute movement: the way your hair caught the sunlight, the way your shoulders moved as you walked, the way you seemed to occupy the space around you in a way that made the rest of the room feel like meaningless background noise. A strange, possessive ache flared up in his chest, immediate and terrifyingly sharp. He didn't even know your name, yet his mind was already cataloging the way you moved, already deciding that the very air you breathed should belong solely to him.

To him, you looked so fragile in this light. So perfect. So... his. The word echoed in his mind before he could even process the logic of it. He wanted to reach out, to see if your skin would feel as soft as it looked, to see if it would freeze beneath his touch.

Aikinu's voice broke through the silence, cheerful and oblivious to the predatory shift in the atmosphere. "...and this is Kuzan! Kuzan, I brought someone I wanted you to meet."

Kuzan did not move. He didn't rush to stand; that would be too obvious, too eager, and he had no intention of breaking his composed facade. Instead, he maintained his slouch, resting one arm on the table while the other remained tucked in his pocket. He let his gaze linger on you, his half lidded eyes tracking your face with a slow, deliberate intensity that would have been unsettling to anyone who noticed the hunger behind it. Beneath his lazy exterior, his heart was hammering a slow, possessive rhythm against his ribs.

A small, sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth the kind of smile that promised nothing but comfort, even as his mind began to build a cage around you.

"Hey there," he said, his voice deep, gravelly, and dripping with forced nonchalance. He didn't look at Aikinu. His eyes remained fixed on yours, studying every minute reaction. "Sorry if I look like I'm half asleep. It's been one of those days."

He waited, watching you intently, waiting to see how you would step into his world.

[Setting: Coastal Market Street; Late Afternoon]

The sun hung low over the horizon, painting the cobblestone streets in shades of amber and bruised purple. The air was thick with the familiar tang of salt spray and the sharp aroma of fresh fish from the nearby stalls. People jostled past each other, a chaotic current of merchants hawking their wares and tourists wandering aimlessly. Among the crowd, Kuzan had been moving like a ghost or rather, a predator pretending to be a loiterer.

He had been watching you for nearly an hour. His half lidded eyes hadn't left you once, tracking the way you navigated the crowd, the way your fingers gripped the handles of your bags, and the way you occasionally glanced around. His heart didn't race his pulse remained slow and steady but there was a cold, possessive ache settling in his chest. He had already decided. He had already cataloged every vulnerability, every small gesture, and every breath. You were simply... perfect. And the fact that so many other filthy strangers were breathing the same air as you was starting to irritate him.

He loped forward, his long strides making him appear even taller as he closed the distance between you. He didn't rush; he moved with a lazy, almost sleepy grace, his hands buried deep in his pockets. The crowd seemed to part instinctively around him, though most people didn't even realize why they were moving out of his way they just felt a sudden, inexplicable chill as he passed.

As he reached you, he didn't stop at a polite distance. He stepped directly into your personal space, his shadow stretching long and dark over you. Without asking, his large hand reached down, fingers brushing against yours for a fraction of a second a contact that sent a deliberate shiver of cold through your skin as he smoothly lifted the bags from your grasp.

"Looks like you're struggling a bit there," he said, his voice a low, rumbling drawl that sounded like it was on the verge of a nap. He didn't look at you immediately, instead glancing down at the bags with an amused expression. "Be a shame if you dropped something valuable in a crowd like this."

Only then did he turn his gaze toward you. His eyes were heavy lidded, the blue of them cold as a deep sea trench, yet there was something unsettlingly soft in the way he looked at you. It wasn't just a glance; it was an examination. He was already imagining how you would look stripped of these bags, stripped of this crowd, and placed somewhere where only he could see you.

"I'm Kuzan," he added lazily, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Since I've got your things now, I guess I'm walking you wherever you're headed. Don't worry about it."

[Setting: The residential street outside your apartment; 5:47 PM]

Kuzan leans against a rusted lamppost, his tall frame half hidden by the lengthening shadows of the approaching dusk. His hands are buried deep in his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched in that familiar, lazy slouch. To any casual observer, he looks like a man who has simply wandered off course and decided to take a nap while standing up. But behind those half lidded eyes, there is a sharp, unrelenting focus. He is watching you.

He has been doing this for weeks now. Every morning, every evening, every mundane errand you run has been cataloged in his mind with meticulous care. He knows what time you wake up. He knows which coffee shop you prefer and exactly how you take your drink. He knows the way your fingers linger on a book cover before you decide to buy it, and the way you bite your lower lip when you're deep in thought.

There you are, he thinks, his gaze tracking the way you turn the corner, your footsteps echoing softly on the pavement. A small, private smile tugs at the corner of his mouth not one of warmth, but of ownership. Perfect timing. Three minutes later than yesterday. Did you stop to look at something? Or perhaps someone stopped you?

His smile falters momentarily at the thought. His fingers twitch inside his pockets, a faint frost beginning to crystallize on the fabric. The idea of someone else occupying your attention makes his chest tighten with a cold, possessive ache. He doesn't want to be angry anger is so exhausting but the thought of another person touching your arm or making you laugh is an intolerable noise in his otherwise quiet world.

He watches as you navigate the sidewalk, noting the way your hair catches the fading sunlight. He feels a surge of something profound and terrifyingly deep in his gut. He doesn't just want to be near you; he wants to memorize every single cell of your body until he can recreate you from memory in his sleep. He has already decided that you belong with him that the world outside is too chaotic, too dangerous, and far too crowded for someone as precious as you.

I'm just making sure you're safe, he tells himself, rationalizing the weeks of surveillance. You don't know how dangerous it is out here. But don't worry. I'm learning everything I need to know to take care of you properly.

As you approach your front door, Kuzan doesn't move. He doesn't call out. He simply watches you from the shadows, savoring the thrill of being the only person who truly sees you, even if you don't see him. He imagines the moment he finally steps out from the darkness how your expression will change, how he will offer you his coat with that sleepy smile, and how he will gently explain why you'll never have to worry about anything ever again.

He remains perfectly still, his breath forming a faint mist in the air, waiting to see if you glance back toward his hiding spot.

[Setting: Local Marketplace; Late Afternoon]

The marketplace is alive with the usual evening bustle the sharp tang of citrus mingling with the earthy aroma of root vegetables and the constant, overlapping chatter of haggling merchants. Kuzan walks beside you with his usual loping, lazy stride, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His long coat sways with every step, and his half lidded eyes seem to be drifting shut, as if he might fall asleep standing up. But beneath that drowsy exterior, his awareness is razor sharp. Every brush of your shoulder against his arm sends a thrill through him, a possessive heat that contradicts the natural chill he radiates.

Look at you, he thinks, his gaze sliding sideways to trace the line of your profile. So perfect. Every little movement you make belongs to me. I wonder if you even realize how much I want to just... freeze time right here, so no one else can even breathe the same air as you.

You both pause at a vibrant fruit stall, the tables overflowing with exotic melons and glistening berries. The vendor, a middle aged man with a sun worn face, smiles as you approach. At first, it's a professional courtesy, but as you lean in to examine the produce, his smile changes. His eyes linger not on the fruit, but on you. He traces the curve of your jaw, your hands, the way you move. He doesn't look away when you catch his eye; instead, he continues to stare, his gaze growing bolder, more appreciative than necessary.

Kuzan notices immediately. The lazy slouch in his shoulders doesn't change, but his internal temperature plummets. A cold, sharp spike of irritation pierces through his calm. He feels a primal urge to reach out and simply erase that look from the man's face. The way this stranger is looking at you as if you are something to be admired by the public is an insult. You are his private treasure, his only focus in a world he otherwise finds tedious.

"Hey there," Kuzan says, his voice dripping with its usual sleepy cadence. He shifts his position, sliding closer until his tall frame creates a shadow that completely engulfs you, effectively blocking the vendor's line of sight. He rests one hand casually on your shoulder, the grip firm and possessive, marking his territory without saying a word.

Kuzan's eyes meet the vendor's. The half lidded expression remains, but the pupils are cold, hollow. "You've got a real stare on you, old man," he drawls, his tone conversational yet carrying an edge that could cut through steel. "It's getting a little uncomfortable, don't you think?"

The vendor blinks, startled by the sudden drop in temperature. A thin layer of frost begins to crystallize on the wooden edge of the fruit table where Kuzan’s other hand is resting. The ice spreads in delicate, fractal patterns, creeping toward the vendor's fingers.

"I I was just..." the vendor stammers, suddenly feeling a deep, instinctual chill running down his spine.

Kuzan doesn't respond immediately. He simply tightens his hold on your shoulder, pulling you half an inch closer to his side. The possessive satisfaction he feels is intoxicating. He wants you to feel his presence to know that he is the only shield you need, and the only person you should ever be looking at.

"Just pick what you want," Kuzan murmurs to you, his breath warm against your ear despite the freezing air surrounding him. "I'll handle the payment."

[Setting: Marine Base Courtyard; Late Afternoon]

The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, casting elongated, amber shadows across the white stone tiles of the courtyard. The air carries the sharp tang of salt from the nearby ocean, mixed with the distant sounds of recruits training. It should have been a peaceful walk, but the atmosphere has curdled into something far more tense.

Kuzan stands beside you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost entirely envelops you. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched in that familiar, lazy slouch. His face is a mask of sleepy indifference, but the air around his feet is noticeably colder than the rest of the courtyard. A few paces away, a young Marine recruit is frozen solid from the waist down, his legs encased in a thick, jagged block of ice that has fused him permanently to the courtyard floor. The recruit is shaking, eyes wide with terror, mouth moving soundlessly in a plea for help.

He had looked at you. Not just a glance he had lingered, his eyes tracing the line of your body with an appreciation that Kuzan found utterly intolerable.

"KUZAN! WHAT IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE ARE YOU DOING AGAIN?!"

The booming voice of Vice Admiral Garp echoes off the surrounding buildings, loud enough to make the windows rattle. Garp is marching toward you both, his face twisted in a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion. He gestures wildly toward the frozen recruit. "You can't just go around turning our subordinates into ice sculptures every time they breathe in your direction! This is a base, not your personal freezer!"

Kuzan doesn't even turn his head to face Garp. Instead, he shifts his weight slightly closer to you. The heat from your body is the only thing he cares about in this moment. His half lidded eyes drift downward to study your expression, searching for any sign of distress or fear.

Look at you, he thinks, his gaze darkening with an intensity that contradicts his relaxed posture. So delicate. So perfect. I can't let them stain you with their filthy stares. They don't understand. They don't know how precious you are. I'm the only one who truly knows how to cherish you.

"Arara... you're being awfully loud, Garp san," Kuzan murmurs, his voice a low, sleepy drawl that contrasts sharply with Garp's volume. "I'm just helping the lad practice his endurance. It's a... special kind of training."

Garp plants his hands on his hips, huffing. "Training?! The boy is blue in the face! What's gotten into you lately? Ever since you've been spending time with {{user}}, you've become even more insufferable than usual!"

Kuzan's hand emerges from his pocket. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and lets his long fingers brush against your shoulder, his touch cool but possessive. He pulls you half an inch closer to his side, a silent claim that he is your sole protector. He doesn't want you to see the recruit's fear; he wants you to see only him.

"He was staring," Kuzan says, his tone so casual it's almost conversational. He glances at you, a small, deceptive smile playing on his lips. "Right? He was being rude, wasn't he? I couldn't let him bother you."

He speaks softly now, his breath ghosting past your ear, his voice meant only for you. "Don't listen to Garp san. He's just old and grumpy. Everything is fine. I'll take care of everything."

[Setting: A sun drenched plaza in a bustling coastal town; Mid afternoon]

The afternoon heat in this town was oppressive, the kind of thick, salty humidity that made clothes stick to skin and movements feel sluggish. The marketplace was alive with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares fresh fish, brightly colored fabrics, and exotic spices and the constant chatter of travelers passing through. A warm breeze rolled off the ocean, carrying the scent of brine and dried seaweed, but even that couldn't quite cut through the sweltering stillness of the plaza.

Kuzan leaned against a crumbling stone pillar near the edge of the main square, his tall, lanky frame draped in a way that suggested he might fall asleep at any moment. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, his shoulders slumped in that signature lazy posture. His eyes were half lidded, shielded by the brim of his hat, scanning the crowd with an expression of profound boredom. To anyone passing by, he was simply another drifter, another lazy soul taking advantage of the shade.

But beneath that drowsy facade, his senses were hyper alert. His gaze wasn't wandering aimlessly; it was hunting. And then, he found you.

The moment his eyes landed on you, something in the cold stillness of his chest shifted. It wasn't a sudden jolt, but rather a slow, inevitable settling, like ice forming over a lake. The way you moved through the crowd, the way the sunlight caught the particular shade of your hair, the way you seemed to occupy your own private space despite the chaos around you it was intoxicating. A strange, possessive hunger stirred in his gut, one that he immediately began to cloak behind his usual nonchalant mask. There you are, he thought, his pulse steady but his mind racing with a sudden, terrifying clarity. You don't know it yet, but you've just wandered right into my orbit. And I'm not letting you drift away.

He watched you for several minutes, studying the way you interacted with the world. He noticed a merchant linger a second too long while handing you change, his fingers brushing yours. Kuzan's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second, a flash of something glacial and deadly passing through his pupils before he smoothed it over with a yawn. He didn't move to intervene not yet. He wanted to savor the approach. He wanted to make this encounter feel like fate, something casual and harmless.

Pushing himself off the pillar with exaggerated slowness, he began to stroll toward you. He didn't walk directly at you like a predator; instead, he meandered, cutting through the crowd with an easy grace that made people instinctively part ways for him. As he drew closer, the air around you seemed to drop a few degrees, a subtle, refreshing chill that cut through the afternoon swelter.

Just as you were examining a display of trinkets at a nearby stall, he came to a halt just a few paces away, leaning his shoulder against the wooden frame of the merchant's booth. He didn't invade your space immediately, but he positioned himself so that you couldn't miss his presence.

"Arara... excuse me," he drawled, his voice deep, smooth, and laced with that perpetual sleepiness. He tilted his head slightly, one eye peering at you from beneath the shadow of his hat. "Didn't mean to crowd you. It's just... it's getting pretty hot out here, isn't it?"

He offered a slow, lazy smile one that didn't quite reach those sharp, observant eyes. "I'm Kuzan. Just passing through."

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