Atticus’s Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground - Chapter 1528

Capítulo 1528: Selected

“That… thing on your chest. Where did you get it?”

Atticus squinted at the tall man radiating a sinister aura before him, trying to make sense of the question.

‘He’s interested in it?’

It was odd. The exo suit was a weapon whose capabilities had shocked even him, but there was no doubt where it came from. Eldoralth. The lower planes.

So why did it feel like this man knew exactly what it was?

There was only one way to find out.

“The lower planes.”

“Hmm.” Balanar brushed a hand over his chin. “Was it gifted to you by someone?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

Atticus paused for a moment, trying to measure the impact the information could have on him.

“My grandfather.”

“Oh!” Balanar’s eyes lit up. “I never expected you to be a Scion. That would explain those impossible feats.”

The mechanical voice echoed, announcing the challenged and challenger, territory age, then began collating data for theme selection. As expected, the abyss army had been at the eternal age.

Atticus frowned.

“A Scion?”

Balanar tilted his head. “You live in this world and yet don’t know what you are? A being born in the higher planes, sent down to ascend as a god and rise through rank to gain power.”

‘He’s mistaken.’

The man had already decided his grandfather was from a higher plane, and that the exo suit had come from there as well.

‘But it reveals a lot about what he thinks.’

This wasn’t a baseless assumption. The certainty in Balanar’s tone made that much clear.

‘He thinks the exo suit is from a higher plane.’

Only Atticus knew how wrong that was.

‘I need to know why he believes that.’

His expression didn’t change despite the revelation. His face remained still as he spoke.

“It seems you’re mistaken about something.”

“Hm? And what might that be?”

“My grandfather is also from the lower planes,” Atticus said evenly. “He gave it to me.”

Balanar’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“Is this the truth?”

“Yes.”

‘I was correct.’

The reaction was immediate, and very telling. The man had been shaken by the revelation. That alone confirmed Atticus’ conclusion.

Still, a question lingered in his mind.

Had Balanar simply misjudged the exo suit’s origin because of its overwhelming capabilities, or was there something he himself was missing?

Atticus sifted through everything he knew.

‘It was discovered in the human domain. By scientists.’

No higher plane being had given it to him. Not even the human domain had crafted it for him, they had merely found it, years before ever deciding to use it on him. His acquisition of the suit had been, by all accounts, pure chance.

But a small frown touched Atticus’ lips as one of Anorah’s lessons surfaced.

‘Chance is a mask worn by intention.’

What appeared random was often design. Someone’s design.

His thoughts drifted to the life weapon at his waist.

‘It too had been by… chance.’

The weapon had remained in the Ravenstein household for generations, passing from one bearer to another.

Was it really coincidence that he’d been reincarnated into the one family in the human domain that possessed it?

Atticus had always known his reincarnation was influenced by the being that arranged his demise. The Apexes had been reincarnated as well, this much was undeniable.

So it was only natural the being would want to point him towards the life weapon, which it had planted in the world. The same could be said to the other apexes, as well.

But if he hadn’t determined such for the life weapon, why had he never questioned the exo suit?

Of all the races in Eldoralth, why had the weakest, the humans, been the ones to discover it?

Why had no one been able to use it… until him?

‘Chance…’

But it was too clean. This was no chance.

Atticus lifted his gaze to the only person who might have answers.

Balanar fell silent for a moment, then smiled.

“That’s quite… interesting. It seems I may have misjudged its power and assumed it to be more than it truly is. No matter. It won’t affect my proposition.”

‘He’s lying.’

This smile was different from the others. Those had been filled with amusement or disdain, the smile one gave someone beneath them.

This one didn’t reach his eyes.

It was forced.

Balanar had realized something and was now concealing it. But why?

Only one answer felt natural.

‘He doesn’t want me knowing the truth.’

If it even was the truth. His readings of Balanar might be wrong for all he knew.

But Atticus would rather know than remain ignorant. No information was useless. Even a lie exposed something.

“I want the suit,” Balanar finally said.

He smiled when no response came.

“In exchange for the lives of your people. I promise, scout’s honor, I won’t kill them.”

Atticus had understood Balanar’s intent the moment the man mentioned the suit. Still, offers like this had never sat well with him. The implication that his loved ones were being used as leverage could never leave his mind.

The thought alone made something violent stir within him. The temperature around him spiked.

“What about me?”

“You know one of us has to die for this challenge to be complete.”

“And you have no doubt it’s me?”

“Of course,” Balanar said calmly. “You’re amazing, but you’re far too outmatched against me, Atticus Ravenstein.”

“Then take the suit off my corpse.”

Balanar’s smile vanished. He stared at Atticus in silence, a dangerous glint settling into his eyes.

“I’m offering you a chance to save your loved ones. Why refuse?”

Atticus would have to be a fool to believe that. A man who ordered the deaths of children wouldn’t care about promises.

This was something else.

Balanar would rather bargain than defeat him and retrieve the suit.

“You don’t want to damage it.”

Balanar’s eyes narrowed to pinpricks. Then he blinked and let out a low chuckle.

“Bravo,” he said. “It seems I underestimated you, Atticus Ravenstein. Impeccable deductive skills.” A small smile returned. “But it changes nothing. Would you doom your people over a mere suit? Surrender it. It’s the wise choice.”

“No.”

A deep frown creased Balanar’s face. He was about to speak when the mechanical voice echoed.

“The challenge has been decided. The theme is Attack and Defent. Here are the rukes…”

擄

䟖䱘㹤’䳇䗼䳇䟖

蘆

㝂䟧㝂䴱’䍢䍝

盧

䍢㹤䟖

老

盧

爐路老魯䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞擄䟖䤾䟖㹤’㝂䍝㹤㢂䊋䨒㢂䊋㝂㢂䗼䳇䳇䁴䍢㛥㢂䗸㝂㝂䨒䍢㝂䱘

“㖻䍢䧞㝂䟧䨒䍢㹤䟧䳇䭲䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞䢀䍢䑎䳇㹤䧞㝂䳇䤾㹤䭲” 䮝䍢䁴䍢㹤䍢䁿䧞䍢䤾䟖䱘

䟧䳇䟖䤾䧞䤾㹤㢂

㼕䤾䧞

䍢䳇䱠䱘䟖

䱠䱘䨒䤾

䤾䣐䟖䳇㢂㹤䁿

㝂䟧䤾䴱㝂䗸䧞

䳇㛥㹤䳇

䟖䨒䍢

䟖䁴䍢䍢䮰䁿䳇

䅧䨒䳇䳇㹤䟖䁴䳇䧞䧞䧞䒓䍢䟧䳇䊋䍢䁿䒓䳇䟖䭲䁿䳇㝂䗸䁿㹤䤾㹤䣐䨒䤾䱠㝂㢂㝂䨒䳇䧞䍝䤾䳇䧞䍢䱠㢂㹤䣐䧞㝂䨒䤾䧞䒓䳇㢂䒓䁴䳇䱘

䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞䗼䳇䁴㝂䳇䑎䳇䁿䮰䣐䍢㩰䳇䧞䳇㝂㝂䁴䳇㢂㹤䨒䤾䱠䱘䅧䨒䳇䍢䤾䁿䊋䍢䧞䨒䳇䍢䑎䮰䊋䤾㝂䨒䍢㹤㝂䤾䟧䤾䒓䍢㝂䤾㢂㹤䍢䧞䨒䳇䱠䳇㝂㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䳇䮰䳇䧞䍢㹤䟖㛥䳇䣐䍢㹤䳇䟚䒓䁴䍢䤾㹤䤾㹤䣐㝂䨒䳇䁿䗸䁴䳇䧞㢂䗼㝂䨒䳇䟧䨒䍢䁴䁴䳇㹤䣐䳇䱘

䳇䤾䣐䊋㝂䨒

䮰㹤㢂䁴

㼕䳇

㝂䳇䨒’䮰䟖

䁿䳇㢂䤾䍢㹤䟧㝂

䳇䁴䭲䁿㹤䳇䍢䟖

㝂䨒䳇䱠䱘

㝂䨒䍢㝂

䍢䧞䊋

㛥䁴䱠䍢䳇

䤾㝂䱘䱠䱠䳇䟖䤾䳇䍢

䇈䳇㹤䤾䑎

䊋䍢䧞

䍢㝂䨒䊋

䅧䨒䳇

䨒㝂䳇

㝂䧞䗸䥯

㝂䟧䟖䁴㢂’䗸㹤

㢂䊋䳇㢂䟖䗼䁴䁴

䤾㝂

䧞䱘䁴䧞㛥䤾䳇䒓㢂

‘㐪䨒䍢䱠䒓䤾㢂㹤䧞䍢㹤䟖䣐㢂䟖䧞䱘’

䅧䨒䳇㝂䨒䳇䱠䳇㢂䗼㝂䨒䳇䟧䨒䍢䁴䁴䳇㹤䣐䳇䊋䍢䧞䍢㝂㝂䍢䟧䍝䍢㹤䟖䟖䳇䗼䳇㹤䟖䱘

䍢㝱䟧䨒

㹤䣐䳇䁿㝂䟖䍢

㹤䳇䟖䁿䗸

䳇䱠䨒䭲㝂

㹤䳇㝂

䊋䗸䟖䁴㢂

䍢䟧䳇䨒

䍢䟖㹤

䗼㢂

䳇䳇䟖㹤䗼䟖

䧞䍢䊋

㹤䍢䳇䟖䣐䁴㢂䤾䧞

䇈䟖䧞㢂

䁿䱠䍢䮰

㢂䟧㹤䨒䱠䍢䤾䧞䒓

㢂㝂

㝂䳇䨒

㹤䍢䟖

䁴䁴䳇䍢䁿䳇䟧䨒䣐㹤

䟖䁴䳇㢂䱘䧞䤾䁿䧞

䳇䧞䤾䟖

㛥䳇

䁴䟖䨒䳇䁴䳇䍢䣐䟧㹤

㢂䳇䧞㝂䗼䁿䧞䱘䳇䁿䧞

䍢䳇䧞㹤䟖䧞䤾䣐

㹤䍢

䅧䨒䳇㹤䗸䱠㛥䳇䁿㢂䗼䣐㢂䟖䧞䍢㹤䟖䟧䨒䍢䱠䒓䤾㢂㹤䧞䊋䍢䧞䗸㹤䁿䳇䧞㝂䁿䤾䟧㝂䳇䟖䭲㛥䗸㝂㝂䨒䳇䧞㢂䁴䟖䤾䳇䁿䧞䊋䳇䁿䳇䟧䍢䒓䒓䳇䟖䍢㝂䁿㢂䗸䣐䨒䁴䮰㝂䳇㹤㝂䨒㢂䗸䧞䍢㹤䟖䒓䳇䁿䧞䤾䟖䳇䱘

㝱䍢䟧䨒䧞䤾䟖䳇䊋䍢䧞䁿䳇䴽䗸䤾䁿䳇䟖㝂㢂㛥㢂㝂䨒䟖䳇䗼䳇㹤䟖㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿㢂䊋㹤䗼㢂䁿㝂䁿䳇䧞䧞䳇䧞䍢㹤䟖䟧䍢䒓㝂䗸䁿䳇㝂䨒䳇䳇㹤䳇䱠䮰’䧞䱘䅧䨒䳇䟖䗸䁿䍢㝂䤾㢂㹤㢂䗼㝂䨒䳇䟧䨒䍢䁴䁴䳇㹤䣐䳇䊋䍢䧞㝂䨒䤾䁿㝂䮰䱠䤾㹤䗸㝂䳇䧞䱘㣙䤾䟧㝂㢂䁿䮰䊋㢂䗸䁴䟖䣐㢂㝂㢂㝂䨒䳇䧞䤾䟖䳇㝂䨒䍢㝂䟧㢂㹤㝂䁿㢂䁴䁴䳇䟖㝂䨒䳇䱠㢂䧞㝂䗼㢂䁿㝂䁿䳇䧞䧞䳇䧞䍢㝂㝂䨒䳇䳇㹤䟖䱘

䗸㝂䮝

䁿䨒㝂䳇䳇

䳇䁿䗸䁴

䨒㝂䤾䳇䁿

䁿䳇䱘䍢䟧㝂䤾㢂㹤

䊋䍢䧞

䧞䍢䟧䳇䗸䟖

䍢㝂㝂䨒

㹤㢂䳇

䅧䨒䳇䟧䨒䍢䁴䁴䳇㹤䣐䳇䟖䍢㹤䟖䟧䨒䍢䁴䁴䳇㹤䣐䳇䁿䣐㢂䟖䧞䊋䳇䁿䳇䗼㢂䁿㛥䤾䟖䟖䳇㹤䗼䁿㢂䱠䒓䍢䁿㝂䤾䟧䤾䒓䍢㝂䤾㹤䣐䒓䨒䮰䧞䤾䟧䍢䁴䁴䮰䱘䅧䨒䳇䤾䁿㢂㹤䁴䮰䁿㢂䁴䳇䊋䍢䧞㝂㢂䤾䧞䧞䗸䳇䟧㢂䱠䱠䍢㹤䟖䧞䱘㟰䤾䣐䨒㝂䤾㹤䣐䧞䗸䟧䨒䍢䟖䤾䧞䍢䟖䑎䍢㹤㝂䍢䣐䳇㢂䗸䧞㛥䍢㝂㝂䁴䳇䊋䤾㝂䨒㢂䗸㝂䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞…

䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞’ 䣐䍢㩰䳇䱠㢂䑎䳇䟖䍢䟧䁿㢂䧞䧞㝂䨒䳇䣐䁿㢂䗸䒓䱘

㝂䁿䳇䨒䳇

㹤㢂䁴䮰

䱠䳇…

䗼䱠䁿㢂

㢂㝂䁿䳇䨒

䗼䗸㢂䁿

䁿䍢䳇

䟖’䧞䱘㢂䣐

䤾’䴱䳇䟖䧞

䅷䗼䳇䤾㝂䨒䳇䁿䧞䤾䟖䳇䁴䍢䟧䍝䳇䟖㝂䨒䳇䁿䳇䴽䗸䤾䁿䳇䟖㹤䗸䱠㛥䳇䁿㢂䗼䣐㢂䟖䧞㢂䁿䟧䨒䍢䱠䒓䤾㢂㹤䧞㝂㢂䟧㢂㹤㝂䁿㢂䁴䍢䗼㢂䁿㝂䁿䳇䧞䧞䭲㝂䨒䳇䮰䟧㢂䗸䁴䟖䧞䗸㛥䧞㝂䤾㝂䗸㝂䳇㝂䨒䳇䱠䊋䤾㝂䨒䟧䤾䑎䤾䁴䤾䍢㹤䧞㢂䁴䟖䤾䳇䁿䧞䱘䅧䨒䳇㢂䒓䒓㢂䧞䤾㹤䣐䧞䤾䟖䳇䊋㢂䗸䁴䟖㛥䳇䁿䳇䴽䗸䤾䁿䳇䟖㝂㢂䱠䤾䁿䁿㢂䁿㝂䨒䳇䧞䗸㛥䧞㝂䤾㝂䗸㝂䤾㢂㹤䱘

‘㥥䳇䟧䍢㹤䱠䍢䍝䳇㝂䨒䤾䧞䊋㢂䁿䍝䱘’

䤾㖻䧞””㹤䳇䭲㝂

㹤䍢䮰

㛥䟖㢂㝂䗸

䗸䮝㝂

“䅷㝂䧞’

䗼㢂

䳇㥥

䱘䳇䍢㛥䁴䤾䤾䧞䤾㝂

䤾䍝䍢䳇䣐䁿㹤㛥

䧞䤾䟧䁴䱘䳇㹤䳇

㹤䟧䤾䁿㹤䳇䱘䗸䍢㝂

䤾㹤

䳇㝂䨒

䑎䨒䳇䍢

䮰㢂䁿䗸

㢂㹤

䤾䴱㝂㝂䧞䟧䗸

䱘䳇䧞”䁴㢂

䭲䤾䧞䟖䍢

䊋㢂㹤’㝂

䴱䗼䁴䤾䟧䍝䳇䁿䁿䍢㹤㝂䨒䁿㢂䗸䣐䨒䳇䍢䟧䨒㢂䗼㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䳇䮰䳇䧞䱘䝬䳇䳇䒓䗼䁿㢂䊋㹤䧞㝂䗸䁿㹤䳇䟖㝂㢂䧞䱠䤾䁴䳇䧞䍢㹤䟖㝂䨒䳇㹤䣐䁿䤾㹤䧞䱘

“䮝㢂㹤䟖’䧞䁿䤾䣐䨒㝂䭲” 㰟㩰䳇䁿㢂㝂䨒䧞䍢䤾䟖䟧㢂㹤䗼䤾䟖䳇㹤㝂䁴䮰䱘 “㥥䳇’䁴䁴䧞䨒㢂䊋㝂䨒㢂䧞䳇䟧㢂䊋䍢䁿䟖䧞㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䒓䁴䍢䟧䳇䱘”

䳇㝂䱠䟖䟖䳇㹤䁿䳇䤾

㝂䱠䳇

䨒䊋䤾㝂

䳇䍢䨒䟧

䧞䱘䳇䮰䳇

䁿䑎㝱䳇䮰

㢂䗼

䧞䗸䤾㝂䴱㝂䟧

䣐䍢䧞㩰䳇

㢂䗼

㹤䱘㝂䗸䁿

䳇㝂䱠䨒

䤾䨒㝂䳇䁿

䳇㢂㹤

㹤䤾

䳇䟖䟖䟖㢂㹤

“䴱䁴䁿䤾䣐䨒㝂䭲” 䨒䳇䧞䍢䤾䟖䱘 “㼕䳇䁿䳇’䧞䨒㢂䊋䤾㝂’䁴䁴䣐㢂䱘”

㥂䤾㹤䗸㝂䳇䧞䁴䍢㝂䳇䁿䭲㝂䨒䳇䣐㢂䟖䧞䭲䟧䨒䍢䱠䒓䤾㢂㹤䧞䭲䍢㹤䟖䍢䁿䱠䤾䳇䧞䗸㹤䟖䳇䁿䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞’ 䟧㢂䱠䱠䍢㹤䟖䧞䒓䁴䤾㝂䤾㹤㝂㢂㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䍢䧞䧞䤾䣐㹤䳇䟖䣐䁿㢂䗸䒓䧞䱘䅧䨒䳇㛥䍢㝂㝂䁴䳇䗼䤾䳇䁴䟖䁿䳇䧞䨒䍢䒓䳇䟖䤾㝂䧞䳇䁴䗼䭲䍢㹤䳇䟚䒓䍢㹤䧞䤾䑎䳇䍢䁿䳇㹤䍢䧞㝂䁿䳇㝂䟧䨒䤾㹤䣐䍢䟧䁿㢂䧞䧞㝂䨒䳇䁴䍢㹤䟖䍢䧞䗼㢂䁿㝂䁿䳇䧞䧞䳇䧞䱠䍢㝂䳇䁿䤾䍢䁴䤾㩰䳇䟖䗼㢂䁿㛥㢂㝂䨒䧞䤾䟖䳇䧞䱘

䍢䁴㹤䗸䁿㝂䍢

䳇䳇䊋䁿

㛥䍢䭲䳇䑎㢂

㢂㝂䧞䨒䳇䁿

䳇㝂䨒

䤾䍢䁿㛥䳇䁿䁿

䳇䟖䳇䍢䁿䁴䮰

䍢䳇䑎㹤㝂䁴㢂䳇䤾䭲䧞

䍢

䟖䧞䍢䳇䁴䳇

䍢㹤䟖

䧞䳇㢂䱠

㹤䮰䍢䁿䑎䤾䣐

㝂䍢

㢂䗼䱠䁿䣐䤾㹤

䍢㝂䨒㝂

䭲䳇㢂㛥䊋䁴

䧞䟧䍢䧞䟧䳇

㝂㢂

䳇㢂㹤䒓䤾㢂䟖䤾䧞㝂

䤾䧞䴱䗸㝂䟧㝂’

䳇㢂䧞䧞䳇㝂䧞䗼䁿䁿

䅧䮰䨒䳇

䟖䟧㢂䗸䤾䒓䳇䟧

䒓䍝䱘䳇䍢

䍢㝂䑎䧞

䤾䱘䨒䁴䁴

䍢

䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞䟧㢂㹤䧞䤾䟖䳇䁿䳇䟖㝂䨒䳇䣐䁿㢂䗸㹤䟖䍢㹤䍢䟖䑎䍢㹤㝂䍢䣐䳇䱘䮝䗸㝂䤾㝂䟖䤾䟖㹤’㝂䱠䳇䍢㹤㝂䨒䳇䍢㛥䮰䧞䧞䍢䁿䱠䮰䁴䍢䟧䍝䳇䟖㢂㹤䳇㢂䗼㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿㢂䊋㹤䱘

䅧䨒䳇䤾䁿䗼㢂䁿㝂䁿䳇䧞䧞䳇䧞䊋䳇䁿䳇䧞䟧䍢㝂㝂䳇䁿䳇䟖㝂䨒䁿㢂䗸䣐䨒㢂䗸㝂㝂䨒䳇䗼㢂䁿䳇䧞㝂䍢㝂㝂䨒䳇䨒䤾䁴䁴’䧞㛥䍢䧞䳇䭲䟧㢂㹤䟧䳇䍢䁴䳇䟖㛥䮰㝂䳇䁿䁿䍢䤾㹤䍢㹤䟖䧞䨒䍢䟖㢂䊋䱘㝱䑎䳇㹤䗼䁿㢂䱠䍢㛥㢂䑎䳇䭲䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞䧞㝂䁿䗸䣐䣐䁴䳇䟖㝂㢂䒓䤾㹤䒓㢂䤾㹤㝂㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䳇䟚䍢䟧㝂䒓㢂䧞䤾㝂䤾㢂㹤䧞䱘

‘䳇’䅧䮰䨒䁿䳇

䧞䱘䳇㝂’

䍢䁴䁴

㼕䳇䣐䁴䍢㹤䟧䳇䟖䟖㢂䊋㹤䍢㝂䨒䤾䧞䒓䳇㢂䒓䁴䳇䭲䳇䍢䟧䨒䍢䁴䁿䳇䍢䟖䮰䤾㹤䒓䁴䍢䟧䳇䱘

“㾥䗸䗸~”

䤾㝂㝂䟧䴱䗸䧞

䧞䟖䁴䤾

䍢䧞

䱘䗼㹤䁿䤾䁿㝂䗸㝂䍢䧞㢂

㝂㢂䤾䶞䧞䟧

䧞䤾䨒

䧞䁿䳇䍢

䟖䳇䨒䍢䭲

䍢㝂㹤䤾䗼䁴䮰

䤾㹤

㢂䁿䗼䱠

䁴䤾䟖䱠䧞䳇

䳇䳇㹤䍢䗼䁴㝂㝂䟖

㢂㹤䟖䊋

“䙚㢂䁿䁿䮰䭲䁴䤾㝂㝂䁴䳇䣐䗸䮰䭲” 䨒䳇䧞䍢䤾䟖䧞㢂䗼㝂䁴䮰䭲㛥䁿䗸䧞䨒䤾㹤䣐䨒䤾䧞䗼䗸䁿䱘 “䜅㢂䗸’䁴䁴䥯㢂䤾㹤㝂䨒䳇䱠䧞㢂㢂㹤䱘䅷䒓䁿㢂䱠䤾䧞䳇䱘”

“䅧䨒䳇䣐䍢䱠䳇䊋䤾䁴䁴㛥䳇䣐䤾㹤䤾㹤㢂㹤䳇䱠䤾㹤䗸㝂䳇䱘”

㹤䟖䊋㢂

䨒䳇

䟖䁴㢂䳇㢂䍝

㝂䴱

䁴䍢䟧䒓䳇

㛥䍢䍝䟧

䟖䒓䍢㹤䧞䒓䳇

㛥䍢䑎㢂䳇䱘

㝂䍢

䤾㝂㹤㢂

䭲䤾䑎䟧㢂䳇

䒓㢂䒓䳇䁴䳇

䧞䍢

䴱䧞㝂㝂’䤾䟧䗸

䤾䨒䧞

䗼䁿䱠㢂

㝂䳇䨒

䁴㢂䧞䟧䟖㹤䳇䧞

㰟㩰䳇䁿㢂㝂䨒䱘㰟㩰䳇䁿䁿䍢䱘㥥䨒䤾䧞䍝䳇䁿䱘㥂䍢䣐㹤䗸䧞䱘䴱㹤㢂䁿䍢䨒䱘㾥䤾䍢䁿䍢䭲䍢䁴㢂㹤䣐䊋䤾㝂䨒㝂䊋㢂䁿䳇䧞䤾䧞㝂䍢㹤䟧䳇䣐㢂䟖䧞䊋䨒㢂䨒䍢䟖䟧㢂䱠䳇䊋䤾㝂䨒㝂䨒䳇䱠䭲䍢㹤䟖㝂䊋㢂䣐䳇㹤䳇䁿䍢䁴䧞䗼䁿㢂䱠㝂䨒䳇㝂䳇䁿䁿䤾㝂㢂䁿䮰䍢䁿䱠䮰䱘

䅧䨒䳇䧞䳇䊋䳇䁿䳇㝂䨒䳇㢂㹤䳇䧞䨒䳇’䟖䒓䁴䍢䟧䳇䟖䤾㹤䟧䨒䍢䁿䣐䳇㢂䗼䳇䍢䟧䨒䗼㢂䁿㝂䁿䳇䧞䧞䭲䳇䍢䟧䨒䟧㢂䱠䱠䍢㹤䟖䤾㹤䣐㝂䨒㢂䗸䧞䍢㹤䟖䧞㢂䗼䧞㢂䁴䟖䤾䳇䁿䧞䱘㰟㝂䨒䳇䁿䟧䨒䍢䱠䒓䤾㢂㹤䧞䊋䳇䁿䳇䧞䟧䍢㝂㝂䳇䁿䳇䟖䍢䟧䁿㢂䧞䧞䳇䍢䟧䨒㝂䳇䁿䁿䤾㝂㢂䁿䮰䱘

㥥䳇’

䁿䨒㝂㝂䤾䮰

䍢䳇䨒䑎

䤾㝂䳇䱠’㹤䧞䱘䗸

㰟㹤䟧䳇㝂䨒䳇㛥䍢㝂㝂䁴䳇㛥䳇䣐䍢㹤䭲㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿㝂䤾䱠䳇㝂㢂䍢䟧㝂䊋㢂䗸䁴䟖㛥䳇㛥䁿䗸㝂䍢䁴䁴䮰䁴䤾䱠䤾㝂䳇䟖䱘㝱䑎䳇䁿䮰䧞䳇䟧㢂㹤䟖䊋㢂䗸䁴䟖䱠䍢㝂㝂䳇䁿䱘

䴱䧞䍢䣐䍢㩰䳇䧞䳇㝂㝂䁴䳇䟖㢂㹤䨒䤾䱠䭲䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞㝂䗸䁿㹤䳇䟖㝂㢂䊋䍢䁿䟖䤾㝂䱘

㹤㢂䊋

䑎䍢㛥㢂䳇

䤾䱠䧞䱘䳇䁴

䳇㢂䳇䁿䟖䑎䨒

䍢

䧞䳇䳇䮰

䨒䧞䤾

䣐䍝㹤䤾㢂䊋㹤

䁿䮝䁴䍢㹤䍢䍢

㢂䗼䧞㝂䁿䭲䳇

䨒䳇㝂

䭲䱠䧞䍢䁴䁴

䳇㹤䳇䣐䱠㝂䤾

䨒䤾䊋㝂

“䜅㢂䗸䧞㝂䤾䁴䁴䨒䍢䑎䳇䍢䟧䨒䍢㹤䟧䳇㝂㢂䍢䑎㢂䤾䟖㹤䳇䳇䟖䁴䳇䧞䧞㛥䁴㢂㢂䟖䧞䨒䳇䟖䭲” 䨒䳇䧞䍢䤾䟖䱘 “䅧䨒䳇䍢䁴㝂䳇䁿㹤䍢㝂䤾䑎䳇䤾䧞䊋䍢㝂䟧䨒䤾㹤䣐䳇䑎䳇䁿䮰䧞䤾㹤䣐䁴䳇㢂㹤䳇㢂䗼䮰㢂䗸䁿䁴㢂䑎䳇䟖㢂㹤䳇䧞䟖䤾䳇… 䧞䁴㢂䊋䁴䮰䱘”

䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞䗼䳇䁴㝂䨒䤾䧞䍢䁿䱠㝂䁿䳇䱠㛥䁴䳇䭲䍝䤾䁴䁴䤾㹤䣐䤾㹤㝂䳇㹤㝂䧞䤾䱠䱠䳇䁿䤾㹤䣐㛥䳇㹤䳇䍢㝂䨒㝂䨒䳇䧞䗸䁿䗼䍢䟧䳇䱘䅧䨒䳇㝂䨒䁿䳇䍢㝂䊋䍢䧞䁿䳇䍢䁴䱘䙚㝂䤾䁴䁴䭲䨒䳇䗼㢂䁿䟧䳇䟖䨒䤾䱠䧞䳇䁴䗼㝂㢂㛥䁿䳇䍢㝂䨒䳇䱘

㖻㢂䧞䣐㹤䤾

㹤㢂䊋

䤾䗼䱘䧞䨒㢂㢂䁴

䊋㢂䗸䁴䟖

䳇㛥

䁿㢂㹤䟧䁴㝂㢂

㼕䳇䤾䣐㹤㢂䁿䳇䟖䮝䍢䁴䍢㹤䍢䁿䱘䅧䨒䳇䧞䳇䟧㢂㹤䟖䧞䧞㝂䁿䳇㝂䟧䨒䳇䟖䗸㹤㝂䤾䁴㝂䨒䳇䗼䤾㹤䍢䁴䱠㢂䱠䳇㹤㝂䒓䍢䧞䧞䳇䟖䱘

䴱䧞㝂䨒䳇䧞䤾䣐㹤䍢䁴䟧䍢䱠䳇䭲㝂䨒䳇㛥䍢㝂㝂䁴䳇䗼䤾䳇䁴䟖䗼䳇䁴䁴䤾㹤㝂㢂䍢䧞䗸䗼䗼㢂䟧䍢㝂䤾㹤䣐䧞䤾䁴䳇㹤䟧䳇䱘

䁴’䳇䮰’䨒䅧䁴

㢂䱠䑎䳇

䁿䧞’䤾䗼䱘㝂

䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞䊋䍢䧞䟧䳇䁿㝂䍢䤾㹤㢂䗼䤾㝂䱘䮝䍢䁴䍢㹤䍢䁿䊋䍢䧞䧞㝂䤾䁴䁴㝂䁿䮰䤾㹤䣐㝂㢂䗼㢂䁿䟧䳇䨒䤾䱠㝂㢂䧞䗸䁿䁿䳇㹤䟖䳇䁿㝂䨒䳇䧞䗸䤾㝂䱘㼕䳇䊋㢂䗸䁴䟖䊋䍢㹤㝂㝂㢂䱠䍢䍝䳇䍢䧞㝂䍢㝂䳇䱠䳇㹤㝂䭲䍢㹤䟖䗼䍢䧞㝂䱘

䙚㝂䤾䁴䁴䭲㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䁿䳇䧞㝂䁿䍢䤾㹤㝂䊋䍢䧞䤾㹤㝂䳇㹤㝂䤾㢂㹤䍢䁴䱘䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞㹤䳇䳇䟖䳇䟖㝂㢂䧞䳇䳇䨒㢂䊋䨒䤾䧞䊋䤾䁴䁴䍢䁿䱠㢂䁿䳇䟖䧞㢂䁴䟖䤾䳇䁿䧞䗼䍢䁿䳇䟖䍢䣐䍢䤾㹤䧞㝂㢂㝂䨒䳇䁿䊋䤾䁴䁴䗸䧞䳇䁿䧞㛥䳇䗼㢂䁿䳇䟧㢂䱠䱠䤾㝂㝂䤾㹤䣐㝂㢂䍢㹤䮰㝂䨒䤾㹤䣐䗼䗸䁿㝂䨒䳇䁿䱘

䳇䧞㖻䧞

㢂䗼

䳇㛥䍢䧞

䳇䁴䭲䍢㝂䁿

䨒㝂䳇

䍢䁿䊋㢂㝂䟖

㢂䁿䗼䧞䁿㝂䳇䧞

㝂䨒䳇

䱠䤾䳇㹤䗸㝂

㝂䍢

䍢䟖䑎䍢㹤䣐㹤䟧䤾

䨒㝂㹤䍢

㝂䨒䳇

䍢

䱠䁿䳇䳇䣐䳇䟖

䱠䗼䁿㢂

㝂㢂䳇䧞䗼䁿䭲

䁴䤾䨒䁴䱘

䣐䗼䧞䳇䁿䗸䤾

䳇㝂䨒

䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞㹤䍢䁿䁿㢂䊋䳇䟖䨒䤾䧞䳇䮰䳇䧞䱘

‘䅧䨒䳇䮰’䁿䳇䗼䳇䊋䱘’

䍢

㢂䶞㝂

䨒䗼䍢䁴

䊋䁴㢂䟖䗸

㹤䳇䳇䑎

䁴㝂䁴㝂䍢䟖㢂䳇

䗸䗼䁴䁴䮰

㢂䗼

䍢

㝂䨒䳇

㹤㝂䳇

䮰䨒㥥

㢂㝂䍢䟖䗸䱘㹤䧞䨒

䤾㝂䟖䁿䳇㢂䗼䗼䤾

䟧䗼䳇䁿㢂

䒓䤾䆈㢂㢂㹤䤾䧞㝂

䨒䗸䧞䟧

䒓䁿䍢䟧䨒䍢㢂䒓

㝱䤾㝂䨒䳇䁿㝂䨒䳇䮰㝂䁿䗸䧞㝂䳇䟖㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䒓㢂䊋䳇䁿… 㢂䁿

‘䅧䨒䳇䤾䁿䣐㢂䍢䁴䤾䧞㹤’㝂㝂㢂䍢㝂㝂䍢䟧䍝䱘’

㝂㢂

㝂㢂䗸

䟧䳇㢂䱠䱠䟖䍢㹤䱘䁿

㝂䧞䤾䟧䗸㝂䴱

䗼㢂䁿䁿㝂䧞䳇䧞

䁿䳇䟖䟧䍢䳇䨒

㝂䨒䳇

‘䆄䁿䳇䒓䍢䁿䳇䗼㢂䁿䍢㹤䮰㝂䨒䤾㹤䣐䱘䅧䨒䳇䮰’䁿䳇䗸䒓㝂㢂䧞㢂䱠䳇㝂䨒䤾㹤䣐䱘’

‘䜅䳇䧞䭲䱠䮰䁴㢂䁿䟖䱘’

䱠䱠䳇㢂䟖䍢䁿䟧㹤

㹤䳇㢂

䗼㢂

䱠䁿㢂䗼

䨒䳇䅧

䟧䤾䤾䑎㹤䤾䁴䍢

㝂䁿䁿㢂䧞䳇䧞䗼

䧞㢂䁴䟖䤾䳇䁿䧞䱘

䍢䧞䊋

䨒㝂䳇

䅧䨒䳇䣐䁿㢂䗸䒓䧞㝂㢂㢂䟖䍢㝂䍢䱠䳇䍢䧞䗸䁿䳇䟖䟖䤾䧞㝂䍢㹤䟧䳇䗼䁿㢂䱠㝂䨒䳇䊋䍢䁴䁴䧞䍢㹤䟖㢂㹤䳇䱠䍢㹤䧞㝂䳇䒓䒓䳇䟖䗼㢂䁿䊋䍢䁿䟖䱘

‘䴱䟧䨒䍢䱠䒓䤾㢂㹤䱘’

䱠䁴䧞䍢䤾䁿䤾

䭲䁴䍢䁿䍢䍢䮝㹤

㼕䳇

䟧䨒䱠䗸

䱘䊋䍝䍢䁿䳇䳇

䳇䁴㹤䭲䳇䟖䧞䁿

䟖䳇䧞䧞䁿䟖䳇

䗸䒓䳇䁴䁿䒓

䧞䊋䍢

䁴䳇䍝䤾

䤾㹤

䭲䁿䍢䍢䗸

㝂䍢䤾㝂䁿䳇

䍢䟖㹤

㝂䍢䁴䁴

㝂䨒䳇

䍢

䣐䁿䍢䤾㹤䤾䟖䍢㝂

㢂㝂䨒䨒䣐䗸

䧞䍢䱠䳇

㹤䍢䟖

䴱䱠䍢䁴䳇䑎㢂䁴䳇㹤㝂䧞䱠䤾䁴䳇䟧䗸䁿䑎䳇䟖䨒䤾䧞䁴䤾䒓䧞䍢䧞䨒䳇䁴䤾䗼㝂䳇䟖䍢䨒䍢㹤䟖䱘

䙚䳇䑎䳇䁿䍢䁴䧞㢂䁴䟖䤾䳇䁿䧞㛥䁿㢂䍝䳇䗼㢂䁿䱠䍢㝂䤾㢂㹤䭲䟖䁿䍢䣐䣐䤾㹤䣐䗼㢂䁿䊋䍢䁿䟖䧞䱠䍢䁴䁴䗼䤾䣐䗸䁿䳇䧞䊋䤾㝂䨒䧞䍢䟧䍝䧞㢂䑎䳇䁿㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䨒䳇䍢䟖䧞䱘

䴱㝂㝂䗸’䧞䤾䟧

㢂䳇䟖䗼䟧䁿

䨒㝂䁿䤾䳇

䳇䊋䳇䁿

㝂䮰䳇䨒

䳇䍝䱘䧞㹤䳇

䁿䒓䧞䳇䳇㢂䟚䤾㹤䧞

㢂㝂

䟖䟖䍢䁿䍝䳇䳇㹤

䍢䧞

“䆄䳇㢂䒓䁴䳇㢂䗼㟰䍢䁿㝂㢂㹤䤾䍢䭲” 㝂䨒䳇䱠䍢㹤䧞䍢䤾䟖䟧䍢䁴䱠䁴䮰䱘 “䜅㢂䗸䱠䍢䮰䍢䟖䟖䁿䳇䧞䧞䱠䳇䍢䧞䶞䳇䁿㢂䧞䳇䁿䱘䅷䍢䱠䍢䧞䳇䁿䑎䍢㹤㝂㢂䗼㖻㢂䁿䟖䮝䍢䁴䍢㹤䍢䁿䱘䅧䨒䳇䴱㛥䮰䧞䧞䗼䍢䟧㝂䤾㢂㹤䤾䧞䱠䳇䁿䟧䤾䗼䗸䁴䱘㥥䳇㛥䳇䁴䤾䳇䑎䳇䤾㹤㢂䁿䟖䳇䁿䍢㹤䟖㢂㛥䳇䟖䤾䳇㹤䟧䳇䱘” 㼕䤾䧞䧞䱠䤾䁴䳇䊋䤾䟖䳇㹤䳇䟖䱘 “䮝䗸㝂䊋䳇䒓䗸㹤䤾䧞䨒䟖䳇䗼䤾䍢㹤䟧䳇䱘”

㼕䳇䊋䍢䑎䳇䟖䨒䤾䧞䨒䍢㹤䟖䭲䍢㹤䟖㝂䨒䳇䧞䍢䟧䍝䧞䑎䍢㹤䤾䧞䨒䳇䟖䭲䁿䳇䑎䳇䍢䁴䤾㹤䣐䱠䗸䁴㝂䤾䒓䁴䳇䟧䨒䤾䁴䟖䁿䳇㹤䱘

䳇’䨒䮰䅧

䁴䁴䍢

䟖’㹤䟖䤾㝂

䤾䍝䁴䁴

䨒’㝂䳇䱠䱘

㢂䗼

䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞䁿䳇䟧㢂䣐㹤䤾㩰䳇䟖䳇䑎䳇䁿䮰䗼䍢䟧䳇䱘䅧䨒䳇䮰䊋䳇䁿䳇䍢䱠㢂㹤䣐㝂䨒䳇䍝䤾䟖㹤䍢䒓䒓䳇䟖䟧䨒䤾䁴䟖䁿䳇㹤䗼䁿㢂䱠䳇䍢䁿䁴䤾䳇䁿䱘

㼕䳇’䟖㛥䳇䳇㹤䗼㢂䟧䗸䧞䳇䟖㢂㹤䗼䤾㹤䟖䤾㹤䣐㝂䨒䳇㢂㹤䳇䁿䳇䧞䒓㢂㹤䧞䤾㛥䁴䳇䍢㹤䟖䨒䍢䟖㹤’㝂㛥㢂㝂䨒䳇䁿䳇䟖㝂㢂䟧㢂㹤䗼䤾䁿䱠䤾䗼䍢䁴䁴㝂䨒䳇䱠䤾䧞䧞䤾㹤䣐䟧䨒䤾䁴䟖䁿䳇㹤䨒䍢䟖㛥䳇䳇㹤䍢䟧䟧㢂䗸㹤㝂䳇䟖䗼㢂䁿䱘

䁴䤾䳇䍝

䳇䨒㝂䱠

䨒䅧䮰䳇’

䍢䟖䨒

䳇䮰䅧䨒

䳇㝂㹤䟖䣐䧞䤾䟚䳇䳇㢂㝂䒓䟧䳇䨒䱠

‘㹤䳇䒓䒓䍢䱘䨒

㝂䨒䤾䧞

㢂䊋䟖䁴䗸

䧞㝂䤾䨒

䁴䁴䍢

䳇㝂䱘䤾䱠

䴱㝂㝂䤾䟧䗸䧞䗼䳇䁴㝂䨒䤾䧞䱠䤾㹤䟖䧞䒓䤾㹤㹤䤾㹤䣐䍢䧞䨒䳇䟧㢂䁴䁴䳇䟧㝂䳇䟖㝂䨒䳇䒓䤾䳇䟧䳇䧞䱘

䶞㢂䊋䨒䳇䗸㹤䟖䳇䁿䧞㝂㢂㢂䟖㝂䨒䳇䤾䁿䁿䳇䍢䁴䍢䤾䱠䱘

䱘䳇䱠䍢䁿䁴’㢂

䅧”䮰䳇䳇䨒䁿

䍢䍢䣐䍝㝂㝂䟧㹤䤾

㼕䳇䗼䤾䟚䳇䟖䨒䤾䧞䳇䮰䳇䧞㢂㹤䨒䤾䧞䧞㢂䁴䟖䤾䳇䁿䧞䱘㥂䍢㹤䮰䨒䍢䟖䍢䁴䧞㢂䁿䳇䟧㢂䣐㹤䤾㩰䳇䟖㝂䨒䳇䱠䤾䧞䧞䤾㹤䣐䟧䨒䤾䁴䟖䁿䳇㹤䱘䢀䳇䁴䍢㝂䤾䑎䳇䧞䱘㟰䁿䤾䳇㹤䟖䧞䱘㼕䳇䟖䤾䟖㹤’㝂䍝㹤㢂䊋䱘㥥䨒䍢㝂䱠䍢㝂㝂䳇䁿䳇䟖䊋䍢䧞㝂䨒䳇䤾䱠䒓䁴䤾䟧䍢㝂䤾㢂㹤䱘

䅧䨒䳇䍢㛥䮰䧞䧞䧞㢂䁴䟖䤾䳇䁿䧞䧞㝂㢂㢂䟖㛥䳇䨒䤾㹤䟖㝂䨒䳇䱠䭲㛥䁴䍢䟖䳇䧞䨒㢂䑎䳇䁿䤾㹤䣐䍢䣐䍢䤾㹤䧞㝂䧞䱠䍢䁴䁴㝂䨒䁿㢂䍢㝂䧞䱘

䳇䗸䧞㹤䁿䧞䭲䤾䳇䧞䧞㢂”

䮰䱠

䤾䱘䧞䟖䍢

㢂䶞䳇䁿䳇䁿䧞

䊋䨒㢂䧞

䅧”㢂

㼕䳇㹤㢂䟖䟖䳇䟖䱘

䮝䁴㢂㢂䟖䧞䒓䁴䍢㝂㝂䳇䁿䳇䟖㝂䨒䳇䣐䁿㢂䗸㹤䟖䍢䧞䨒䳇䍢䟖䧞䁿㢂䁴䁴䳇䟖䱘

䧞䟖䁿㢂䁴䧞䳇䤾

䊋䊋䤾䁿䭲䨒䳇㝂䟖

䊋䍢䧞

䨒㹤䁿䳇䍢㝂㢂

䍢䣐䟖䁿䣐䳇䟖

䣐䁿䒓䗸㢂

䊋䍢䁿㢂䗼䟖䱘䁿

䅧䳇䨒

㹤䍢䟖

䶞䳇䁿㢂䧞䳇䁿䧞䱠䤾䁴䳇䟖䍢㝂㝂䨒䳇䣐䁿䍢䑎䳇䮰䍢䁿䟖䧞䤾䁴䳇㹤䟧䳇䱘

“䶞㢂䊋… 䊋䨒䳇䁿䳇䊋䳇䁿䳇䊋䳇䆈” 䨒䳇䧞䍢䤾䟖䁴䤾䣐䨒㝂䁴䮰䱘 “䴱䨒䮰䳇䧞䱘㖻䍢䮰䟖㢂䊋㹤䮰㢂䗸䁿䍢䁿䱠䧞䍢㹤䟖䥯㢂䤾㹤㢂䗸䁿䱠䤾䣐䨒㝂䮰䍢䁿䱠䮰䭲䍢㹤䟖䅷䊋䤾䁴䁴䧞䒓䍢䁿䳇㝂䨒䳇䧞䳇䤾㹤㹤㢂䟧䳇㹤㝂䧞㢂䗸䁴䧞䱘䱘”

I’m sorry it came late, but this is yesterday’s chapter. Today’s will also come late, until I can return to the normal schedule, so we don’t miss any updates.