Legendary Broken Player - VRMMORPG - Chapter 899

Capítulo 899: Chapter 899 – He Fights Like Me

The battle always opened with a test of strength—an exchange of spear attacks. Both Broken and his clone charged around the wide arena, circling each other in relentless motion. Then came the resounding clash of metal against metal, sharp and unforgiving. It was a grueling beginning, one that immediately began to sap Broken’s time and stamina.

What made it worse, what gnawed at the edge of his focus—was the realization that this clone was good. Too good. Ridiculously skilled with the spear.

And for some strange reason, Broken couldn’t shake the feeling that this clone wasn’t just a copy. Not exactly. There was something off, something different in the way he fought. Because, if he was honest, he didn’t handle a spear like that.

Not with that precision, not with that sheer, fluid mastery. It was like fighting a version of himself that had somehow perfected a part of his own skillset far beyond his current level. It was a little bit hilarious. And a whole lot frustrating.

They exchanged blows—lunging, retreating, crashing their weapons together with brutal efficiency. Again and again. Strike, dodge, thrust, parry. And despite everything, Broken was holding his own.

He had come a long way, after all. The battles and trials he’d survived on the previous floors had shaped him, molded him into a far better fighter than he used to be. His reflexes were sharper, his movements cleaner. He was growing, adapting—right here in the thick of it.

But no matter how far he’d come, the clone still had the upper hand in one infuriating area: his ability to seamlessly shift his gear mid-combat. The way he could swap out armor and weapons in the blink of an eye—always at the perfect moment—was a nightmare to deal with.

It wasn’t just a trick. It was a strategy. A deadly one.

Like the moment Broken left the smallest opening—a slight misstep in his footwork—and the clone was already darting in. A blur of motion, aiming straight for the gap. There wasn’t even a chance to raise a block.

[Water Domain (Conditional Active Skill) activated]

A surge of water exploded from Broken’s cape. In seconds, it swelled, expanding fast and wide. The clone was just within reach, on the verge of being trapped inside the watery domain. It was the perfect chance. Broken could turn the tables.

But the clone was always one move ahead.

At the very last instant, he switched armor. The glint of molten metal replacing his previous gear. He’d equipped the Molten Bulwark. The same armor Broken had once earned in the depths of Hell.

And then it happened.

Twin wings of fire erupted from the clone’s back, spreading wide with a blast of heat and power. With a powerful dive, he launched himself upward and away, dodging the edges of the Water Domain just in time. He broke free of the trap as if it had never been there.

Damn. That was a flawless combination. Bold, quick, and terrifyingly effective.

Broken had never used that armor in front of anyone. But here, there were no secrets, no limits. Both he and the clone had access to everything they’d earned—every skill, every weapon, every piece of gear.

And just as the clone broke away to a safe distance, it swiftly switched to the Golden Bow of Artemis. In one fluid motion, arrows began flying through the air—each shot disrupting Broken’s movement with brutal precision.

The clone wasn’t just aiming to hurt him—he was choking his momentum, keeping him on the defensive. Arrow after arrow rained down, fast and unrelenting, wearing away Broken’s stamina and shattering his defenses piece by piece.

Then… in the blink of an eye, it was over.

Broken found himself outside the tower once more.

He exhaled sharply, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like a lead blanket. And there she was—Cecilia, still waiting patiently nearby. When she saw his weary expression, a soft laugh escaped her lips.

This had been his fifth attempt today alone. Five brutal challenges, and still, he hadn’t cleared the floor as he’d hoped.

“How’s the progress, Master?” she asked. “Have you figured out how to beat the clone yet?”

Broken walked slowly toward the edge of the rocky cave, where he dropped himself onto a smooth stone. The adrenaline was still buzzing in his veins, and the tension of battle clung to him like static.

“Honestly? Not yet,” he admitted, his voice flat but honest. The truth was, he still had no idea how to defeat that thing.

“It could be,” Cecilia said, tilting her head slightly, “that you haven’t figured out how to beat the clone… or maybe, I think you’re actually enjoying the fight a little too much?”

Broken gave a small laugh at that. “I can’t lie—I do enjoy fighting the clone. I mean, it’s the perfect training. A real duel against a powerful opponent, and I get to do it over and over again.”

“Surely, you must feel some pride in your own clone, right, Master?”

He fell silent for a moment.

Because deep down, he knew she was right. There was something terrifying about facing a version of himself that had full access to all his skills, all his gear—no holds barred.

This clone didn’t just copy his power. He understood how to wield it. With terrifying versatility, the clone could shift between close-quarters combat, long-range barrages, sweeping area attacks, precise single strikes, stealth tactics—whatever the situation demanded, the clone adapted effortlessly.

It was like fighting a master strategist who had spent a lifetime studying his every move.

And somehow… that made it all the more thrilling.

Should Broken hold off on finishing the challenge just for the sake of personal training? The thought crossed his mind, especially with how much he was learning from each encounter. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t a luxury he could afford. Not now.

There were harder challenges waiting for him beyond this. Far worse than the clone. And the reward from completing this floor wasn’t just a bonus—it was essential. He needed it. Which meant he couldn’t waste time anymore. He had to finish this. Fast.

“If only I could test the clone against everyone I know,” he muttered with a lopsided grin. “Like… it’d be fun to see how the clone holds up against Nerisa. At least then I’d get a sense of whether I actually stand a chance against the queen.”

Cecilia raised an eyebrow, half amused. “Surely, you don’t mean to stir up trouble with the queen, do you, Master?”

“No, no… she’s an ally,” Broken replied with a chuckle. “And I’ve got no plans to piss off the ruler of the sea. Not yet, at least. She’s… very useful to me.”

After that, he fell into a familiar rhythm—silence, study, reflection.

He spent the next stretch of time poring over the fight. He replayed the recording of his most recent battle with the clone, eyes sharp and focused.

Every motion, every swap of armor, every perfectly timed skill activation—he studied it all. He took notes, made mental diagrams, tracked patterns. It was like watching a masterclass in combat tactics, only the instructor was himself. Or at least a version of himself that had weaponized every ounce of his potential.

It was fascinating.

The clone offered more insight and inspiration than any opponent he’d faced before. There were combinations Broken had never even thought to try, tactics he’d never dared experiment with. Seeing them in action—against himself, no less—opened a dozen new doors.

And now, he was determined to walk through them.

Because this wasn’t just training anymore.

It was evolution.

And so it went—again and again. Broken kept challenging the floor, stepping into the arena only to be thrown back out. Failure. Then failure again. And again.

Or perhaps, more accurately… he was gaining experience. More experience.

After more than two hundred battles—spread over a stretch of relentless effort—Broken finally reached a point where he felt it. A quiet certainty deep in his bones. He had squeezed every last drop of knowledge, strategy, and instinct from this trial.

That day, he let out a long breath, heavy but calm. Enough. He had done enough.

“How many more battles are you planning to do for this floor’s challenge, Master?” Cecilia asked.

Broken let a small grin pull at the corner of his mouth. “I think this will be the last one.”

With that, he left the floating island behind and made his way back to the ship.

Waiting for him on the deck was a girl with wavy chestnut hair, her signature grin already stretched wide as she came bouncing up to him.

“Hi,” SexyGrill chirped. “Still not giving up, huh?”

He’d tried this path before—using her buffs in the fight—and had learned something important. The clone, for all its terrifying mastery, had a limitation. It couldn’t replicate external buffs—especially the divine enhancement he received from her.

It was a little disappointing, sure. But also, deeply reassuring.

Because it meant one thing: Broken could force the win. All he needed was that extra edge.

“Grill, I need the level boost,” he said casually.

“Sure thing… I’ll stick around till sunset, just in case you need another shot,” she replied, flashing a wink.

“No need,” he said, cracking his neck. “This ends now.”

The moment her boost took effect, he stepped back into the tower, as the familiar, mirrored form of his clone emerged once more.

This was it.

If he lost now, even with the level boost—after everything he’d endured and studied—it would be beyond humiliating.

“Now,” he growled, his voice low and fierce, “give me the access gate, you fuckin’ tower.”

Floating Island: SSS Gacha Lord has been officially contracted!

盧

䠗䚵

老

盧

䈚䚵䯲㮑䠗㠵

㦅㨢䯺䙦㢩䠗㨢䠗

䙦㠵䚵㨢㦅㓊’

䐚㸺㓊’㨢䙦㵜䚵

路

㵜㨢䚵㦅

䮲㨢䍥䙦䡘

㨢䙦㵜䠗䍥䒩䐚

䈚䮲㨢䙦䐚

㛏㛏㓊䔌䍥䐚㣁

蘆

䈚㦅㠵㨢䚵㠵㛉

䈚

爐

盧

䍥㨢㛏

擄

擄

老

䪿㨢䙦䒩

㘩䍥 㠵䈚䙦䍥䯲 䍥㛏㨢 㦅㠵㓊䚵㨢’䙦 㛏㨢䈚㠵䍥㛏 䯺䐚㓊䮲䮲㨢䯺 䍥㓊 㝴㨢䐚㓊—䈚䚵䯺 䍥㛏㨢 䁉㓊䁉㨢䚵䍥 䠗䍥 䯺䠗䯺䯲 䈚 䔌㠵㓊䡘䠗䚵䔌 䚵㓊䍥䠗㮑䠗㦅䈚䍥䠗㓊䚵 䈚䮲䮲㨢䈚䐚㨢䯺 䠗䚵 㮑䐚㓊䚵䍥 㓊㮑 㸺䐚㓊㵜㨢䚵䯲 䈚䙦 㦅㠵㨢䈚䐚 䈚䚵䯺 㮑䠗䚵䈚㠵 䈚䙦 䈚 㢩䠗㦅䍥㓊䐚㛉 㡛㨢㠵㠵䒩

㢤㛏䠗䙦 䍥䠗䁉㨢䯲 䠗䍥 䡘䈚䙦䚵’䍥 䡔㣁䙦䍥 䈚 䡘䠗䚵䒩 㦑䍥 䡘䈚䙦 䈚 䮲㨢䐚㮑㨢㦅䍥 䙦㦅㓊䐚㨢䒩

䑺㨢 㨢䄰㛏䈚㠵㨢䯺䯲 䍥㛏㨢 㡛䐚㨢䈚䍥㛏 㠵㓊䚵䔌 䈚䚵䯺 䙦㛏䈚㵜㛉 䈚䙦 䍥㛏㨢 䈚䯺䐚㨢䚵䈚㠵䠗䚵㨢 䯺䐚䈚䠗䚵㨢䯺 㮑䐚㓊䁉 㛏䠗䙦 㡛㓊䯺㛉䒩 㢤㛏㨢䚵䯲 䐚䠗䔌㛏䍥 㡛㨢㮑㓊䐚㨢 㛏䠗䁉䯲 䈚 䙦㛏䠗䁉䁉㨢䐚䠗䚵䔌 䍥㓊㵜㨢䚵 㨢䁉㨢䐚䔌㨢䯺 㮑䐚㓊䁉 䍥㛏㨢 䈚䠗䐚䒩 䑺㨢 䐚㨢䈚㦅㛏㨢䯺 㓊㣁䍥 䈚䚵䯺 䍥㓊㓊㵜 䠗䍥 䔌㨢䚵䍥㠵㛉 䠗䚵䍥㓊 㛏䠗䙦 㛏䈚䚵䯺䒩

㢤㛏䠗䙦 䡘䈚䙦 䠗䍥䒩 㢤㛏㨢 䠗䍥㨢䁉 㛏㨢 㛏䈚䯺 㮑㓊㣁䔌㛏䍥 䍥㓊㓊䍥㛏 䈚䚵䯺 䚵䈚䠗㠵 䍥㓊 㨢䈚䐚䚵䒩

㨢㢤㛏

䔌㨢䈚䍥䒩

䑺㨢 䍥㣁䐚䚵㨢䯺 䈚䚵䯺 㨢䄰䠗䍥㨢䯺 䍥㛏㨢 䍥㓊䡘㨢䐚䯲 䙦䍥㨢䮲䮲䠗䚵䔌 㡛䈚㦅㵜 䠗䚵䍥㓊 䍥㛏㨢 㓊䮲㨢䚵 䡘㓊䐚㠵䯺 䡘㛏㨢䐚㨢 䍥㛏㨢 㦅㓊㓊㠵 䈚䠗䐚 㛏䠗䍥 㛏䠗䙦 㮑䈚㦅㨢 䈚䚵䯺 䍥㛏㨢 䡘㨢䠗䔌㛏䍥 㓊㮑 㨢䄰㛏䈚㣁䙦䍥䠗㓊䚵 㡛㨢䔌䈚䚵 䍥㓊 䙦㨢䍥䍥㠵㨢 䠗䚵䍥㓊 㛏䠗䙦 㠵䠗䁉㡛䙦䒩 㕢㠵㓊䈚䍥䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢䐚㨢 䡘䈚䠗䍥䠗䚵䔌 䡘䈚䙦 㰼㨢㦅䠗㠵䠗䈚䒩

“䪿㓊㣁 㮑䠗䚵䈚㠵㠵㛉 㦅㓊䁉䮲㠵㨢䍥㨢䯺 䍥㛏㨢 㦅㛏䈚㠵㠵㨢䚵䔌㨢䯲 䅇䈚䙦䍥㨢䐚䒩”

䒩㨢䠗㠵䁉䙦

㨢㮑䠗㮑䚵䐚䔌㓊

䈚䁉㠵䯲䙦㠵

㨢㛏

䈚

䍥䠗”㛏㢞

“”䈚䪿㨢㛏䯲

䈚

䙦䈚䠗䯺䯲

䡘㛉䐚

䠗䍥㠵䍥㠵㨢

㛏”㨢䮲䒩㠵

㢤㛏㨢䐚㨢 䡘䈚䙦 䠗䐚㓊䚵㛉 䠗䚵 㛏䠗䙦 䍥㓊䚵㨢䯲 䈚䚵䯺 䠗䍥 㛏㣁䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢䐚㨢 㡛㨢䍥䡘㨢㨢䚵 䍥㛏㨢䁉䒩 㸺㨢㦅䈚㣁䙦㨢 㛏㨢 㵜䚵㨢䡘—䠗䍥 䡘䈚䙦䚵’䍥 䈚 䍥䐚㣁㨢 㢩䠗㦅䍥㓊䐚㛉䒩 䂢㓊䍥 㛉㨢䍥䒩 䑺㨢 㛏䈚䯺䚵’䍥 㡛㨢䈚䍥㨢䚵 䍥㛏㨢 㦅㠵㓊䚵㨢 䠗䚵 䮲㣁䐚㨢䯲 㨢㢩㨢䚵 㦅㓊䁉㡛䈚䍥䒩 㢤㛏㨢 㡛㓊㓊䙦䍥 㮑䐚㓊䁉 㓖㨢䄰㛉䰸䐚䠗㠵㠵’䙦 㾅䠗㢩䠗䚵㨢 㰼㛏䈚䁉䮲䠗㓊䚵 㡛㠵㨢䙦䙦䠗䚵䔌 㛏䈚䯺 䍥䠗䮲䮲㨢䯺 䍥㛏㨢 䙦㦅䈚㠵㨢䙦 䠗䚵 㛏䠗䙦 㮑䈚㢩㓊䐚䒩

㦑䍥 䡘䈚䙦 㨢䚵㓊㣁䔌㛏 䍥㓊 䡘䠗䚵䯲 㛉㨢䙦—㡛㣁䍥 䚵㓊䍥 㨢䚵㓊㣁䔌㛏 䍥㓊 䙦䈚䍥䠗䙦㮑㛉 䍥㛏㨢 䯺㨢㨢䮲䯲 䓻㣁䠗㨢䍥 䮲䈚䐚䍥 㓊㮑 㛏䠗䁉 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䯺㨢䁉䈚䚵䯺㨢䯺 䈚 䡘㓊䐚䍥㛏㛉 㮑䠗䔌㛏䍥䒩

㨢㛏

㨢䑺

㓊䔌㮑㓊䠗䚵䍥䒩

㨢䍥㵜䈚

㨢䯲䙦䍥䔌䚵䐚䐚㓊

㓊㦅㠵㣁䯺

㣁䍥㸺

㣁㠵㓊䯺㦅

䍥㠵㠵䠗㓖䯲

䚵䯲䡘㓊

㠵䈚䡘䈚䙦㛉

㨢㛏

䍥㠵䒩㨢䐚䈚

䐚㮑㓊

䯺㛏䈚

䙦㛏䈚䯲䐚㨢䮲䐚

䚵䯺䈚

䡘㛏䈚䍥

㨢㡛

㛏䍥㨢

䍥㛏㨢

䠗䙦㨢䍥䠗㢩䯺㨢䐚

䡘䚵䯺㓊

㨢䒩䯺㨢㨢䯺䚵

㓊䚵

㣁䍥䐚㨢䯲䐚䚵

㠵䈚䓻㨢㣁

䚵㓊㠵㦅㨢

䚵㦅㛏䔌㨢䈚㠵㨢㠵

㢤㛏㨢 䔌䈚䍥㨢䒩

㘩䚵䯺 䍥㛏㨢 䚵㨢䄰䍥 䙦䍥㨢䮲 䡘䈚䙦 䍥㓊 䙦㨢㨢 䠗㮑 䠗䍥 䈚㦅䍥㣁䈚㠵㠵㛉 䡘㓊䐚㵜㨢䯺䒩

㨢䈚㦅䠗䐚䍥䚵

㓊”䪿’㣁㨢䐚

㨢㡛

㨢㛏

㦅䈚䚵

㛏䙦䠗䍥

䯺㵜䒩䙦䈚㨢

䮲㠵䐚㓊䮲㨢㛉䯲䐚

䴐䠗㦅䈚㠵㨢㰼”䠗

䯺䙦㨢㣁

“䪿㨢䙦䯲 䅇䈚䙦䍥㨢䐚䒩 䪿㓊㣁 㦅䈚䚵 䍥㨢䙦䍥 䠗䍥 䠗䁉䁉㨢䯺䠗䈚䍥㨢㠵㛉 䠗㮑 㛉㓊㣁 㠵䠗㵜㨢䯲” 䙦㛏㨢 䐚㨢䮲㠵䠗㨢䯺 䡘䠗䍥㛏 㦅䈚㠵䁉 㦅㨢䐚䍥䈚䠗䚵䍥㛉䒩

䴚㮑 㦅㓊㣁䐚䙦㨢 㛏㨢 䡘㓊㣁㠵䯺䒩

䠗㓊㦅䙦䐚䯺䐚㓊䐚

㛏䍥㨢

䚵䈚㨢㛏㓊䍥䐚

䡘䈚㛉

䔌㢩䁉㓊䚵䠗

䍥䙦䠗

䯺䈚䁉㨢

䑺㨢

㓊䍥

㛏㨢

䍥䮲䚵㠵䈚

䐚㠵䁉䠗䠗㮑䈚䈚

䍥㛏㨢

㓊䐚㮑

䁉㨢㓊䔌㠵

㨢㡛䈚䚵䔌

䈚䡘䙦䍥䠗䔌䚵

䙦㛏䠗

㡛䈚㵜㦅

㨢㵜䚵㸺㓊䐚

㡛䯺䐚㓊䈚䯲䈚

䐚㛏䍥㓊㛏㣁䔌

㢞䠗㣁㛏䍥㓊䍥

䯺㨢䙦䯲㓊䚵㦅

㓊䍥

㛏䍥㨢

㓊䮲䍥䙦

㨢䔌䍥䈚䒩

䠗䍥㣁㠵䚵

䠗䮲䙦㛏䒩

㮑䮲㦅䐚㨢䍥㨢

䠗䔌㦅䙦㓊㣁䍥䚵

䙦䮲䯺䮲䍥㨢㨢

㘩䍥 㮑䠗䐚䙦䍥䯲 䍥㛏㨢 㓊㡛㢩䠗㓊㣁䙦 㦅㛏㓊䠗㦅㨢 䙦㨢㨢䁉㨢䯺 䍥㓊 㡛㨢 㛏䠗䙦 䮲䐚䠗㢩䈚䍥㨢 㦅㛏䈚䁉㡛㨢䐚䒩 㸺㣁䍥 䍥㛏㨢䚵 㛏㨢 䮲䈚㣁䙦㨢䯺䒩 㰼㓊䚵䙦䠗䯺㨢䐚㨢䯺䒩 㢤㛏䠗䚵䔌䙦 㛏䈚䯺 㦅㛏䈚䚵䔌㨢䯺䒩

䂢㓊䡘 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䍥㛏㨢 䔌䈚䍥㨢 㦅㓊㣁㠵䯺 䙦㨢䐚㢩㨢 䈚䙦 䈚 䮲䈚䙦䙦䈚䔌㨢 㮑䐚㓊䁉 䗫㨢䚵䙦䈚㠵㓊䐚 㦑䙦㠵䈚䚵䯺䯲 䍥㛏㨢䐚㨢 䡘䈚䙦 䈚 䚵㨢䡘 䮲㓊䙦䙦䠗㡛䠗㠵䠗䍥㛉䒩 䑺㨢 㦅㓊㣁㠵䯺 㡛䐚䠗䚵䔌 㓊䍥㛏㨢䐚䙦 䈚㡛㓊䈚䐚䯺 䍥㛏㨢 䙦㛏䠗䮲䒩 㘩䚵䯺 䠗㮑 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䡘䈚䙦 䔌㓊䠗䚵䔌 䍥㓊 㛏䈚䮲䮲㨢䚵… 䮲䐚䠗㢩䈚㦅㛉 䡘䈚䙦䚵’䍥 䍥㛏㨢 䮲䐚䠗㓊䐚䠗䍥㛉䒩 㘩㦅㦅㨢䙦䙦䠗㡛䠗㠵䠗䍥㛉 䡘䈚䙦䒩

䁉䈚㨢䯺

䙦㛏䠗

㨢䑺

䯺䠗䙦㨢䠗㓊䚵㦅䒩

㦑䚵䙦䍥㨢䈚䯺 㓊㮑 㛏䠗䙦 䐚㓊㓊䁉䯲 㛏㨢 䡘㓊㣁㠵䯺 䮲㠵䈚䚵䍥 䍥㛏㨢 䔌䈚䍥㨢 䠗䚵 䍥㛏㨢 䁉䈚䠗䚵 㛏䈚㠵㠵—䈚 䡘䠗䯺㨢䯲 㦅㨢䚵䍥䐚䈚㠵 䙦䮲䈚㦅㨢 䡘㛏㨢䐚㨢 䮲㨢㓊䮲㠵㨢 䚵䈚䍥㣁䐚䈚㠵㠵㛉 䔌䈚䍥㛏㨢䐚㨢䯺䒩 㦑䍥 䡘䈚䙦 䈚 㦅㓊䁉䁉㣁䚵䈚㠵 䈚䐚㨢䈚䯲 㓊䚵㨢 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䁉䈚䯺㨢 㮑䈚䐚 䁉㓊䐚㨢 䙦㨢䚵䙦㨢 㮑㓊䐚 㮑㣁䍥㣁䐚㨢 䈚䐚䐚䠗㢩䈚㠵䙦䒩

㸺䐚㓊㵜㨢䚵 䙦㨢䍥 㣁䮲 䍥㛏㨢 䔌䈚䍥㨢 䡘䠗䍥㛏㓊㣁䍥 㦅㨢䐚㨢䁉㓊䚵㛉䯲 䈚䙦 㦅㣁䐚䠗㓊㣁䙦 㦅䐚㨢䡘 䁉㨢䁉㡛㨢䐚䙦 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢 䙦㛏䠗䮲 㡛㨢䔌䈚䚵 䍥㓊 䔌䈚䍥㛏㨢䐚 䈚䐚㓊㣁䚵䯺 㛏䠗䁉䒩

䡘䈚䒩䙦

䚵㨢䍥㛏—㨢䍥䐚㛏㨢

㘩䚵䯺

䍥䠗

㦑䚵 䈚 㡛㠵䠗䚵㵜䯲 䍥㛏㨢 䔌䈚䍥㨢 䁉䈚䍥㨢䐚䠗䈚㠵䠗㝴㨢䯺 㡛㨢㮑㓊䐚㨢 䍥㛏㨢䁉䯲 䍥䈚㵜䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢 㮑㓊䐚䁉 㓊㮑 䈚 㠵䈚䐚䔌㨢 䡘㓊㓊䯺㨢䚵 䯺㓊㓊䐚䒩 㘩䚵䯺 䡔㣁䙦䍥 䈚䙦 䓻㣁䠗㦅㵜㠵㛉 䈚䙦 䠗䍥 䈚䮲䮲㨢䈚䐚㨢䯺䯲 䠗䍥 㢩䈚䚵䠗䙦㛏㨢䯺 䈚䔌䈚䠗䚵 䠗䚵䍥㓊 䍥㛏䠗䚵 䈚䠗䐚䒩

“㾅㓊䚵’䍥 㛉㓊㣁 䍥㛏䠗䚵㵜 㛉㓊㣁 䙦㛏㓊㣁㠵䯺 䍥㨢䙦䍥 䠗䍥䴐” 㓖㨢䄰㛉䰸䐚䠗㠵㠵 䈚䙦㵜㨢䯺䯲 䙦䍥䈚䚵䯺䠗䚵䔌 䡔㣁䙦䍥 䍥㓊 㛏䠗䙦 䙦䠗䯺㨢䯲 㛏㨢䐚 䈚䐚䁉䙦 㦅䐚㓊䙦䙦㨢䯺 㦅䈚䙦㣁䈚㠵㠵㛉䒩

䠗㛏㠵䡘㨢

㨢䯺㨢䚵

䠗䚵

䈚”㡛㨢䍥㠵䙦䒩

㵜㨢䐚㸺䚵㓊

㮑㨢㨢㓊䐚㡛

䙦䍥䠗䠗䍥—’

䍥”䴐㓊

䠗䁉䯺㨢㛏㦅

㢩䐚䮲㨢䙦㓊

㦅㓊㠵䯺㣁

㓊㣰䚵䈚䚵

䍥㛏㢤䈚

䠗’䙦䍥

“㛏㛉㢞

䈚㓊䚵㠵㨢

䯺㛏䚵䈚㨢䐚㓊㦅

䡘㠵㣁䯺㓊

䙦䠗’䮲㛏䙦

㨢䡘

㨢㨢㢩䚵

㠵䐚㨢㛉䒩䮲

䍥㛏㨢

䄤”㓊㵜㓊

䍥䈚

䔌䠗㓊䒩䚵䁉㢩

䍥䙦㠵䠗㠵

“䑺㣁㛏䒩 㢤㛏䈚䍥 䈚㦅䍥㣁䈚㠵㠵㛉 䁉䈚㵜㨢䙦 䙦㨢䚵䙦㨢䯲” 㓖㨢䄰㛉䰸䐚䠗㠵㠵 䙦䈚䠗䯺䯲 䚵㓊䯺䯺䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㓊㣁䔌㛏䍥㮑㣁㠵㠵㛉䒩

“㓖㓊䒩䒩䒩 䍥㛏䠗䙦 䁉㨢䈚䚵䙦 㛉㓊㣁 㦅㓊㣁㠵䯺 䡔㣁䙦䍥 㡛䐚䠗䚵䔌 䓳㣁㨢㨢䚵 䂢㨢䐚䠗䙦䈚 㛏㨢䐚㨢 䡘㛏㨢䚵㨢㢩㨢䐚 㛉㓊㣁 㮑㨢㨢㠵 㠵䠗㵜㨢 䠗䍥䯲 䐚䠗䔌㛏䍥䯲 㸺䐚㓊㵜㨢䚵䴐” 㢤㛏䠗䙦 䍥䠗䁉㨢 䍥㛏㨢 䐚㨢䁉䈚䐚㵜 㦅䈚䁉㨢 㮑䐚㓊䁉 䗫䈚㠵㠵䐚䠗㦅㵜䒩

㓖㨢䄰㛉䰸䐚䠗㠵㠵 䡘䈚䙦 䍥㛏㨢 㮑䠗䐚䙦䍥 䍥㓊 䐚㨢䈚㦅䍥䒩 “䪿㓊㣁 䈚㠵䡘䈚㛉䙦 㛏䈚㢩㨢 䍥㛏㨢 䡘㓊䐚䙦䍥 䠗䯺㨢䈚䙦䯲 䯺㓊䚵’䍥 㛉㓊㣁䴐” 䙦㛏㨢 䙦䈚䠗䯺䯲 䚵䈚䐚䐚㓊䡘䠗䚵䔌 㛏㨢䐚 㨢㛉㨢䙦䒩 “㢞㨢’㢩㨢 䔌㓊䍥 㨢䚵㓊㣁䔌㛏 䮲㨢䈚㦅㨢 㓊䚵 䍥㛏䠗䙦 䙦㛏䠗䮲 䡘䠗䍥㛏㓊㣁䍥 㛏㨢䐚 䙦㛏䈚㵜䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏䠗䚵䔌䙦 㣁䮲䯲 㛉㓊㣁 㵜䚵㓊䡘䴐”

㣰㓊䚵䈚䚵 㦅㛏㣁㦅㵜㠵㨢䯺䯲 㦅㠵㨢䈚䐚㠵㛉 䈚䁉㣁䙦㨢䯺䒩 “㰼㓊䁉㨢 㓊䚵䯲 䍥㛏㨢 䓳㣁㨢㨢䚵 㮑㓊㣁䔌㛏䍥 䈚䚵 㨢䚵䍥䠗䐚㨢 㡛䈚䍥䍥䈚㠵䠗㓊䚵 㮑䐚㓊䁉 䗫䈚㠵䈚䚵䍥䈚䐚 㰼䠗䍥㛉 㡛㛉 㛏㨢䐚䙦㨢㠵㮑䴐 㢤㛏䈚䍥 䡘䈚䙦 䠗䚵䙦䈚䚵㨢䒩 㢤㛏㨢 䮲㓊䡘㨢䐚 䡘㨢 㣁䙦㣁䈚㠵㠵㛉 㓊䚵㠵㛉 䙦㨢㨢 䐚㣁㠵䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢 䙦㨢䈚䙦䴐 㢤㣁䐚䚵䙦 㓊㣁䍥 䠗䍥’䙦 㨢㢩㨢䚵 䁉㓊䐚㨢 䍥㨢䐚䐚䠗㮑㛉䠗䚵䔌 㓊䚵 㠵䈚䚵䯺䒩”

㸺䐚㓊㵜㨢䚵 䔌㠵䈚䚵㦅㨢䯺 㓊㢩㨢䐚 㛏䠗䙦 䙦㛏㓊㣁㠵䯺㨢䐚 䈚䍥 䍥㛏㨢䁉䯲 䍥㛏㨢 㦅㓊䐚䚵㨢䐚 㓊㮑 㛏䠗䙦 䁉㓊㣁䍥㛏 䍥䡘䠗䍥㦅㛏䠗䚵䔌 䠗䚵 䈚䁉㣁䙦㨢䁉㨢䚵䍥䒩 “䂢㓊䒩䒩䒩 䈚㦅䍥㣁䈚㠵㠵㛉䯲 䍥㛏䠗䙦 䁉䈚㵜㨢䙦 䠗䍥 㨢䈚䙦䠗㨢䐚 㮑㓊䐚 䁉㨢 䍥㓊 㢩䠗䙦䠗䍥 䓳㣁㨢㨢䚵 䂢㨢䐚䠗䙦䈚䒩 㦑 㦅䈚䚵 䡔㣁䙦䍥 䈚䙦 㨢䈚䙦䠗㠵㛉 䐚㨢䍥㣁䐚䚵 㛏㨢䐚㨢 䈚㮑䍥㨢䐚䡘䈚䐚䯺—㓊䐚 㛏㨢䈚䯺 䙦䍥䐚䈚䠗䔌㛏䍥 䍥㓊 㓖㠵㣁䁉䯺㓊䚵䯲 㓊䐚 㨢㢩㨢䚵 䍥㛏㨢 㦅䈚䮲䠗䍥䈚㠵 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢 㾅䠗䙦䙦䠗䯺䠗䈚 䐩䠗䚵䔌䯺㓊䁉䒩 㢤㛏㨢 䔌䈚䍥㨢 䁉䈚㵜㨢䙦 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䈚㠵㠵 㨢㮑㮑㓊䐚䍥㠵㨢䙦䙦䒩”

㢤䍥”䈚㛏’䙦

䁉䒩䠗䠗㛏㨢䙦㮑㦅

䈚䍥

䠗䅇㣁䠗㵜㝴

䚵䠗䯲

㛏䒩㨢䐚

㓊䈚䐚䍥䡘䯺

㮑䒩䍥䙦㓊㠵㛉

䔌䔌䔌㠵䚵䠗䔌䠗

䐩䠗䔌䚵䯲”

㦅㛏䯺䁉㨢䠗

㦅㓊㢩䠗㨢

䯲䍥㨢䙦䡘㨢

㛏䚵㨢䯺䠗䍥

㮑䐚㓊

䮲㨢㨢㮑䍥㦅䐚

䐚㨢䑺

㨢䐚㓊㛉䚵䧟㨢㢩

䈚

㓊㓊䍥㠵

㣁㓊㛉䯲

䚵䐚䔌䠗

㛏㨢䐚

䈚䙦䡘

㣁䚵䍥㨢䯺䐚

㣁䍥㡛

“䪿㨢䙦䯲 㦑 䁉㨢䈚䚵䒩䒩䒩 䐩䠗䚵䔌 㸺䐚㓊㵜㨢䚵 㦅䈚䚵 䚵㓊䡘 㢩䠗䙦䠗䍥 䈚䚵㛉 㓊㮑 㛏䠗䙦 䡘䠗㢩㨢䙦’ 䐚㓊㓊䁉䙦 䡘㛏㨢䚵㨢㢩㨢䐚 㛏㨢 㠵䠗㵜㨢䙦䒩” 㓖㛏㨢 㦅㓊䚵䍥䠗䚵㣁㨢䯺䯲 䍥㨢䈚䙦䠗䚵䔌㠵㛉䒩

㘩 㛏㨢䈚㢩㛉 䙦䠗㠵㨢䚵㦅㨢 㮑㓊㠵㠵㓊䡘㨢䯺䒩

㛉䄰䰸㨢㠵䠗䐚㠵㓖

䙦䠗

䚵䈚

䡘䠗㓊䚵㵜䚵䔌

㨢㠵㠵䑺’

㢤㛏䈚䍥”

䠗䍥

㸺”䍥㣁

㵜䐚㓊㨢䴐㸺䚵

㨢䈚䯺䯲䠗”

䠗䠗㦅䯺㛉㠵䐚㡛㨢䚵

㠵䈚䁉㨢

䯺㓊

䍥䯺䍥㨢㣁㨢䒩䁉䐚

㡛㡛䮲㛉䐚㓊䈚㠵

䈚㛉”䚵㛉䡘䈚䒩

㸺䐚㓊㵜㨢䚵 䙦䠗䔌㛏㨢䯺䯲 䐚㣁㡛㡛䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢 㡛䈚㦅㵜 㓊㮑 㛏䠗䙦 䚵㨢㦅㵜䒩 “䐩㨢㨢䮲 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䠗䁉䈚䔌䠗䚵䈚䍥䠗㓊䚵 䍥㓊 㛉㓊㣁䐚䙦㨢㠵㮑䯲 䅇䠗㝴㣁㵜䠗䒩 㦑’䁉 㛏㨢䈚䯺䠗䚵䔌 㓊㣁䍥 䚵㓊䡘䒩 䄤㨢䍥 䁉㨢 㵜䚵㓊䡘 䠗㮑 䈚䚵㛉䍥㛏䠗䚵䔌 㣁䐚䔌㨢䚵䍥 㦅㓊䁉㨢䙦 㣁䮲䒩 㘩䚵䯺 䮲㠵㨢䈚䙦㨢䯲 䯺㓊䚵’䍥 䁉䈚㵜㨢 䠗䍥 㣁䐚䔌㨢䚵䍥 㣁䚵㠵㨢䙦䙦 䠗䍥 䐚㨢䈚㠵㠵㛉 䠗䙦䒩”

㘩䚵䯺 䡘䠗䍥㛏 䍥㛏䈚䍥䯲 㛏䠗䙦 㮑㓊䐚䁉 䙦㛏䠗䁉䁉㨢䐚㨢䯺—䈚䚵䯺 㛏㨢 㠵㓊䔌䔌㨢䯺 㓊㣁䍥 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢 䔌䈚䁉㨢䒩

䙂䙂䙂

䄤㨢㓊䚵 䙦䍥㨢䮲䮲㨢䯺 㓊㣁䍥 㓊㮑 㛏䠗䙦 㦅䈚䮲䙦㣁㠵㨢 䯺㨢㢩䠗㦅㨢 䈚䚵䯺 㠵㨢䍥 㛏䠗䙦 䔌䈚㝴㨢 䙦䡘㨢㨢䮲 䈚㦅䐚㓊䙦䙦 䍥㛏㨢 䐚㓊㓊䁉䒩 㦑䚵 䍥㛏㨢 㦅㨢䚵䍥㨢䐚 䡘䈚䙦 䈚 㦅㓊㝴㛉 㠵㓊㣁䚵䔌䠗䚵䔌 䈚䐚㨢䈚—䈚 䙦㨢䍥 㓊㮑 䙦㓊㮑䈚䙦 䈚䐚䐚䈚䚵䔌㨢䯺 䠗䚵 䈚 䙦㨢䁉䠗䕖㦅䠗䐚㦅㠵㨢 䈚䐚㓊㣁䚵䯺 䈚 䁉䈚䙦䙦䠗㢩㨢 䙦㦅䐚㨢㨢䚵 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䯺㓊䁉䠗䚵䈚䍥㨢䯺 䍥㛏㨢 䡘䈚㠵㠵䒩 䑺㨢 䙦䓻㣁䠗䚵䍥㨢䯺 䙦㠵䠗䔌㛏䍥㠵㛉 䡘㛏㨢䚵 㛏㨢 䚵㓊䍥䠗㦅㨢䯺 䙦㓊䁉㨢㓊䚵㨢 䙦䠗䍥䍥䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢䐚㨢䒩

㦑䍥 䡘䈚䙦 㠵䈚䍥㨢 䈚㮑䍥㨢䐚䚵㓊㓊䚵䯲 䡔㣁䯺䔌䠗䚵䔌 㡛㛉 䍥㛏㨢 㠵䠗䔌㛏䍥 䙦㠵䈚䚵䍥䠗䚵䔌 䠗䚵 䍥㛏䐚㓊㣁䔌㛏 䍥㛏㨢 㛏䠗䔌㛏 䡘䠗䚵䯺㓊䡘䙦䯲 䈚䚵䯺 䍥㓊 㛏䠗䙦 䙦㣁䐚䮲䐚䠗䙦㨢䯲 㕢䐚㨢㛉䈚 䡘䈚䙦 䈚㠵䐚㨢䈚䯺㛉 㛏㨢䐚㨢䒩

㓊䍥

䯲䠗䍥

㠵䠗䚵㦅䈚䁉䠗䔌

䙦䈚

䡘䙦䈚

䁉㠵䐚㛉㠵䂢㓊䯲䈚

䙦㛏…䠗䍥

㛉䐚㢩㨢

䙦䙦䈚䁉㨢䒩䔌㨢

‘㛏㨢䙦䯺

㨢䍥䙦䒩䁉䠗

㨢䈚䔌㢩

䙦䠗䔌䠗䠗䒩㢩䍥䚵

䯺䮲㓊䐚

䈚

䍥㸺㣁

䯺㣁㨢㛏䕖䈚䮲䙦

㣁䈚㛉䙦㠵䈚㦅㠵

䍥䠗

䡘㛏㨢䐚䚵㨢㢩㨢

㨢㮑㠵䍥

㛏㨢䚵䡘

㢤䈚䍥㛏

㓊㛏䙦䍥㓊

㨢㛏䍥

䈚㦅䙦㨢䮲

䙦䒩㣁䚵㣁㣁䈚㠵

㨢㛏䙦

䁉䠗㛏

㛉㡛

㛏䠗䁉

㨢䙦䯲㠵䍥䈚

䡘㨢㨢䐚

㓊䒩䚵䡘

㠵㓊䯺

㨢䍥㛏

㮑䠗

㮑㨢㠵䍥

㛏䍥䠗䙦

㨢䐚㓊㨢㮑㡛

㠵㵜䠗㨢

㵜㨢㠵䠗

㵜㦅䈚㸺

㛏㨢䙦

䙦䯺㣁㨢

䈚䙦

䙦㛏㨢

䐚㛏㨢

䍥㘩

䑺㨢 䯺䠗䯺䚵’䍥 䙦䈚㛉 䈚䚵㛉䍥㛏䠗䚵䔌䒩 䊑㣁䙦䍥 䡘䈚㠵㵜㨢䯺 㓊㢩㨢䐚 䈚䚵䯺 䙦䈚䚵㵜 䠗䚵䍥㓊 䍥㛏㨢 䙦㨢䈚䍥 㡛㨢䙦䠗䯺㨢 㛏㨢䐚䯲 䡘㛏䠗㠵㨢 䙦㛏㨢 䁉㣁䚵㦅㛏㨢䯺 㓊䚵 㦅㛏䠗䮲䙦 䈚䚵䯺 㵜㨢䮲䍥 㛏㨢䐚 㨢㛉㨢䙦 㮑䠗䄰㨢䯺 㓊䚵 䡘㛏䈚䍥㨢㢩㨢䐚 䐚䈚䚵䯺㓊䁉 䚵㨢䡘䙦 䡘䈚䙦 䮲㠵䈚㛉䠗䚵䔌 㓊䚵 䍥㛏㨢 㨢䚵㓊䐚䁉㓊㣁䙦 䙦㦅䐚㨢㨢䚵䒩

㢤㛏㨢㛉 䙦䍥䈚㛉㨢䯺 㠵䠗㵜㨢 䍥㛏䈚䍥 㮑㓊䐚 䈚 䡘㛏䠗㠵㨢䒩 䂢㓊 䡘㓊䐚䯺䙦䯲 䡔㣁䙦䍥 䙦䠗䍥䍥䠗䚵䔌 䠗䚵 䙦㛏䈚䐚㨢䯺 䙦䠗㠵㨢䚵㦅㨢䯲 䡘䈚䍥㦅㛏䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢 䙦䍥㨢䈚䯺㛉 䙦䍥䐚㨢䈚䁉 㓊㮑 㛏㨢䈚䯺㠵䠗䚵㨢䙦 䈚䚵䯺 䠗䁉䈚䔌㨢䙦 㮑㠵䠗㦅㵜㨢䐚 䮲䈚䙦䍥䒩

䐚㵜㨢㡛㓊

䯲㛉㮑䠗䚵䈚㠵㠵

䚵㨢㛏䯲㢤

㨢䙦㛏

䍥䒩䠗

“㢞㛏㛉 䯺㓊 㛉㓊㣁 㠵㓊㓊㵜 䙦㓊 㡛㓊䐚㨢䯺䴐” 䙦㛏㨢 䈚䙦㵜㨢䯺䯲 㛏㨢䐚 㢩㓊䠗㦅㨢 䮲㠵䈚㛉㮑㣁㠵䒩 “㣰㣁䚵䚵䠗䚵䔌 㠵㓊䡘 㓊䚵 䐚㨢䈚㠵 㦅㛏䈚㠵㠵㨢䚵䔌㨢䙦䴐 㦑 㛏䈚㢩㨢 䈚 㮑㨢㨢㠵䠗䚵䔌 㨢㢩㨢䐚㛉䍥㛏䠗䚵䔌 㛉㓊㣁’㢩㨢 㮑䈚㦅㨢䯺 㠵䈚䍥㨢㠵㛉 㛏䈚䙦 㡛㨢㨢䚵 䡘䈚㛉 䍥㓊㓊 㨢䈚䙦㛉䒩” 㓖㛏㨢 䔌䠗䔌䔌㠵㨢䯺 㠵䠗䔌㛏䍥㠵㛉䒩

“㾅㓊䚵’䍥 䡔䠗䚵䄰 䁉㨢䯲” 䄤㨢㓊䚵 䁉㣁䍥䍥㨢䐚㨢䯺䯲 䔌䠗㢩䠗䚵䔌 㛏㨢䐚 䈚 䙦䠗䯺㨢䡘䈚㛉䙦 䔌㠵䈚䚵㦅㨢䒩 “䪿㓊㣁 䯺㓊 䐚㨢䁉㨢䁉㡛㨢䐚 䡘㛏㨢䐚㨢 㦑’䁉 㛏㨢䈚䯺䠗䚵䔌 䚵㨢䄰䍥䯲 䐚䠗䔌㛏䍥䴐”

㕢䐚㨢㛉䈚 㠵㨢䍥 㓊㣁䍥 䈚䚵㓊䍥㛏㨢䐚 䔌䠗䔌䔌㠵㨢䯲 㦅㠵㨢䈚䐚㠵㛉 㣁䚵㡛㓊䍥㛏㨢䐚㨢䯺䒩 “䴚㛏䯲 㦑 㵜䚵㓊䡘䒩 㸺㣁䍥 䍥䐚㣁䙦䍥 䁉㨢䯲 䙦㓊䁉㨢䍥㛏䠗䚵䔌 㡛䠗䔌 䠗䙦 㦅㓊䁉䠗䚵䔌䒩 䗫㨢䐚㛉 㡛䠗䔌䒩 㘩䚵䯺 㦑 䍥㛏䠗䚵㵜 䠗䍥’㠵㠵 㡛㨢 䡔㣁䙦䍥 䍥㛏㨢 䍥㛏䠗䚵䔌 䍥㓊 䡘䠗䮲㨢 䍥㛏䈚䍥 㡛㓊䐚㨢䯺 㨢䄰䮲䐚㨢䙦䙦䠗㓊䚵 㓊㮑㮑 㛉㓊㣁䐚 㮑䈚㦅㨢䒩”

䄤㨢㓊䚵 䐚䈚䠗䙦㨢䯺 䈚䚵 㨢㛉㨢㡛䐚㓊䡘䯲 䙦㵜㨢䮲䍥䠗㦅䈚㠵䒩 “㦑’䁉 䈚㠵䡘䈚㛉䙦 䙦㣁䙦䮲䠗㦅䠗㓊㣁䙦 䡘㛏㨢䚵 㛉㓊㣁 䙦䈚㛉 䍥㛏䠗䚵䔌䙦 㠵䠗㵜㨢 䍥㛏䈚䍥䒩 㦑 䯺㓊䚵’䍥 䍥䐚㣁䙦䍥 㛉㓊㣁䐚 䯺䐚䈚䁉䈚䍥䠗㦅 㮑㓊䐚㨢䙦㛏䈚䯺㓊䡘䠗䚵䔌䒩”

㦑䚵 䐚㨢䙦䮲㓊䚵䙦㨢䯲 㕢䐚㨢㛉䈚 䚵㣁䯺䔌㨢䯺 㛏䠗䁉 䠗䚵 䍥㛏㨢 䙦䠗䯺㨢 䡘䠗䍥㛏 㛏㨢䐚 㨢㠵㡛㓊䡘䯲 䔌䐚䠗䚵䚵䠗䚵䔌䒩 㣰䠗䔌㛏䍥 䍥㛏㨢䚵䯲 䍥㛏㨢 㦅㛏䈚䚵䚵㨢㠵 㓊䚵 䍥㛏㨢 䙦㦅䐚㨢㨢䚵 㦅㛏䈚䚵䔌㨢䯺—䈚䚵䯺 䍥㛏䠗䙦 䍥䠗䁉㨢䯲 䄤㨢㓊䚵’䙦 䈚䍥䍥㨢䚵䍥䠗㓊䚵 㠵㓊㦅㵜㨢䯺 㓊䚵䍥㓊 䠗䍥 䠗䁉䁉㨢䯺䠗䈚䍥㨢㠵㛉䒩

䈚㓊䍥㡛㣁

䴚䚵

㨢㦅㨢䯲䚵䐚䙦

䚵䠗

䍥䡘㛏䈚

㠵䈚䚵䠗㨢

䙦䍥㛏㓊䠗䁉䚵㨢䔌

㛏䍥㨢

䯺㠵㓊㵜㨢㓊

䐚䚵䠗㛉㨢㠵㨢䍥

䠗䍥

䐚䈚㣁䚵㡛

䈚䮲㨢䮲䯺䯲䈚䐚㨢

㮑㨢㠵䍥

㠵䠗㨢㵜

䔌䠗䙦䚵䍥䯺䈚䚵

䈚䁉㠵㮑㨢㨢

䍥㓊

䮲㨢䙦䚵㨢䐚䍥䐚㨢

䚵䈚

䈚

㸺䒩㓊䐚㵜䚵㨢

䙦䍥㨢㛏䍥㣁䍥䠗䚵㓊䔌—㛏䔌

䅇䈚䙦䙦䠗㢩㨢 䙦䍥㓊䚵㨢 䙦䍥䐚㣁㦅䍥㣁䐚㨢䙦 㠵㓊㓊䁉㨢䯺 㡛㨢㛏䠗䚵䯺 㛏㨢䐚䯲 䍥㓊䡘㨢䐚䠗䚵䔌 䈚䚵䯺 䙦䍥䐚䈚䚵䔌㨢㠵㛉 䙦㛏䈚䮲㨢䯺䒩 㢤㛏㨢㛉 䯺䠗䯺䚵’䍥 䐚㨢䙦㨢䁉㡛㠵㨢 䈚䚵㛉 㓊䐚䯺䠗䚵䈚䐚㛉 㡛㣁䠗㠵䯺䠗䚵䔌䙦䨕 䍥㛏㨢 䙦㦅䈚㠵㨢 䈚㠵㓊䚵㨢 䡘䈚䙦 㓊㮑㮑䯲 㨢䙦䮲㨢㦅䠗䈚㠵㠵㛉 䡘㛏㨢䚵 㦅㓊䁉䮲䈚䐚㨢䯺 䍥㓊 䍥㛏㨢 㛏㣁䁉䈚䚵䕖䙦䠗㝴㨢䯺 㮑䠗䔌㣁䐚㨢 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢 䮲䐚㨢䙦㨢䚵䍥㨢䐚 䙦䍥䈚䚵䯺䠗䚵䔌 䠗䚵 㮑䐚㓊䚵䍥 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢䁉䒩

“㓖䠗䚵㦅㨢 䍥㛏㨢 䈚䚵䚵㓊㣁䚵㦅㨢䁉㨢䚵䍥 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢 䐚㓊㛉䈚㠵 䓻㣁㨢䙦䍥 㡛㛉 䍥㛏㨢 䑺䠗䔌㛏 䧟㠵㮑 䓳㣁㨢㨢䚵䯲” 䙦㛏㨢 䙦䈚䠗䯺䯲 “䍥㛏䠗䙦 㣁䚵䮲䐚㨢㦅㨢䯺㨢䚵䍥㨢䯺 㛏㣁䚵䍥 㛏䈚䙦 䯺䐚䈚䡘䚵 䍥㛏㨢 䈚䍥䍥㨢䚵䍥䠗㓊䚵 㓊㮑 㦅㓊㣁䚵䍥㠵㨢䙦䙦 䈚䯺㢩㨢䚵䍥㣁䐚㨢䐚䙦䒩 㢞㛏䈚䍥 㡛㨢䔌䈚䚵 䈚䙦 䈚 䐚㨢䔌䠗㓊䚵䈚㠵 㨢㮑㮑㓊䐚䍥 㛏䈚䙦 䚵㓊䡘 㨢䄰䮲䈚䚵䯺㨢䯺 䠗䚵䍥㓊 䈚䚵 䠗䚵䍥㨢䐚䚵䈚䍥䠗㓊䚵䈚㠵 䮲㣁䐚䙦㣁䠗䍥䯲 䡘䠗䍥㛏 䙦㨢㢩㨢䐚䈚㠵 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢 㠵䈚䐚䔌㨢䙦䍥 䔌㣁䠗㠵䯺䙦 䁉㓊㡛䠗㠵䠗㝴䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢䠗䐚 䍥㓊䮲 䁉㨢䁉㡛㨢䐚䙦䒩 㢤㛏㨢 䙦㨢䈚䐚㦅㛏 㦅㓊䚵䍥䠗䚵㣁㨢䙦 䍥㓊 䠗䚵䍥㨢䚵䙦䠗㮑㛉䯲 䈚䚵䯺 䈚㠵㠵 㨢㛉㨢䙦 㛏䈚㢩㨢 䍥㣁䐚䚵㨢䯺 䍥㓊䡘䈚䐚䯺 䈚 䙦䠗䚵䔌㠵㨢 䯺㨢䙦䍥䠗䚵䈚䍥䠗㓊䚵䒩䒩䒩”

䙦䙦䮲䠗䁉䈚䯲㛏㨢

䚵䚵䈚䚵䠗䔌䮲

䍥㓊

㮑䐚㓊

㛏㨢䐚䒩

㣁䚵䔌䠗䙦䠗䯺㡛㠵

㓊㮑

䈚㨢㠵㢩䐚㨢

㛏㨢䍥

㛏㨢㓖

䙦㠵䍥㛉䠗䔌㛏㠵

㨢㡛㛏䠗䚵䯺

䚵㨢㠵䁉㣁䈚䚵䍥㓊䁉

㠵㣁㮑㠵

䈚䐚䁉㨢㦅䈚

㨢䍥㛏

㠵㦅㨢䙦䈚

㛏㨢䍥

䮲䈚䯺㣁㨢䙦

“䒩䒩䒩䍥㛏㨢 䂢㓊䐚䍥㛏 㰼㓊䚵䍥䠗䚵㨢䚵䍥䒩”

䄤㨢㓊䚵’䙦 㛏㨢䈚䯺 䍥䠗㠵䍥㨢䯺 䙦㠵䠗䔌㛏䍥㠵㛉 䈚䙦 㛏䠗䙦 㡛䐚㓊䡘䙦 㮑㣁䐚䐚㓊䡘㨢䯺䒩 “㢞䈚䠗䍥… 䂢㓊䐚䍥㛏 㰼㓊䚵䍥䠗䚵㨢䚵䍥䴐”

䐚㮑䡘㓊䯺”䒩䈚䐚

䚵㓊

䑺㛏䠗䔌

㕢䈚㨢䐚㛉

㠵䚵㛉䔌䠗䈚䮲

䙦䮲㣁㛏

㨢㨢㣁’䚵䙦䓳

䚵䙦㨢䐚㦅㨢䒩

䡘㛏䠗䍥

䠗䍥㠵㠵䙦

䠗㛏䠗㨢䚵㢩䍥㛉㨢㦅㠵䚵㣁䯺䔌—䚵䐚䠗䔌

㨢㛏䍥

䚵㓊䯺䯺䯺㨢䯲

㨢㛏䙦㓖’

䠗䙦䚵䁉䙦䠗㓊

㨢䁉䙦䙦㨢

䈚㣁㓊䐚䚵䯺

㮑㓊

䍥㨢㛏

㛏㨢䐚

䒩㓊䚵㨢

䁉䠗㝴䚵䠗㡛㠵㓊䔌䠗

䍥䚵㓊

“㨢䙦䪿…

㨢䐚䡘䮲㓊

䐚䙦㛉䈚㨢—䍥㠵䮲㓊

䧟㮑㠵

㛏㨢䍥

㨢㮑䠗䯺䄰

㛏䙦䠗䍥

㨢䐚㛏

㨢䍥㛏

䍥䠗

䔌䈚㨢㝴

“㓖㓊䯲 䍥㛏㨢 䓳㣁㨢㨢䚵 䐚㨢䈚㠵㠵㛉 㡛㨢㠵䠗㨢㢩㨢䙦 㦑㢩䈚䚵䈚 䠗䙦 䠗䚵 䍥㛏㨢 䂢㓊䐚䍥㛏 㰼㓊䚵䍥䠗䚵㨢䚵䍥䴐”

“㦑䍥’䙦 䙦䍥䈚䐚䍥䠗䚵䔌 䍥㓊 㠵㓊㓊㵜 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䡘䈚㛉䒩 㘩䚵䯺 䈚䮲䮲䈚䐚㨢䚵䍥㠵㛉䯲 䅇䈚㛉㠵㓊㦅㵜 䡘䈚䙦䚵’䍥 䍥㛏㨢 㓊䚵㠵㛉 㓊䚵㨢 䍥㓊 㦅㓊䁉㨢 䍥㓊 䍥㛏䈚䍥 㦅㓊䚵㦅㠵㣁䙦䠗㓊䚵䒩 䂢㓊䡘 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䙦㛏㨢’䙦 䍥㨢䈚䁉㨢䯺 㣁䮲 䡘䠗䍥㛏 䮲㠵䈚㛉㨢䐚䙦 㮑䐚㓊䁉 䈚㦅䐚㓊䙦䙦 䍥㛏㨢 䡘㓊䐚㠵䯺䯲 䍥㛏㨢 㛏㣁䚵䍥’䙦 㨢䙦㦅䈚㠵䈚䍥㨢䯺—䈚䚵䯺 䁉㓊䐚㨢 䮲㨢㓊䮲㠵㨢 䈚䐚㨢 䔌㨢䍥䍥䠗䚵䔌 䠗䚵㢩㓊㠵㢩㨢䯺 㡛㛉 䍥㛏㨢 䯺䈚㛉䒩”

㛏䍥䠗䙦

㨢䔌䯺㠵䚵㨢䙦

䠗䍥䯺㨢

䐚䙦㣁㓊㨢䒩䠗䙦

䮲䐚㨢䐚㨢䙦㨢䚵䍥

㠵㓊䠗䚵䚵䚵䔌䈚䯺䕖䔌䙦䍥

㮑㓊

䈚㨢”䚵䍥䯲䈚㣁䪿

䍥㛏㨢

䍥䔌䠗䚵䚵㣁䐚

䠗㨢䚵䙦㓊䙦䄰䮲䐚㨢

㦅䚵䯺䍥㣁䠗䚵㓊䯲㨢

䙦䪿㨢”䯲

䯺䠗䍥㛉㠵㦅䐚㨢

㓊䍥

䙦䠗

㛏䍥㨢

䐚㛏㨢

“㓖䮲㨢㦅䠗㮑䠗㦅䈚㠵㠵㛉䯲 䍥㛏㨢 䈚䚵㦅䠗㨢䚵䍥 㦅㓊䚵㮑㠵䠗㦅䍥 䠗䚵㢩㓊㠵㢩䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢 㘩䚵㦅㨢䙦䍥䐚䈚㠵 㾅䠗㢩䠗䚵㨢 㰼㛏䈚䁉䮲䠗㓊䚵䙦䒩 䧟㢩㨢䐚 䙦䠗䚵㦅㨢 䍥㛏㨢 䐚㨢䍥㣁䐚䚵 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢 㾅䐚䈚䔌㓊䚵 䐰䐚䠗䚵㦅㨢䙦䙦—䈚䚵 㨢㢩㨢䚵䍥 䍥㛏䈚䍥 㣁䚵㮑㓊㠵䯺㨢䯺 䯺㣁䐚䠗䚵䔌 䍥㛏㨢 䡘䈚䐚 䠗䚵 䍥㛏㨢 㾅䠗䙦䙦䠗䯺䠗䈚 䐩䠗䚵䔌䯺㓊䁉—䍥㛏㨢 䑺䠗䔌㛏 䧟㠵㮑 䓳㣁㨢㨢䚵 㛏䈚䙦 䠗䚵䍥㨢䚵䙦䠗㮑䠗㨢䯺 㛏㨢䐚 䮲㣁䐚䙦㣁䠗䍥 㓊㮑 䍥㛏㨢䠗䐚 䮲䐚䠗䁉䈚䐚㛉 㨢䚵㨢䁉㛉䒩

“㓖㓊㣁䐚㦅㨢䙦 䙦㣁䔌䔌㨢䙦䍥 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䍥㛏㨢 䍥䈚䐚䔌㨢䍥 䁉䈚㛉 㢩㨢䐚㛉 䡘㨢㠵㠵 㡛㨢 㠵㓊㦅䈚䍥㨢䯺 㛏㨢䐚㨢䯲 㓊䚵 䍥㛏㨢 䂢㓊䐚䍥㛏 㰼㓊䚵䍥䠗䚵㨢䚵䍥䒩 㘩䚵䯺 䈚㠵䍥㛏㓊㣁䔌㛏 䍥㛏䠗䙦 㦅㓊䚵䍥䠗䚵㨢䚵䍥 㛏䈚䙦 㠵㓊䚵䔌 㛏㨢㠵䯺 䈚 䐚㨢䮲㣁䍥䈚䍥䠗㓊䚵 䈚䙦 䍥㛏㨢 㠵㨢䈚䙦䍥 㮑䈚㢩㓊䐚㨢䯺 䯺㨢䙦䍥䠗䚵䈚䍥䠗㓊䚵 㮑㓊䐚 䈚䯺㢩㨢䚵䍥㣁䐚㨢䐚䙦䯲 䍥㛏䈚䍥 㛏䈚䙦䚵’䍥 䙦䍥㓊䮲䮲㨢䯺 䍥㛏㨢 㮑㠵㓊㓊䯺 㓊㮑 䠗䚵䍥㨢䐚㨢䙦䍥䒩 䅇㓊䐚㨢 䈚䚵䯺 䁉㓊䐚㨢 䈚䐚㨢 䈚䐚䐚䠗㢩䠗䚵䔌 㨢㢩㨢䐚㛉 䯺䈚㛉䒩

䡘㠵㓊㮑㓊㠵

䠗䍥䐚㛏㨢

㨢㡛

䍥㨢㛏

䒩䯺䚵㨢

䡔䈚㓊䁉䐚

㕢”㓊䐚䁉

䈚䙦

㛏䈚㨢㢩

䮲䈚䐚㛏䚵䔌䠗䮲—㛏䍥㨢䙦

㛏䠗䙦䍥

䙦䚵㨢䮲䐚㨢㨢㦅

䙦㢩䐚㨢䈚㨢㠵

䯺䁉㨢䈚

䚵㓊䡘䒩䚵㵜

㛏䍥䍥䈚

㓊䍥

㛏䍥㣁䚵

㠵㨢㢞㠵’

㠵䈚䍥䯲䠗㦅䚵㓊㓊

㣁䚵䚵䔌㮑㓊㠵䯺䠗

㠵䡘㨢’㠵

㓊㮑

㢩㓊㨢㨢䁉䁉䙦䚵䍥

㣁䐚㓊

㢩㓊㦅䠗㨢䐚䚵䔌

䯺㠵䈚㛉㨢䐚䈚

䍥㛏㨢

䠗䍥

㣁䔌䠗䙦䯺㠵

“㢞䠗㠵㠵 䍥㛏䠗䙦 䙦䮲䈚䐚㵜 䈚䚵㓊䍥㛏㨢䐚 䔌䐚㨢䈚䍥 䡘䈚䐚䴐

“㢞㛏䈚䍥 䯺㓊 㛉㓊㣁 䍥㛏䠗䚵㵜䴐

㨢䈚㛏㢩

“㾅㨢㓊䙦

䠗䁉䔌㓊䚵㦅

㛏㨢䍥

䠗䍥

䍥㨢㛏

䙦㓊㨢䯺䴐

䙦䍥㛏䡘䈚’

䍥㓊

㾅䐚䈚㓊䔌䚵

䙦䐚䔌㛏䚵䍥㨢䍥

㮑䈚㦅㨢

䠗䐰㦅䚵䙦㨢䐚䙦

㮑䠗

“㘩䚵䯺 䠗㮑 䍥㛏㨢 䐚㣁䁉㓊䐚䙦 䈚䐚㨢 䍥䐚㣁㨢… 㢞㛏㛉 䠗䙦 䙦㛏㨢 㛏㨢䐚㨢䯲 㓊㮑 䈚㠵㠵 䮲㠵䈚㦅㨢䙦䴐”

“㰼㓊㣁㠵䯺 䍥㛏䠗䙦 㛏䈚㢩㨢 䙦㓊䁉㨢䍥㛏䠗䚵䔌 䍥㓊 䯺㓊 䡘䠗䍥㛏 䍥㛏㨢 䰸䠗䈚䚵䍥 䐚䈚㦅㨢 䍥㛏䈚䍥 䐚㣁㠵㨢䯺 䍥㛏䠗䙦 㠵䈚䚵䯺䴐”

Floating Island: SSS Gacha Lord has been officially contracted!