My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her

Chapter 363: Chapter 363 ALTERED PERCEPTION

ETHAN’S POV

Kieran’s call so early in the morning set me on edge.

The message made things worse. “Bring Celeste to Nightfang. Now.”

The command was clipped, edged, the strain in his voice hinting that his control was wearing dangerously thin.

Anger under ice.

Everything was still raw from the Hunting Festival, the rogues, the trap with Celeste drugged and staged, the growing evidence that someone was targeting Sera.

Now…whatever this was.

Celeste was unstable; that was the kindest word for it. Since admitting her wolf was gone—silenced or severed or worse—she’d been oscillating between brittle composure and jagged hostility.

Bringing her into Nightfang in her current state would have been like tossing a lit match into dry timber.

So, no, I didn’t bring her.

Corin, thankfully, agreed without argument when I asked that he remain at Frostbane with Celeste and keep an eye on her.

Then I set out for Nightfang with Maya.

When we arrived, the air itself felt wrong.

There’s a difference between tension and grief. Tension hums. Grief drags.

This dragged.

Kieran met us in the foyer. He looked composed. But his eyes were darker than usual, not with rage, but with something heavier.

His gaze flickered behind us, but he didn’t comment on Celeste’s absence.

“Sera’s upstairs,” he said instead.

I followed him to the guest suite in the Alpha wing and found Sera sitting at the desk, laptop open, screen paused on a frame I couldn’t quite make out.

She turned when we walked in, and I stilled.

Seraphina Lockwood had never been physically imposing, but ever since she’d been unsealed, power radiated from her like heat from asphalt in summer.

Now that power felt compressed inward, imploding rather than expanding, making her seem diminished.

“Watch,” she said, her voice too steady for the storm in her eyes.

I watched.

Silence enveloped the room as the videos played, one after the other, and the narrative I had believed for eleven years shattered in front of me.

Only when the screen went black, cutting off as Sera and Kieran stumbled into the room, did I take a breath.

Maya whirled on Kieran. “So it’s true. You really did make the first move?”

Sera sighed. “That’s not the point, Maya.”

The absolute devastation in my sister’s voice gave Maya pause. She moved toward her best friend and placed a hand on her shoulder, her brows drawn in concern. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Sera wordlessly turned back to the laptop and opened another file.

This one was different. An office. Shadowed figure. Distorted voice.

“I will purchase the full archive.”

I felt something shift inside me as I watched the envelope slide across the desk, recognizing the familiar cadence despite the filter.

When the screen went still, the silence in the room was suffocating.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

I couldn’t defend Celeste. She’d crossed that line a long time ago.

But I had believed our father was stern, strategic, political to a fault—but not cruel. Not willing to bury one daughter’s innocence to cover the other’s guilt.

Now that evidence scorched the silence between us.

But instinct refused to accept the simplest interpretation.

“Sera,” I began carefully, “this was before your seal was removed.”

Kieran’s gaze flicked to me, sharp. “What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not excusing this,” I added quickly. “I’m saying…we have to consider whether they were also operating under altered perception.”

Sera’s expression cracked. “You think they were influenced?”

“I think we’ve seen enough evidence of psychic manipulation in the last month to not rule anything out.”

“I’ve seen Celeste since the seal was broken,” she pointed out. “She was the same. Worse, if that’s possible.”

“But we have no way of knowing the extent of the effect the sealing had on Father.”

“He watched it,” she whispered. “He saw. He knew.”

“Yes.”

“And he still buried it.”

That, I couldn’t deny.

I moved closer, lowering my voice. “I don’t have the perfect words to articulate this, but when the seal was removed, it was like scales dropping from my eyes. Like I was seeing you for the first time. As if my mind was only just processing that you were my sister, that I was supposed to love you.”

Her eyes flickered—hurt surfacing and vanishing, quick as a pulse.

“Father made a terrible decision,” I continued. “But I don’t believe he meant to hurt you. Not intentionally, at least.”

Sera’s composure wavered, lips quivering, shoulders caving as if she was fighting not to cry.

For a heartbeat, I saw the younger version of her—the girl who stood at the edge of rooms and was never invited in.

The girl that I couldn’t bring myself to care about, and I never understood why.

“I just…I can’t believe he knew,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Her throat bobbed with a swallow.

Maya leaned down and wrapped her arms around Sera’s shoulders from behind, offering silent comfort.

“There’s another angle to consider,” I added quietly.

Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why now?” I asked, gesturing to the laptop. “We don’t know exactly when this happened, but why surface now—not eleven years ago, not five, not last year when he died, and the attacks began? Now, when Sera’s power is growing, and enemies are circling.”

Understanding dawned in Kieran’s expression. “You think this was delivered strategically.”

“I think,” I said carefully, “that if someone fears her growth, the most efficient way to weaken her isn’t physical. It’s emotional.”

Sera stilled.

“And this,” I gestured to the laptop, “is devastating.”

***

SERAPHINA’S POV

Ethan’s words couldn’t dull the ache in my chest—the grief throbbed, electric and raw. But they cut through the haze for a moment, sharpening the edge of reality.

There was a chance—however small, however ludicrous—that this was less about betrayal and more about warfare.

I drew in a slow breath and reached for my phone. My fingers hesitated for half a second over Corin’s name before I pressed it.

If there was even a possibility that this had been engineered—timed, curated, delivered like a blade to the heart—I needed clarity from someone who understood the architecture of psychic interference better than anyone in this room.

The call connected almost immediately. The screen flickered, then steadied, filling with Corin’s face.

He took one look at me and exhaled.

“You look terrible,” he teased, though his gaze sharpened as it traced the tear tracks I hadn’t bothered to hide.

I could see my own reflection in the corner of the screen—eyes red, skin pale, grief leaking through every crack. There was no point pretending, not to Corin.

“I feel worse,” I replied, my voice thin.

He leaned back slightly, bracing his elbow on what looked like the arm of a chair. “What happened?”

I swallowed. “I’m sending you a video. Watch it, and then answer something for me.”

Without waiting for permission, I lowered the phone and reached for my laptop. My hands were steadier now than they had been an hour ago.

I pulled up the encrypted file, selected the relevant clips, and hit share.

The progress bar crawled across the screen. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the laptop.

“Check your messages,” I said.

Corin’s eyes shifted downward as his phone chimed. The video call window shrank as he opened the files. I watched his expression as the footages began to play on his end.

His posture straightened. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. When the distorted voice said, ‘I will purchase the full archive,’ his gaze flicked back up to me briefly, then returned to the screen.

When it was over, he did not immediately speak.

I held his eyes through the screen and asked, “Can psychics forge evidence to that degree?”

“In general, falsifying physical archives is extremely difficult,” he answered after a beat. “However…we can implant suggestive tendencies. Alter perception. Encourage certain decisions.”

My pulse leapt, a hammer in my veins.

“You think someone could have influenced him?”

“I think,” Corin replied carefully, “that if your father was already predisposed to prioritize reputation, nudging him toward suppression wouldn’t require rewriting his mind. Only amplifying what was already there.”

That was worse somehow.

“And Celeste? Could she have been influenced, too?”

Or was my sister just an evil bitch through and through?

Corin paused for a long while.

And then: “We may need to speak to Brett.”

My brows knit together. “Brett? Why? What does he have to do with this?”

“There are connections you’re not aware of,” Corin said softly. “And Brett has something he intended to confess to you during this trip anyway.”

I frowned harder. “What?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” he replied. “If you allow it, I’ll ask him and Maris to come directly to Nightfang. They just landed. I can fill them in on the way.”

I hesitated for the second it took to look at Kieran and receive his permission.

“Bring them.”

擄

盧

䰍㐑㼚䈿㘙㣤䰍䙪䀥㱼㱼

㷷䙪㭯

老

蘆櫓櫓盧櫓䥇䪕㣲㓾䏳䋹 䈖䓝㣲㓾䂛䋹魯 䓝䏳䝴盧 䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 䓝㣲㣲㓾㫖䵸䝴 㷒㓾㴈䂯㓾䏳 㴈䂯䵸 䂯䪕䙅㣲䡆

㐑䏳 㴈䂯䓝㴈 㴈㓾㯢䵸䋹 㐑 㯢䓝䏳䓝䮏䵸䝴 㴈䪕 㴈䓝㾪䵸 䓝 䂛䂯䪕㷒䵸㣲 䓝䏳䝴 䛖䪕㣲䅖䵸 䝴䪕㷒䏳 䓝 䅖䙅䃊 䪕䛖 䅖䪕䛖䛖䵸䵸 䓝䏳䝴 䂯䓝㟿䛖 䓝 㛀䓝䮏䵸㟿䡆

㣲䝴䰍䛖䵸㣲㴈䋹㷒䓝

䝴䙅䏳䵸㣲

䏳㴈㣲䓝㓾䮏㓾䏳

㐑

䏳㫖䵸䵸

䂛䂛㟿䵸

㴈㟿䛖䵸

䓝

䓝

㷒㓾䂯㴈

䓝㓾䵸䧻䏳㟿

䏳䓝䝴

䂛䏳䝴䵸

䝴䓝䏳

䪕䛖䛖

䊗㾪㓾㟿䵸㟿

䏳䝴䓝䵸䓝䮏㯢

㴈䪕

䪕㴈

䅖㟿䪕䵸䓝㟿䃊䂛

㾪䡆㓾䂛䂛

㯢䊗

䂛㯢㟿䵸㓾

㷒䏳䪕

㓾䵸㴈㷒䮏䂯

㴈䪕

䥇䪕㣲㓾䏳 䮏㣲䵸䵸㴈䵸䝴 㯢䵸 䛖㓾㣲䂛㴈䡆 䐿䥇䂯㓾䏳 䙅䃊䋹䨼 䂯䵸 䂛䓝㓾䝴 䮏䵸䏳㴈㟿䊗䋹 䂯㓾䂛 䂛䵸䓝䙙䮏㣲䵸䵸䏳 䓝䏳䝴 㛀㟿䙅䵸 䵸䊗䵸䂛 㴈䂯㣲䵸䓝䝴䵸䝴 㷒㓾㴈䂯 㙻䙅㓾䵸㴈 䅖䪕䏳䅖䵸㣲䏳䡆

㼚㓾䂛 䂯䓝䏳䝴 䅖䓝㯢䵸 㴈䪕 㯢䊗 䂛䂯䪕䙅㟿䝴䵸㣲 㓾䏳 䓝 㛀㣲㓾䵸䛖䋹 䂛㴈䵸䓝䝴䊗㓾䏳䮏 䅖㟿䓝䂛䃊䡆 䐿㒮䵸㘙㟿㟿 䮏䵸㴈 㴈䪕 㴈䂯䵸 㛀䪕㴈㴈䪕㯢 䪕䛖 㴈䂯㓾䂛䋹 䓝䏳䝴 㴈䂯䵸䏳 䊗䪕䙅 䏳䵸䵸䝴 䓝 㯢䓝㾪䵸䪕㫖䵸㣲䡆 㒜䏳䝴䵸㣲䙙䵸䊗䵸 䂛䂯䓝䝴䪕㷒䂛 䓝㣲䵸 䏳䪕㴈 䊗䪕䙅㣲 㟿䪕䪕㾪䡆䨼

㯢䂛䂯㓾㴈䵸䮏䏳䪕

䵸㯢䪕㟿䏳㓾䓝㴈䪕

䓝㟿䮏䂯䙅

㣲䥇㓾䏳䪕

㓾䵸㾪㟿

䛖䓝㴈㓾䏳

䵸䵸㣲䮏㴈

䏳㷷䊗㟿

䂛䃊䧻䵸㴈䵸㓾

䵸䝴䂛䵸䃊䓝䅖

䵸䡆㯢

䛖䪕

㓾䂯㷒㴈

䪕䃎䂛㾪䡆䵸

䵸㫖䏳㴈䵸䊗䮏㣲㓾䂯䋹

䪕㴈䓝㟿䂛㯢

䓝

䓝㛀䂯㴈㣲䵸

䓝

䓝㫖䪕䵸䂛䝴㴈䏳㴈㓾䓝

㷒䝴䪕㟿䙅

䈖䓝㣲㓾䂛 䮏㣲䵸䵸㴈䵸䝴 㯢䵸 䏳䵸㴗㴈䋹 䂯䵸㣲 䵸㴗䃊㣲䵸䂛䂛㓾䪕䏳 䂛䪕䛖㴈 㛀䙅㴈 䂛䵸䓝㣲䅖䂯㓾䏳䮏䡆 㱼䂯䵸 䃊䙅㟿㟿䵸䝴 㯢䵸 㓾䏳㴈䪕 䓝 㷒䓝㣲㯢䋹 㣲䵸䓝䂛䂛䙅㣲㓾䏳䮏 䂯䙅䮏䡆

“䧻䵸䂛䃊㓾㴈䵸 㴈䂯䵸 䅖㓾㣲䅖䙅㯢䂛㴈䓝䏳䅖䵸䂛䋹 㓾㴈’䂛 䮏䪕䪕䝴 㴈䪕 䂛䵸䵸 䊗䪕䙅 䓝䮏䓝㓾䏳䋹” 䂛䂯䵸 㯢䙅㣲㯢䙅㣲䵸䝴䡆

䮏㟿㓾䏳㣲䵸䝴䵸

䃊䪕䂛㴈䙅䡆㣲䵸

䵸䂯䝴㛀䏳㓾

䂯㴈䮏㓾㴈

䂛䂯㓾

䪕䛖

㷒㣲䓝䝴䏳

㟿㓾䵸䏳

䓝

䵸䃊䂛㴈

䪕㓾㴈䏳

㴈䵸㴈䳙㣲

㴈䂯䵸

㛀䵸䓝䵸䏳㴈䂯

㴈䵸䵸䅖䂯䝴

䅖㾪㴈䋹䓝䵸䃎

䂯䋹䵸㣲

㓾䂯䂛

㟿䙅䝴䂯㣲䂛䂛䵸䪕

䵸㓾䂛㴈䏳䪕䏳

㐑 䪕䛖䛖䵸㣲䵸䝴 䂯㓾㯢 䓝 䂛㯢䓝㟿㟿 䂛㯢㓾㟿䵸䡆 䐿㼚㓾䋹 䛖㣲㓾䵸䏳䝴䡆䨼

㼚䵸 㣲䵸㴈䙅㣲䏳䵸䝴 㓾㴈䋹 㛀䙅㴈 㓾㴈 㷒䓝䂛 䓝䂛 㷒䵸䓝㾪 䓝䂛 㯢㓾䏳䵸䋹 䓝䏳䝴 䝴㣲䵸䓝䝴 䅖䙅㣲㟿䵸䝴 㓾䏳 䓝䏳㴈㓾䅖㓾䃊䓝㴈㓾䪕䏳 䪕䛖 㷒䂯䓝㴈 䂯䵸 䂯䓝䝴 㴈䪕 䂛䓝䊗䡆

㟿䓝㟿

㴈䂯䵸䋹䮏㣲䵸䪕㴈

㴈䂯䙅䡆䂛

㣲䝴䓝䙅䏳䪕

䂛㴈䏳㴈㓾㓾䮏

㯢䝴䵸䪕㫖

䂛䓝

䮏䅖䂛㓾㟿䪕䏳

㒮䵸

䂯㴈䵸

䂛䙅

䵸䙅㴈㓾㙻

䏳㓾㴈䪕

䝴䪕㣲䪕

㴈䂯䵸

䪕䪕㣲㯢

䂯㴈䵸

㓾䏳

䀥䪕 䪕䏳䵸 㣲䵸䓝䅖䂯䵸䝴 䛖䪕㣲 㴈䂯䵸 㴈䵸䓝 䓝䏳䝴 䂛䏳䓝䅖㾪䂛 䂛䵸㣲㫖䵸䝴 䪕䏳 㴈䂯䵸 䅖䵸䏳㴈䵸㣲 㴈䓝㛀㟿䵸䡆 䀥䪕 䪕䏳䵸 䃊㣲䵸㴈䵸䏳䝴䵸䝴 㴈䂯㓾䂛 㷒䓝䂛 䓝 䂛䪕䅖㓾䓝㟿 䅖䓝㟿㟿䡆

䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 䝴㓾䝴䏳㘙㴈 㷒䓝䂛㴈䵸 㴈㓾㯢䵸䡆

䪕㴈䝴㟿

㟿㴈䪕䝴

䙅䊗䪕

䛖䵸䝴䓝㴈

䂯䵸

䐿㐑

㣲㛀䵸䵸䛖䪕

䨼䈖㓾䪄䂛䓝㣲

䂛䂯㟿䪕䝴䙅

㐑

䂯䓝䏳㴈

㫖䓝䂯䵸

䵸䵸㣲㯢䋹䐿䈿䵸㛀㯢

䮏䓝䵸䋹㛀䏳

䪕䪕䨼䏳㣲䵸䂛䋹

䂛䡆䙅䙅㟿䓝

㐑

䪕䵸䅖㫖㓾

䙅䪕䊗

䪕䵸䮏䂯䙅㣲㣲

䓝䂯䝴

䵸㯢㴈䓝

䓝

䂛䂯㴈㓾

㐑 䏳䪕䝴䝴䵸䝴 䂛㟿䪕㷒㟿䊗䡆

㼚䵸 䂛㓾䮏䂯䵸䝴䋹 㣲䙅䏳䏳㓾䏳䮏 䂯㓾䂛 䂯䓝䏳䝴 㴈䂯㣲䪕䙅䮏䂯 䂯㓾䂛 䂯䓝㓾㣲䡆 䐿㑾䂯䓝㴈 㷒䓝䂛 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸䡆䨼

㯢䮏䂯㓾㴈

㟿䵸㟿㷒

㴈㓾䪕䏳

㴈䂯䵸

㴈䵸䂯

䪕䛖

䓝䂛

䵸㼚

䝴䵸䓝䏳㣲䮏䵸

㴈䏳䙅䂛

䪕㯢䡆䪕㣲

䝴䵸㯢䝴㟿㓾

䵸䓝䂯㫖

㣲䏳㴈䂯䪕㷒

㣤㫖䵸㣲䊗䪕䏳䵸 㷒䵸䏳㴈 䙅㴈㴈䵸㣲㟿䊗 䂛㴈㓾㟿㟿䋹 䂛㓾㟿䵸䏳䅖䵸 䂛㴈㣲䵸㴈䅖䂯㓾䏳䮏 䓝䂛 㷒䵸 䃊㣲䪕䅖䵸䂛䂛䵸䝴 䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈㘙䂛 㣲䵸㫖䵸㟿䓝㴈㓾䪕䏳䡆

㑾䂯䵸 䂛䂯䓝㣲䵸䝴 䂛䂯䪕䅖㾪 䂯䙅䏳䮏 㴈䓝䏳䮏㓾㛀㟿䊗 㓾䏳 㴈䂯䵸 䓝㓾㣲䋹 䵸㴗䃊㣲䵸䂛䂛㓾䪕䏳 䓝䛖㴈䵸㣲 䵸㴗䃊㣲䵸䂛䂛㓾䪕䏳 䂛䂯㓾䛖㴈㓾䏳䮏—䂛䪕㯢䵸 䛖䓝䅖䵸䂛 䃊䓝㟿㓾䏳䮏䋹 䪕㴈䂯䵸㣲䂛 䝴䓝㣲㾪䵸䏳㓾䏳䮏 㷒㓾㴈䂯 䝴㓾䂛㛀䵸㟿㓾䵸䛖䡆

㟿䊗䓝䪕㛀㛀㣲䃊

䓝㷒䂛

䂯䵸㑾

䊗䏳䪕㟿

㷒䂯䪕

㛀䓝䙅䪕㴈

䂛㣲䊗㴈䪕

䵸䏳䵸㓾㣲㴈

㷒䓝䂛

䵸䏳㾪㷒

䙅䏳䝴䵸䵸㴈䅖䓝䛖䛖

㴈䂯㴈䓝

䪕䂯㷒

㟿䏳䝴䛖䙅䡆䪕

䓝䈖䋹䂛㓾㣲

䪕㴈

䂯㴈䵸

䂛䵸䏳䪕㣲䃊

䪕䝴㟿䪕㾪䵸

㐑 㣲䵸㯢䵸㯢㛀䵸㣲䵸䝴 㷒䂯䓝㴈 䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 䂯䓝䝴 䂛䓝㓾䝴 㛀䓝䅖㾪 㓾䏳 㱼䵸䓝㛀㣲䵸䵸䝏䵸䡆 䝹䈖䊗 䛖䓝㴈䵸䝴 㯢䓝㴈䵸 㷒䓝䂛…䓝㯢㛀㓾㴈㓾䪕䙅䂛䡆 㱼䂯䵸 㷒䓝䏳㴈䵸䝴 㯢䓝䏳䊗䋹 㯢䓝䏳䊗 㴈䂯㓾䏳䮏䂛䋹 䓝䏳䝴 㴈䂯䵸 䪕䏳㟿䊗 㴈䂯㓾䏳䮏 㐑 䅖䪕䙅㟿䝴 䮏㓾㫖䵸 䂯䵸㣲 㷒䓝䂛 㯢䊗 䂯䵸䓝㣲㴈䡆㘙

䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸䡆 㒮䵸㘙䝴 㛀䵸䵸䏳 㴈䓝㟿㾪㓾䏳䮏 䓝㛀䪕䙅㴈 㯢䊗 䛖䙅䅖㾪㓾䏳䮏 䂛㓾䂛㴈䵸㣲䡆

㒮䵸䂯䏳

㾪䋹䂛䃊䵸䪕

䵸䪕䏳

䪕䏳

䪕䏳䡆

䵸䮏㣲䪕䝴䛖

䵸䳙㴈㣲㴈

䐿㒮䵸 㯢䵸㴈 㴈䵸䏳 䊗䵸䓝㣲䂛 䓝䮏䪕䋹䨼 䂯䵸 䂛䓝㓾䝴䋹 䂯㓾䂛 㫖䪕㓾䅖䵸 䂛㴈䵸䓝䝴㓾䵸㣲 䏳䪕㷒䋹 䓝䂛 㴈䂯䪕䙅䮏䂯 䪕䏳䅖䵸 㴈䂯䵸 䛖㓾㣲䂛㴈 䅖䪕䏳䛖䵸䂛䂛㓾䪕䏳 㷒䓝䂛 䪕䙅㴈䋹 㴈䂯䵸 㣲䵸䂛㴈 㷒䓝䂛 䵸䓝䂛㓾䵸㣲 㴈䪕 䛖䪕㟿㟿䪕㷒䡆 䐿㱼䂯䵸㘙䝴 䛖㟿䵸䝴 䓝㛀㣲䪕䓝䝴 䓝䛖㴈䵸㣲 䂛䪕㯢䵸…㛀㟿䪕㷒䡆 㑾䂯䓝㴈㘙䂛 㷒䂯䓝㴈 䂛䂯䵸 䅖䓝㟿㟿䵸䝴 㓾㴈䡆 䰍 㛀䵸㴈㣲䓝䊗䓝㟿䡆 䰍 䂯䙅㯢㓾㟿㓾䓝㴈㓾䪕䏳䡆 㣤㫖䵸㣲䊗 㴈㓾㯢䵸 㐑 䃊㣲䵸䂛䂛䵸䝴䋹 䂛䂯䵸 㴈䂯㣲䵸㷒 䙅䃊 䓝 㷒䓝㟿㟿 䪕䛖 㴈䂯䪕㣲䏳䂛䡆”

䐿䳙䙅㴈 䂛䂯䵸 䏳䵸㫖䵸㣲 䂛㴈㣲䙅䮏䮏㟿䵸䝴䋹䨼 䂯䵸 䅖䪕䏳㴈㓾䏳䙅䵸䝴䡆 䐿㒮䂯䓝㴈䵸㫖䵸㣲 䂯䓝䃊䃊䵸䏳䵸䝴䋹 䂯䵸㣲 䛖㓾䏳䓝䏳䅖㓾䓝㟿 䂛䙅䃊䃊䪕㣲㴈 㷒䓝䂛 䏳䵸㫖䵸㣲 䅖䙅㴈 䪕䛖䛖䡆 㱼䂯䵸 㟿㓾㫖䵸䝴 㓾䏳 䙅㴈㴈䵸㣲 㟿䙅㴗䙅㣲䊗䖵 㟿䓝㫖㓾䂛䂯 䓝䃊䓝㣲㴈㯢䵸䏳㴈䂛䋹 䝴䵸䂛㓾䮏䏳䵸㣲 䵸㫖䵸㣲䊗㴈䂯㓾䏳䮏䡆 㱼䂯䵸 䛖㣲䵸㙻䙅䵸䏳㴈䵸䝴 㛀䓝㣲䂛 䓝䏳䝴 䵸㴗䅖㟿䙅䂛㓾㫖䵸 㟿䪕䙅䏳䮏䵸䂛 䝴䓝㓾㟿䊗䡆 㼚䵸㣲 㱺䪕䅖㾪㷒䪕䪕䝴 䃊䵸䝴㓾䮏㣲䵸䵸 䓝㟿䪕䏳䵸 䝴㣲䵸㷒 䓝㴈㴈䵸䏳㴈㓾䪕䏳䡆 㱼䂯䵸 㷒䓝䂛 䏳䵸㫖䵸㣲 㟿䓝䅖㾪㓾䏳䮏 䛖䪕㣲 䅖䪕㯢䃊䓝䏳䊗䡆 㑾䂯䓝㴈’䂛 䂯䪕㷒 㷒䵸 㯢䵸㴈—䓝㴈 䪕䏳䵸 䪕䛖 㴈䂯䵸 㛀䓝㣲䂛 㐑 㛀䓝㣲㴈䵸䏳䝴䵸䝴䡆䨼

䵸㼚

䵸䂛䂯㣲䙅䂛㯢㟿䪕

䵸䓝㫖䮏

䓝䵸㛀䡆㣲㴈䂯

䓝

䛖䙅䛖䂯

䪕䛖

䐿㑾䂯䵸 㯢䓝㴈䵸 㛀䪕䏳䝴 㷒䓝䂛 䙅䏳䝴䵸䏳㓾䓝㛀㟿䵸䡆 㐑㯢㯢䵸䝴㓾䓝㴈䵸䡆 㭯㓾䪕㟿䵸䏳㴈䡆 㝧䪕䙅 㾪䏳䪕㷒 㷒䂯䓝㴈 㴈䂯䓝㴈 䛖䵸䵸㟿䂛 㟿㓾㾪䵸䡆䨼 㼚㓾䂛 䮏䓝䝏䵸 䛖㟿㓾䅖㾪䵸㣲䵸䝴 㛀㣲㓾䵸䛖㟿䊗 㛀䵸㴈㷒䵸䵸䏳 䭓㓾䵸㣲䓝䏳 䓝䏳䝴 㯢䵸䋹 䓝䏳䝴 㴈䂯䵸䏳 䈖䓝䊗䓝 䓝䏳䝴 㣤㴈䂯䓝䏳䡆

䐿㒮䵸 䛖䵸㟿㟿 䛖䓝䂛㴈䡆 㼚䓝㣲䝴䡆 㑾䂯䵸 㾪㓾䏳䝴 䪕䛖 䛖䓝㟿㟿 㴈䂯䓝㴈㘙䂛 㟿㓾㾪䵸 㣲㓾䂛㓾䏳䮏 䪕䏳 㴈䪕䃊 䪕䛖 㴈䂯䵸 㷒䪕㣲㟿䝴䡆䨼

㟿䵸㴈䵸䵸䂛䥇

㛀䵸䵸䏳

䪕㟿䝴䙅䅖

㓾䏳

䪕䅖䏳䂯䂛䡆䵸

䓝䝴䏳

㯢㓾䏳䵸㓾䮏䓝

䪕䂛㟿䅖䓝䓝㴈

䂯㴈䓝㴈

㯢䂯㴈䵸

䂯䵸

㣲䏳㴈㓾䝴䓝䓝

㷒㴈䪕

䪕䛖

䵸䵸䝴䏳䪕㯢㣲䓝䋹

䵸䪕䂛㯢

㓾㴈—䂯㴈䵸

䅖㴈䊗㓾䋹

㣲㴈㴈䵸䳙

䵸㷒䙙䅖㣲䙅㾪䂛䓝㴈

䂯䓝䝴

㴈㫖㓾㴈䃊䮏䓝㓾䅖䋹䓝䏳

㐑

㴈㓾䮏㣲㴈䏳䵸㓾㟿䮏

䐿䡢䪕㣲 㴈㷒䪕 䊗䵸䓝㣲䂛䋹䨼 䂯䵸 䂛䓝㓾䝴䋹 䐿㷒䵸 㷒䵸㣲䵸…䂯䓝䃊䃊䊗䡆 㷷㣲 䓝䂛 䅖㟿䪕䂛䵸 㴈䪕 㓾㴈 䓝䂛 䂛䂯䵸 䓝㟿㟿䪕㷒䵸䝴䡆䨼

䰍 䛖䓝㓾䏳㴈 㴈䵸䏳䂛㓾䪕䏳 䅖㣲䵸䃊㴈 㓾䏳㴈䪕 䂯㓾䂛 䃎䓝㷒䡆

䂯䡆䨼䵸㣲

䂯䵸㣲

䓝䛖㓾㟿

䓝䂛㷒

㛀䝴䵸㫖㟿㓾䵸䵸

㫖㣲䵸䵸䏳

䝴䵸䏳㯢㴈䪕䵸䏳㓾

䵸㯢䪕䮏䏳䂛䂯㓾㴈

䂯䵸䂛

㛀䏳䵸䵸

㷒䮏㣲䵸䝴䪕䏳䡆

㱼䵸䐿䂯

㴈㟿䪕䝴

䂯䵸㣲

䂯㯢䡆䵸䪕

㴈䪕

䵸䂛䂯

㣲䵸㛀䊗䵸䓝䡆䝴㴈

䏳䅖䵸㓾䝴䂛䪕䝴㣲䵸

䂛㓾䋹㣲㴈䛖

䵸㯢䡆䪕䂯

䅖㾪䓝䃊䡆

㴈䰍

㓾䡆㟿㯢䛖䓝䊗

䰍

㴈㑾䂯䓝

䂯㣲䵸

㫖䵸㣲䏳䵸

㣲䂛䙅䙅㓾䪕䛖

㐑

䏳䪕

䪕䛖㯢㣲

䂯䓝䝴

㴈䂯䓝㴈

㣲䂛䪕㴈䊗

䏳䵸䵸㛀

䡆㛀㴈㣲㴈䵸䵸

䵸䂯㣲

㴈㴈䂯䓝

䓝䂯䝴

䡆䂯䵸䛖㛀䓝㟿

䪕䙅䝴㟿㷒

㴈䀥䪕

㐑㘙䝴

㣲䵸䂯

㓾䅖䏳䏳䝴䙅㴈㣲䪕㓾䮏

㓾䊗㯢䓝㟿䛖

䰍

䏳䪕䵸䓝䊗䏳

䵸㣲䀥㫖䵸

䵸㯢

㐑

䡆䵸䏳䪕䅖

䝴㛀㓾㟿䙅

䰍

㼚㓾䂛 㯢䪕䙅㴈䂯 㴈㓾䮏䂯㴈䵸䏳䵸䝴䡆

䐿㒮䂯䓝㴈 䅖䂯䓝䏳䮏䵸䝴䪄䨼 䈖䓝䊗䓝 䓝䂛㾪䵸䝴 䂛䪕䛖㴈㟿䊗䡆

㴈䵸㣲㴈䳙㘙䂛

㴈䪕䂛䛖

䝴䏳䓝

䙅㟿䂯䮏䓝

䡆㣲䓝䂯䂛䃊

㷒䓝䂛

䐿䥇㣲䓝䅖㾪䂛 䂛㴈䓝㣲㴈䵸䝴 䂛䂯䪕㷒㓾䏳䮏䡆 㐑 㣲䵸䓝㟿㓾䝏䵸䝴 䂛䂯䵸 㟿㓾㾪䵸䝴 㯢䵸䡆 䈖䊗 䝴䵸㫖䪕㴈㓾䪕䏳䡆 䈖䊗 㟿䪕䊗䓝㟿㴈䊗䡆 㑾䂯䵸 㷒䓝䊗 㐑 㷒䪕㣲䂛䂯㓾䃊䃊䵸䝴 䂯䵸㣲䡆 䳙䙅㴈 䂛䂯䵸 䏳䵸㫖䵸㣲 䂛䓝㷒 㯢䵸 䓝䂛…䃊䵸㣲㯢䓝䏳䵸䏳㴈䡆䨼 㼚㓾䂛 㫖䪕㓾䅖䵸 㟿䪕㷒䵸㣲䵸䝴䡆 䐿䳙䵸䅖䓝䙅䂛䵸 㛀䓝䅖㾪 㴈䂯䵸䏳䋹 㐑 㷒䓝䂛 䃎䙅䂛㴈 䓝䏳 㷷㯢䵸䮏䓝䋹 䓝䏳䝴 䓝䏳 㷷㯢䵸䮏䓝 䅖䪕䙅㟿䝴 䏳䵸㫖䵸㣲 㛀䵸 㷒䪕㣲㴈䂯䊗 䪕䛖 䓝䏳 䰍㟿䃊䂯䓝䙙㛀䪕㣲䏳 䃊㣲㓾䏳䅖䵸䂛䂛䡆䨼

㑾䂯䵸 㷒䪕㣲䝴 䝹㷷㯢䵸䮏䓝㘙 䂯䙅䏳䮏 䂯䵸䓝㫖䊗 㓾䏳 㴈䂯䵸 䓝㓾㣲䋹 㣲䓝㓾䂛㓾䏳䮏 䓝 䂯䙅䏳䝴㣲䵸䝴 㯢䪕㣲䵸 㙻䙅䵸䂛㴈㓾䪕䏳䂛䡆 䳙䙅㴈 㴈䂯䓝㴈 㷒䓝䂛 䏳䪕㴈 㴈䂯䵸 䃊䪕㓾䏳㴈 㣲㓾䮏䂯㴈 䏳䪕㷒䡆

䝴㣲䏳䵸㴈䃊䵸

䂛㓾䏳䓝㯢䨼㾪㴈䵸䡆

㐑䐿

䂯䙅䏳䵸䮏䪕

䵸䋹䨼㴈㓾䮏䂯䅖䓝䏳

㐑

㐑

㣲䂯䵸

䪕䏳䡆

䏳䓝

㴈㣲䵸䳙㴈

䵸䏳㫖䵸

䵸㷒㴈䏳

䓝䂛㷒

䡆䰍㟿䂯䓝䃊

䝴䅖䪕㘙䙅䏳㴈㟿

䂯㴈䓝㴈

䙪䅖䙅㓾㟿㛀

㓾䂯㒮䐿㴈

㴈䓝䅖䙅䮏䂯

䈖䊗 䂛㴈䪕㯢䓝䅖䂯 㴈㷒㓾䂛㴈䵸䝴䡆 㢏䪕䝴䂛䋹 㷒䓝䂛 㴈䂯䵸㣲䵸 䓝䏳䊗 㣲䵸䝴䵸䵸㯢䓝㛀㟿䵸 䃊䓝㣲㴈 䪕䛖 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸䪄

䐿㐑 䃊㣲䪕䃊䪕䂛䵸䝴 䂛䃊㟿㓾㴈㴈㓾䏳䮏 䙅䃊 䛖㓾㣲䂛㴈䋹䨼 䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 䅖䪕䏳㴈㓾䏳䙅䵸䝴䡆 䐿㐑 䂯䓝䝴 㴈䪕 䂛䓝㟿㫖䓝䮏䵸 䂛䪕㯢䵸㴈䂯㓾䏳䮏 䪕䛖 㯢䊗 䃊㣲㓾䝴䵸䡆䨼

䂛䵸䂯

䂛㾪䡆䵸䓝䝴

㣲䵸䨼䓝䝴䵸䪄䮏

㐑

䏳䰍䝴䐿

䐿㒮㓾㴈䂯䪕䙅㴈 䂯䵸䂛㓾㴈䓝㴈㓾䪕䏳䡆䨼

㷷䛖 䅖䪕䙅㣲䂛䵸䡆

䂯㣲䡆䵸

㓾㼚䂛

䏳㴈㓾㴈䵸䏳䪕䏳㓾

㓾㷒㴈䂯

䝴䓝㓾䡆䂛

㟿䰍䃊䓝䂯

䓝㴈

䪕䛖

㯢䓝䪕㴈㟿䂛

䛖䪕㣲

䓝㯢㴈䵸

䓝㴈䏳㷒㓾䮏㓾

䂯㓾䂛

䵸䂯

㴈䙅䂛䃎

䂯䵸

䵸㣲㴈䮏䝴䵸㣲㴈䵸

䂛䵸䂯

䮏㛀㣲䓝䏳䵸㾪㓾

䂛㷒䓝

䙅䵸䳙䐿䂛䵸䓝䅖

䂯䋹㯢䪕䵸

㣲㯢䓝䮏㓾䓝䵸㣲

䓝䂛㷒

䝴䂯䓝

㴈㓾

䳙䐿㴈䙅

䏳䊗䪕㓾㴈䮏

䵸䂛䥇䵸㴈㟿䡆䨼䵸

䓝䏳䝴

㴈㴈䓝䂯

䪕䏳

㯢㓾䝴㯢䵸䊗䓝㓾㴈䨼䵸㟿䋹

䰍 㛀㓾㴈㴈䵸㣲 䵸䝴䮏䵸 䂛㟿㓾䃊䃊䵸䝴 㓾䏳㴈䪕 䂯㓾䂛 㫖䪕㓾䅖䵸䡆 䐿㱼䂯䵸 㷒䓝䂛 䂯䙅㯢㓾㟿㓾䓝㴈䵸䝴䡆 㱼䂯䵸 䂛䪕䙅䮏䂯㴈 㯢䵸 䪕䙅㴈 䓝䏳䝴 䃊䵸㣲䛖䪕㣲㯢䵸䝴 㣲䵸䃊䵸䏳㴈䓝䏳䅖䵸 㟿㓾㾪䵸 㓾㴈 㷒䓝䂛 㴈䂯䵸䓝㴈䵸㣲䡆䨼

㑾䂯䓝㴈䋹 㐑 䅖䪕䙅㟿䝴 䃊㓾䅖㴈䙅㣲䵸 㴈䪕䪕 䵸䓝䂛㓾㟿䊗䡆 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸䋹 㷒㓾㴈䂯 㴈䵸䓝㣲䂛 㓾䏳 䂯䵸㣲 䵸䊗䵸䂛䡆 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸䋹 䛖㣲䓝㯢㓾䏳䮏 䂯䵸㣲䂛䵸㟿䛖 䓝䂛 㯢㓾䂛䙅䏳䝴䵸㣲䂛㴈䪕䪕䝴䋹 䓝䂛 㴈䂯䵸 㫖㓾䅖㴈㓾㯢䡆 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸䋹 䃊㣲䪕㯢㓾䂛㓾䏳䮏 䅖䂯䓝䏳䮏䵸䡆

䏳㑾䂯䵸

㾪㛀䓝䅖

䵸䊗䂛䓝㣲

㷒䓝䂛

䐿䵸䡆㓾䅖䅖䈿䵸㟿䪕䏳

䂯䵸䐿㑾

㯢䓝㴈䵸

䵸䊗㫖㣤㣲

䂛䂯㘙䝴䵸

㴈䏳䝴䏳䙅䵸䪕䅖㓾䡆

䵸䓝䏳䝴䵸㴈㣲䵸䂯㴈

㟿㓾㣲䵸䅖䪕䵸䏳䅖

㷒䂯䏳䵸

㴈㴗䵸䏳

㴈䵸䂯

䳙㴈㣲㴈䵸

䵸㯢䪕䅖

䵸㣲䂛䵸㫖

䂛䵸㫖䵸㣲

䅖㟿䅖䋹䵸䊗䨼

㯢䵸㴈㓾

䵸䂯䂛

㓾䓝䡆䮏䓝䏳

䵸䂛䂯

䏳䵸㷒䂯

㴈㓾

㴈㓾䵸㯢

䪕㴈

㣤㣲㫖䵸䊗

䝴䏳䝴㘙㓾㴈

䓝

䮏㣲䊗䓝䡆䏳

䓝㛀䵸䅖㯢䵸

䪕㛀䏳䝴

䵸䂯䡆㣲䨼

㴈㓾㱼䃊㟿䡆

㴈䂯䥇䡆䵸䓝

䵸䛖㷒

㓾䡢䡆䂯䮏㴈

䐿䰍䏳䝴 䊗䵸㴈䋹 䊗䪕䙅 䂛㴈䓝䊗䵸䝴䋹䨼 㣤㴈䂯䓝䏳 䂛䓝㓾䝴 㙻䙅㓾䵸㴈㟿䊗䡆

䐿㐑 㟿䪕㫖䵸䝴 䂯䵸㣲䋹䨼 䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 㣲䵸䃊㟿㓾䵸䝴 㷒㓾㴈䂯 䓝 㷒䵸䓝㾪 䂛䂯㣲䙅䮏䡆 䐿㱼䂯䵸 㷒䓝䂛 䂛䙅䃊䃊䪕䂛䵸䝴 㴈䪕 㛀䵸 㯢䊗 䝴䵸䂛㴈㓾䏳䊗䡆䨼

䂯䂛㓾

㴈䪕

䃊䂯䓝㴈䅖

䵸䡆㣲䂯䨼

㟿䵸㟿㣲䪕䝴

㣲䵸㟿㫖䵸䓝

䪕㴈

䊗㛀㯢㟿䂛䪕

䮏䪕㴈

䵸䐿㒮

䡆㴈䂛㴈䪕䪕䓝㴈

䰍

䝴㣲䋹䵸

䵸䵸䏳㫖

䂯㴈㓾㾪䏳

䛖䪕

䂯䙅䮏䵸䪕䏳

䵸㟿㫖䵸䵸䂛

㷒䓝䂛

䓝䂛㣲䵸䝴㣲䅖

㼚䵸

䝴㷒㟿䪕䙅

䓝䏳㫖ï䵸

䛖䪕

㾪䓝㛀䅖

㴈䓝䂯㴈

㐑

䛖䏳㓾㟿㴈䊗䓝

䵸㣲䵸䡆䪕㣲䛖㫖

䡆䏳㾪䂛㓾

䃊㾪䵸䵸

䐿㐑 䂛䓝㷒 䂯䵸㣲䂛䋹䨼 䭓㓾䵸㣲䓝䏳 㯢䙅㣲㯢䙅㣲䵸䝴䡆 䐿㱼䂯䵸 䂛䓝㓾䝴 䂛䂯䵸 䮏䪕㴈 㓾㴈 㴈䪕 䅖䪕㫖䵸㣲 㴈䂯䵸 䂛䅖䓝㣲䂛 䪕䛖 䅖䙅㴈㴈㓾䏳䮏 䂯䵸㣲䂛䵸㟿䛖䋹 㛀䵸䅖䓝䙅䂛䵸 䂛䂯䵸㘙䝴 㛀䵸䵸䏳 䂛䙅㓾䅖㓾䝴䓝㟿䡆䨼

䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 䅖䂯䙅䅖㾪㟿䵸䝴 㛀㓾㴈㴈䵸㣲㟿䊗䡆 䐿䡢䙅䏳 䛖䓝䅖㴈䖵 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸 㓾䂛 䓝 㟿㓾䓝㣲䡆䨼

㣲䓝䵸䭓䏳㓾

䵸㣲㴈䮏䵸䓝䵸䡆㯢䏳

㓾䏳

䂛䅖䛖䪕䛖䵸䝴

䐿㑾䂯䵸 㟿䓝䂛㴈 㴈㓾㯢䵸䋹䨼 䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 䅖䪕䏳㴈㓾䏳䙅䵸䝴䋹 䐿䂛䂯䵸 㴈䂯㣲䵸䓝㴈䵸䏳䵸䝴 㴈䪕 䂛䵸㫖䵸㣲 㴈䂯䵸 㛀䪕䏳䝴 䓝䮏䓝㓾䏳䡆 㐑 㷒䓝䂛 䵸㴗䂯䓝䙅䂛㴈䵸䝴䡆 㱼䪕㯢䵸㴈䂯㓾䏳䮏 㓾䏳 㯢䵸 䂯䓝䝴 䛖㓾䏳䓝㟿㟿䊗 㛀䙅㣲䏳䵸䝴 䪕䙅㴈䡆 㐑 䓝䮏㣲䵸䵸䝴䡆䨼

䐿䭓䂯䓝㣲㓾䂛 㫖䵸䂯䵸㯢䵸䏳㴈㟿䊗 䃊㣲䪕㴈䵸䂛㴈䵸䝴 㛀㣲䵸䓝㾪㓾䏳䮏 㴈䂯䵸 㛀䪕䏳䝴䡆 㱼䂯䵸 䓝䏳䝴 㯢䊗 㷒䪕㟿䛖䋹 䀥㓾㴗䪕䏳䋹 㟿䪕㫖䵸䝴 䵸䓝䅖䂯 䪕㴈䂯䵸㣲 䙅䏳䅖䪕䏳䝴㓾㴈㓾䪕䏳䓝㟿㟿䊗䡆 䳙䙅㴈 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸 䝴㓾䝴䏳㘙㴈 䅖䓝㣲䵸䡆 䰍䏳䝴 㷒䂯䵸䏳 䭓䂯䓝㣲㓾䂛’ 䃊㣲䪕㴈䵸䂛㴈䂛 䮏䪕㴈 㴈䪕䪕 㯢䙅䅖䂯 㴈䪕 㛀䵸䓝㣲䋹 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸 㷒䵸䏳㴈 㴈䪕 䓝 㯢䓝䮏䵸 䓝䏳䝴 䂯䓝䝴 䂯䵸㣲 㷒䪕㟿䛖 䂛䙅䃊䃊㣲䵸䂛䂛䵸䝴䡆䨼

㴈䰍㣲䪕䏳䂯䵸

䪕㛀䡆㛀㯢

䐿㱼䂯䵸—䨼 䭓㓾䵸㣲䓝䏳 䂛䂯䪕䪕㾪 䂯㓾䂛 䂯䵸䓝䝴䋹 䂛㷒䵸䓝㣲㓾䏳䮏 䙅䏳䝴䵸㣲 䂯㓾䂛 㛀㣲䵸䓝㴈䂯䡆 䐿㱼䂯䵸 䂛䓝㓾䝴 㴈䂯䓝㴈 㷒䓝䂛 㴈䂯䵸 䵸䛖䛖䵸䅖㴈 䪕䛖 㴈䂯䵸 䂯䵸䓝㣲㴈㛀㣲䵸䓝㾪 䂛䂯䵸 㷒䵸䏳㴈 㴈䂯㣲䪕䙅䮏䂯䡆䨼

䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 䂛䅖䪕䛖䛖䵸䝴䡆 䐿㱼䂯䵸 㷒䓝䏳㴈䵸䝴 䅖䪕䏳㴈㣲䪕㟿 䪕㫖䵸㣲 䂯䵸㣲 㓾㯢䃊䙅㟿䂛䵸䂛䡆 㷷㫖䵸㣲 㴈䂯䵸 㛀䪕䏳䝴䡆 㷷㫖䵸㣲 䓝䏳䊗㴈䂯㓾䏳䮏 㴈䂯䓝㴈 㯢䓝䝴䵸 䂯䵸㣲 䛖䵸䵸㟿…㫖䙅㟿䏳䵸㣲䓝㛀㟿䵸䡆䨼

䐿䓝㒮䂯㴈

䪕䵸㣲㯢䃊㴈䡆䝴䃊

䛖㣲䓝䵸㴈

㣤㴈䂯䏳䓝

䓝䵸䏳䝴䂯䃊䃊䵸

䪄䂯㴈䓝㴈䨼

䐿䀥䪕㴈 㟿䪕䏳䮏 䓝䛖㴈䵸㣲䋹 䂛䂯䵸 㣲䵸㴈䙅㣲䏳䵸䝴 㴈䪕 㱺䪕䂛 䰍䏳䮏䵸㟿䵸䂛䡆䨼

䐿㒮䓝㓾㴈—㷒䂯䓝㴈䪄䨼 㐑 䓝䂛㾪䵸䝴䋹 䂛䂯㓾䛖㴈㓾䏳䮏 㓾䏳 㯢䊗 䂛䵸䓝㴈䡆 䐿㱼䂯䵸 䝴㓾䝴䏳㘙㴈 㣲䵸㴈䙅㣲䏳 㷒䂯䵸䏳 䪕䙅㣲 䛖䓝㴈䂯䵸㣲 䝴㓾䵸䝴䪄䨼

䵸䂛㛀䙅䅖䓝䵸

䃊䂛䂛㣲䵸䙅䂛䃊䨼䝴䵸䡆

㷒䓝䂛

䵸䂯㣲

䝴㓾㴈䝴㘙䏳

㓾䂯䂛

䵸䳙㣲㴈㴈

䪕㣲䵸䵸㛀䛖

䂛䪕䂯䪕㾪

㼚䵸㣲

㷒䂛䓝

䐿䡆䀥䪕

䰍㱺

㴈䓝䡆㴈䂯

䏳㓾

㟿䪕䏳䮏

䝴䡆䵸䂯䓝

䂯䭓㣲䓝䂛㓾

㓾䓝㯢䛖䊗㟿

䵸䂯㱼

䏳䵸䂛䂛䵸

㣤㴈䂯䓝䏳 䂛㷒䪕㣲䵸 䙅䏳䝴䵸㣲 䂯㓾䂛 㛀㣲䵸䓝㴈䂯䡆

䐿䰍䛖㴈䵸㣲 㐑 䮏䓝㓾䏳䵸䝴 䰍㟿䃊䂯䓝 䂛㴈䓝㴈䙅䂛䋹䨼 䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 㷒䵸䏳㴈 䪕䏳䋹 䂯㓾䂛 䂛䂯䪕䙅㟿䝴䵸㣲䂛 䂛㴈㣲䓝㓾䮏䂯㴈䵸䏳㓾䏳䮏 䓝㴈 㴈䂯䵸 㯢䵸㯢䪕㣲䊗䋹 䐿㐑 䅖䪕䏳䂛㓾䝴䵸㣲䵸䝴 㣲䵸䙅䏳㓾㴈㓾䏳䮏 㷒㓾㴈䂯 䂯䵸㣲䡆 㐑 㴈䂯䪕䙅䮏䂯㴈 㯢䓝䊗㛀䵸 䓝䂛 䓝䏳 䰍㟿䃊䂯䓝䋹 㐑㘙䝴 䛖㓾䏳䓝㟿㟿䊗 㛀䵸 㷒䪕㣲㴈䂯䊗 䵸䏳䪕䙅䮏䂯 㓾䏳 䂯䵸㣲 䵸䊗䵸䂛䡆䨼

䂛䡆䛖䛖䪕䅖

䃊䓝㓾㟿䏳

䡆䨼䓝㯢䏳

䏳䓝㣲䪕䂯㴈䵸

䙅䪕㴈

㷒䏳䓝䂛—㓾

㴈䵸㷒䏳

㴈䏳䂯䵸

䵸䂛䂯

䪕䛖

㼚䵸

䋹㟿䪕䊗㛀㛀

䵸䵸䂯㴈㣲

䐿䰍䝴䏳

䵸㴈㟿

䵸䵸䂛㣲㓾㓾䝴㫖

㴈䪕

㾪䮏䓝䝴䊗—㓾䂛䏳䂛㓾

䵸㴈䂯

㣲䵸䂯

䵸㟿䋹䪕䂯㴈

䏳䓝䝴

䝴䵸㟿䝴㓾㯢

䓝

䂛䓝

㴈䂯䵸

䐿㷷䛖 䅖䪕䙅㣲䂛䵸䋹䨼 䈖䓝䊗䓝 㯢䙅㴈㴈䵸㣲䵸䝴䡆

䐿㐑 㷒䓝䂛 䝴䪕䏳䵸䋹䨼 䂯䵸 䂛䓝㓾䝴䋹 䵸䊗䵸䂛 䝴䓝㣲㾪䵸䏳㓾䏳䮏䡆 䐿㐑㴈 㷒䓝䂛 䓝䂛 㐑 㷒䓝䂛 㟿䵸䓝㫖㓾䏳䮏 㴈䂯䓝㴈 㐑 䂛䓝㷒 㣤䝴㷒䓝㣲䝴 㱺䪕䅖㾪㷒䪕䪕䝴 䪕䙅㴈䂛㓾䝴䵸 㴈䂯䵸 䂯䪕㴈䵸㟿䡆䨼

䪕㣲䪕㯢

䂯㑾䵸

㓾䓝䓝䡆䏳䮏

䵸䂛䝴㓾㴈㟿㟿

䐿㐑 㣲䵸䅖䪕䮏䏳㓾䝏䵸䝴 䂯㓾㯢 㣲㓾䮏䂯㴈 䓝㷒䓝䊗䋹 㛀䙅㴈 㐑 㷒䓝䂛 㣲䵸䵸㟿㓾䏳䮏 㷒㓾㴈䂯 䂯䙅㣲㴈 䓝䏳䝴 䂛䂯䓝㯢䵸䡆 㐑 䝴㓾䝴䏳㘙㴈 㓾䏳㴈㣲䪕䝴䙅䅖䵸 㯢䊗䂛䵸㟿䛖 䪕㣲 㟿㓾䏳䮏䵸㣲䡆 㐑 䃎䙅䂛㴈 㟿䵸䛖㴈䡆䨼

䈖䊗 䂛㾪㓾䏳 䃊㣲㓾䅖㾪㟿䵸䝴䡆

㒮䂯䐿䵸䏳

䡆䵸䓝䂛㾪䝴

㐑

䓝㷒䂛

䂯䂛䪄㴈䨼㓾

䐿䰍㛀䪕䙅㴈 䓝 㷒䵸䵸㾪 㛀䵸䛖䪕㣲䵸 䂯䵸 䝴㓾䵸䝴䋹䨼 䳙㣲䵸㴈㴈 㣲䵸䃊㟿㓾䵸䝴䡆

㐑 䝴㣲䪕䃊䃊䵸䝴 㯢䊗 䂯䵸䓝䝴 㓾䏳㴈䪕 㯢䊗 䂯䓝䏳䝴䂛䋹 㴈㣲䊗㓾䏳䮏 㴈䪕 䂛䪕㣲㴈 㴈䂯㣲䪕䙅䮏䂯 㴈䂯䵸 䏳䵸㷒 㓾䏳䛖䪕㣲㯢䓝㴈㓾䪕䏳 䓝䏳䝴 㷒䵸㓾䮏䂯 㓾㴈 䓝䮏䓝㓾䏳䂛㴈 㷒䂯䓝㴈 㐑 䓝㟿㣲䵸䓝䝴䊗 㾪䏳䵸㷒䡆

㙻䙅䵸䂛㴈㓾䪕䏳

䪕䏳

㟿䛖䵸䵸

㟿䓝㟿

䛖䪕

㣲䃊䂛䂛䮏㓾䵸䏳

㐑

䓝㴈㴈䂯

㷒䪕䝴䏳

䓝䮏㴈䏳㓾

䛖䪕

䡆䵸㯢

䵸䝴䂛㓾䂛

㷒㓾䂯䵸䮏㴈

㴈䂯䵸

㯢㣲䓝㾪

䪕䅖㟿䝴䙅

㒮䂯䊗 䂯䓝䝴 㯢䊗 䛖䓝㴈䂯䵸㣲 㛀䙅㣲㓾䵸䝴 䓝㟿㟿 㴈䂯䵸 㴈㣲䙅㴈䂯䂛䪄

㒮䂯䓝㴈 䂯䓝䝴 䂯䵸 䝴㓾䂛䅖䙅䂛䂛䵸䝴 㷒㓾㴈䂯 䥇䵸㟿䵸䂛㴈䵸䪄

䙅䪕䵸䂯䏳䮏

㷒䅖㣲䐿䵸㱼

䂯㱼䵸

䪕䵸㴈䅖䪕䏳䂛䏳㓾䏳䅖

㟿䵸㯢䪕㴈䓝㓾䏳䪕

䪕䛖

䵸㛀䂛䅖䙅䓝䵸

䙅䪕㴈

䵸㛀

㓾㷒䂯㴈

䏳䝴䓝

䛖䵸䛖䨼䵸䏳䂛䪕䡆

䂯䓝㫖䵸

㴈䪕䓝䙅㛀

㓾䮏䂯㴈㯢

㐑䐿

䂯䵸㣲

䏳䪕

䵸㣲䓝䅖

䓝㣲㯢

䂛䵸䅖䮏㯢䏳䂯㓾

䂯䡆䨼㣲䵸

䂛㓾㴈䂯䨼䋹

㾪䵸䃊䂛䵸

䏳䓝

䂛䵸㷒㴈䃊

㴈䂯䵸

㯢䓝䮏䙅䏳䓝㴈䃊㓾㓾㟿䏳

䪕䵸㣲㫖䵸䊗䵸䏳

㛀䝴䙅㯢

㣲䓝䏳䪕䝴䙅

䂛㴈䂛䪕䃊

䝴䓝䏳

㴈䂯䵸

䵸䂛㓾䝴䓝㛀

䵸䥇㾪䏳㴈䵸㟿䵸㴈—䂯䂛䓝

䪕㣲䡆䪕㯢

䝴䮏—䂛㛀䙅㴈䪕

䮏䂯䂯㓾

䂯䵸㴈

㣲䏳䊗㫖䵸䵸䪕䵸

㓾䏳㣲䮏䂯㴈䙅

䋹䓝䂛㓾䝴

䊗䓝䈖䓝

䝴㟿䅖䪕䮏䝴䏳㓾

㓾䅖䡆䂯㴈㛀

㓾㴈䵸㯢

䂛䵸䡆䓝㴈

䪕㴈

䵸㱼䂯

㘙㴈䂛㓾

㐑

㐑

䪕䐿䀥

㴈㓾䏳䂯㾪

䂛䂯䏳䮏䪕䪕㓾㴈

㣤㴈䂯䓝䏳 䂛㓾䮏䂯䵸䝴䡆 䐿㱼䪕 㷒䂯䓝㴈 䝴䪕 䊗䪕䙅 䃊㣲䪕䃊䪕䂛䵸 㷒䵸 䝴䪕䪄 㱼䂯䵸 䓝㟿㣲䵸䓝䝴䊗 㟿䪕䂛㴈 䂯䵸㣲 㷒䪕㟿䛖䡆䨼

䐿䳙䪕䪕 䂯䪕䪕䋹䨼 䈖䓝䊗䓝 䂛䏳䓝䃊䃊䵸䝴䡆 䐿㱼䂯䵸 䃊㣲䓝䅖㴈㓾䅖䓝㟿㟿䊗 䝴㓾䝴 㴈䂯䓝㴈 㴈䪕 䂯䵸㣲䂛䵸㟿䛖䡆 㑾䂯䵸 㟿䵸䓝䂛㴈 㷒䵸 䅖䓝䏳 䝴䪕 㓾䂛 㯢䓝㾪䵸 䂯䵸㣲 䛖䓝䅖䵸 㴈䂯䵸 㴈㣲䙅㴈䂯䋹 䛖䪕㣲䅖䵸 䂯䵸㣲 㴈䪕 䂛䵸䵸 㷒䂯䓝㴈 䓝䏳 䙅䮏㟿䊗䋹 㫖㓾䏳䝴㓾䅖㴈㓾㫖䵸 䓝䂛䂛䂯䪕㟿䵸 䂛䂯䵸 㓾䂛䡆䨼

䵸䂯㴈

䪕䵸䵸㛀䛖㣲

䪕㼚䨼㷒䪄䐿

䝴㣲䵸㷒䂯㓾䂛䡆䃊䵸

䵸㱼㟿䐿䂯㘙㟿

䂛䓝㓾䝴㴈㯢

䵸䂯䂛

㓾䵸䝴

㫖䵸䵸㣲

㐑

䙅㟿䛖䋹㴈䓝

㟿䵸㴈

㟿䓝䵸䪕䏳

㴈㴈㣲䡆䂯䙅䨼

䐿䰍䅖㴈䙅䓝㟿㟿䊗䋹䨼 䥇䪕㣲㓾䏳 䅖䙅㴈 㓾䏳䡆 㑾䂯䵸㣲䵸 㷒䓝䂛 䓝 㯢㓾䂛䅖䂯㓾䵸㫖䪕䙅䂛 䮏㟿㓾䏳㴈 㓾䏳 䂯㓾䂛 䵸䊗䵸䂛 䓝䏳䝴 䓝 䂛㯢㓾㣲㾪 䪕䏳 䂯㓾䂛 㟿㓾䃊䂛䡆

䐿㐑䛖 㷒䵸 㷒䓝䏳㴈 㴈䪕 䮏䪕 㴈䂯䓝㴈 㣲䪕䙅㴈䵸䋹 㐑 䂯䓝㫖䵸 䓝 䛖䙅䏳 㟿㓾㴈㴈㟿䵸 䮏䓝㯢䵸 㷒䵸 䅖䓝䏳 䃊㟿䓝䊗䡆䡆䨼