Not a Toy Story [Closed/Mizuki/Yun]

[attr="class","mouths1"]The weather was balmy this afternoon, enough to motivate Yun Yoshimasa into draping his jacket over his shoulders rather than risk permeating the leather it was made of in sweat and body odor. He wanted nothing more than to sit indoors and soak up the cold blast of an air conditioning unit, a chance he was soon graced with upon approaching a place he had, incidentally, been meaning to reconnect with for a while: a children's toy shop.

Before the existence of Digimon became known to the duelist, it first began as little more than a multimedia sensation that took Japan by storm, drawing all manner of people from out of the woodworks to get in on the craze. Admittedly, Yun had been a long-standing fan of the television series and was eventually introduced to the card game through it, recalling fond childhood memories of watching his favorite characters battle it out against the forces of evil armed with their fighting spirits and the bonds of friendship.

Perhaps it was this fleeting moment of nostalgia that compelled the man with the world's pointiest hair to indulge in this piece of the past? Only he knew. Yun walks inside, alone, his arrival marked by the tinkle of a silver bell.

A few parents roamed the somewhat cramped pathways of this Tempera-colored children's wonderland, a smaller handful yet accompanied by their own children, most of whom couldn't be older than the ages of five or six. There was even an infant, placid as could be. Were they also looking to satisfy their progeny's love of Digimon, or did they, too, have a secret affection for these seemingly fictitious creatures?

Yun waves the store clerk down to acknowledge her offers of assistance, knowing full well that it was all part of the act, a staged performance neither of the two wished to deal with. He smiles all the same, unwilling to cause the poor worker any more stress than she probably was feeling right now. He had hoped his deliberately exaggerated appearance could behave as one of the brighter points, if that were the case.

But a strange sensation made the hairs on Yun's neck stand up with almost the same degree of sharpness and rigidity as the rest of his multi-colored 'do. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he could almost swear that he was being watched...