The evening light filtered through the narrow window of Galehaven Comics, casting a golden haze across the shop's hardwood floor, its gleam catching on the scuffs left by countless boots. The air thrummed with a cozy vitality—aged paper mingling with the faint floral steam of dandelion tea simmering on Harlan Flint's stove, a subtle sweetness threading through the vibrant chaos of the shelves. The walls loomed with teetering stacks of comics, their colorful spines whispering of unclaimed worlds, while posters—Yu-Gi-Oh's Blue-Eyes glaring, Digimon's Agumon curling at the edges—fluttered faintly in the draft, their edges frayed by time and wonder. Harlan leaned against the counter, his dark jacket slung over his chair, a cooling teacup cradled in his hands as he watched his customers weave their tales into the shop's heartbeat.
Klee perched on a worn sofa, her red hat bobbing as she clutched Little Master, her tiny legs swinging with restless glee. "Yummy stuff—really?" she chirped, her voice a cannon blast of hope as she turned to Harlan, her wide eyes glinting with a child's hunger, her Pyro Vision flickering at her hip. Harlan's grin widened, his hazel eyes twinkling as he nodded, his tone a gentle lure. "Oh yeah—glowing dishes, smells that'll knock you out, taste even better," he said, his voice warm with mischief as he pictured Liu Maoxing's radiant rice, a lure no kid could resist.
Klee's face lit up, her hat bouncing as she clapped her hands, her voice a squeal of delight. "Big brother Harlan—I want Little Master!" she cried, her tiny frame buzzing with anticipation as she darted for the shelf, her red coat a blur of motion. Harlan chuckled, pointing at the stack with a nod. "Over there—go grab it, spark," he said, his tone soft but amused as Klee skidded to a halt, her fingers snagging the comic with a triumphant grin. She flopped back onto the sofa, the cushions sinking under her slight weight, and cracked it open, her eyes widening as golden egg fried rice gleamed on the page.
"Wow—it shines! Mapo Tofu—what's a Mapo? Klee wants to eat it!" she gasped, her voice a stream of wonder as she flipped pages, her attention locked on the dishes—vivid, sprawling illustrations of sizzling plates, their glow a siren call to her child's heart. Drool pooled at the corner of her mouth, her tiny tongue darting out as she leaned closer, the comic's art a feast she could almost taste. Barbara watched from beside her, Nyaromon purring in her arms, her blonde curls swaying as she smiled, her blue eyes soft with relief. "She's hooked—better than bombs," she thought, her healer's heart easing at Klee's joy, a rare sight beyond her explosive antics.
Harlan's grin softened, his gaze lingering on Klee's delight as he sipped his tea, the shop's hum—Wendy's lazy chuckles, Bennett's quiet mutters—a backdrop to her glee. Barbara stepped forward, her voice a quiet chime as she leaned over the counter, her tone casual but edged with purpose. "Boss—what'd Jean get here before?" she asked, her blue eyes glinting with Lisa's whispered pact, her sister's flustered dodge a puzzle she'd unravel. Harlan tilted his head, his memory clicking as he set his cup down, his voice steady. "Jean? Pair of four-leaf clover pendants—couple's stuff," he said, his hazel eyes flickering with amusement, the memory of Jean's blush a vivid spark in his mind.
Barbara's jaw dropped, her curls bouncing as she stared, her voice a shocked whisper. "Couple pendants?!" she echoed, her hands tightening on Nyaromon, the Digimon mewing at her grip. The words hit like a thunderbolt—Jean, stern and duty-bound, clutching a lover's token? "No wonder she bolted—panicked like a hilichurl on fire," she thought, her mind racing as she pictured her sister's flush, the pendants a secret too tender for her knightly steel. But doubt crept in, her brow furrowing as she tapped her chin, her voice a murmur. "Wait—that's not her. She'd laugh off a trinket like that, not hide it."
Her gaze sharpened, her healer's intuition prickling as she stole a glance at Harlan, his easy grin a quiet enigma across the counter. "Unless… she likes someone," she thought, her heart skipping as a wild theory bloomed—Jean, smitten, the pendants a mirror to a crush she'd buried under duty. "Who, though? Mondstadt's full of admirers—none fit," she mused, her mind sifting through suitors—merchants, guards, poets—all grasping at Jean's rank or beauty, none worthy of her sister's guarded heart. "Someone great, mysterious, strong—Harlan?" she thought, her blue eyes widening as she studied him, his casual charm a spark against Jean's steel.
"He's got it all—looks, power, this shop," she thought, her theory hardening as she traced the clues—Jean's reliance on Galehaven's might, her flustered exit, the pendants a gift from a man she admired. "Brother-in-law Harlan—huh?!" she whispered, her voice a startled squeak as she clapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks flushing at the leap, Nyaromon tilting its head with a curious mew. Harlan raised a brow, his grin faltering into a puzzled tilt. "You alright, Barbara? Look like you've seen a ghost," he said, his tone light but curious, oblivious to the storm in her mind.
Barbara jolted, her curls swaying as she waved a hand, her voice a forced laugh. "F-Fine—just… thinking!" she stammered, her blue eyes darting away as she stepped back, her sisterly sleuthing a secret she'd guard—for now. The shop's hum shifted, Bennett's voice cutting through as he snapped Digimon shut, his goggles slipping as he rose, his green eyes glinting with hope. "Done—my turn?" he asked, his tone trembling with anticipation, his adventurer's heart pounding as he approached the counter, his luck a shadow he'd defy.
The system pinged—[Customer Bennett completed Digimon: First Frontier—Reward: Random Skill Card]. [Random Skill Card: Grants one random Digimon skill upon use.] Harlan's brows shot up, his grin widening as he leaned forward, his tea forgotten. "Another twist—first Diluc's timer, now a wild card," he thought, his hazel eyes glinting with intrigue as he pictured future quirks—role cards, summon tickets—a shop of endless chaos. A beam of light sliced through the ceiling, its radiance bathing Bennett in a shimmering glow that drew Klee's glance from Little Master and Wendy's lazy peek from Yu-Gi-Oh!, the shop's air crackling with expectation.
The light faded, a blank card materializing in Bennett's hands—smooth, silver-edged, its surface a void of possibility. "Huh—what's this?" he asked, his voice a mix of awe and confusion as he turned it, his goggles fogging with his breath, his green eyes wide with wonder. Harlan's grin softened, his tone a gentle nudge. "Random skill card—use it, get a Digimon move. Could be anything, kid—luck's the key," he said, his voice warm but edged with sympathy, his mind tracing Bennett's curse—caves collapsing, treasures lost, a boy fate loved to taunt.
Bennett's face lit up, his goggles slipping further as he clutched the card, his voice a burst of excitement. "Any Digimon? Like—MetalGreymon's cannon? WarGreymon's claws?!" he gasped, his adventurer's heart racing as he pictured the Digital World's might—blasts of steel, slashes of light—his luck a gamble he'd take. Harlan nodded, his grin wry as he leaned back. "Yup—baby to ultimate, all up to chance. Good draw, big power," he said, his tone a quiet warning, his hazel eyes flickering with pity—Bennett's streak a storm cloud over this silver prize.
Klee peeked over her comic, her hat tilting as she giggled, her voice a chirp of glee. "Boom card? Klee wants one!" she cried, her tiny hands clapping as she pictured explosions, her Pyro soul alight with envy. Wendy chuckled, his green cape fluttering as he propped his chin, his voice a breezy tease. "Luck's the boss, huh? Bet he gets something tiny—like Salamon's bark," he said, his bardic mirth a counterpoint to Bennett's hope, his cat woes forgotten in the moment. Barbara stepped closer, her curls swaying as she smiled, her tone soft with encouragement. "Go for it, Bennett—something cool!" she said, her blue eyes glinting with faith, her brother-in-law theory a quiet hum in her chest.
Bennett's hands trembled, his green eyes locked on the card as he pressed it to his chest, his voice a fervent whisper. "Please—something strong, something mine," he murmured, his luck a shadow he'd shatter with this draw. He squeezed his eyes shut, the card flaring with a soft snap—a pulse of light bursting forth, the shop's air humming as a skill took shape, Galehaven's chaos a crucible for his defiant hope.
***
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