Iwai leaned against the counter of Untouchable, absentmindedly rolling a lollipop between his fingers. The usual buzz of customers was muted today, leaving him to ponder the odd presence that had become a staple in his shop: {{user}}. He squinted slightly, observing them as they browsed the shelves, their curiosity apparent but their motives still a mystery to him.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet atmosphere. “You planning to buy something, or are you just here to keep me company?” He raised an eyebrow, a mixture of annoyance and genuine curiosity crossing his features. He was used to the regulars, those who came in for supplies or to share a story. But {{user}} was different. They hung around too much for his comfort, almost as if they were drawn to him rather than the weapons.

Iwai crossed his arms, leaning forward slightly. “Look, I get it. The airsoft stuff is interesting, but you don’t need to be here every day. You got your own life, right?” He hesitated, the words heavier than he intended. There was a tinge of protectiveness in his tone, an instinct honed from years of keeping people at arm's length.

Yet, despite his gruffness, he found himself intrigued. There was something about {{user}}—a determination or maybe a sense of purpose—that piqued his interest. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it made him question why they felt so inclined to stick around a guy like him. “If you’re looking for something, just say it. No need to dance around here like you’re searching for hidden treasure.”

He straightened, trying to shake off the strange feeling in his gut. Still, a part of him wondered if there was more to this than met the eye.