Chapter 131: The Literature Project Calamity (at Aiwa's Secret Place)

The address Aiwa sends me leads to a surprisingly normal, slightly older apartment building in a quiet residential neighborhood, miles away from her family's sleek high-rise. It definitely feels more like a secret hideout than a luxury condo. My palms are sweating as I buzz the apartment number.

Aiwa opens the door, looking even more nervous than usual. "H-hi," she stammers, avoiding my eyes. "Welcome to… the Batcave?" She attempts a small joke, but it comes out as more of a panicked squeak.

The apartment inside is small, sparsely furnished, but clean and cozy. There are a few boxes stacked in a corner, a simple table and chairs, a small kitchenette, and a sofa. It definitely feels like a place someone only uses occasionally. It also feels incredibly intimate. We are completely alone. No Rina. No Haruka. No Kenji. Just… us. The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through my system.

"Make yourself comfortable," she says, gesturing towards the table. "Can I get you some tea? Or… chemically questionable juice box?" She is quoting my earlier offer back at me, a small, shy smile finally appearing on her face.

"Tea is fine, thanks," I say, trying to match her attempt at normalcy.

We sit down at the table, spreading out our notes. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of city traffic. We are both acutely aware of the situation's inherent awkwardness and potential for disaster.

"So," I say, trying desperately to focus. "The poem. Lady Murasaki. Themes of transient beauty. Outline. Let's… outline."

"R-right," she agrees quickly. "Outline."

Miraculously, without the constant interruptions and the suffocating pressure of surveillance, we actually start making progress. Aiwa, once she gets past her initial nervousness, is brilliant. Her insights into the poem are sharp, her analysis is original, and her passion for the subject is infectious. We fall into a comfortable rhythm, debating interpretations, outlining slides, occasionally getting sidetracked by a shared nerdy joke or a discussion about obscure Heian-period courtly rituals.

Hours pass without us noticing. The initial awkwardness fades completely, replaced by the easy camaraderie of two people genuinely enjoying each other's company and shared passion. We are not just project partners; we are friends, finally having the normal, uninterrupted conversation we have been trying to have for weeks. We finish the presentation outline, feeling ridiculously proud of ourselves.

"Wow," Aiwa says, stretching languidly like a cat, a gesture that sends another inappropriate flutter through my chest. "We actually did it. It is… actually good."

"Yeah," I agree, smiling. "We make a pretty good team, Matsuki-san."

"Aiwa," she corrects me softly, looking at me with those wide, sincere eyes. "You can call me Aiwa. Since we are… friends."

"Okay… Aiwa," I say, the name feeling both familiar and strangely intimate on my tongue. Her face flushes a delicate pink, but she does not look away.

She glances at the clock on the wall and her eyes go wide. "Oh my gosh! Is that the time?! It is almost midnight!"

"Midnight?" I echo, shocked. My two-hour limit evaporated about three hours ago. Rina is definitely home by now. Panic floods my system, cold and sharp. "Uh, yeah, I should probably-"

Just as I am about to make a frantic excuse and bolt for the door, Aiwa lets out a massive yawn. It is the kind of bone-deep, overwhelming yawn that signals complete and utter exhaustion. Her double life – LUNA preparations, schoolwork, the constant stress of hiding, the added chaos of Rina and Haruka – has clearly caught up with her.

"Sorry," she mumbles, rubbing her eyes, her voice thick with sleep. "Suddenly… so sleepy. All that poetry…"

Before I can even process what is happening, her eyes flutter shut, her head droops forward, and she slumps sideways, falling asleep almost instantly, her head landing softly, inevitably, right onto my shoulder.

I freeze. Utterly, completely frozen. Aiwa Matsuki. LUNA. My childhood maybe-fiancée. Asleep. On my shoulder. In her secret apartment. While my potentially homicidal sister is probably wondering where I am.

My internal monologue is just a continuous, high-pitched scream, interspersed with frantic calculations about train schedules and the likelihood of Rina having activated the secret sibling tracking device I am convinced she planted on me. This is not a strategic move on Aiwa's part. This is pure, unadulterated exhaustion combined with terrible, terrible, life-ruining timing. But Rina will never, ever believe that. Not in a million years. My only hope is that she fell asleep too and forgot I exist.

(Narrator: She did not.)