Chapter 136: The Return of the Literature Project (and Renewed Sabotage)

The Japanese Literature project, the catalyst for so much chaos, returns to haunt me. Our presentation is only a few days away, and thanks to the sleepover incident and the subsequent week of extreme awkwardness, Aiwa and I have made zero progress on the actual presentation materials.

"We need to meet," I text Aiwa, my thumbs trembling slightly. "For real this time. Final prep."

Aiwa: Agreed. But where? Library is compromised. Your place is… emotionally hazardous. My secret lair is potentially under surveillance.

We are running out of options. The clock is ticking.

Me: How about… the Cosplay Club room? After school? Rina and Haruka have student council today. Kenji has… whatever Kenji does. It might actually be empty.

Aiwa: Risky… but potentially viable. Okay. Club room it is. Operation: Finish the Damn Project.

Operation: Finish the Damn Project begins promisingly. We arrive at the club room. Miraculously, it is empty. We spread out our notes, power up the club's ancient, sputtering laptop, and try to assemble our PowerPoint presentation.

For the first hour, we are actually productive. Aiwa, shedding some of her awkwardness in the familiar, creative space of the club room, proves to be a PowerPoint wizard. She creates elegant slides, finds beautiful Heian-era images, and even suggests adding subtle, thematic background music.

"Wow," I say, genuinely impressed. "You are really good at this."

She blushes, but smiles. "Thank you. LUNA presentations require a certain… aesthetic standard." It is the first time she has voluntarily mentioned her LUNA persona to me. A small step, but a significant one.

We fall into an easy rhythm, working side-by-side. The atmosphere is comfortable, almost normal. We finish the main slides and start working on the conclusion.

And then, the sabotage begins.

Suddenly, the door to the club room bursts open. It is Kenji, dressed in what appears to be a homemade ninja costume made mostly of black trash bags.

"Aha!" he whisper-shouts, striking a dramatic pose. "The secret meeting! My intel was correct! What dark plots are you hatching?!"

"Kenji, what are you doing here?" I groan. "And what are you wearing?"

"I am conducting counter-intelligence!" he declares. "Rina-chan and Haruka-sama suspected you might try something like this! They sent me to observe!" He produces a pair of toy binoculars and pretends to spy on us from across the room.

"You are observing us from ten feet away," Aiwa points out, her LUNA-Lite persona flickering briefly in annoyance. "And your costume is rustling."

Before we can eject Kenji, the door opens again. It is Rina and Haruka. Their student council meeting apparently ended early. Or perhaps it never existed in the first place.

"Well, well, well," Rina says, her voice dripping with fake surprise. "Look what we have here. A private work session?"

"In the club room?" Haruka adds, raising an eyebrow. "How… resourceful."

They proceed to "help" us with our presentation. Rina insists on adding more "emotionally resonant" (read: sparkly and pink) graphics. Haruka critiques our font choices with brutal, condescending precision. Kenji keeps trying to add sound effects, mostly explosions and laser blasts.

Our beautiful, elegant presentation quickly devolves into a chaotic, incoherent mess. Aiwa looks like she is about to cry again.

I finally snap. "Okay, everybody out!" I yell, standing up. "This is our project! Go away! Kenji, take off the trash bags! Rina, stop adding glitter! Haruka, the font is fine!"

My outburst shocks them into silence. Rina and Haruka exchange a look. They have pushed too far. They reluctantly retreat, dragging a protesting Kenji with them.

Aiwa and I are left alone again, staring at the wreckage of our PowerPoint.

"I am so sorry," Aiwa whispers, looking utterly defeated.

"It is not your fault," I sigh, sinking back into my chair. "This is just… my life."

We manage to salvage the presentation, removing the worst of the glitter and explosions. But the incident leaves a bitter taste. The fragile truce, the brief moments of normalcy – they are always temporary. The chaos is always waiting to reassert itself.