Chapter 146: The Literature Project's Revenge (Presentation Day Take Two)

Presentation day arrives again, looming like a final boss battle in the game of my social life. This time, it is the actual Japanese Literature presentation. Aiwa and I stand at the front of the classroom, armed with a PowerPoint presentation that is surprisingly coherent despite the sabotage attempts and the fact that we finalized it mostly via panicked, clandestine text messages.

The atmosphere in the classroom is electric, but not with academic excitement. Everyone knows about the kiss. Everyone knows about the rivalry. Everyone knows about Kenji fainting multiple times. This presentation feels less like a school project and more like a public hearing on the state of Rui Hinamata's disastrous love life, with poetry as a flimsy pretext.

Aiwa looks like she is about to vibrate out of her skin from nervousness. She is clutching her notes so tightly her knuckles are white. Her face is pale. I give her what I hope is a reassuring nod, trying to project a calm I absolutely do not feel. 'We got this,' I try to convey silently. 'Just pretend Rina and Haruka are harmless potted plants. Very judgmental, possibly sentient potted plants.'

Rina and Haruka are, naturally, sitting in the back row like two imperious judges at the Roman Colosseum, ready to give a thumbs-down at the slightest sign of weakness (or excessive affection between me and Aiwa). Kenji is in the front row, practically bouncing in his seat, holding up a small, handmade sign that says "GO AIWA-CHAN! (AND RUI TOO!) <3". Miki and Hana are strategically positioned near the exit, possibly with tranquilizer darts, ready for emergency extraction if things go south.

We begin. I start, outlining the historical context of the poem, my voice only moderately shaky. I manage to get through my section without spontaneously combusting or fainting. Progress. Then, it is Aiwa's turn to discuss the poetic devices.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. She looks down at her notes. She opens her mouth… and freezes. Pure, unadulterated stage fright. The memory of her LUNA-Lite triumph seems to have completely abandoned her.

The class holds its breath. Rina and Haruka exchange smug, knowing looks. 'See? She is cracking.'

Then, Aiwa closes her eyes for a split second. I see her hand go to the 'Starlight Paladin' pendant hidden under her blouse, clutching it tightly. She takes another deep breath. When she opens her eyes, the fear is still there, but it is overshadowed by a fierce, desperate determination. She looks directly at me. I give her another small, encouraging nod. 'You can do it.'

She turns back to the class. And she begins to speak.

Her voice starts as a shaky whisper, barely audible. But as she speaks, something changes. She is not channeling LUNA. She is channeling something else. Herself. She talks about the poem, about the feeling of transient beauty, about the sadness and sweetness of things that fade. She does not just recite her analysis; she connects with it. Her shyness becomes a quiet sincerity. Her nervousness becomes a vulnerable passion.

She is not LUNA-Lite, cool and articulate. She is not just shy Aiwa, stammering and blushing. She is Aiwa Matsuki, the artist, the thinker, the girl who feels things deeply. And it is captivating in a way that LUNA's perfection never was.

The class is silent, completely drawn into her quiet intensity. Even Rina and Haruka look surprised, their smug expressions replaced by ones of grudging respect. Mrs. Sato is leaning forward, genuinely engaged.

She finishes her section, her voice barely above a whisper at the end, but ringing with a quiet power. The room is silent for a beat, then applause breaks out – softer than before, but somehow more genuine, more heartfelt.

Aiwa just stands there, looking slightly dazed, as if surprised she made it through. She catches my eye, and a brilliant, genuine smile lights up her face – a smile of pure relief and accomplishment.

The Q&A session begins. The same difficult classmate from before raises his hand, clearly eager for round two. "Matsuki-san," he begins, his tone condescending. "While your emotional interpretation was… touching, you completely failed to address the poem's complex metrical structure. A critical omission, would you not agree?"

Before Aiwa can even react, before her LUNA-Lite defense can even flicker, I jump in, fueled by a surge of protective indignation. "Actually," I say, my voice sharp, "if you had been listening, you would have heard Matsuki-san reference the 'tanka' form implicitly through her analysis of the syllable counts in key lines. Her focus was thematic, not structural, which is perfectly valid. Your attempt to 'gotcha' her on a technicality is not only rude, but demonstrates a fundamental misunderstanding of literary analysis."

Silence. The difficult classmate turns bright red and sinks lower in his seat, utterly defeated. Mrs. Sato actually hides a small smile behind her hand.

Aiwa just stares at me, her eyes wide with surprise and something else… something warm and deeply appreciative.

The presentation ends. Mrs. Sato gives us an A+, praising our "synergistic analysis and passionate delivery." As we gather our notes, relief washes over me like a tidal wave. We survived. More than survived, we actually kind of nailed it, together.

Aiwa turns to me, that brilliant, genuine smile lighting up her face again. "We did it, Rui-kun!" she whispers excitedly. "Thank you!"

"Yeah," I say, smiling back, feeling ridiculously proud. "We did."

In that moment, with the adrenaline fading and a shared sense of accomplishment binding us, the awkwardness vanishes completely. It is just us. Friends. Partners who just successfully navigated a high-stakes academic and social minefield.

And then Rina and Haruka descend upon us like stylish, well-coordinated vultures, their brief truce clearly over.

"Adequate," Haruka critiques immediately, though her eyes betray a grudging respect for Aiwa's performance. "Matsuki-san's emotional vulnerability was… strategically effective, if somewhat unprofessional."

"And Onii-chan was very helpful," Rina adds instantly, reclaiming her territory by linking her arm through mine with a possessive grip that threatens to dislocate my shoulder. "He is always so good at supporting others. Especially his sister."

Aiwa's smile falters slightly under their combined scrutiny, but she holds her ground this time, giving them both a polite but firm nod. The shy bunny is definitely learning how to stand up to the wolves, even without her LUNA armor.

The fragile peace of our shared victory is immediately shattered. The war is back on. But as I look at Aiwa, meeting her quiet, determined gaze, a new, confusing warmth spreads through my chest, even stronger than before. Maybe… maybe this chaotic, complicated mess is not so bad after all. Maybe… maybe I am actually starting to enjoy the chaos, just a little. (My therapist will have a field day with this.)