Chapter 65 Summary
The fluorescent lights of the classroom flickered in a rhythm that matched the uneasy pulse of the students’ hearts. The board at the front of Class D bore a single line of stark black ink: “Exam Results – 12th Period.” The ink seemed to glow, a silent proclamation that the day’s most anticipated moment had finally arrived. Ayanokoji Kiyotaka stood at the back, his posture as unassuming as ever, his eyes fixed on the paper as if it were a distant horizon. He did not move, did not speak, but the faint crease at the corner of his mouth hinted at a mind already turning the information over like a stone in a stream.
Across the room, Suzune Horikita’s gaze was razor‑sharp. She had spent weeks crafting a strategy for the class, a plan that hinged on each member playing a precise role. The results would either validate her meticulous calculations or expose a flaw that could unravel everything. She inhaled slowly, the breath steadying the tremor that threatened to surface in her chest. The silence was broken by the soft rustle of paper as the teacher handed out the sheets, each one a small, weighty promise.
Kei Karuizawa, perched on the edge of her seat, tried to mask her nervousness with a bright smile. “Well, let’s see if we finally get that ‘A’ we’ve been aiming for,” she whispered to Kikyo Kushida, who sat beside her, eyes narrowed in concentration. Kushida’s expression was unreadable, but a faint flicker of anticipation crossed her face. The two girls exchanged a glance that seemed to say, “Whatever happens, we’ll handle it together.”
The first sheet landed on Horikita’s desk. She lifted it with a deliberate slowness, as if the paper itself might resist being read. The numbers stared back at her: 78.5 percent. A respectable score, but not the 85 percent she had calculated as the minimum for a guaranteed top‑tier placement. She felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. The strategy she had built, the alliances she had forged, the sacrifices she had demanded—all of it now rested on a margin of a few points.
Ayanokoji’s eyes flicked to the same number, then to the faces around him. He noted the subtle shifts in posture, the way Karuizawa’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction, the way Kushida’s lips pressed together. He could have spoken, could have offered a word of encouragement, but his silence was a calculated choice. He knew that any overt action would ripple through the delicate balance of Class D’s dynamics, and he preferred to remain the unseen catalyst.
The teacher cleared his throat, drawing the class’s attention. “Congratulations to those who have exceeded expectations,” he said, his voice echoing off the polished tiles. “However, the upcoming Cultural Festival will be a true test of your collaborative abilities. The student council has announced a new set of guidelines, and each class will be required to submit a comprehensive plan by next week.”
A murmur rose from the students, a mixture of excitement and dread. The Cultural Festival was more than a school event; it was a battlefield where reputation, influence, and future opportunities were forged. For Class D, still struggling to shed the stigma of being the “low‑rank” class, this was a chance to rewrite their narrative.
Horikita’s mind raced. The festival required not only creative output but also logistical precision. She had already begun drafting a schedule, assigning roles based on each member’s strengths. Yet the student council’s new guidelines introduced a twist: each class must collaborate with at least one other class on a joint project. The council’s decision was a thinly veiled attempt to force the lower‑ranked classes to rely on the resources of the higher‑ranked ones, thereby cementing the hierarchy.
Karuizawa leaned forward, her eyes bright. “What if we partner with Class C? They have the budget, and we have the ideas.” She glanced at Kushida, who nodded slightly. “We could propose a joint exhibition—something that showcases both our artistic flair and their technical expertise.”
Kushida’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “Class C’s council members are notoriously difficult. They’ll demand control over the project’s direction.” She glanced at the teacher, then at Ayanokoji, who remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if he were listening to a distant conversation.
The teacher, sensing the tension, interjected. “Remember, the festival is a platform for all students to demonstrate their abilities. The council expects innovative collaborations. I trust you will rise to the occasion.”
As the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, the students filtered out of the classroom, each carrying the weight of the results and the looming festival. In the hallway, a small group of students huddled near the lockers, their phones illuminated with the glow of a search bar. “Did anyone manage to read Classroom of the Elite chapter 65 online?” one whispered, eyes darting around. “I need the summary for my notes.” Another replied, “There are spoilers everywhere. I’m trying to avoid the chapter 65 spoilers until I finish the exam.” The conversation drifted, the words “Classroom of the Elite manga chapter 65 scan” and “chapter 65 analysis” slipping into the chatter like secret passwords.
Horikita walked briskly toward the student council room, her mind already mapping out a plan. She knew that confronting the council would require more than just a solid proposal; it would demand a display of leadership that could convince the council members that Class D was a worthy partner. She rehearsed her opening line silently, each syllable a stepping stone toward the authority she needed to project.
Inside the council room, the air was thick with the scent of polished wood and faint incense. The council members, a mix of senior students from various classes, sat around a large oval table. At the head of the table was the student council president, a composed figure named Haruki, whose reputation for fairness was matched only by his strategic mind.
Horikita entered, her posture immaculate, her eyes unwavering. “President Haruki,” she began, “I am Suzune Horikita, class representative of Class D. I would like to discuss our proposal for the Cultural Festival collaboration.”
Haruki inclined his head slightly. “Ms. Horiji, please. We have heard about your class’s recent performance. What do you propose?”
Horikita placed a folder on the table, its contents neatly organized. “We propose a joint exhibition with Class C, focusing on the theme ‘Future Horizons.’ Our class will handle the conceptual design, narrative storytelling, and interactive elements, while Class C will provide the technical infrastructure, lighting, and sound engineering. Together, we can create an immersive experience that reflects both our creative vision and their technical prowess.”
A murmur rippled through the council. One of the council members, a senior from Class C named Ryo, leaned forward. “Your proposal is ambitious, but we have concerns about resource allocation. Our class already has commitments to other projects.”
Horikita’s voice remained steady. “We understand the constraints. However, the success of this exhibition could elevate the reputation of both classes. Moreover, we are prepared to contribute additional manpower to assist with setup and maintenance, ensuring that the burden does not fall solely on Class C.”
Ryo’s eyes narrowed. “And what about the leadership? Who will oversee the coordination?”
Horikita glanced at the side of the room where Ayanokoji stood, his presence almost invisible. She had not spoken to him about the festival, but his quiet observation had not gone unnoticed. She turned back to Haruki. “I will assume the role of project lead, coordinating between the two classes, managing timelines, and ensuring that each milestone is met. I have already drafted a detailed schedule, which I can share now.”
Haruki tapped his pen against the table, considering. “Very well, Ms. Horiji. We will review your proposal. In the meantime, I suggest you meet with Class C’s representatives to iron out the details.”
Horikita nodded, her expression unreadable. “Thank you, President Haruki.” She turned to leave, but before she could step out, a soft voice called out from the back of the room.
“It’s a good idea, but you’ll need someone who can handle the unexpected,” the voice said. It was Ayanokoji, his tone calm, his eyes still fixed on the floor. “I can assist with the logistical side, ensuring that any unforeseen issues are resolved quickly.”
The council members exchanged glances. Haruki raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Ayanokoji, your involvement would be… valuable. Are you willing to commit?”
Ayanokoji’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “I am willing to help where needed.” He stood, his movement fluid, almost as if he were gliding across the polished floor.
The room fell into a brief, charged silence. Horikita felt a surge of relief mixed with a flicker of unease. Ayanokoji’s hidden abilities were a rumor that circulated in hushed tones among the students. Some whispered that he possessed an uncanny analytical mind, others that he could manipulate outcomes with a subtle influence. Yet none could deny the impact of his presence.
Haruki finally spoke. “Very well. We will schedule a joint meeting with Class C tomorrow. In the meantime, please submit a written outline of your project by the end of the week.”
Horikita bowed slightly. “We will comply.” She turned and left, the weight of the council’s decision settling on her shoulders like a mantle.
Outside, the hallway buzzed with the usual clamor of lockers slamming and footsteps echoing. Karuizawa caught up with Horikita, her expression a mixture of admiration and curiosity. “You handled that like a pro,” she said, nudging Horikita’s shoulder. “I didn’t think the council would listen to us so quickly.”
Horikita glanced at her, eyes sharp. “We have no choice but to make them listen. The festival is our chance to prove we belong.”
Karuizawa smiled. “And Ayanokoji… he really stepped in, didn’t he?”
Horikita’s gaze drifted toward the doorway where Ayanokoji had disappeared. “He did. I’m not sure what his motives are, but his involvement could be the edge we need.”
The two girls continued down the corridor, their conversation drifting to the upcoming festival preparations. Meanwhile, in the quiet of the library, Kushida sat at a table piled with textbooks and notes. She flipped through a notebook, the pages filled with meticulous diagrams of the proposed exhibition layout. Her mind was a lattice of strategies, each line connecting to another, forming a web of possibilities.
She heard a faint rustle behind her and turned to see Ayanokoji standing there, his posture relaxed, his eyes scanning the room. “Kushida,” he said softly, “I’ve been thinking about the technical aspects of the exhibition. There are a few constraints we need to address.”
Kushida looked up, her expression neutral. “What constraints?”
Ayanokoji gestured to the diagram. “The lighting system you’ve planned requires a power draw that exceeds the venue’s capacity. We’ll need to redistribute the load or find an alternative source. Also, the interactive stations rely on a network that could become unstable with too many simultaneous connections.”
Kushida’s brow furrowed. “I hadn’t considered that. Do you have a solution?”
Ayanokoji’s smile widened just a fraction. “I have a few ideas. We could use a series of portable generators to supplement the power, and implement a staggered activation schedule for the interactive stations. That way, we avoid overloading the network.”
Kushida nodded, impressed despite herself. “You always seem to see the details that others miss.”
Ayanokoji shrugged lightly. “I pay attention.” He paused, then added, “If you need any assistance with the technical implementation, I can coordinate with the engineering club. They have the equipment we’ll need.”
Kushida considered this, then gave a small, appreciative smile. “Thank you, Ayanokoji. Your help will be invaluable.”
He inclined his head. “I’m glad to be of service.” With that, he turned and left the library, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor.
The days that followed were a blur of meetings, sketches, and frantic coordination. Horikita’s leadership shone as she organized daily briefings, assigning tasks with precision. She delegated the narrative design to Karuizawa, who infused the exhibition’s story with a blend of optimism and subtle critique of the school’s hierarchy. Kushida oversaw the visual layout, ensuring that each panel flowed seamlessly into the next, while Ayanokoji worked behind the scenes, negotiating with the engineering club, securing the portable generators, and fine‑tuning the network protocols.
Class D’s dormitory became a hive of activity. Late‑night discussions spilled over into the common room, where the hum of the air conditioner provided a low‑key soundtrack to the clatter of pens and the rustle of paper. The students’ faces were illuminated by the soft glow of desk lamps, their eyes reflecting both fatigue and determination.
One evening, as the group gathered around a large table strewn with blueprints, Horikita stood and addressed them. “We have a deadline in three days. I need everyone to double‑check their sections. Any issues, bring them up now. We cannot afford any setbacks.”
Karuizawa raised her hand, a playful grin on her face. “What about the snack budget? I think we need more energy drinks for the night shift.”
Horikita chuckled, a rare sound that softened the tension. “I’ll see what I can do. Ayanokoji, could you handle the procurement? You seem to have a knack for getting things done.”
Ayanokoji inclined his head. “Consider it done.” He slipped away, his silhouette disappearing into the hallway.
Kushida, meanwhile, was hunched over a laptop, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she ran simulations of the network load. She frowned, then looked up as Ayanokoji returned, a small bag of supplies in his hand. “I’ve secured the generators and the extra cables,” he said, placing the bag on the table. “The engineering club will assist with the installation tomorrow morning.”
Kushida smiled, a genuine expression that lit up her features. “Thank you. That solves a major part of the problem.”
The night stretched on, and as the clock struck midnight, the group finally began to wind down. Horikita lingered, reviewing the final schedule. She glanced at the whiteboard where she had scribbled the timeline in bold strokes. The final rehearsal was set for the day before the festival, a full run‑through that would leave no room for error.
She felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she saw Ayanokoji standing there, his eyes reflecting the dim light. “You’ve done well, Horikita,” he said quietly. “Your leadership has brought this class together in a way I didn’t expect.”
Horikita met his gaze, her expression composed. “I couldn’t have done it without the support of everyone. Even those who prefer to stay in the background.”
Ayanokoji’s smile was faint, almost imperceptible. “Sometimes the background is where the most important moves are made.”
She nodded, a hint of curiosity flickering behind her eyes. “What are you planning for tomorrow?”
He glanced at the bag of equipment, then back at her. “I’ll oversee the installation of the generators and ensure the network is stable. After that, I’ll be available for any last‑minute adjustments.”
Horikita inclined her head. “Thank you. Your help is… invaluable.”
He turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. “One more thing,” he said, his voice low. “Be prepared for the council’s final review. They may have additional requirements.”
Horikita’s eyes narrowed slightly. “We’ll be ready.”
The next morning, the school’s courtyard buzzed with the energy of the Cultural Festival’s opening. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, and the scent of food stalls mingled with the faint perfume of fresh flowers. Stages were set up, booths arranged in neat rows, and the air thrummed with anticipation.
Class D’s exhibition space, located near the central plaza, was a sleek, modern structure of glass and steel, its design reflecting the theme “Future Horizons.” The entrance was framed by a series of illuminated panels that displayed a dynamic timeline of technological progress, each segment transitioning smoothly into the next. As visitors approached, the panels responded to motion, lighting up in a cascade of colors that guided them inside.
Inside, the exhibition unfolded like a storybook. The first room presented a narrative of