Chapter 3: The Reluctant Player and the Samurai's Wrath

**Chapter 3: The Reluctant Player and the Samurai's Wrath**

The teacher's room was a cramped space, filled with the scent of old books, ink, and the faint bitterness of coffee. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with papers, binders, and the occasional potted plant that seemed to be struggling to survive. Shikamaru stood in the center of the room, his school uniform—a black gakuran with the silver emblem of his middle school on the chest—neatly worn, though his tie was slightly loose, and his hair, tied back in a small ponytail, was as messy as ever. His expression was one of mild annoyance, his narrow eyes half-lidded as he faced his teacher.

The teacher, a middle-aged man with thick glasses perched on his nose and a stern frown etched into his face, held up a blank career guidance form. "Everyone has submitted their forms except you, Shikamaru," he said, his voice sharp and disapproving. "Must you be lazy about this too?"

Shikamaru sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I told you, I just forgot it at home. I already filled it out," he replied, his tone calm but tinged with irritation.

The teacher raised an eyebrow, his glasses catching the light. "Oh? And what did you choose?"

"Sakurajima High School for Literature," Shikamaru said flatly.

The teacher's eyes widened behind his glasses, and he leaned back in his chair, clearly taken aback. "You? The boy who scores top marks in mathematics despite sleeping through half the lessons? You're choosing a literature-focused high school?"

Shikamaru exhaled heavily, running a hand through his messy hair. "What a drag," he muttered under his breath.

The teacher's frown deepened, his voice rising slightly. "This attitude of yours is exactly what's frustrating! You have so much potential, yet you waste it on laziness and indifference!"

Shikamaru didn't respond, his expression unchanging as he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

---

The hallway was quiet, the faint hum of distant classroom chatter barely audible. Shikamaru leaned against the wall for a moment, his hand resting on the back of his neck. "Dealing with high-strung people always gives me a headache," he muttered to himself. "He didn't have to yell like that."

As he began to walk down the hallway, he nearly collided with the school nurse, Himari Senpai. She was a young woman, barely nineteen, with soft blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders and bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle with warmth. Her nurse's uniform—a white coat over a modest blouse and skirt—fit her slender frame perfectly, and she carried herself with a gentle grace that made her seem almost ethereal.

Shikamaru's thoughts drifted as he looked at her. *Himari Senpai,* he mused silently. *Graduated as a nurse after two years of training post-high school, making her about four and a half years older than me. She always seems so fragile, though. Kind, beautiful, with those eyes… she's the ideal wife for any man. But a girl like her would only bring trouble for someone like me. I want a quiet life, and that means someone average in looks. Still…*

Before he could finish his thought, Himari stepped closer, invading his personal space. She reached up and gently touched his face, her fingers cool against his skin. "Your expression is as gloomy as ever," she said, her voice teasing but kind. "It's like you're suffering from seventh-degree depression."

Shikamaru sighed, using his left hand to gently push her wrist away. "Since when are there degrees for depression?" he asked, his tone dry.

Himari smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I came up with them while diagnosing your condition," she replied playfully.

Shikamaru ignored her, stepping around her to continue down the hallway. "Stop pretending to be a psychologist. You're just a rookie nurse," he said over his shoulder.

Before he could get far, Himari grabbed the black ribbon holding his ponytail, tugging it lightly. "Who gave you the right to ignore me and walk away so casually?" she asked, her tone a mix of amusement and frustration.

Shikamaru turned to face her, his expression calm but slightly exasperated. "How many times do I have to tell you? You exceed the standards of the kind of girl I'd want."

Himari's smile faltered, replaced by a look of genuine confusion. "This is the first time I've seen a boy reject a girl just because she's too kind and beautiful," she said, her voice tinged with hurt.

Shikamaru shrugged, turning away again. "Well, now you've met one," he said, his tone dismissive.

As he walked away, Himari's voice softened, carrying a note of seriousness that made him pause. "I'm asking you seriously, Shikamaru. You don't have much time left at this school. You, of all people, should understand that."

He stopped for a moment, his back still to her. "Your interest in me will disappear once I'm gone from this school," he said quietly.

Himari's voice trembled slightly. "And what makes you think you know what's in my heart?"

Shikamaru glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "In that case, call me. I'm not cruel enough to make a girl cry at midnight."

Himari clenched her fists, her frustration bubbling over. "How am I supposed to call you when you don't even own a phone, you outdated country boy?!"

Shikamaru didn't respond, continuing down the hallway without looking back.

---

That night, Shikamaru lay on his futon, his limbs stretched out as he stared at the ceiling. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the wooden window, casting soft shadows across the tatami mats. "Rest and sleep are my only refuge from this annoying world," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes.

Just as he was about to drift off, a sharp, electronic beep echoed through the room. His eyes snapped open, and he groaned. "What now?"

A holographic screen flickered into view, its bright blue light illuminating the room.

**[PENALTY ACTIVATED.]

[SURVIVE OR PERISH.]**

Shikamaru sat up, his brow furrowing. "What is this? I thought I was done with this weird interface since it didn't show up all day."

Before he could process what was happening, a figure materialized in the center of the room. It was a samurai, clad in black armor with a horned helmet and a sheathed katana at his side. His appearance was sudden, as if he had been hidden by a semi-transparent, bluish veil that now dissolved, revealing his imposing form. His eyes glowed a menacing red, and he radiated an aura of cold, deadly intent.

Shikamaru's eyes widened, his usual calm demeanor shattered. "Hey… hey, hey, hey!!" he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.

The samurai drew his sword with a slow, deliberate motion, the blade gleaming in the moonlight. "Penalty execution in progress," he said, his voice deep and emotionless. "Initiating player purification."

With a swift, fluid movement, the samurai brought the sword down, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle. Shikamaru barely had time to react, leaping forward as the blade sliced through his futon and the wooden frame of his bed, cleaving it in two with terrifying ease.

Shikamaru landed on the floor, his heart pounding as he stared at the destruction. "What the?!" he shouted, his voice a mix of fear and disbelief.

The samurai turned to face him, his glowing eyes locking onto Shikamaru's. "Survive or perish," he repeated, raising his sword once more.

Shikamaru's mind raced as he scrambled to his feet, his usual laziness replaced by sheer survival instinct. "This… is such a drag," he muttered, though his eyes were sharp, calculating.