Both," Vivian answered.
There was no pause. No thinking. The mont the question ended, his answer ca out clean and steady.
Beep!
The clown crossed his arms in a big X and shook his head. "Wrong answer~!"
His smile turned mocking as he clicked his tongue again and again. "Tsk, tsk… you can't save both at the sa ti. How foolish."
Vivian didn't react. His eyes stayed calm. His grip on the sword didn't change.
"Both," he said again.
The clown's smile twitched. "Still saying that?"
He spread his hands, acting disappointed. "How cute. How stupid."
He leaned closer, voice softer but sharper. "If your wife is falling from a cliff… and your mother is being attacked far away… how will you save both at the sa ti?"
He paused, then waved his hand. "Ah, fine. I'm kind today." His tone dropped. "Choose. Your mother… or your wife?"
"Both," Vivian said again.
No change in tone. No doubt.
Then his eyes turned cold.
"As long as I decide to do it… there is nothing I can't do. Saving them… or killing you."
For a mont, the clown just stared at him.
Silence.
Then—
Beep!
"Correct answer~!"
The clown suddenly laughed, clapping his hands like a child. "Kekeke! So you understand now!"
He pointed at Vivian, eyes shining with interest. "This is not about what is possible. It is about what you believe!"
The threads around Vivian's body loosened a little.
"Very good, very good!" the clown said happily. "Let's move to the next question!"
He spun once, then stopped, raising one finger.
"The second question is…" he paused for effect, then smiled wider, "How many lives do you rember?"
"Two," Vivian answered.
Again, no hesitation.
The clown's grin stretched wider. His eyes curved in delight.
Beep!
"Wrong answer~!"
He giggled, covering his mouth. "It's one to one now. Kekekeke!"
Vivian didn't look surprised.
He lowered his gaze slightly, thinking.
"So that's how it works…" he muttered.
The threads were not judging facts.
They were judging belief.
If he believed sothing fully, it beca truth here.
If there was even a small doubt—
It beca false.
Vivian closed his eyes for a brief second.
Two lives.
He rembered both clearly.
But…
Did he truly accept them both as his own?
There was a small gap.
A small distance in his heart.
And that was enough.
He opened his eyes again, calm as ever.
"I see," he said quietly.
The clown tilted his head, watching him closely. "Oh? Did you figure it out already?"
Vivian didn't answer.
Inside, his thoughts were steady.
This ga is not testing knowledge.
It is testing the soul.
He looked at the threads wrapped around his arm.
They felt light.
But heavy at the sa ti.
"As long as I doubt…" he thought, "I will lose."
The clown clapped suddenly, breaking the silence.
"Now then~!" he sang. "Final round!"
His smile grew sharper.
"This will decide everything."
The bells rang again.
"Ding… dong…"
The air inside the tent grew colder.
Even the perforrs in the distance stopped moving again.
The clown stepped closer, stopping right in front of Vivian.
His voice dropped low.
"For the third question…"
He leaned in, almost whispering.
"Who are you?"
"Who am I…?" Vivian muttered.
For the first ti since the ga began, he did not answer right away.
His eyes lowered slightly.
His thoughts moved.
There was a life before this.
A weak body. A quiet room. White walls.
A hospital.
He had lived there for years. Days and nights mixed together. The sll of dicine never left. The sound of machines beca normal.
That was his world.
Earth.
He rembered lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, holding a pen in his hand.
Writing.
That was the only thing he could do.
So he wrote.
Page after page. Day after day.
A story.
His story.
Or maybe… just a story he wanted to live.
At the end, he finished it.
He still rembered that mont.
His hand was shaking. His breath was weak. But he smiled.
Then he closed his eyes.
And when he opened them again—
He was here.
Inside that very world.
Vivian's brows frowned slightly.
"But…" he thought, "sothing is wrong."
He rembered the story.
The places. The people. The events.
But they were not the sa.
Things were different.
Small changes. Big changes.
Nothing followed exactly what he had written.
And his past…
It was unclear.
Blurry.
Like trying to see through fog.
He could not rember his own face.
He could not even rember his own na.
Only pieces.
Broken parts.
Yet the story remained clear in his mind.
That made no sense.
"Was I really the one who wrote it…?" he wondered.
Or was he just soone who rembered it?
The question stayed in his mind.
Heavy.
Then—
Another thought appeared.
After coming to this world…
He t his family.
He lived as Vivian.
He fought. He struggled.
He bled.
He survived.
And then—
Charlotte.
Her face appeared in his mind.
Her voice.
Her presence.
Not sothing written.
Not sothing imagined.
Real.
He had lived those monts.
Felt them.
Step by step… his life here beca real.
More real than that blurry past.
Vivian slowly closed his eyes.
The circus sounds faded.
The clown.
The threads.
Everything beca quiet for a mont.
"Who am I…" he asked himself again.
"Who was I…?"
The weak boy on a hospital bed?
The writer of a story?
Or—
The one standing here now?
His fingers moved slightly.
He could feel the strength in his body.
The weight of the sword in his hand.
The threads wrapped around him.
The danger.
The reality.
This was not a dream.
Not a story.
This was his life.
Vivian opened his eyes.
They were calm.
Clear.
No hesitation remained.
He looked straight at the clown.
"I'm Vivian," he said.
Beep! Wrong answer! The sharp sound echoed through the tent, cutting through the silence.
The clown's grin widened as he let out a soft laugh. "Kekeke… so you still haven't figured out your own existence?"
Vivian stood still, then slowly a small smile appeared on his face. There was no anger, no frustration.
Only calm acceptance. "So it seems… I still have a lot to learn about myself," he thought. The idea didn't bother him. Not even a little.
The clown clapped lightly, clearly pleased. "Well then~ since you lost the first round…" he said, dragging his words with a playful tone, "it's ti for paynt."
He leaned forward, eyes shining with cruel excitent. "Which hand should it be? Left or right? Left or right?"
He kept murmuring it like a ga, tilting his head side to side, enjoying the mont.
But Vivian had already moved.
His grip on the sword tightened, his expression didn't change, and in one clean motion—
Chik!
The blade flashed.
His left arm fell to the ground.
Blood spilled, dark and heavy, hitting the bright circus floor and staining it red.
The pain was there, sharp and real, but Vivian didn't even flinch. His breathing stayed steady. His gaze didn't shake.
For the first ti, the clown went silent.
His smile paused for just a second.
Vivian lowered his sword slightly, his voice calm as ever.
"Start the next round."
Reviews
All reviews (0)