The Villainess is my fiance: But she is gentle towards me

Both," Vivian answered.

There was no pause. No thinking. The moment the question ended, his answer came 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 same time. 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 same time?"

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 moment, 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 remember?"

"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 something fully, it became truth here.

If there was even a small doubt—

It became false.

Vivian closed his eyes for a brief second.

Two lives.

He remembered 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 game 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 same time.

"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 performers 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 time since the game 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 smell of medicine never left. The sound of machines became normal.

That was his world.

Earth.

He remembered 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 remembered that moment.

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, "something is wrong."

He remembered the story.

The places. The people. The events.

But they were not the same.

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 remember his own face.

He could not even remember his own name.

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 someone who remembered it?

The question stayed in his mind.

Heavy.

Then—

Another thought appeared.

After coming to this world…

He met 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 something written.

Not something imagined.

Real.

He had lived those moments.

Felt them.

Step by step… his life here became real.

More real than that blurry past.

Vivian slowly closed his eyes.

The circus sounds faded.

The clown.

The threads.

Everything became quiet for a moment.

"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 time for payment."

He leaned forward, eyes shining with cruel excitement. "Which hand should it be? Left or right? Left or right?"

He kept murmuring it like a game, tilting his head side to side, enjoying the moment.

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 time, 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."