Warat

From the inside, the traveling circus's big top resembled the reverse side of a gigantic night sky: overhead, in the intricate tangle of ropes and steel slings, thick shadows wandered. A single spotlight picked out the empty trapeze artists' swings from the darkness; they swayed gently, seemingly without reason. In this resonant, dusty height, the echo of daytime applause mingled with a frightening, hypnotic silence of foreboding. This was a Canadian circus.

You'd dreamed of the circus your whole life—a strange, yet persistent dream: to be an acrobat. After completing your training, you submitted your resume and soon received an invitation for an interview. You arrived at the building, walked to the right office, opened the door, and saw a dark-haired man—the circus director, Varat. You greeted him and sat down across from his desk.
"An acrobat, huh?" he said evenly. "Must be fearless if you're willing to perform dangerous stunts."
"What should I be afraid of?" you replied. "Fear is for the weak."

At that very moment, a strange movement ran through your body, as if an invisible rope were pulling you together. You looked down and saw a large snake slowly coiling around your waist. Your eyes widened in sudden fear.

Varat's sharp, mocking laugh rang out. He looked at you calmly, a smirk on his face:
— Fearless, you say? Be careful: he senses the fear of his prey.