I Transmigrated Into a Farming Sim, Turns Out It Was a 18+ Game-Chapter 20: The Winner is....

The morning of the Grand Planting Competition cracked open with a trumpet blast that was less ceremonial and more "alarm clock made by a drunk blacksmith." It rattled through the entire valley, shaking chickens off their perches and waking contestants from a collective nightmare of seed charts and compost ratios.

Eren shot upright in bed, hair sticking out like a terrified wheat bundle, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the window like it owed him money. "What the hell, was that the signal or a declaration of war?" he muttered.

Outside, the village square of Elderreed had transformed into a bustling arena. Wooden platforms formed makeshift stages, each with a patch of high-grade soil assigned to a contestant. Banners fluttered overhead, displaying crests of noble houses, guilds, and rogue farmers who insisted on solo branding. Vendors were already hawking sweetbread and novelty hoes.

Mira peeked into the room. "You're late. Again. You want me to plant your beets too, or just wear the dress for you while I'm at it?"

Eren groaned, rolling out of bed. "Let's not start with sarcasm until after I've brushed my teeth."

By the time he arrived, the announcer had just finished introducing the main competitors:

"From Westvale, the 6-time reigning champion—Cael the Rootmaster!"

Cael stood tall, sun gleaming off his ridiculous red cloak lined with embroidered carrots. He raised a hand like a victorious general, and the crowd roared.

"My carrots whisper to me," he declared. "And the potatoes? They cry tears of inspiration."

Someone clapped too hard. Probably his mom.

"From the noble house of Hearthglen—Lady Helena, Mistress of the Lunar Bloom!"

Helena emerged like a goddess on a nature documentary. Silver-gilded robes flowed behind her. Her plot was already glowing faintly, enchanted herbs shimmering under the morning light.

"I don't grow plants," she said in a melodic tone. "I awaken them."

A nearby merchant fainted. Might've just been low blood sugar.

"Representing the Highland Holds, Brudo the Beardless!"

Brudo stomped out like someone dared him to be cheerful. He was four feet tall and shaped like a barrel with legs. His arms were crossed. His beard—absent.

"Call me beardless again and I'll plant something in your skull," he grunted. The audience laughed. He did not.

"And from Suntrail—Mila the Vertical Queen!"

Mila stepped up wearing her usual breezy confidence and her unnecessary-but-dramatic crop-dance apron. She gave the crowd a cheeky wave and twirled, causing a puff of pollen to burst from her shoulder strap.

"I grow up while you stay basic," she said, smiling sweetly.

Eren trudged up to his square, wiping sleep from his eyes. Lira floated beside him, dressed like a pageboy today.

"You're the only contestant whose soil sample ranked 'surprisingly decent for a peasant.' I hope you're proud," she said.

"I am. Can I punch Cael?"

"Only with your yield."

The horn blew again. The competition began.

Cael began by striking a pose, then digging with the precision of a surgeon and the dramatics of a bard. His carrots almost sparkled. When one sprouted in under thirty seconds, the crowd gasped.

"His soil's laced with sentimental backstory," Lira muttered. "Must be from his grandma's funeral plot."

Helena simply raised her hands, and her herbs began to shimmer. Moon lilies, fairy thyme, and glow-mint bloomed like a silent symphony.

"Magic herbs again?" Brudo snorted. "Why not juggle pixies while you're at it?"

Helena didn't even glance at him. "Jealousy smells like cabbage. Fitting."

Brudo's hands worked quickly, planting gnarled seeds that looked more like curses than crops. He whispered to them in Dwarvish, and they trembled.

"Is that plant hissing?" Mira asked.

"Probably hates sunlight," Eren said.

Mila's patch was a vertical tower of modular slots. She danced lightly, twirling and planting as if the plants bloomed from rhythm alone. Climbing beans coiled upward on command, following her steps like enchanted vines.

"She choreographed her planting," Eren said flatly.

"I know," Mira replied, annoyed. "And I hate how good it looks."

Eren bent down and dug in. No theatrics. Just composted strategy and a system-enhanced understanding of pH balances and seed layering. His secret weapon was the hybrid seeds he'd brewed in silence—stubborn things that only grew if ignored, fed weird combinations, and maybe insulted a little.

Hours passed. The crowd thinned as the heat rose. Judges moved among the plots, murmuring notes and making dramatic faces.

Cael took a break to monologue about the courage of turnips.

Helena summoned a rain cloud.

Brudo stared down a mole and won.

Mila flipped upside down for a mid-air plant twist. Someone applauded. It might've been Eren. He wasn't sure anymore.

By sundown, plots bloomed. Cael's patch looked like a royal garden. Helena's herbs glowed like bottled moonlight. Brudo's plot growled once, then settled. Mila's tower was a dance of colors.

And Eren? His crops didn't sparkle or hum. They looked normal—until one judge pulled a carrot and nearly dislocated his shoulder.

"...what the hell is this?" the judge muttered.

"A root that wants to live," Eren replied.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Judges gathered. Measurements were made. Helena raised a brow. Cael looked offended on behalf of all carrots. Mila gave Eren a wink.

At last, the head judge returned to the stage. Drum roll. Silence.

"The winner of this year's Grand Planting Competition is..."

The crowd held its breath.

"...."

Cael dropped his carrot.

Helena blinked.

Brudo growled. "Fine. I'm drinking tonight."

Mila dropped her glove. "Finally, someone interesting."

Eren stood still.

"...Wait. Seriously?"