And the Winner Is...

The arena roared back to life. Spotlights crisscrossed the stage, washing the competitors in a kaleidoscope of colors.

“Welcome back, everyone!” The host’s voice boomed, practically setting up the energy. “You’ve seen the falls, the flexes, and the glory, now it’s time for the grand finale! Five competitors remain for one last pose, one moment to prove they belong among legends and to take the title of the best!”

The crowd’s response was deafening. On the screens above, each finalist’s face flashed with a graphic and theme music.

“The Titaness,” the host called, “whose strength can shatter mountains!”

“The Painted Mountain, showing the harmony between art and humanity!”

“Rico, the reigning champion, seeking a repeat victory for his tenth consecutive title!”

“Craig the Contender, the miracle man known for faking it until you make it!”

“And the challenger who changed the meaning of symmetry forever… The Cheesemonger of Gloryhollow!”

The noise hit an almost deafening level. Parfa screamed something incoherent while Willow blew on a kazoo she found from who knows where. Gus and Joren leaned forward in their seats, waiting for the chaos to begin, basking in the cooler air and somewhat acceptable chairs.

Up in the commentary booth, Trant was almost out of breath. “Five competitors, one pose each, and you can feel it Nars, the atmosphere is electric!”

“Absolutely,” Nars said, leaning forward. “No routines and no re-dos, just one pose to define their legacy. We could be witnessing the end of careers or the start of others right here.”

The lights dimmed until only a single golden beam illuminated the center of the stage.

It was time.

A faint ripple of sound passed through the audience as the golden light steadied, falling across the first competitor.

“Final round,” the host announced, his tone slow and steady. “Free Pose begins... now.”

A hush fell across anyone left talking, waiting for their chance to see the moves that would decide the winner.

The Titaness stepped forward into the golden light, her bronze skin almost glowing under its heat. She exhaled once, steady and powerful, then leaned forward to her prop. She squatted low and gripped her right hand around a bar, each end of it holding 700 pound weights. With a swift and fluid motion, she hoisted up a staggering 1500 pounds with just one arm, making it look easy.

The audience froze, caught between disbelief and awe. Then, almost instantly, the waves of cheers washed over her, cameras flashing like the paparazzi.

Nars all but shouted in the studio. “Hold on, hold on. Is that fifteen hundred pounds? One arm! Are we sure she’s human, Trant?”

Trant just whistled. “I mean, she is known as a top competitor in the weightlifting world as well...”

The Titaness lowered the bar with a slow, controlled motion, metal thudding against the floor ever-so softly. She stood tall again, chest rising, confidence brimming as the crowd’s chant started to chant "Ti-ta-ness! Ti-ta-ness!" that shook the city. Parfa's foam finger was swishing all around her, narrowly missing people unfortunately standing next to her.

Even the host was momentarily speechless before finding his cue. “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that's a performance worthy of legend! Let’s see if anyone can follow that!”

The lights shifted, the gold beam sliding aside as the next spotlight came alive in a swirl of red and blue hues.

“Painted Mountain, you’re up!”

The Painted Mountain stepped forward slowly, his chest shimmering like a living mural. The landscape painted across his chest—mountains, rivers, and a faint sunrise—moved with each breath. He turned sideways, the strobe lights catching the painted scenery across his chest, and extended both arms outwards, forming a horizon line with his own body. Then, with a subtle flex, the painted sun on his chest “rose,” which would later be dubbed 'The Sunrise'.

The audience applauded, though many were also confused by the abstract nature of it. Still though, it was impressive that a ninth place random found his way into the finals over the likes of Joren and Gus who had sparkly stars or a Herculean body.

Nars spoke in a giggly tone. “You know, Trant, there’s a fine line between art and athletics… and I think he showed us which side he sits on.”

Trant chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, I’ll give him this, he’s the first competitor I’ve ever seen imitate a divine portrait. That’s commitment to the bit.”

The camera panned briefly to the crowd, where reactions were split between unbothered applause and mild confusion. One kid in the front row whispered something to his dad, who only shrugged and clapped harder because he didn't have any ideas about what was going on, but it was fun to clap anyways.

The lights shifted again, cutting through the applause as the host’s voice echoed through the mic.

“Next up is the reigning champion, Rico!”

A storm of cheers met him before he even stepped into his spot. When the gold beam hit, he was already there, carved like a statue. His shades caught the glow and his curly mustache made the men adore him and the women want him.

Sitting upon Rico’s head was one of his ducks strapped to him like a hat.

He inhaled once, slow and deliberate, then snapped into his pose. Every muscle in his body tensed to the absolute limit. Then music began playing. As if he were an alien, his muscles began flexing top to bottom, individual fibers moving like a wave in the ocean.

“Trant,” Nars said, almost breathless. “I think he is rippling his muscles to the beat.”

Trant leaned forward, half in awe. “It’s like watching a human metronome. That's unreal...”

Rico finished his pose off with a clap that spooked the audience out of their trance.

The echo of that single clap seemed to travel across the entire arena. Then, as if on cue, the stage lights burst outward in a ripple of white and gold.

The crowd erupted.

Every cheer, every whistle, every chant of “Ri-co! Ri-co!” rolled through the town like thunder. The man stood there, basking in it.

Even Willow, who had been saving her voice for Bart, couldn’t help but clap. “Okay,” she admitted, “that was kind of insane.”

Parfa nodded in awe, her ears twitching. “Man’s built like a temple. I wouldn't mind worshipen ‘im.”

Up in the booth, Nars laughed breathlessly. “Every year I think we’ve seen the peak, and then Rico decides to rewrite the known limits!”

Rico stepped back, calm again, and gave the smallest nod toward the crowd as if to say you’re welcome. Then he turned and walked off the spotlight, the gold fading behind him.

The host’s voice filled the quiet that followed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that was Rico, your reigning champion, proving exactly why he holds the crown. But can he keep it?”

The golden light flickered, then shifted toward the next figure waiting at the edge of the stage.

“Up next,” the host boomed, “the man who shocked the world with a perfect score in the open bracket… The Cheesemonger of Gloryhollow!”

The roar that followed nearly tore the roof off the building.

Bart stepped forward, every movement radiating that strange, unshakable confidence that only he could rock. The light hit his bronzed skin, turning him into a walking statue.

Just like Rico, he didn’t bring props.

The crowd’s chant of “CHEESE! CHEESE! CHEESE!” built to a cult-like roar. Even the judges had to pause their writing to see what madness he’d pull off this time.

What he did next shocked everyone.

He laid down face first, then curved until his arms touched his knees.

Bart’s body trembled under the lights. Then, with one slow, impossible motion, he lifted his entire body off the ground and formed a perfect, circular bridge of muscle.

The audience gasped.

Bart tilted his head slightly upward, smiling like an idiot. “Behold,” his voice echoed, “the Wheel of Cheese.”

People were on their feet. The sound was pure chaos. Even Willow dropped her sign to scream. “THAT’S INSANE! HE’S A HUMAN WHEEL OF CHEESE!”

Parfa’s jaw hung open, her tail flicking excitedly. “I'ya could jus' eat that bouhh (boy) righ' up. Mighty fine cheese wheel, mhm."

Up in the booth, Nars slammed his hand on the desk. “What are we witnessing, Trant? What IS that? Is he really a cheese wheel or a person?"

Trant was laughing uncontrollably. “That’s not bodybuilding anymore, that’s true performance art! The man’s reinventing the field every time he poses!”

Bart held the pose for an inhuman amount of time, every muscle in his body locked in perfect stance. Then, at the perfect time, leapt in the air from the position while still in the wheel form and straightened out before hitting the ground.

He gave the camera a wink, pointed two fingers toward the crowd, and spoke, “Stay cultured.”

The crowd completely lost it.

Even the host had to shout over the chaos. “I— I don’t know what we just witnessed, but I know it’s going down in Flex-Off history! Folks, give it up for the Cheesemonger of Gloryhollow!”

People were wild, but not much more so than when they cheered for Rico.

“And now… for our last finalist of the evening… Craig the Contender!”

The lights dimmed again, leaving the stage in silence.

Craig stood just offstage, stiff as a board, looking like a man about to walk up to his own public execution. His drawn on abs got a redraw before the final round, though he added an extra line on accident and made a seven-pack.

He shuffled into the light like a lost tourist. The crowd gave a mixed cheer of curiosity and excitement.

Up in the booth, Trant cleared his throat. “Well… here comes Craig the Contender. A true underdog story if I’ve ever seen one.”

Nars added, “That’s right. Entered the wrong competition, and yet here he is folks, the miracle of Pulleytown. It's obvious to anyone that he clearly doesn't have the build, but by the gods, he sure knows how to copy a pose.”

Craig turned his head toward the judges, then the audience, unsure what to do next. He half-raised an arm, froze, lowered it again. The silence was unbearable. Someone coughed.

Craig tried again, this time he turned his body slightly to the side and let one arm hang loosely while the other rested just above his waist, thinking about what he should do for his move. His weight shifted onto one leg, his shoulders falling into a natural diagonal slope.

The pose was accidental, far too relaxed for a bodybuilder, yet too composed for a joke. The longer he held it while he pondered his actual pose that he saw in his 'Book for Dummies', the quieter the audience became.

The light curved across his body like it had been waiting for that exact angle. The faint imperfections of his drawn on abs or average muscles combined with the pose and turned him into something far more impressive than he had any right to be.

He wasn’t flexing, nor was he performing on purpose. He was thinking, and somehow, in that absentmindedness, he became art.

The camera zoomed in. His proportions lined up perfectly, every joint and muscle falling into harmony. For one impossible moment, Craig looked like the embodiment of balance itself.

The silence in the arena stretched on. No one knew what they were looking at, only that it felt important to stay silent.

Nars broke first, his voice barely a whisper through the headset. “Trant… he’s not even trying. That’s… that’s the textbook definition of natural symmetry.”

Trant leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “You’re right. That’s contrapposto. He’s standing like a statue from the old kingdoms. He’s accidentally perfect.”

The crowd began to murmur, heads tilting as if they all sensed it at once.

From the front row, Willow blinked, confused. “Why’s everyone quiet? He’s just standing there.”

Parfa just kept drinking and waving a flag she found for the painted guy.

The crowd broke into applause. It wasn’t the wild cheering that Bart or Rico drew, but something purer. The kind of applause reserved for things no one fully understood but felt moved by.

Even the host’s voice shook when he spoke again. “Ladies and gentlemen… that was Craig the Contender. Showing us that perfection isn’t always about power, sometimes it’s about balance.”

Craig, still holding the pose, blinked a few times. Then he raised his hand and gave a thumbs-up.

The crowd lost it.

"Nailed it. I think that was the pose on the cover." Craig said to himself. It was true, the guy on the cover was, indeed, giving a thumbs up. It, however, was not a true pose and was just a design choice by the publishing agency for all of their 'Dummies' books.

Nars was laughing now, wiping a tear from his eye. “He doesn’t even know what he’s done, Trant! The man’s just casually rediscovered artistic perfection!”

Trant grinned. “He’s a legend by accident, Nars, and honestly that might be the best kind.”

On stage the other contestants barely reacted. The Titaness tilted her head, unimpressed but curious. Rico frowned faintly, like he was trying to solve a riddle he didn’t care that much about. Bart, on the other hand, was quietly nodding to himself.

“Not bad,” Bart murmured. “Bit stiff, but he’s got balance.”

Joren and Gus exchanged looks from their seats in the audience section.

“Was that… good?” Gus asked.

“I think so?” Joren replied, brow furrowed. “It didn’t look bad, but I don’t really know what happened.”

That seemed to be the common sentiment, but true artists could tell that this was human beauty in its purist form.

The host, ever the professional, recovered his tone. “And that concludes the final pose for tonight’s competition! Let’s take a few minutes of intermission while I talk with the judges for the placements."

The crowd buzzed with low conversation, the sound of speculation and debate rippling through the stands.

Willow leaned over the guardrail and spoke to Parfa. “So… who do you think’s got it?”

Parfa squinted toward the stage, foam finger limp at her side. “Hard t’say. The strong one lifted a mountain, the shiny one danced like an alien, and the cheese man rolled into a wheel or somethin'.”

Willow laughed. “Yeah, they all did a pretty decent job. It's gotta be down to Bart or Rico.”

Parfa took another sip. “Who's Bart? Is he that cute stageboy up over there?”

After a few minutes of lengthy discussion between the judges and the host, the scores were settled. The host returned to the center stage, microphone in hand, the spotlights narrowing in. The crowd began to quiet to a whisper, anticipation building up.

The host adjusted his jacket, drew in a breath, and raised the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen… what a night it’s been. You’ve witnessed record-breaking feats, jaw-dropping performances, and, uh… whatever Craig did. But now, the judges have made their decision.”

The crowd tensed.

Spotlights began to sweep over the stage as the announcer drew out the pause like a master of suspense.

“In fifth place we have... The Painted Mountain!”

Polite applause followed. The man gave a humble bow, the sun still painted across his chest cracked slightly as he smiled and stepped back.

“In fourth place… The Titaness!”

The crowd gasped. She didn’t look disappointed, just surprised. She nodded respectfully to the crowd and crossed her massive arms again. She was a trooper with a respectable outlook on life.

Parfa threw her foam finger on the ground. “Robbery! Robbery I say!”

Willow laughed. “She’ll live, Parfa. Probably lift the judges’ table about it later.”

The lights pulsed again, the golden and white hues settling over the final three. Bart, Rico, and Craig stood shoulder to shoulder, sweat shining under the stage lamps.

The host smiled nervously, clearly aware that the crowd expected either Rico or Bart to take the crown. “Now for our top three competitors…”

He raised the card, pain written across his face. “In third place… Rico!”

The audience gasped as if the world were turned upside down. Rico’s smile faltered for the first time all evening. Even he seemed unsure whether he misheard.

Up in the booth, Nars nearly fell out of his chair. “Third? The man’s a nice-time champion! Trant, what alternate dimension are we in?”

Trant was still staring down at the judges’ table. “I think the world has been put on it's head today."

Down on stage, Rico veins in his neck were working overtime, now looking as thick as cables.

Rico lifted his chin slowly, the motion slow. His eyes were hidden behind his shades, but everyone could feel the displeasure underneath.

He reached up and adjusted his duck hat, the poor thing trembling in fear or something adjacent. Rico hadn't felt this in his nine years of competing, so even he was unsure as to what he was doing.

“Well, would you look at that!” Bart said, spinning slowly, soaking in the lights like a solar panel. “Nine years of the same old duck man and finally a new age dawns! The Cheesemonger has risen!”

Nars’ voice cracked in the booth. “He’s celebrating early, Trant! He’s actually celebrating early!”

Trant winced. “Bold move. Rico might rip him in two."

Bart kept talking, pacing the front of the stage like he owned it. “You all saw it! The people’s champ, the people’s cheese! Rico’s reign is over, my friends. The Cheesemonger stands proud tonight!”

The crowd went wild making it so no one could hear the host trying to continue. Even Willow had joined in, screaming incoherently while waving her sign so hard it bent in half.

Rico didn’t move. He stood perfectly still, the duck hat trembling more violently now.

The host, voice cracking, tried to push through the noise. “And in second place…”

Bart struck a triumphant pose, one hand to the sky, already imagining his victory speech.

“…The Cheesemonger of Gloryhollow!”

The words hit like a truck.

Bart froze mid-pose, finger still pointed toward the ceiling. For a long second, the only sound in the arena was the faint squeak of a camera crane shifting position to focus on him.

Nars whispered, “Oh no.”

Trant covered his mouth. “Oh no.”

Bart lowered his arm mechanically, like a puppet with its strings cut. “...What?”

After that sudden reveal, everyone watching knew what that meant. But the moment hadn't settled enough.

Rico turned toward him slowly, the corner of his mouth curling into a quiet, dangerous smirk.

Bart blinked twice, then three times, trying to process the betrayal of his efforts. “Second? SECOND?!” He pointed at Rico. “You mean—no, wait, I—no, what in the curd is happening?!”

Rico gave a shallow bow, just enough to sting. “Congratulations, Cheesemonger. Looks like your wheel didn’t quite reach the summit.”

Bart’s brain short-circuited. “You— you smug feathered—”

Before he could finish, the host nearly shouted the final name as fast as he could. “And in first place as the new Pulleytown champion, it's Craaaaig the Contenderrrrr!”

The audience lost its collective mind and the confetti cannons went off in the dozens.