The Grand Harvest Competition was over.
The final bell's echo faded into the vast, open field, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
The air, heavy with the scent of soil and a hint of sweet radish, now carried a tense, expectant energy.
Hundreds of competitors, sore and drained, stood among their modest harvests, their eyes locked on the two who had clearly dominated the day, Daniel and Old Man Hemlock.
The herb garden manager, Silas, his face as cold and impassive as ever, began the final tally.
He walked slowly down the long rows, his datapad beeping softly as he counted the overflowing baskets.
The other farmers watched, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief.
They had started the day with explosive force, their unsealed power allowing them to rip the giant radishes from the earth with a speed that had initially left Daniel in the dust.
