I Transmigrated Into a Farming Sim, Turns Out It Was a 18+ Game

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!"