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The months passed for Hiro in a haze of pain, eating, sleeping, and more pain. Burt was ruthless. When Hiro dropped his dumbbells after half a superset, shaking his head that he couldn't go on, Burt shoved them back into his paws. When he thought he had squeezed the last rep out of his blossoming eight pack, Burt stood at his feet, driving him onward. Burt texted him reminders to eat before every meal. Rescheduled medical appointments and even outings with Hiro's family when they conflicted with his training. Hiro's world began to shrink with each passing week. Inquiries from his fanbois went unanswered except for the briefest of replies. Days Hiro didn't have the gym were spent in posing practice with Chris. She was Burt's second sister - one of five - and a master level ballet instructor from New York.

Chris was a cougar of a rat. Middle aged, but with a taut, fit body that was sleek with acrobatic muscle. The silver in her fur and the crow's feet starting about her eyes seemed to enhance rather than take away from her beauty.

Hiro was taken aback at first by her brusk manner. He was growing bigger than he'd ever been - bigger than almost ANY fox had ever been before. Yet, when he swung his thick muscular arms up into his first double biceps pose for her, Chris didn't blink an eye.

"Please, honey," Chris said. "You think you're the first pair of big guns I've helped out?"

Chris circled Hiro while he held his flex, 'checking his lines' as she called it. When she finished, she shook her head.

"You're never going to win anything if you stick to posing like this."

"What are you talking about?" Hiro protested as he relaxed again. "That pose was perfect!"

"And boring," Chris countered. "We both know you're developed enough to make it into the final round. So when you hit the stage for your free posing, what are you going to do? Wing it?"

Hiro grinned at Burt. "She's your sister, all right." He turned back to her. "What should I be doing?"

"Get the audience on its feet. Make the judges EXCITED about you," Chris said.

"I've always done that before at contests."

Chris waved a dismissive paw.

"Amateur contests," she said. "That you've breezed through because you were the biggest guy on the stage. Well, this time you won't be. And these judges are used to big boys like you. They won't be easily dazzled."

Chris snapped her fingers. "Now pose again. Only this time, show off. Build up a little suspense."

Hiro took a breath, wriggled his rippling arms a bit, and then slid into the double biceps pose slower, so that all the details came out. Chris slapped a paw to her eyes.

"What?" Hiro said.

"Jesus, fox. You're so formal you might as well be a stiff."

"What do you want me to do? Start pole dancing?" Hiro huffed.

"It wouldn't hurt. But you don't strike me as the slutty type," Chris said.

Hiro rolled his eyes. He blinked in surprise when he heard Chris laugh. She patted him on his abs.

"Don't worry, honey. I have a plan."

Chris looked at Burt to include him in on the conspiracy. "The one thing these judges have never seen before is a FOX on the Pre-National stage. We need to capitalize on the impact that's going to make."

Burt smiled, nodding his understanding. Hiro was still lost.

"How do I do that?"

Chris licked her paw and stroked it down his tail, smoothing down the blazing orange and white fur. "Leave it to me, honey."

***

"I hate Chicago," Chase said over his coffee.

"You hate Jake stealing the big stories," Alex laughed as he slid into his seat beside the doberman.

Chase growled. "Why do we even send someone to the Pre-Nationals? We already know Guntur Sabah's going to win. Big fucking deal. What's a rookie like Jake doing getting the Nationals coverage over me?"

"Well, stick around, dog," Alex said in a tone that perked Chase's ears. "You might be surprised."

Chase looked at Alex sidelong. "What do you know that I don't, bunny?"

"I've got a younger brother in San Fran. He and his buds were going gaga all summer over some freakshow of a fox. Apparently he's qualified."

Chase raised his eyebrows. "A fox in the PN? Must be a mistake."

The lights dimmed. The music stirred. Chase sipped at his coffee, bored. Blah blah blah, announcer, blah blah great honor to present this year's competition. The audience swelled like an ocean surf. The curtain opened, spotlights snapped on.

Chase followed the gleaming, rippling line of stallions, bulls, big cats and bears, ablaze in their posers and posing oil. He sat back with a happy sigh. Times like this, he couldn't help but love his job.

There was Guntur. Chase always felt a thrill seeing the enormous sun bear. He was deliberately keeping his lats flared to make himself look even wider on the stage, forcing the other guys to edge out of his way. Cocky bastard was having the time of his life doing it, too.

Then the last contestant strode onto the stage, and Chase leaned forward in his seat to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. It WAS a fox. Pointed ears, soft red and cream fur, bright silver-grey eyes, freshly brushed tail - there was no mistaking it. The fox turned to face the audience. Chase saw him swallow. Poor guy had a right to be nervous. Every eye in the entire stadium had turned to him. People were murmuring amid the cheers and the blasting music.

"What'd I tell you?" Alex nudged Chase.

"My god, he's a monster! Look at him! He's as big as...as Guntur!"

Alex giggled. "Guntur knows it, too. Look at him glare. He sure hates having the spotlight taken away."

"Who the hell IS he?" Chase said. He started flipping through his program information.

Alex slid his phone over to Chase. He had the All-Pro Muscle website up, pulled to a specific entry: Hiro MacCarther. From San Francisco.

"Who else knows about this guy?" Chase said.

"Not many, as far as I can tell," Alex said. "Whoever he worked with, they kept this pretty mum."

"Smart," Chase said. "Check out the crowd's reaction. They've never seen anything like him!"

"Well, someone has," Alex said, nodding toward a small section of the top balcony.

A small row of mice, otters, and fellow foxes was going nuts up there. Chase looked from them down to where Hiro stood, going through the relaxed pose turns. The fox flashed them a proud grin before turning to display his knotted, hulking back.

"Go find those fan boys, Alex," Chase said. "Haunt the restrooms and the merchandise booths. I'm going to start bidding on images from the photographers. Forget Guntur. THIS is our story!"

***

Breathe, Hiro told himself. Remember to breathe. The audience was like a massive single living thing out there beyond the lights. It sighed and roared, a living ocean. Hundreds of men and women of every species, taking him in.

"Rear double bicep pose."

Hiro did a slow, fluid 90 degree turn, flicking his tail so it flashed like a banner. He held it high and curved just above his rock hard ass, then raised his arms. He felt the continental slabs of his shoulder blades crash together and squeezed his biceps hard.

The lights pounded him with heat. Hiro hadn't had a drink of water in hours to reduce his water weight and add that little edge of definition to his body. He took a long breath that the judges wouldn't see.

Side chest pose, abdominal crunch, and most muscular. Hiro threw himself into the poses, concentrating on absolute perfect form. Thank God for Chris, drilling him in the poses over and over and over again until he could do them by muscle memory if he had to.

It was hard to tell how much of the audience's response was from him. When Hiro struck his side chest pose, glorious ballooning pecs swelling out nice and tight above his clenched paws, there were groans and gasps and applause. But those could just as easily be from Guntur. Or that piebald stallion with the fantastic abs - what was his name? Yasser?

Hiro felt himself choke during the abdominal crunch, thinking of Yasser's abs instead of his own. He kicked himself. He had to FOCUS. When the call came for the most muscular, he bent forward and swept his arms down hard and slow. His pecs strained outward until he was grinning with the pain of flexing them so hard. But this time he could see the crowd's response.A handful in the back row were already standing, applauding. People were pointing, snapping photos over and over. Hiro's grin grew more genuine.

Then it was over, and Hiro slipped behind the second stage curtain, paws on his hips. He lowered his head, grateful for the relief from the lights and the scrutiny. Guntur glowered at him from the other side of the stage.

Hiro let a smile rise up his lips. "Harder than you thought?"

"Enjoy your taste of fame while it lasts, fox," Guntur rumbled, dark as an impending storm.

A weasel in a black shirt and slacks, wearing an ear piece and holding a clipboard. "Third round finalists! 87, 45, 3, and 7! Five minutes, guys!"

Hiro's heart surged when he heard his number called. He would be last to flex. It meant he would have to give it everything he had, but he also knew the crowd and the judges had a taste of him now. They would be anticipating his show.

"From San Fransisco, number 87, Guntur Sabah!"

Guntur smirked at the mad roar that flooded through the curtains. "Later, chumps," he said and stepped through the curtains. The roar doubled in volume.

Hiro looked across at the other competitors. Yasser was there, and with him an enormous wolf named Steele, from New York. Steele looked back at him.

"Hiro, right?"

Hiro nodded.

"Do me a favor, Hiro," Steele said. "When you get to the Nationals, cause as big a stir as you did here. There aren't nearly enough canines in this sport."

Hiro's ears folded as he blushed. "Thanks, Steele. But don't count yourself out, yet. You've got some amazing arms!"

Steele blinked, surprised at the compliment. Hiro put a paw on Yasser's oiled back.

"And when you get out there, Yasser, really show off that incredible core of yours. We both know you've got the best abs in the show."

Yasser smiled. "Mighty nice of ya to say so, foxy." He leaned forward. "This ain't gonna win ya any favors from me, though."

"I don't need any favors from you to win this, horse," Hiro answered.

Yasser grinned. "You got a good heart, kid. I'm with Steele on this one. You're headed to the Nationals with Guntur."

The crowd's roar surged. Hiro had to lower his ears to protect them. He'd never heard a crowd so worked up. He could see Guntur's shadow cast back through the curtain by the spot lights, enlarged twice its size, a black giant flexing shadowy biceps as big as their bodies.

"I don't know what to say," Hiro said.

"Well I do," Steele said. He slid past Yasser to offer Hiro his paw in a shake. "The Nationals have a new alpha. And his name is Hiro."

They shook just before a flushed and beaming Guntur swaggered back stage. Steele took his place as his name was announced. The tentative camaraderie behind the curtain was crushed by the sneer Guntur whipped at Hiro and Yasser.

"That's how you win, boys. Enjoy standing under me on the award platform."

"Aw, give it a rest, would ya, Guntur?" Yasser muttered.

Guntur narrowed his eyes at the horse. "Well, well. Someone's balls got bigger since last year. Are you actually going to pose this time?"

"What's he talking about, Yasser?" Hiro asked.

Yasser had turned his back to Guntur, fists trembling at his sides. Guntur spoke again.

"Seems our boy, here, got cold hooves at the last minute. Didn't even go on for the final round." Guntur smiled slyly. "Call it a sudden lack of confidence."

Hiro understood. Guntur had sabotaged Yasser. He'd played on the stallion's insecurities. Hiro put his paws on Yasser's shoulders.

"Yasser, look at me. You can do this. Those people out there want to see you."

Yasser's lip trembled. He looked at Hiro with tear-filled eyes. "Ya don't know what a struggle it's been for me gettin here, Hiro."

"It'll all be for nothing if you don't take that stage!" Hiro said. The crowd cheered the end of Steele's routine.

"Number 3, you're up!" the weasel called.

Yasser shook with indecision. Hiro spun him toward the curtain. "Think of all the other horses out there, Yasser. Young colts just like you used to be. With dreams just like you used to have! Don't you dare let them down!"

"NUMBER 3!"

"Come on, Yasser," Steele urged with a grin.

Yasser's chest swelled with newfound confidence and he burst through the curtains with a whinney. Hiro caught a glimpse of him raising his bulging arms to receive the crowd's applause before the curtain closed again.

Hiro shoved his way past Steel and bared his teeth at Guntur.

"You're a real low-life, you know that?"

Guntur rolled his eyes. "Hazing is all part of the game, fox. Maybe you don't know that, being so new."

"Part of YOUR game, you mean," Hiro growled. "Because you're too much of a coward to win fair and square."

Guntur tried to loom over him like he did everyone else, but with Hiro it was impossible. The fox was his equal in bulk and height, as much as he hated to admit it.

"What are you gonna do about it, huh?" Guntur challenged. "I haven't broken any of their stupid rules. You can't prove anything that might disqualify me. So go ahead and step on stage, see if I care. That trophy is MINE, and so is the Nationals! By this time next year, no one will even REMEMBER you!"

Both men turned with Yasser clopped back through the curtains. He was shaking again. Tears of joy ran down his muzzle.

"Hey, hey, you okay, horse?" Steele asked.

"They....they loved me! They really loved me!" Yasser sniffled.

He dashed over and crushed Hiro in his powerful arms. "Thank you, Hiro," he gushed in a grateful whisper.

"Number 7!"

Hiro disentangled himself from Yasser and straightened his bulging shoulders. He loosened up his neck, then looked at Guntur with a smirk. "I just figured out what I'm going to do about you."

Guntur looked ready to rip his head from his body and eat it. He jutted out his chin. "Go on, then. What?"

"I'm going to steal the win from you."

Before Guntur could utter another word, Hiro strode around the end of the curtain and back into the lights. His entire body felt ablaze. He had to win this. He HAD to win! For Steele and Yasser and all the other bodybuilders who had been Guntur's victims over the years.

"From San Francisco, number 7, Hiro MacCarther!"

The crowd's voices were a tidal wave that dashed the thoughts from Hiro's head. He stood in the blinding stage lights, dazzled. Somewhere, the music started up. His music. The crowd waited. Out there in the crowd were Burt and Chris, all his fans from back home, and no doubt some bodybuilding journalists.

Hiro's feetpaws felt locked in place. The music was already getting into its rhythm and he was just standing there. Time was bleeding out. What did he do? What was his first move? Hiro couldn't remember! Some vulpine sense of survival ensured that he'd kept his stomach tight and his limbs tensed, at least. So from the audience's perspective, it looked like a static pose. As though Hiro were letting them all take him in, take in the fact that it was a fox on the stage.

Hiro's mind scrambled to remember where he should be by now. In the meantime, he'd have to improvise. He knew there was a cymbal crash coming up.When it struck, so did Hiro. He snapped his arms out to the sides in a side biceps pose in the space of an eyeblink. He wasn't prepared for what happened next.

The crowd exploded. The entire upper balcony rocketed to their feet. Hiro could barely hear the music over the noise. Chris had warned him about this.

'You better practice without the music, Hiro,' Chris's voice said in his head. 'Because if this routine does what it's supposed to do, there might as well be silence.'

Hiro's memory clicked. He did a slow, dramatic turn to present his back, hiking up his tail and letting his lats flare wide, wider, wider! It was like he had a volume control on the crowd! Hiro gritted his teeth and forced his lats out even more.

There was no music, now. Just a constant, mad bedlam of cheers. Hiro whirled around as planned, then improvised and pointed two fingers like pistols out at the crowd, giving them a beaming smile. Two bass drum hits, and with each one, he slipped back into the planned routine again with a pair of bicep flexes.

Guys were leaning over their seats, fists in the air. The sea of faces mixed with the glows of camera phones. As Hiro twisted his upper body to the side to make his obliques shred and pop while swinging his magnificent arms in two wide arcs to end in another double biceps pose, the fire he'd felt stepping on stage became a sun.

This was where he belonged. This was what he was BORN for!

There was nothing inside Hiro any more but the light and the fire of purpose. He let the crowd's devotion wash over him. Soaked it up like a dog savoring a t-bone steak. All sense of time faded away. The more Hiro flexed, the more the crowd lost its mind. The more they roared, the more Hiro's confidence surged. He was showing the world something they had never seen before. Not just a fox with a professional grade physique, but a fox that was a champion!

Something flashed from the edge of the stage. It was the weasel with the clipboard, using a little pen light to let Hiro know he was over time and had better wrap up.

Hiro never wanted to leave the stage. The music had done its finale, but Hiro kept going. He strutted to the very edge of the stage, letting himself utterly tower over the awe-struck judges and threw out his left arm like an arrow, angled as if to salute the crowd. He completed his archer pose with a flex of his right bicep so hard his fist shook with the effort.

Hiro backed up and did the practiced finale, then. He had insisted on this final move. It was the kind of flex that the biggest of the big species loved to use - the rhinos, bears, gorillas, and bulls. The ones with the natural barrel rib cages and insanely deep pectorals. Hiro's breath hissed through his bared teeth as he bent to a 45 degree angle, one bulging shredded thigh wriggling and then flexing hard. His arms swept out like a hug and then DOWN, harder, harder, sucking his eight pack up almost into a vacuum while he completed the most muscular.

Security left their posts to start to control the crowd, because they flooded the aisles like a mob. Brochures, hats, even shirts went flying. Hiro glanced up past the spotlight's glare. Even the grips working the spotlights had their mouths open!

Hiro slowly straightened. He gave the crowd another set of finger pistols, then swept off the stage with a wide flick of his bushy tail. The chant started up as Hiro staggered back stage. His name. Being barked, howled, whinnied, and roared from five thousand throats. They chanted in unison with their clapping until Hiro could keep time through the vibrations in the floorboards.

Steele strolled over, blue eyes glittering in admiration. "I wish I could have seen what you did. I've never heard an audience lose their minds like that."

Yasser didn't say anything. Dry eyed, now, he just smiled and offered Hiro his hand, as if it was obvious the fox had already won. Hiro shook it, then yanked the muscle bound piebald horse into a hug. He let out a whoop of pure exhilaration.

Yasser nuzzled his ear. "I'm giving my private number to your trainer after the show, foxy," he said. "Call me."

Yasser left Hiro half hard in his poser. Hiro had to focus hard on the bottom of the curtain to fight his erection. According to Burt, it would take the judges about ten minutes to make their final decisions. Hiro was desperate for some water. He blinked away his blurred vision. Fuck, that stage was hot. Someone touched him in the shoulder. Hiro turned to look at Steele.

"Mouth dry?"

Hiro nodded. Steele winked at him. "Let me show you a little trade secret on how to stay hydrated."

Steele yanked Hiro's mouth down against his. His kiss was deliberately sloppy with saliva. The wolf's tongue stroked and painted across Hiro's, then massaged the ridges on the roof of his mouth. They parted with a gasp.

"Better?" Steel murred.

"I..uh...yeah!" Hiro said, ears flat in a furious blush.

"Let me go help Yasser out." Steel said, turning to hug the big horse into his arms next.

Hiro gulped while they made out with practiced ease. It was obviously something they'd done before, and looked forward to giving each other. They parted a half minute before the curtain rose. Time enough to get themselves soft again. Hiro fought not to blush. So much went on behind the scenes of these contests that he'd never imagined. It made sense, though. Who else would appreciate a huge muscled man more than a fellow bodybuilder?

Hiro noted how no one offered to return the favor to Guntur. The bear was a pillar of repressed fury, off in the most shadowed section of the stage by himself. Hiro felt no pity for him. Not after the bullshit he'd pulled.

As one, the four finalists strode to the front edge of the stage. Hiro looked through the faces on the crowd and his heart jumped when he spotted the otter twins high up in the top balcony. He couldn't stop his smile. Behind the four contestants, to the right of the announcer's podium, stood a three tiered white dais.

"In third place, winning the bronze medal and a check for $2,500, from New York - Steele Sandow!"

Steel broke ranks with a victorious pump of his big fist. He accepted the medal from the announcer, shook his paw, and went to take his place on the lowest tier of the dais.

Hiro closed his eyes. This was torture. Absolute torture. The audience had fallen dead silent. The sadistic announcer sensed the anticipation and drew it out for all he was worth.

"In second place, winning the silver medal and a check for $5,000, from San Francisco.....Guntur Sabah!"

Hiro's eyes opened wide! He'd DONE it!

There was no containing the crowd. It was utter pandemonium under the roof of the theatre. And Guntur had to know that none of it was for him. That was the cruelty of second place. At least in third or fourth, you got polite applause. But second place was an invisible achievement, lost in the eclipse of the glory that went to the winner. A glory that was now Hiro's! Hiro fought to contain his emotions while every security guard and usher fought to calm the crowd so the announcer to be heard.

"In first place, winning the gold medal, and a check for $10,000 - your Western Pre-National Champion - from San Fransico, HIRO MACCARTHER!"

Hiro thought he'd go deaf. Cheers that insane had to hurt the throat! Hiro walked on a cloud over to the podium. It was only then he saw that the announcer was a fox himself. A tiny, pale reflection of Hiro's enormity. Yet they were the same species. And Hiro allowed himself the conceit of imagining that there was a twinkle of pride in those fellow fox's eyes as Hiro bent and he slipped the medal down Hiro's neck.

Hiro shook the fox's hand, accepted the oversized check, and turned to climb the steps to the top of the dais. There was a groove in the floor of his dais where the check could rest while Hiro did a victory flex. Hiro gave the audience - HIS audience - what they wanted. He raised his arms in a final double biceps pose.

***

"Our top sports story tonight: the bodybuilding world is abuzz with excitement about this fox - Hiro MacCarther, from San Francisco, California! A relative unknown, Mr. MacCarther emerged a winner after last night's West Pre-National Championships in Chicago. From there, he and the other top three contestants will join others from the East Pre-National Championships one month from now in Las Vegas to determine who will reign supreme and take home the coveted title. Here with highlights from Channel 9's exclusive interview is our very own Helen Cetecea! Helen?"

The breathless, joyous face of Hiro blinked onto the screen. It imploded in a storm of sparks, smoke, and shattered glass as a massive black fist ploughed into the flat screen television. Guntur ripped the entire television from the wall and with a livid roar, he tore the appliance in half. Guntur panted, shirtless, in the midst of the rubble.

Behind him, half under the hotel room sheets, Warra gave a sigh. "Well, there goes your five grand."

"Five thousand dollars," Guntur seethed, every word acidic with scorn. "A MEASLY...PATHETIC... five thousand BUCKS!"

He hurled a wooden end table across the room. It shattered through the window and rolled onto the balcony.

"I am going to KILL that fox!"

"Would you cool off, mate?" Warra said. "It's like you always say - the Pre-Nationals are nothing."

Warra flinched at the murderous look Guntur shot him. The bear visibly calmed himself.

"You're right. Now isn't the time for this. I have to focus. This upset was a fluke!"

"Exactly," Warra agreed. He slipped out of the covers and crawled naked over the mattress to stand in front of Guntur.

The tasmanian devil sipped both his paws into one of Guntur's and kissed at his knuckles. "You might not have one the ten grand, big man, but I can make it up to you. My uncle's dead. The rich one who owned the airline? He's left me quite the hefty inheritance. And it's all yours, Guntur."

Guntur looked down at Warra.

"How much?"

"More than enough, my beautiful monster. More than enough to see you take your rightful place on the INTERNATIONAL stage!"

"That's not enough for me. Not now. Not after this," Guntur growled. He slowly lifted Warra clear off his feet, holding him under his arms to bare his massive fangs in the devil's face. "I want it ALL! Do you hear me, you miserable little rat?" His powerful fingers flexed harder and Warra started to whimper. "I want the Mr. Colossus! I want the record books! And YOU are going to get them for me!"

Warra shook like a weed, nodding. "Anything, Guntur! Anything for you! I'll...I mortgage my house. I'll sell my motorcycle. My son can make do paying his own tuition at a trade college or something!"

"Good," Guntur said, placated for the moment. He drew the writhing, whimpering little weakling he called a trainer into his massive arms to conquer his mouth.

"Mmmmmmm....and after I snatch back the Nationals from Hiro, I can leave him and the other weaklings behind for the REAL contests!" Guntur bragged, drooling onto Warra's bulging little hard pecs.

Warra massaged the bear's heavy neck. "And I'll be there every step of the way to coach you. Train you. W..worship you..."

Guntur's deep lustful laugh echoed out the broken hotel window.