Paintbrush stands in front of a large canvas, brush in hand, their bristles lightly quivering with anticipation. They glance around the room, noting the disinterested looks from the other contestants. Their usual confidence feels a little more strained today, their need for validation gnawing at them like an itch they can’t scratch.

“Well, it’s clear to me that none of you have quite grasped the… vision I’m trying to present here. I mean, if we want to actually win this, we need someone who understands the creative process—someone who can lead. I’m talking about me. I’ve got the skills, the perspective, the—dare I say—elegance needed to guide us to victory. And I will be heard, whether you like it or not. It’s not about fame, it’s about respect. (Paintbrush sighs deeply) You all know it, and you should know it. The real question is… do any of you have the courage to acknowledge it?”

They pause, eyes scanning the room, clearly hoping for someone to speak up, to agree, to recognize their leadership potential. Their brush twitches impatiently as they wait for a response.

“So… what do you say? Are you ready to follow me, or do I have to keep proving that I’m the one who can bring us to the top?” They give a half-smirk, trying to hide the vulnerability that creeps up in their voice.