An idea had sparked in Colby’s mind.

  Despite utilizing different methods, the thought process was the same. The nurturing effect of The Aging Book was stronger than Colby had realized, truly evident after this first batch of testing.

  If he wanted the cheese to become what nature had intended, he could just leave it be and allow it to age normally.

  If he wanted to speed things up, he could use The Aging Book, but depending on the intent he channeled through it, it could either create nature’s perfect cheese or an abomination.

  To get what nature intended, though at a faster pace, he could use neutral moments. Things like first talks, first walks, first words, first baths, though based on experience, it was the slowest method—but the safest.

  What he had done was fast, really fast, four times faster than the neutral method, with the potential to go even further beyond.

  But it was like his father said, when you focus on one aspect, another would fall, then when you attempt to compensate, something else would fall apart, leading to a never-ending game of cat-and-mouse.

  While how his father corrected the issue would be vastly different than Colby’s—because he was somehow able to make a Core Construct that jumped through time, albeit at a huge cost—the philosophy was the same.

  It was all about balance. And it was something so obvious he was ashamed to not realize it sooner.

  Every single aspect had to blend together in perfect harmony, not haphazardly thrown in whenever he felt like it.

  And this idea had the potential to leverage The Aging Book’s capabilities.

  Back in his room, Colby honed in on his Core.

  The Aging Book was based on a scrapbook, but rather than looking into the past, one could look into the future.

  But the future held infinite possibilities, one with untold potentials—like potentially creating an abomination.

  That’s why he would focus on the future he wanted, a future that highlighted the Gouda’s attributes—one paved using The Aging Book.

  Colby started things off simple. Photographs of the Gouda in its first stages of life: first words, first bath, first walk. But things were slightly different.

  The Gouda lived in a rundown house, with sagging walls and a weather-beaten roof. It made Colby’s modest home seem like the grandest of mansions.

  This Gouda was the child of rural farmers. And their livelihood depended on growing crops, specifically nuts, whose harvests paid the bills and shaped their days.

  From young, the Gouda took an interest in the family business, learning the way of the field almost as soon as the cheese could walk. But like most people, the Gouda dreamed of a different life. One where he wouldn’t have to toil away in the harsh sun.

  A sweet life. A rich life. One full of meaning.

  Photographs of the baby Gouda planting his very first nuts in the soil materialized. Instead of a bright, plastic toy shovel, the Gouda used his tiny baby hands, patting the ground, dirt smeared across his face.

  Before long, the young Gouda spent every waking moment of his childhood on the farm. A photograph of the Gouda smiling happily as he was gifted his very own mattock, scrounged up by what meagre savings his parents had.

  But one day, while ploughing the familiar stretch of land, he made the discovery of a lifetime.

  A small little yellow-orange crystal, barely larger than a seed, lay in the dirt.

  He brought it to its parents, who stared at it, stunned, before panic and excitement took over.

  A new photograph showed them in town selling off the discovery: a gemstone. A topaz.

  Life returned to normal, and the little Gouda continued to toil away in the fields. But then he found another topaz. And another. Against his farmer’s instincts dug deep into the dirt, far deeper than anything before.

  Then came the photograph, which marked the turning point in the Gouda’s life. Beneath their quaint farm lay a vast cavern. Walls glittered with veins of precious gemstones. A rainbow of crystals shone like buried stars.

  Most importantly, it was all theirs.

  From a nut farmer, the little Gouda became a miner. A new photograph materialized, posing next to his brand new shiny pickaxe that replaced the trusty mattock.

  Soon, photographs of the Gouda no longer living in poverty appeared. The rundown house was gone, replaced by sweeping balconies, polished floors, and tables that were never empty. The Gouda had stepped into a life of comfort, one where they were rich beyond measure.

  But no amount of fortune could combat the unforgiving hands of time. The Gouda’s parents eventually journey to the great cheese platter in the sky, leaving the cheese alone with fortune that continued to grow.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Finally, living the life he always wanted, the Gouda soon grew bored. No amount of luxuries could placate him.

  On a whim, he returned to his roots. Grabbing the old, decrepit, trusty mattock, the Gouda tended to a plot of land just like the one he had worked on as a child. There, he planted nuts like he used to, as his parents had done, as their parents before them, and the generations stretching back beyond memory.

  The work was grueling, tiring, and back-breaking. Still, he kept going. It felt as though the earth was calling to him. As if, beneath all the wealth and fortune, this had always been his true purpose.

  As he continued to plow the fields, realization dawned on the Gouda. He had gotten lucky. Extremely lucky.

  It could’ve happened to anyone, but it happened to him.

  And luck, just like nuts, wasn’t meant to be hoarded. It was meant to be shared.

  Against all sensible advice, the Gouda gave away the vast fortune he had accumulated, keeping only the bare minimum he needed to live.

  The Gouda returned to a humble life, tending to his nuts beneath the open sky, his cheese hands once again rough with honest work.

  Then new photographs began to appear. The Gouda was no longer known for his riches, but for his generosity. He was celebrated as an extraordinary cheese, whose donations changed the lives of cheeses far and wide.

  At last, the Gouda had finally gotten the life he desired. This was the rich life he wanted, not one filled with riches beyond the eye could see, but about fulfillment. Sharing the sweetness he was fortunate to experience with others who could not.

  And that was the last page of The Aging Book.

  Congratulations! The Aging Book has reached Level 5!

  The Core Constructs around Colby were happy crying. They hugged each other, then hugged The Aging Book, then finally Colby.

  The story had touched them. And hopefully it paid off.

  If it didn’t, then two days of non-stop work would’ve been wasted.

  The Gouda had been aged up by roughly a year. But from his last attempt, he knew that faster didn’t necessarily mean better. Whether he had managed to balance out the flavors of Gouda was something he was about to find out real soon.

  Materializing the Gouda out of his Core, he received a notification.

  Colby materialized it out of his Core.

  Congratulations! [Cheesemaking] has reached Level 23!

  That was a good sign.

  Colby looked at the cheese in his hand. It certainly looked like Gouda, but maybe not one the regular customers were familiar with. This Gouda didn’t have that iconic red wax surrounding it, instead Colby had opted for a natural rind, taking full advantage of the cave’s natural earthiness.

  Also, he was just lazy. He had enough headaches with the newest Core Constructs to his family. Creating another one just for waxing was a problem he did not want to deal with at the moment. A wheel of cheese that was slightly tanned. It had formed a natural rind rather than using wax.

  He sliced into the wheel, and dry, crumbly bits dropped onto the table. That was to be expected. As the cheese aged, it lost moisture, even more so when there wasn’t a layer of wax to seal it in.

  Popping it into his mouth, an explosion of flavors bombarded his tongue. Rich, sweet, nutty, with earthy undertones that meant to enhance the cheese overall, not steal the limelight.

  That was definitely Gouda. A bit more traditional than the modern-day ones his parents sold, but it was still Gouda.

  Colby ran down the steps, clutching the wheel of cheese, eager to let his parents try his best aged cheese yet.

  Brie was in the kitchen, feeding Thornelius a leaf-covered ball of mozzarella that she had made herself. The moment she saw Colby holding the wheel of Gouda, she gasped and ducked under the table.

  “Brie?” Colby said. “What are you doing?”

  “Brie is not here!” she yelled.

  He looked at his little sister hiding behind the wooden stool, her focus locked onto the cheese in his hand. Dots connected in his head.

  “This batch is a lot nicer than the other day.”

  Brie crouched, rooted in place, practicing the art of being so still she was invisible. Except that Thornelius had joined her under the table, his wagging tail giving her position away.

  “Do you trust me?” Colby asked.

  Brie paused for a moment before slowly shaking her head.

  “More for me, then,” he said, licking his lips and exaggeratedly turning away.

  “No, Broby! Fine, I trust you.”

  Colby sliced a piece for her.

  She looked at it, her mouth quivering. Closing her eyes, she forced it in.

  They immediately shot open.

  “Broby! It’s so yummy!” she yelled, spraying out crumbs.

  “Now do you trust me?”

  “I always trust you!” she cheered, hugging him.

  Brie wouldn’t let go. He pried at her fingers, but she refused to budge. Sighing, he awkwardly shuffled towards his parents, who spent their days in the main shop floor for whatever reason.

  Sampling the Gouda, their eyes widened as well.

  “It’s good,” his father said. “Very good.”

  “Good enough to sell?” Colby asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Worth a shot.”

  “How’d you improve so fast?” his mother asked. “Was it torture?”

  “Nope.”

  After explaining what he had done and how he had done it, his mother wiped a tear from her eye while Brie was sobbing.

  “That was such a beautiful story.”

  “Thanks!”

  Meanwhile, his father was lost in thought, rapping his fingers against the counter.

  “Everything okay, Dad?” Colby asked. “Is there some weird aftertaste that only comes after later that I can’t sense because I’m not experienced enough yet?”

  “What? No. I was just thinking about that Core Construct of yours.”

  “Why? Jealous that I actually made the method you couldn’t get to work… work?”

  “I am,” his mother said, feeding Brie another bite of the Gouda.

  “In a way, yes,” his father said. “This level of complexity and intent channeling is something you’d expect from an Arcanist. Not from—no offence—you.”

  “Saying no offence doesn’t mean I won’t be offended. But just for you, I’ll be Colby.”

  “Thanks, Colby,” he said with a soft smile. “Just don’t push yourself too hard. You might end up in Mana Exhaustion if you’re not careful.”

  “I won’t, Dad.” Colby rubbed his hands together, grinning. “Now, I’m going to try this on cheddar.”

  “Don’t you want to perfect the Gouda first?”

  “Nope. I just had another idea.”