Nature versus nurture. That was a debate for people smarter than him who had nothing better to do in their lives.

  Colby had much more important things to do, like making cheese.

  Rather than wasting time on the argument, he’d be using it to his advantage.

  Why did it have to be one or the other? Why not both? That was how he was going to get even more out of his entire aging setup.

  Rather than looking back into the past, The Aging Book could look into the future—though at a huge Mana cost. However, that cost could be reduced by leaning into the scrapbook's nature. The more people around, the less Mana would be used.

  Diving even more into a scrapbook's quirks, the total efficiency could be increased by specifically showing special moments in the cheese’s life rather than padding pages with forgettable filler.

  That was how The Aging Book operated, that was its nature.

  As for the Gouda, it was in its nature to develop into a cheese that tasted rich, nutty, and slightly sweet—a bit like butterscotch.

  However, when he used a piece to [Hard as Cheese][Cheese Shot] a Thornwolf in the face, Elaine had mentioned how it seemed similar to an Earth Spell.

  That was an example of nurture—as in the influence of external factors. The Gouda had been aged in a cave-cellar mix, emphasis on cave. That was how those Earthy tones had been cultivated in the cheese.

  Whether he liked it or not, it seemed that cheeses aged here would develop some earthy undertones. But, instead of fighting it, he would lean into it.

  That wasn’t the only way he could ‘nurture’ the Gouda.

  Using The Aging Book, Colby could highlight even more specific moments in the cheese’s life, molding the cheese as nature intended it to be.

  It would play into The Aging Book’s strengths, potentially reducing the Mana cost even further—hopefully.

  Colby was basically rambling at this point, trying to rationalize how the sudden epiphany didn’t seem that dumb now that he thought about it for a little bit.

  Nevertheless, it should work.

  During his little brainstorm, the Su-sheep had disappeared into the ocean again. As a reward for his presence and help, Farmer Hound gave some high-quality Su-sheep milk. But Colby didn’t care about that, not right now.

  Once back home, Colby marched back into his room and sat down in front of his desk. He closed his eyes and honed in on his Core.

  Back inside his Core, Colby brought a wheel of Gouda down to the cave-cellar mix, setting it down on the lowest rack. This way it would be closest to the ground, in other words, earth—a quick and cheeky way to get some earthy intent.

  He gathered everyone around The Aging Book, insisting that everyone sat on the ground, no matter how rough it felt. Again, another way for some quick earthy intent.

  Flipping The Aging Book open, a photograph of the Gouda in its current form appeared.

  This next part was a bit tricky. He had to somehow balance the nature and nurture aspects of the Gouda. Fighting against the environment would only lead to more problems down the line.

  So, what was something that had both earthy and nutty aspects?

  What about an acorn?

  It was a nut, one that’s planted into the earth. And coincidentally, the Gouda was resting on a shelf made of oak—wood from the very trees that began life as acorns.

  Yup, Colby had totally planned that last part.

  Now, for a moment that didn’t involve generic baby milestones like their first words, first bath, first unsteady steps. Instead, something truly special.

  As Colby flipped to the next page, he channeled his intent.

  Mana was drawn into the Core Construct as a brand new photograph took shape.

  In the photo was the little wheel of Gouda sitting in the grass. It held a tiny plastic shovel in one cheese hand and a small acorn in the other. A fresh patch of turned soil lay in front of it. Beneath the picture, a caption read: Baby’s first planting session.

  Even more importantly, was the date.

  Normally, a single flip would age the cheese by a day at most. Now, it had aged by a week.

  And as far as Colby could tell, the same amount of Mana had been expended.

  Congratulations! The Aging Book has reached Level 4!

  He shot up, punching his fist in the air.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  This was huge. Very huge.

  He had made a huge step in improving The Aging Book’s capabilities.

  Not only that, but there were still plenty of pages to spare. If he kept this up, by the end of The Aging Book, instead of one month, the Gouda would have gone through 30 weeks' worth of aging.

  Not a lot in terms of magically aged cheese, but it was for him.

  Colby sat back down and focused on The Aging Book, channeling the same intent through it as he flipped to a brand new page.

  Once again, vast amounts of Mana were drawn in, as a new photograph materialized.

  The Gouda sat in nearly the same spot as before, with the mound of dirt from the previous photo just peeking into the frame.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  When Colby looked down, his mouth dropped.

  It had only aged up by a day.

  Why?

  Was it not special after the first time? Was that why it barely aged?

  Colby didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice.

  After waiting for his Mana to replenish, he channeled the same intent once more.

  Another photograph materialized. Now, the little baby Gouda barely looked interested. Even worse, it had only been aged for an hour.

  That confirmed it. After the first time, it wasn’t that special.

  If that was the case, how else could he link nutty and earthy?

  Well, there were peanuts, walnuts, chestnuts, coconuts, hazelnuts, and pine nuts.

  If it worked with an acorn, then surely it would work with all of these, too.

  Colby continued this method to middling results.

  The next photograph featured the little baby Gouda, sitting on the grass once more. Instead of an acorn, it was now a peanut. While not as spectacular as his first acorn, it was miles better than the third one.

  Three days. That was how much the Gouda had aged.

  Afterwards, Colby went down the list. Photographs of the little baby Gouda materialized within The Aging Book, sitting in the exact same position with a tiny plastic shovel in one cheese hand and a different type of nut in the other.

  With each new photograph, the Gouda aged less and less, until he reached pine nuts, where the cheese had barely aged at all.

  Looks like he had run into the same problem again. Sure, it was a different type of nut each time, but at the end of the day, it was still planting nuts in the earth.

  Apparently, not special enough for The Aging Book.

  If nutty didn’t work, how about tackling the richness associated with Gouda?

  Now, how could he link richness and earth?

  Mining.

  You dig into the earth, find raw gems, and sell them for a fortune.

  It was perfect.

  Well, he’d most likely run into the same problem as the nutty idea, but it was still worth a shot.

  Colby channeled his intent into The Aging Book, a new photograph materializing. The little Gouda was in some sort of cave, wearing a much-too-big hardhat with a tiny light and a pickaxe resting at its side. Underneath, the caption read: Baby’s first mining trip.

  That had aged the Gouda by a day. Not the best, but certainly not the worst. This next photograph would determine how much of a stretch this idea was.

  A new photograph materialized. Still within a cave, the little Gouda stood with its chest puffed out, one small hand touching a heap of gold many times taller than it. The caption below read: Baby’s first haul.

  The Gouda had been aged by two whole weeks.

  Holy halloumi! That was amazing!

  How? Why?

  Was it because they were in a cave, both inside the memory and out? Something else?

  Nevertheless, Colby continued this process. More and more photographs appeared, each one featuring the little baby Gouda posing next to its latest find: gemstones, fossils, relics, and more.

  Each one aged the Gouda considerably, though not as much as the very first gold find. Still, with every new discovery, the gap between agings dwindled—but to a lesser extent compared to the planting.

  Why? No idea.

  Because each Gouda was different? Meaning that they tended towards the different aspects of Gouda. And this Gouda would’ve ended up with more richness in it than other aspects.

  Colby was spitballing, but it seemed to make sense. For now, that would be the leading theory until he got to test it out. Which would have to be on his next attempt because he had reached the end of The Aging Book.

  But he had never touched on the slight sweetness apparent in Gouda. Whether that would have any effect, he would find out very soon.

  In total, the Gouda had been aged by 15 weeks. That was four times more than his regular attempts—all within a day as well.

  He was improving by leaps and bounds! Things were on the up and up for Colby.

  After letting the Gouda rest a tad bit more, mostly so that he could take a well-deserved break, Colby materialized it out of his Core.

  It looked like Gouda, but its smell was slightly off. It was familiar, yet not quite right. There were more earthy undertones to it than normal. A lot more. So much so, it was more like overtones than undertones.

  Not a good sign.

  What about taste?

  It smelled better than it tasted—and that said a lot. The slight sweetness associated with the cheese was all but absent, replaced by a deep bitterness.

  Something had gone horribly wrong.

  Maybe his parents had some ideas.

  Colby brought the abomination pretending to be Gouda down the stairs. As he walked past the kitchen entrance, Brie ambushed him.

  She begged and pleaded with him for a little nibble, but no matter how much he refused, she wouldn’t back down. Eventually, Colby gave in.

  Before that, he prepped a glass of water and milk for the inevitable.

  She bit the cheese and spat it out instantly. Her hands wrapped around the glass of water, chugging it down, immediately followed by the glass of milk, before letting out a sigh of relief.

  Well, until she realized what she had done.

  “It’s yummy, Colby,” Brie said, acting as if he hadn’t seen her spit it out the moment it touched her tongue.

  “You know what I say about lying, Brie.”

  “Lying is bad,” she said, staring at the ground. “Sorry, Broby. I just didn’t want you to get hurty.”

  “I’m not. I’d be more hurt if you kept saying my disgusting cheese is yummy.”

  She gasped. “It was yucky. Yucky. Yucky. Yucky. It’s like mommy and daddy’s morning yucky drink.”

  That drink was coffee.

  If it was that bad, who knew how his parents would react? He walked up to them, offering a sample of abomination that tainted his image as a cheesemaker.

  Unlike Brie, they had the decency to swallow the weirdness rather than giving it to the floor.

  Immediately after, his mother placed a hand against his forehead. “Colby, are you not feeling well?”

  “Nope, I’m Colby. It’s that bad, huh?”

  “Not exactly,” his father said. “It tastes like you’re a novice cheesemaker who has never touched cheese in his life.”

  “It tastes like your tongue stopped working right in the middle,” his mother said.

  “I don’t really know what that means.”

  “Your mother is saying that the core components that make up Gouda are all jumbled up.”

  “Yeah, I could tell that too.”

  “Prove it, Colby,” his mother said. “Prove to me that you’re Colby and not actually unwell.”

  “Well, the Gouda—more like Bad-da—does have some nuttiness to it that you’d expect, except it peters off way too quickly, leaving you with what I think is making you question who I am. It’s overwhelming, very overwhelming, bitter, with hardly a hint of sweetness at all.”

  “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “Still, I’m impressed,” his father said. “That Gouda was what? Aged longer than a month? Three close to four?”

  “About there.”

  “You’ve improved the aging time considerably, but it came at a cost.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. Do you have any idea why?”

  “Lack of torture.”

  Colby ignored his mother.

  “Dad?”

  Jack looked at the wheel of pretend-Gouda, then back up at Colby.

  “I ran into a similar issue before, but using my current method of aging, not yours.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “My aging method manipulates the little tiny workers in the cheese, essentially coaxing them to work faster. Except, it’s not that simple. Speed is only one variable; quality of work is another. The challenge was mapping out how each adjustment influenced the others. Boost the sweetness, then the nuttiness would drop for whatever reason. Compensate by making it nuttier, then suddenly the cheese becomes soft. Everything is tied together. You can’t focus on these things one at a time. Everything has to be balanced as a whole.”

  “Balanced as a whole?”

  Colby paused, the gears in his brain spinning.

  “Thanks, Dad. I think I know what to do.”