No texts.
The disappointment was familiar, a daily ritual since he and Lydia broke up. He’d swipe through his apps, hoping for something—anything—but the screen always stayed silent. Today, though, it wasn’t just Lydia weighing on his mind. Rob hadn’t answered Jack's text earlier, and the silence gnawed at him.
“Hope you’re doing okay, man,” he muttered, setting the phone aside.
His gaze drifted to the VRX helmet on his nightstand. Running his fingers over its sleek surface, Jack smiled faintly. Compared to the clunky rental he’d used before—neon pink, cheap plastic, and overpriced—it was a revelation. “That guy at the rental place was ripping me off,” he thought with a wry grin.
This thing had been a game-changer—literally. For once, he’d woken up without the usual aches in his neck and shoulders. But it was more than just the comfort. It meant something: It was proof that his parents supported him.
Cautious support, Jack reminded himself. But it was better than no support at all. Without further delay, Jack grabbed the helmet and slid it on.
The dim light of Gretchen’s shed greeted him. Wooden barrels stood in neat rows along one wall, steel casks gleamed in another corner, and glass fermenters sparkled high on the shelves. Jack wandered through, skimming labels: dates, percentages, and brewing jargon he still didn’t fully understand.
The air smelled of fermenting honey, mingled with the warm, earthy tang of wood. For all its clutter, the shed had an almost cozy feel.
I wonder if I’ll have a shed like this one day, Jack thought, running a hand over one of the barrels—a space full of barrels with my name on them.
Jack’s eyes lingered on the glass container where his batch was fermenting. There were still bubbles all over the drink, and something dark was starting to gather at the bottom. He wondered if that was good or bad.
A glance at the timer showed just a few minutes left before the mead finished fermenting. Jack opened his message log and saw there were new messages on the group chat he kept with the rest of his team.
Amari: “Hi, everyone! I triggered the quest with Count Spruce Beanstein (yes, that’s really his name). Meet me at Embersgate Pyramid when you’re ready.
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Quick reminders for success at the Breach:
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Bring three sets of equipment—the longer we hold up, the more critical durability’s gonna be.
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Stock up on consumables. Inventory should be FULL. PM me if you’re short on gold; I’ll help out.
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Just for Jack: you’re off the hook for most of this since you’re not on the frontline. Just bring fire supplies, cloth for bandages and ocarinas—you know, all the fun stuff. Not sure if we’ll have wood where we’re headed.”
Horace: “I’m almost ready. Need 45 more minutes.”
Marie: “I’ll be there in 15.”
Jack typed his reply: “Almost done here. Should be there within the hour.”
Jack’s eyes widened, seeing that Felix had also texted him. Jack was curious. Usually, he texted Felix, but not the other way around.
Felix: “Hi. Since we last spoke, I’ve been thinking about you and your parents. How are things now?”
Jack smiled faintly, his chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and guilt. When they conversed while making ceramics at the Pottery Association, he assumed it was just chatter to pass the time. It looks like it wasn’t just that. Felix did care about him. Jack tapped out a reply.
Jack: “Hi, Felix. I’ve talked to them. You were right—they appreciated me telling the truth. They’re kind of on board with my gaming career. Reluctantly, but I’ll take it. Thanks for the advice—it really helped.”
It looks like I’ve made a new friend, Jack thought to himself.
It was a nice feeling. Just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have had anyone to text, let alone people who cared. Now, he had a growing team; people worried about him and relied on him.
Especially after losing Lydia, there was such a massive hole in his life that he hadn’t even realized was there. Only as he adventured with his new team did he realize how lonely he was.
Emboldened by Felix’s message, Jack was now itching to send more messages. Jack flipped to his friend list and looked over the names in there. He shot off quick texts to Ariadne and Beeatrice: “Hey, how’s it going?”
With a few minutes still to kill, Jack decided to check on auction house prices.
He opened his browser on the auction website and clicked on the consumables section, running a quick search for “mead.” His jaw dropped.
The cheapest barrels started at 50 silver, and the price skyrocketed all the way up to 50 gold! That was as much as he got for selling a pot hive, which required meticulous work. Mead was just water and honey!
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The brewer profession wasn’t just interesting—it was a gold mine! Jack’s mouth watered as he thought about the mountains of honey his bees had harvested. To think he’d been selling it for mere silver coins when he could have mixed it with water, turned it into mead, and increased his profit by 1000%.
There were many different meads for sale. He looked at the different filters available. He saw a section for aging, showing Roman numeral numbers between I and VII. He turned options on and off. It looks like my hunch was right. The number has to do with aging.
Only three barrels were available for sale at fifty gold, which all had a “VII” after it. If the aging speed was consistent between NPCs and players, it had been aged for three days. Jack turned the filter from Mead aged to tier VII and changed it to tier III.
Let’s see what difference flavor can make in buffs, Jack thought, digging into the details.
Jack kept scrolling through the listings, studying the variations. He caught three barrels of mead III sold for the exact same price, but all with different buffs:
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+10% attack for 10 minutes.
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+15% attack for 5 minutes.
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+5% attack for 20 minutes.
It seems I can adjust the buff slightly depending on the flavor profile, but the core effect remains the same, he mused. Then he found something even more intriguing—a batch of more expensive tier III mead that offered dual buffs: +10% attack and +10% health for 5 minutes.
Frustratingly, the description gave no clue about how the brewer had achieved such a result.
Interesting. Jack stroked his chin as he mulled it over.
Jack kept studying the different effects, building upon his discoveries. All the buffs are percentage-based. Early-game players with low stats wouldn’t see much benefit—What’s a 10% boost to 10 attack?—but these buffs could be a game-changer for late-game players with hundreds of points in attack.
He closed the window and leaned back, digesting what he’d learned. Brewing seemed to be an incredible way to make money!
What else can brewers make?
Reopening the auction house, Jack typed “brewer” into the search bar and sorted by price, highest to lowest. The results made his pulse quicken.
A barrel of Port Wine, aged to tier X, was up for auction. Current bid? 1,000 gold. And the bids were still climbing.
Jack leaned back, his imagination spiraling. One thousand gold? For a barrel of wine?!
He felt a surge of excitement bubbling in his chest. If someone else can do it, so can I.
In his mind’s eye, he was already lounging in a sprawling mansion. He imagined the glint of a sports car pulling up to Lydia’s door—her jaw dropping as he stepped out, cool and collected.
Ping!
A notification jolted him back to reality.
Your mead has finished fermenting!
Right on cue, Gretchen appeared in the shed. “Hello, Jack!”
“Hi, Gretchen.”
She approached the glass fermenter, examining it with a satisfied nod.
“Smells divine,” she said, pouring a small sample into a cup and offering it to Jack.
He sipped. Sweet, smooth, with just a hint of warmth. It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Now that he knew this stuff could be sold at a premium, it tasted all the sweeter.
“Now comes the last step,” Gretchen said, gesturing for him to follow. She grabbed a small wooden barrel from the corner of the shed. It looked brand new, and Jack caught the faint scent of varnish. “Aging.”
Jack watched as she placed a sieve over the barrel and began transferring the mead. The sieve caught bits of dark debris collecting at the bottom of the fermenter.
“What is that dark stuff?” Jack asked, grimacing.
“Dead yeast,” Gretchen replied.
Jack’s mouth twisted in distaste. “Good thing you’re taking it out, then.”
She chuckled. “Some people leave it in.”
“Why?”
“It can add complexity to the flavor, but only if you know what you’re doing. For beginners, it’s best to keep things clean. Trust me on that.”
Jack nodded, grateful for her guidance. As the golden liquid continued to flow into the barrel, he noticed the variety of barrels lining the shed—some wooden, others steel.
“I’ve noticed you use wooden and steel barrels,” he said. “Is there a reason for that?”
“The material affects the flavor,” Gretchen explained. “Wood adds richness, depth—it gives the drink character. Steel barrels, on the other hand, give a cleaner, purer taste. It all depends on what you’re aiming for.”
Jack nodded thoughtfully. Yet another factor to consider when aging.
Once the barrel was full, Gretchen added a cork and sealed it.
“So I guess adding a cork now is no problem?” Jack asked.
“Oh, no. Fermentation is finished,” Gretchen confirmed. “It won’t explode now. I promise. All we have to do now is let the flavors meld and settle.”
You’ve temporarily learned: [Spirits Aging].
Spirits Aging (Uncommon)
By giving the drink time, the taste becomes more refined and its effects stronger.
Skill level: 1
Skill effects: Passively ages drinks. Chances of successful aging decrease by 50% per tier.
Jack blinked and rubbed his eyes. He reread the skill effects. “Chances of successful aging decrease by 50% per tier.” What?!
Jack’s stomach dropped as the reality sank in. His dreams of mass-producing tier-X wines for easy gold were dashed. The skill came with a steep tradeoff—the higher the tier, the lower the chances of success.
“So, it’s not guaranteed that the batch will age well?” he asked, deflated.
Gretchen chuckled. “Of course not. Many things can go wrong.” She began ticking off points on her fingers. “Temperature fluctuations, contamination, barrel defects. Even the type of honey and water you use can affect the process. Aging isn’t an exact science—it’s an art. That’s what makes it valuable. A lot of batches fail before you get a masterpiece. One time, I thought I could leave the barrel in direct sunlight to speed up the process. Let’s just say I learned the hard way that mead and heat don’t mix. Ended up with something closer to vinegar than anything drinkable.”
“I see…”
Jack thought of the tier-X Port Wine at the auction house. How many failed barrels had it taken to get there?
Let’s see… If tier I is 100%, then tier II is 50%, tier III is 25%… By tier IV, it’s 12.5%. Tier V would be 6.25%. And by tier X? Jack’s head spun. The chance of success would be infinitesimally small.
No wonder the Port Wine was so expensive. Just getting something to tier III was a gamble, and higher tiers were near impossible without serious expertise—or luck.
Jack leaned against a nearby counter, trying to process it all. Brewing wasn’t just about finding the right honey, water, or barrel. It also had to do with luck.
“For now, let’s aim small,” Gretchen said, placing the barrel on a rack. “Let it sit for thirty minutes. I’ll be back then to check on it.”
Jack frowned. “I have to wait thirty more minutes?”
“Oh, yes,” Gretchen said with a smile. “It’s no time at all, right?”
Jack sighed. “If you say so…”
As Gretchen left, Jack glanced at the barrel and let his thoughts wander. Brewing wasn’t just another skill—it was another way to buff his team. He could already do so with the leveled-up form of [Survival Cooking] and his ocarina. Adding brewing to his repertoire meant he could elevate Amari, Horace, and Marie to new heights, turning them into an unstoppable force.
The ultimate support, Jack thought, a grin forming. I could make it happen.