HIGH FROST SPIRIT

Whirrr-click! Whirrr-click!! Whirr-click!!!

Luke lay in a dual-energy X-ray absorptiometry (DEXA) machine, adorned in a white gown as the machine scanned his body, the occasional sounds of the machine and the scribbling of a pen on paper the only sounds in the room.

After about half an hour, both sounds came to a stop, the silence immediately broken by the female doctor who sat by a desk, not so far away from Luke, studying the boy's features.

"Your physique is better than most augmenters...,and it seemed to have improved from your last check up..." she said, her eyes reflecting Luke's data off the screen she beheld—data on his bones, muscles, tissues, and organs.

"Thank you. Comes with the perk of being an S-rank potential," Luke said with a wry smile, unwilling to be modest yet his smile contradicting his seemingly proud demeanor.

"Don't let the pressure of the fame get to you. You are still a kid. Or are you nervous about today's ceremony? Afraid you might disappoint the world that has its eyes on you?" the doctor said, leaning closer as she spoke, her intelligent green eyes narrowing, seemingly boring through the boy who sat across from her, all of his secrets laid bare.

"Yes you are right Hannah... what if I disappoint?... Will the world turn its back on me? I didn't really ask for this, you know?!" He sighed, turning to meet her gaze as he added, "...The pressure is stifling. I never felt like this four years ago when my potential was discovered. Hahaha... That me really was a fool, taking all the glory and fame in, accepting sponsorships and anything that came my way, saying to myself, 'free stuff, I'd be a fool not to take it.' Even yesterday, I felt the same... But on the day of reckoning, I feel anxious, regretful even..." He smiled wryly, a solemn expression on his naturally fierce face.

Smack!!

"Ow!!" Hannah winced in pain,regretting her actions as her fair, delicate knuckles reddened from knocking the teenage boy, she rather taking damage instead of the latter.

"Stop with your sulking. Have you ever heard such a tale before—an S-rank mana core not summoning a High Spirit, or at least a Wraith?... You have the same potential as the Elemental Priest. Give yourself some credit and stop sulking;... it looks strange with that gangster face of yours,"In her own way, Hannah comforted him. Having known him for four years, ever since his mana core was discovered, being her personal doctor for that long, she knew how to handle him.

"You are right... Nothing will happen. I'm just being paranoid; this is unlike me," Luke said as he got up, his expression resolute. Yet, an unknown sense of dread lingered at the back of his mind—perhaps from the pressure of the whole world watching the next Elemental Priest or from something else, something he could not name.

...

Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!

A large crowd of press from various cities across the Antrum continent, as well as the other four continents, had gathered around the hospital—a giant, luxurious building that screamed, 'Health care for the rich. If you've got no money, you'll get no care.'

Yet Luke, an orphaned boy, could receive care—all perks of possessing an S+ rank mana core, sponsorship in those who wanted to garner favor with the next Elemental priest.

Luke stepped out of the hospital's lobby, flashes of cameras blinding him, followed by a series of questions.

"What spirit do you think you will contract..."

"Is it true you bully your mates because of your potential..."

"Are you nervous..."

"Will you marry me after your ceremony..."

"What type of spirit do you wish to contract..."

"Did the Mayor give you his daughter's hand in marriage..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

The questions came, and Luke's acute hearing allowed him to hear most of them.

"Huh, marry me?!..." He thought, raising an eyebrow, swearing he heard one of the journalists say that, but from whom, he knew not—the sea of journalists sheltering the culprit.

The absurdity of it made him smile, his tense nerves loosening up. "Hahaha... Marry?!, I don't plan to marry you, whoever you are, as well as the Mayor's daughter. I have someone I like, and after the ceremony, I will propose to her... Stay tuned!!" He spoke with an arrogant air, his usual behavior, the depression caused by his anxiety completely washed away.

"Who is it?..."

"Who is it that you will push away the Flame Princess?!..."

"Aren't you aware of her personality?!..."

"Don't you think you are being a little arrogant?!..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

The questions continued, now more like insults than real questions, as most insulted his arrogance and his stupidity for rejecting the Flame Princess so publicly, well aware of her temperament.

"Well, think whatever you will. I gotta go. Time to pay for all of these sponsorships..." He said, dismissing all of their questions.

On cue, a bulky man clad in black emerged behind him, his almost opaque dark shades giving him a Men in Black vibe.

The press, relentless, were not intimidated as they pushed forward, now trying to get closer.

Visibly annoyed, the guard let out a low growl, a brownish energy oozing out of his body.

The ground seemed to tremble in response to his summoning, a miniature stone-scaled snake materializing from the brownish aura, slowly coiling around his neck and settling there comfortably as if it had always belonged.

It lazily looked at the crowd, sending chills down their spines, cold sweat on their brows, as they stared back at it.

The rowdy crowd of press instantly became quiet, the gulping down of saliva echoing as they all had one thought—a Wraith, a high-ranked spirit capable of destroying a small mountain, considering it was an Earth spirit, capable of moving a small mountain.

No one spoke, quietly giving way as Luke and the guard passed through, entering the black Audi A8. With a purr!! sound, the car drove off, on its way to the spirit ceremony grounds.

"Let's stop somewhere before we head to the grounds of the ceremony..." Luke requested, looking through the tinted glass windows at the bustling street, tall skyscrapers with billboards of his face—the praised prodigy of their era.