Lone Cultivator In Another World

The next question did away with the solemn mood, "Mr. North, you've surely met quite a number of Alters. Can you tell us about a trait that stood out?"

The teenager laughed, "Aren't all of them unique? Fine. I've been contacted by a young family whose baby started producing fireworks with his limbs. They were so freaked out! Goes to show that Alters and the people close to them don't have it easy sometimes."

"Is the Altering genetic?! How can a baby…"

"I'm sorry," Michael tried to distance himself from the question, "I can only tell you what I've experienced. For more detailed information, please, wait until Alters are sufficiently studied."

Everything connected to "evolution" was a minefield. Political and social ramifications, the potential for global conflict were enormous. Michael lied through his teeth when it came to this topic.

"Mr. North! Do you plan on cooperating with the government?"

"Of course! In fact, the Swiss prime minister and I have worked out a deal through principal Graves. He's been lenient with the legal matters of my company, and I agreed to participate in an ad campaign to promote cooperation between Alters and the state. I've also done my part here at EIS, helping my schoolmates activate their abilities."

"And may I ask, will you cooperate with your native country?" a woman with a thick accent thrust out her mic at Michael.

The teenager raised his eyebrows. This wasn't the time or the place to publicize his conflict with Russia.

"I'd be happy to, but my studies are here, and my family is here. I'm not a miracle worker. The help I can provide is little. Right now, I believe I can do the most good where I am."

"Are you not a patriot?"

The journalists shared puzzled glances. The venue was nice, and the teenager was pleasant. He also gave away fun and catchy info, something they could break into two or three news reports. All in all, it was a good day. Why is this lady hard on him? Is she a bigot?

Michael went on the offensive, "Which news station are you with?"

"State channel one. Your homeland," she chided.

"I see," he leaned backwards, resting his head on the chair's back. "Rooting for your country is considered a good thing. But madam, it's different for us EIS students. Every day, we're surrounded by talents and teachers from all over the world. Russian, Greek, Chinese, American or Israeli – we all have a place here. When you spend your days in the company of other nationalities, you stop seeing your country as home. You realize that you belong on Earth. Countries are… a silly way to divide it."

Cameras flashed. The first Alter, a world citizen! What a smart PR move!

Little did they know, it was just a way for Michael to avoid returning to Russia.

"So, you are denouncing your homeland?"

"Did I say that?! Stop treating me like a villain and listen!" he threw his hands in the air. "I am Russian, and I will always be, but when you have the opportunity to help people on a massive scale, you do it! End of story. Had I been more small-minded, I would've run away to Russia and told them about Alters, then watched every other country suffer from the sidelines. But I didn't. I chose to do it the hard way."

The woman's face mimicked the one Abbie had earlier. All around her, other journalists were standing up and clapping again, throwing her looks of disgust. But it wasn't her fault, her superiors forced her to do it!

"Stop! Don't!" Michael rose from his chair and exclaimed. "Please don't applaud me for doing the right thing! It's what each of us has to do if we're to build a brighter future for ourselves."

Some politicians in the room cringed, so obvious Michael was. They were used to subtlety, and this kid just trampled over the game of politics like a freight train.

Oh well, what can you ask from a teenager? It's a miracle he could stand his ground against those last questions.

But the most vicious one was just about to arrive.

As soon as the room quietened down, another journalist stood up. "Mr. North, you act like you're the messiah, creating an image of a selfless young man. In fact, you've sacrificed nothing. Since the start of your 'career', you've only gained. Public support, fame. Some money, I don't doubt. My source tells me you have the power of healing you've never disclosed. Why is that? Are you not willing to cure people? Where do you draw the line between helping and not?"

That's when Michael realized he got lured into a trap.

Since the beginning, this was the Russians' plot to discredit him, to strip him from the support of the people. Michael used his way with words to deflect the previous questions about working with Russia and being a patriot. Even if he fought off this attack, it would seem like he's being defensive.

He had underestimated Myshkin's viciousness. The president didn't mind letting go of the information about Michael's abilities as long as it hurt him.

"It's true, I have an ability to heal."

The room exploded.

Cameras flashed like mad.

Some parents frowned, recalling an old illness that disturbed them or a sick relative.

Journalists shouted, forcing their mics closer to Michael's face.

Robert Tan had a weird gleam in his eyes.

"Sir, should I calm down the crowd?" Rosa asked in a far away corner.

Graves shook his head no, "Let him deal with it. Consider it another test."

"Silence!" Michael shouted at the top of his lungs. "Keep it civil! Is there anyone here with a wound or a cut that I can demonstrate on?"

A good-natured young journalist jumped on the stage, grinning, "Abbie Thomas scratched me for taking a bad picture of her. Would you mind?" On his arm, there was a long shallow scar.

"The nails on that woman!" Michael played along. "Come here, let me look at it."

Holding the journalist's arm, the cultivator took a deep breath. He called on to the millions of glory points he'd gathered in the last few days and formed a thin stream of energy with it.

'Glory, now!'

When Michael advanced to the 2-stage of cultivation, he unlocked the Customization menu. Among other things, it allowed him to trigger his abilities on and off.

Inability to Sweat, off!

Perfect Hair and Teeth, off!

Perfect Skin Condition, off!

At the same time, he used glory points to wreak havoc inside his own body.

The people exclaimed in shock when they saw a golden light appear on the young journalist's wound. It danced along the arm and brought along with it a warmth that calmed him down. The scar was slowly healing.

The young man raised his head to look at Michael in awe and gasped. The first Alter's skin turned grey, its l.u.s.ter fading, and large beads of sweat covered his face.

"Hey, are you all right?"

"Just… a little… left."

The cameras focused on Michael. The way his appearance changed in just a few seconds made everyone concerned.

"He has two abilities!"

"You're still on about that? Look, he's going to faint!"

"Somebody, stop him! Jesus, it's not worth it!"

The golden light faded, and with it gone, Michael fell on his chair, exhausted.

The healed journalist brought a bottle of water for him to drink. Like a traveler dying of thirst, Michael inhaled the bottle and asked for more. In the end, he drank three bottles, and his skin gained back some of its color.

He opened his mouth and had a coughing fit. The young man he'd healed rubbed his back and handed him a mic.

"As you can see, I don't have two abilities. I can transfer the energy that grants me strength outside my body, but it doesn't come cheap. It's like healing with my own life."

Amid venomous stares, the person who asked the last question, spoke up, "Please forgive me, Mr. North. My information came from an anonymous source. It also said you cured your father of cancer half a year ago in Russia."

"Idiot," Michael g.r.o.a.n.e.d, "If my dad was cured, would I spend a fortune on researching a cure for cancer?"

"I'm sorry," the reporter sat down, red in the face.

Graves walked on the stage to run interference, "I think it's about time to make a short recess. Do you have many questions left?"

The journalists, still shocked by what they had witnessed, agreed to wrap up the interview.

"Very well. Mr. North needs a short rest, so let's meet back here in an hour. That is, if you wish to hear more about his business ventures. He can also tell you about the results of his cancer research."

With one sentence, Graves made sure no self-respecting reporter would leave.

The parents left to meet their children's teachers. They had done their part attracting media attention, so Graves didn't want to ask them to stay.

Michael trudged to the bathroom through a side door. He grabbed the sink with both hands and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

"Turn them back on, Glory."

Before Michael's eyes, his skin dried off and reverted to its healthy tone.

With a belching sound, he spit out a mouthful of blood. He might've gone too far on injuring himself. Well, at least everyone trusted him again.

"A hundred thousand points down the drain. F.u.c.k.i.n.g Myshkin! Wanted to discredit me? I'll get you back for this, you bastard!"

When he let go, two distinct sets of handprints were left on the thin metal sink.