I Skipped My Mom's Deathbed for an Esports Title

"You bastard!" My uncle, Dwayne Wiggins, was trembling with rage. He pointed at me and snapped, "How could you say something like that? That's your mother you're talking about!"

With a look of raw anguish, he turned to the growing crowd of reporters and fans and began to denounce me.

"Take a good look, everyone! This is your so-called esports star! He doesn't even care if his own mother lives or dies, all for the sake of gaming!"

He took a step forward, his voice growing louder. "Do you know why your mother ended up like this? It was all for you!

"On Labor Day, you told your parents you wanted to buy a big house downtown. But how was a retired factory worker like your mother supposed to come up with that kind of money? She took on odd jobs at that godforsaken construction site just to help you scrape together the down payment.

"Do you know how dangerous that place is? When the scaffolding fell on her, she was still clutching the 300 dollars she'd just been paid. She kept calling your name, saying now she could buy you another toilet bowl!"

The impassioned speech made a few distant relatives tear up.

The onlooking reporters and fans also began pointing at me and whispering among themselves.

"Oh my god, is that true? That's so cold!"

"He'd abandon his own mother for money?"

"He's definitely the most ungrateful player in esports."

I listened to all the murmurs, my face expressionless. "So what? She went and got herself killed. What's that got to do with me?"

No sooner had the words left my mouth than a loud slap landed hard on my left cheek. The sting burned.

It was Dad who had hit me. His hand was shaking violently, whether from anger or the force of the blow, I couldn't tell.

My parents had never laid a finger on me since I was a child, let alone resort to something as humiliating as a slap.

"You dare hit me?" I covered my face and stared at him in disbelief.

Dad pointed a trembling finger at me. "I'll beat you to death, you ungrateful brat! I'll dig out your heart and see if it's black!"

He shrieked hysterically and lunged forward, trying to rip off my jersey with the team logo on it.

"Stop!"

Just as the situation was about to spiral completely out of control, Coach Nicholas Platt and a few staff members finally pushed through the crowd.

Coach Platt immediately stepped in front of me, shielding me.

"What do you think you're doing? This is a competition venue, and there are surveillance cameras everywhere. If any of you lay a hand on him again, we will call the police immediately. You might want to consider the consequences for inciting a riot and disrupting public order."

Coach Platt's voice carried an undeniable authority, and it succeeded in sobering Dad up a little. He stopped trying to grab at me, but he still glared at me with murderous intensity.

Just then, Gary suddenly rushed forward and snatched the keyboard that I had been holding against my chest.

"Cory, I'm asking you one last time—are you going back or not? If you're not, I'll smash your precious tool!"

That keyboard was something I'd specially custom-built with the prize money from my very first professional tournament win. It meant the world to me.

But even if I lost the keyboard, I was still going to compete. There was no way I was going back.

"You want me to go back? Keep dreaming!"

The moment the words left my mouth, Gary's face twisted. With all his strength, he slammed the keyboard against the hard concrete ground.

A deafening crash rang out, and the keyboard shattered instantly. Black casing fragments and keycaps scattered everywhere.

I stared fixedly at him in silence.

Gary grew uneasy under my stare and instinctively stepped back.

Suddenly, Dad dropped to his knees with a heavy thud and began banging his forehead to the ground, begging me. Soon, blood appeared on his forehead.

"Cory, don't hold this against Gary. He was so furious at you he wasn't thinking straight. Please, I'm begging you! Come back with us and see your mother off on her final journey!" he wailed heart-wrenchingly.

Around us, camera flashes went off like crazy. The sound of shutters and murmuring voices nearly swallowed me whole.

I closed my eyes for a moment. For just an instant, I almost caved.

But the second I pictured that shiny gold trophy—so close I could almost touch it—any hesitation vanished without a trace.