"I've wanted that championship trophy for a long time. There's no way I'm giving it up," I said.

At that, Dad lifted his tear-and-blood-streaked face and pulled out a faded, yellowed cloth pouch from his pocket.

He unwrapped the pouch layer by layer. Inside were crumpled bills of various denominations, along with a few wrinkled 100-dollar notes.

He held the stack of money up to me and said hoarsely, "How much does that trophy cost? I'll pay for it! We'll pool our money together to buy it for you. Just don't play in the tournament. Let us buy the trophy for you, alright?"

I looked at the pile of money and scoffed.

"That wouldn't even cover the cost of a tiny piece of that trophy. You really are a bunch of clueless country bumpkins," I retorted, not bothering to hide my contempt.

"We have money too!"

The moment Uncle Dwayne said that, all the relatives and distant kin began pulling money out of their pockets.

There were ten, 20, 50, and 100 dollars. They dumped the crumpled bills, reeking of sweat and dirt, in front of me.

Even though I kept my expression indifferent, I couldn't help the sting in my nose. Even so, I still had no intention of going back with them.

"I'm not going back with you. Just give it up. The match is about to start, and my teammates are waiting for me."

Seeing that I was completely unmoved, Dad finally pulled out his trump card.

He struggled to his feet and jabbed his finger at me with resolve. "Cory, if you don't come back with us today, you're no longer my son."

I nodded calmly. "Fine, then you can consider me dead."

My resolve utterly crushed Dad. He slumped to the ground, pounding his fists against the pavement as he let out a piercing, anguished wail.

Seeing this, Uncle Dwayne pointed at me and roared, "You monster! Look at what you've done to your father! What could be more important than your own parents? You're coming back today whether you like it or not!"

With that, he motioned for a few of my strong, young cousins to come forward and forcibly drag me away.

"You wouldn't dare!"

Coach Platt and my teammates immediately surrounded me, shielding me completely behind them as they faced off against my relatives.

The reporters at the scene were practically buzzing with excitement, their eyes gleaming as they frantically clicked their shutters.

Push notifications had already started popping up on phones.

The hashtag #EsportsProdigyRefusesToSeeDyingMother shot to the top of the trending list at breakneck speed.

At this, Gary immediately turned to one of the live streaming cameras and tearfully launched into a litany of accusations against me. He painted me as a cold, heartless monster who was willing to abandon my dying mother just for fame and fortune.

Uncle Dwayne was fanning the flames, saying they were going to publicly disown me, remove me from the family tree, and make it so I couldn't even be buried in the family plot.

I watched the escalating spectacle before me and felt nothing but exhaustion.

"Do you really have to cause a scene here?" I asked wearily.

Uncle Dwayne's face was flushed with rage, spittle flying as he ranted, "What do you mean by that? It's you who's making a disgrace of yourself here, you ungrateful brat.

"All you have to do is go back and see your mother, and we'll leave immediately. She's lying in the hospital bed waiting for you.

"You might as well forget about your stupid esports tournament. Someone who won't even see his own mother one last time has no right to win any championship."

I took a deep breath and pulled out a spare phone from my pocket.

"Fine. Since you're dead set on blowing this matter up, I'll give you exactly what you're asking for," I said coldly.

I looked into the camera lens and at the millions of viewers watching on the other side.

"You all want to know why I refuse to go back even though my mother is dying? Fine. I'll tell you why right now."