Grumpy Esports God Becomes a Wealthy Family’s Stepmom - Chapter 2

His voice wasn’t loud, but that one line hit like a stick of dynamite.

Only then did Huo Yu realize his stepmother had silently been standing behind him, watching him for who knows how long. All the in-game flame wars couldn’t compare to this one real-life burn. Just one line from his stepmother hit harder than a hundred insults online. Furious, he jumped up, knocking over the keyboard and mouse with a crash.

He glared at Zhong Lu in rage. “Say that again!”

This fake, pretentious, manipulative stepmom—what did he know about esports? Forcing him to study was bad enough, but now he dared to criticize his professional turf?

Standing up, he was taller than Zhong Lu and he shouted so loudly that his already groggy head buzzed.

As he wished, Zhong Lu repeated calmly, “I haven’t seen such noob gameplay in a while. It’s making me hungry.”

The words were light, but paired with genuine hunger—they left Huo Yu completely stunned. He stood frozen, fumbling for a comeback, but couldn’t say a word. In the end, he kicked over his chair in frustration.

That didn’t sound like something his stepmother would say. He had expected some condescending lecture like, “See? Games can’t give you joy or fulfillment but studying can.”

If that had been the case, he could’ve clapped back with, “Did reading books fry your brain?”

However, what Zhong Lu had said… was just cold and hard truth. Huo Yu had no comeback.

Zhong Lu glanced around and finally spotted the kitchen with his 5.2 vision. He walked in, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of milk.

As she sipped the milk, she scanned the kitchen. The spice bottles were neatly arranged, and there were several different pots—clearly, this kitchen was often used.

When neither of them spoke, the house felt oppressively quiet. Zhong Lu found it strange. Shouldn’t a wealthy household like this have a housekeeper or a cook?

Earlier, he’d seen two empty bread wrappers on Huo Yu’s desk. That was probably breakfast.

While he was thinking, Huo Yu leaned on the kitchen doorframe, sulking. “Where’s the food?”

Zhong Lu snapped out of it. Right, this stepmom character was supposed to be good at cooking, preparing nutritious meals daily without complaint.

He played it cool, deciding not to blow his cover. “Skipping one meal won’t kill you.”

Huo Yu grumbled, “I’m still growing!”

Zhong Lu said, “You’re still growing? How old are you?”

Huo Yu deliberately emphasized, “Thirteen. A full twelve years younger than you.”

Zhong Lu turned to look him up and down again. Thirteen? Over 1.8 meters tall? What, did he grow up eating pig feed?

Damn. So what if he’s thirteen?

The nineteen-year-old esports god, reminded of his age, suddenly felt incredibly irritated.

The original body was already twenty-four, past the golden age for esports. But hey, getting a second life was already a win. This body was even healthier than his last one.

Zhong Lu had suffered from malnutrition growing up. Even after making money in esports and being pampered by the team’s nutritionist, the damage was done.

Zhong Lu said, “Just order delivery. Get me something too.”

Huo Yu said, “I want curry rice, not takeout. If you don’t cook, I’m telling my dad.”

Zhong Lu replied indifferently, “Aren’t you a bit old to be tattling?”

Huo Yu was so mad he felt full from the rage. His stepmother today was absolutely unreasonable.

He was the one who had kicked out the housekeeper and maid, saying he would cook for himself!

Hypocrite! He only cooked for two days and gave up!

Typical stepmother behavior!

Huo Yu punched the wall hard. If his dad hadn’t insisted they get along, he would’ve already started throwing hands.

He wasn’t afraid of anyone—except Huo Zhehan.

His stepmother was legally his dad’s spouse. Huo Yu still remembered how, half a month ago, his father brought home a pretty boy and announced.

“I’m giving him the right to discipline you.”

“Huo Yu, respect your elders.”

Huo Zhehan had hired countless tutors, and Huo Yu ignored them all, since he felt anyone paid to be there had no right to control him.

But a stepmom was different. Huo Zhehan had declared him family. And “family” held real weight for Huo Yu. His father had hit a nerve. Huo Yu was terrified of losing any family member. Well—except the stepmother.

So, he tried not to start conflicts with him. His nagging went in one ear and out the other. He played his games. Zhong Lu didn’t dare cut the power anyway.

At most, Zhong Lu would say things like, “If you keep gaming, I’m telling your dad,” or, “Your dad would be disappointed if he saw this.”

All this “your dad this, your dad that” talk gave Huo Yu a rebellious urge to go against Huo Zhehan.

But he didn’t dare.

Huo Zhehan would actually hit him.

He was already being super patient!

There was one slice of bread left in the fridge.

Huo Yu and Zhong Lu locked eyes with the bread, then glanced at each other. In the blink of an eye, Zhong Lu, with the reflexes of an esports champion, grabbed the bread.

Huo Yu: “…”

Zhong Lu tore it open and even shared a piece with his stepson.

He realized this body’s reflexes weren’t bad. And he hadn’t even eaten yet, he would probably be even sharper on a full stomach.

Who said esports talent depended only on youth?

There were two types of esports players in this world: Zhong Lu, and everyone else.

—

Late night, somewhere in North America.

Huo Zhehan had just signed a stack of documents and rubbed his wrist.

The Huo Group had built its fortune on the medical industry. This trip to North America was to strengthen collaborations in medical R&D.

Closing the folder, he massaged his brow and asked, “How are things at home?”

With his chiseled features and cool complexion, he carried an imposing air even without speaking. His dark lashes and cold expression gave him a naturally intimidating presence—like the King of Hell himself when looking down on others.

In the business world, Huo Zhehan was ruthless. Yet at the mention of family, a hint of exasperation appeared on his otherwise icy face.

His assistant opened an email. “Three days ago, Mr. Zhong emailed to say he was adapting to the child’s needs and promoting a warm family model. You approved it.”

“No major reaction from the young master yet. Seems worth a try. But… no signs of change so far. Earlier this month, he spent 33 million bidding on a game account.”

Huo Zhehan didn’t even blink.

Spending tens of millions on something he liked wasn’t the issue. He just wanted Huo Yu to The secretary added, “It was the former world champion’s account. ‘Abandon.’”

Huo Zhehan doubted his ears. “Abandon?”

As in “give up”? A loser’s name. Anyone who played that account was probably a total waste.

The secretary wiped his brow. “Yes.”

Huo Zhehan asked, “Did Zhong Lu suggest cutting his allowance in the email?”

The secretary nodded. “Yes. Mr. Zhong believes giving Huo Yu too much spending money lets him chase thrills and vanity through games, making it harder to break his internet addiction. Cutting his allowance and making him do chores would force him to focus on basic survival.”

Huo Zhehan: “Approved.”

—

Zhong Lu finally found the original owner’s phone under the sink. He took a bite of bread and typed “WN” into the search bar.

Before the results loaded, he closed his eyes, then opened them again.

The top headline read: “WN Auctions Off Abandon Account for 33 Million to Wealthy Fan.”

The auction had ended less than two weeks ago, and any related news was still filled with fans cursing the club.

Last year, everyone thought WN was on the rise and would win back-to-back championships. But then Zhong Lu suddenly died at the training base. Theories ran wild until the police had to officially rule it an accident.

Once the statement came out, public opinion turned. WN was accused of exploiting players with grueling training schedules. Zhong Lu had previously said he pushed himself voluntarily but no one cared. Criticism piled on. Rival companies fanned the flames.

WN had surged to fame two seasons ago—winning fall, qualifying in spring, and taking the summer world championship. Their rise was too fast for the club to keep up with.

Under fire, they fired the coach to appease the public, shortened training hours, and looked for new starters.

The new players didn’t mesh well. With the loss of their coach and captain, morale and performance tanked. In their first post-scandal match, they were swept 0–3.

During the interview, the four players were completely silent.

WN became a laughingstock. Their commercial value tanked. Players Zhuo Yin, Zong Zhenghui, and Xiao Xi were mocked: “Without Abandon, you’re just bugs.”

Zhong Lu’s death shouldn’t have affected this season—but suddenly, the finals videos were flooded with nostalgic tributes to his “God Abandon” days. In a way, his death immortalized him.

Too bad the club owner was desperate for cash. Pretending to restructure, they auctioned off Zhong Lu’s account during closed training. If WN hadn’t declined, it could’ve sold for even more.

The auction had only a two-day preview and hit peak attention on the third day. The club demanded immediate payment, and Huo Yu—loaded with cash—snapped it up.

The media rushed to guess who Huo Yu was and what he would do with the account, only to watch him get destroyed by randoms in low-rank games.

People remembered Zhong Lu’s dominance. Compared to this, it was heartbreaking.

Streamers started sniping the account in droves, mocking, “What, Abandon forgot to cheat today?” “First kill of the stream—Abandon.”

At first, they hesitated—he was a rich guy, after all. Money and power went hand-in-hand. But seeing Huo Yu not fight back, and the sweet traffic boost, the mockery escalated.

Zhong Lu had many fans and haters. Now, those haters feasted on his corpse.

In just two weeks, “Abandon” became a joke. And there was no one left to defend Zhong Lu’s name.

Once the WN players were released from lockdown, the club, now hungry for profit, auctioned off more accounts, even while players were still active. Time was tight, there’s no chance to find replacements.

Seeing what happened to Abandon, players like Zhuo Yin scrambled to buy back their own accounts. The club and onlookers jacked up the prices. A bloodbath.

Normally, none of them would spend a cent—but the Abandon incident shook them. The club raked in profits, creating a whole new business model.

Zhong Lu glanced at his teammates’ current status. WN was out of Worlds early. During the most important phase of the season… What were those three even doing?

He opened WN’s first elimination match. Watched the opening then closed it.

If he were still at the base, he would have smacked each of them.

But now? Any one of them could stomp him.

Until he returned to the top,  there was no point contacting anyone. Even if he did, they wouldn’t recognize him. He was just… a stranger.

His eyes felt dry. Before closing his phone, Zhong Lu found himself searching for Huo Zhehan.

The original body’s memories were sparse. Few contacts, mostly filled with detailed plans for raising the stepson. He closed it after a glance.

He typed in the name. No photo. But the search results instantly showed several public company connections.

Zhong Lu’s brows furrowed. The Huo Group’s main business… was medical research.

Zhong Lu might be arrogant, but only when he had the skills to back it up. He’d gotten plenty of fines from the league, alienated fans and haters alike, but when it came to being utterly alone, he knew how to be cautious.

Transmigration and rebirth were absurd concepts. If a normal person changed overnight, few would notice. But this body belonged to a rich man’s wife. And Huo Zhehan wasn’t just anyone—he was experienced. He might see through him.

And with Huo Group involved in so many medical projects—what if they were doing insane human experiments?

Capitalists had no morals. Rebirth would be too tempting a hook. The ultra-rich were always chasing immortality. Zhong Lu wasn’t stupid enough to offer himself up as proof.

Before the divorce, he’d better keep up appearances.

If the original owner had dedicated his life to education and wished for Huo Yu’s success, Zhong Lu would carry the torch and supervise him properly.

The next second, the door slammed open like an explosion.

Huo Yu kicked it in, yelling at the top of his lungs, “How dare you tell my dad to cut off my allowance, you evil stepmother! Fox spirit! Give me back my money!”

Zhong Lu: “…”

Fox spirit? Stepmom?

Damn.

“God Abandon” had always been known for his resting bitch face. Fans had begged him to get a boyfriend, hoping love would cure him.

He never imagined he’d be cursed out as a fox spirit one day.

Zhong Lu took a deep breath and opened the door. Huo Yu, mid-kick, stumbled and almost fell on his face.

Huo Yu perfectly embodied an internet-addicted teen denied in-game purchases—punching and kicking at air like a madman.

Zhong Lu said, “What does your dad cutting your allowance have to do with me?”

Huo Yu shouted, “You told him to! Don’t deny it! I’m telling grandma you’re abusing me!”

Zhong Lu: “So your dad listens to everything I say? Is he three years old? Maybe look at your own behavior?”

Huo Yu snapped, “I’ve been at home doing nothing!”

Zhong Lu said, “Maybe he found out you bought that game account.”

Huo Yu argued confidently, “So what if I did? I use it every day! My dad bought a yacht that’s never left the dock! Did I say anything to him?”

He glared at Zhong Lu. “He never cared how I spent money before. This is all your fault.”

Zhong Lu: “…”

So this is how rich people justify their spending? Got it.

Zhong Lu said sincerely, “Using Abandon’s account hasn’t improved your gameplay. You paid money to get bullied. Your dad probably couldn’t bear to watch. Why not try something else, like homework?”

At the mention of homework, Huo Yu wouldn’t even look at him. “None of your damn business. You cut off my allowance—we’re mortal enemies!”

Zhong Lu: “…”

Get out of my face.

Zhong Lu went upstairs to the study. It had a top-tier desktop PC. He wanted to test his reflexes and see if he still had the potential.

He had also spotted a piano and some extremely difficult sheet music, it was probably used by the original owner. That gave him hope for good finger flexibility.

He sat down confidently. Twenty seconds later, he stared at the Enter Password screen, dumbfounded. Tried the last six digits of the ID—nope.

The study computer was password protected. Were they guarding state secrets?

There was another desktop downstairs, but Huo Yu practically lived on it. No chance of using that one alone.

That evening, Zhong Lu ordered takeout and sat in the living room eating, scrolling on his phone and considering a part-time job.

He didn’t know where the original owner kept his money, but he had a habit of earning his own way. Begging wasn’t his style.

Judging by the empty balance and lack of romantic memories, the original marriage was probably cold. Cinderella marrying into wealth. In a way, that was a relief. There’s no emotional debt to repay. If they’d been madly in love, how was he supposed to replace a beloved spouse?

He wasn’t Zhong Lu. From the moment he woke up, he had wanted to draw a clear line between himself and the past.

He had five thousand yuan. Not nearly enough for pro gaming gear.

Time was money. At twenty-four, he couldn’t afford to train on junk like before. He needed the best setup—immediately—to train without distractions.

It felt like being broke all over again. Zhong Lu stared at WeChat for a minute, then opened his chat with Huo Zhehan.

Swallowing his pride, he scrapped the plan to cut ties right away.

Surely a stepmom asking the head of the household for living expenses wasn’t too much?

No no no… Zhong Lu’s ears turned red with embarrassment. Not asking. Borrowing. He’d pay it back. Double.

Plus, since Huo Zhehan had cut off Huo Yu’s allowance, he’d probably have to spend more on incentives.

Struggling to find the right words, Zhong Lu curled up on the couch with chin resting on his knees. He wrote and rewrote the message.

Might as well test the waters.

Five minutes later.

[Zhong Lu: You busy?]

Each second felt like a year. After a minute, he forced out another line:

[Zhong Lu: Got something to discuss.]

[Zhong Lu: About the house.]

Above the chat bubble, the words [Typing…] appeared.

Zhong Lu’s eyes widened. He held his breath, watching intently.

Unlike his own hesitance, the reply was swift and direct.

[Huo Zhehan: Email me.]

“…”

Zhong Lu tossed the phone.

What a fake-ass marriage.

Huo Yu was slumped on the sofa opposite, playing a mobile game. The sound effects were cranked up—screams and explosions nonstop. He was absolutely terrible.

Zhong Lu’s train of thought was broken. He couldn’t stand bad players. With a sigh, he said, “No one ever taught you to hide your incompetence?”

“What?”

“If you suck that bad, at least wear headphones.”

Huo Yu flushed. “You’ve never played—what do you know?! You think you’re better?! Bet you’d die faster!”

Zhong Lu smirked slightly.

Infuriated by the contempt, Huo Yu hurled his phone at him. “You do it!”

Zhong Lu replied, “Can’t. Watching you play is painful. Me playing costs money.”

Huo Yu completely lost it. He grabbed a cushion and hurled it, knocking over Zhong Lu’s entire bowl of fried noodles—all over the couch.

Face flushed with fury, Huo Yu shouted, “Play! You have to play!”

Zhong Lu looked at the ruined dinner, thought about his bank balance, and cracked his knuckles.

“Who am I playing? You?”

—

Back in North America, Huo Zhehan finished work and glanced at the time—then saw a pop-up.

Someone had just tried to access the study computer.

He dismissed the alert and opened the home’s remote camera feed.

Huo Yu had been raised by his grandmother. As the eldest grandson, he was spoiled. Huo Zhehan couldn’t stand it anymore and dragged him home for the summer to straighten him out.

But work kept him too busy. Huo Yu refused to listen to anyone. So, Huo Zhehan found him a “stepmother.” He’d gone through many candidates and, considering Huo Yu’s 1.8-meter frame and budding strength, chose an educator and paid for a marriage contract.

Since Huo Yu was only thirteen and underage, he couldn’t be left alone with the educator. Cameras had been installed around the house. Both sides were aware.

At this hour, surely they’d be doing homework?

Huo Zhehan clicked the monitor.

One second later, he was assaulted by the image of a war zone. His eyes burned.

He calmly exited the feed.

Three seconds later, he clicked back in.

No miracle had occurred.

His son was jumping around. The educator was trash-talking nonstop. The living room was covered in noodles and pillow stuffing.

Huo Zhehan: “…”

Warm family atmosphere?