"Zhao Dong put on a straight-up clinic on both ends of the floor. Dude dominated the Spurs' rookie sensation like it was nothing!"
That's how ESPN columnist Craig Sager kicked off his latest piece:
"In last night's showdown, Zhao Dong went nuclear. Meanwhile, the No. 1 pick looked like a deer in headlights. The contrast? Brutal.
This just proves that the Spurs' prized rookie still needs to log some serious hours in the gym. He's nowhere near Zhao Dong's level. And if San Antonio's banking on their twin-tower setup to bring home a title? Man, they might get past other teams, but the mountain that is New York? Nah, they ain't climbing that.
Also, way too many folks were sleeping on the Knicks this year. After last night, we all better wake up. These dudes are legit."
"That's the gap between a star… and a superstar who owns the league."
Another ESPN voice, Bill Simmons, added his two cents:
"Tim Duncan might be the best rookie since David Robinson. Maybe even the best No. 1 pick of the decade. But the gap between him and Zhao Dong? That's not just stats—it's presence. It's dominance. It's a whole different league."
That night, Zhao Dong's 56-piece was all over the headlines—the highest-scoring game of the season so far.
After that, the Knicks hit the road again. They took a surprising L to the Mavs, bounced back with a dub over the Hornets, and then hopped on a red-eye to Philly.
December 7: Knicks vs. Sixers—second night of a back-to-back.
Then two days later, it's the Bulls in Chicago. Tough stretch.
Even though the Sixers got two No. 1 picks—Allen Iverson and Derrick Coleman—they were nowhere near playoff shape. Sitting on a 4–11 record, they were just trying to stay afloat.
Iverson? Not quite as electric as last season. The deeper three-point line's been messing with his rhythm. He's chucking up 2.9 threes a game but only knocking down 0.9—that's 30% from deep. He's still putting up 22 a night though.
Zhao Dong remembered getting edged out by AI for Rookie of the Year last season. But now? He's miles ahead. And so are the Knicks.
Both teams play in the same division, so it's four matchups per year. That means no letting up. Dropping a game to the Mavs is one thing. But losing to the Sixers? Not happening.
Midday, system alert.
Superstar Sniper Challenge: Shut down Allen Iverson and humble that cocky attitude.
Objectives:
Clamp AI in the paint—hold his FG% under 30% inside.
Drop 30+.
Secure the win.
Reward: 5 Quality Points.
"Bruh, this system is petty as hell," Zhao Dong muttered. "Also, arrogant? You mean cocky, get it right."
He pulled up AI's advanced stats—35% FG in the paint, 59.5% at the rim.
"Under 30%, huh? That's rough. Dude's layup package is decent, but his pull-up game? Not touching mine."
"If he drives ten times, I can't let him score more than three times under the rim. Tough ask."
Still, with Oakley and Camby holding down the paint with him, Zhao Dong figured they could lock it down. Their interior D was elite.
"Yo, system, how come I haven't seen any new talent rewards this season? You falling off?"
System: "Your physical stats are near perfection. No further upgrades required."
"Nah, nah, nah. Don't do me like that. I'm trying to go full mutant like Shaq with handles. Bring those OP upgrades back!"
System: "Sorry. No non-human talents have ever existed in NBA history."
Damn. Shut down cold.
Game night. December 7.
Starting Lineups
Knicks: Camby, Zhao Dong, Oakley, Allan Houston, Charlie Ward
Sixers: Derrick Coleman, Scott Williams, Clarence Witherspoon, Jerry Stackhouse, Allen Iverson
NBC Broadcast
Matt Goukas: "This year the Sixers drafted Tim Thomas with the 7th pick. He's like a poor man's Robert Horry—big body, but stays out on the perimeter. The problem? Zero defense."
Marv Albert: "Yeah, and Philly's defense has been a mess. Still didn't draft for D. That's just bad roster building. Offense can't carry everything."
Goukas: "Tonight's spotlight—can Iverson carve up the Knicks' interior defense?"
Marv: "That's the matchup to watch."
Goukas: "Zhao Dong's back in the low post this season, and with Oakley and rookie Camby behind him? This might be the best interior wall in the league. Iverson's gonna feel every bump down there."
Zhao Dong led the Knicks down the tunnel… and right across came Iverson—decked out in icy gear, walking like he owned the place.
Last year, Zhao Dong actually wanted to get to know him—but after AI snubbed him twice, he didn't even bother glancing his way.
"Let's roll."
He waved to his squad, eyes never leaving the tunnel ahead.
"Dude's feelin' himself way too much," Stackhouse muttered.
"He's only got one chip and one FMVP. Acts like he's bigger than MJ."
He said it loud enough for everyone to hear. Straight provocation.
Stackhouse, once hyped as the "next Jordan," never respected MJ—said he wasn't scared of him. So seeing Zhao Dong eclipse expectations? He hated it.
Iverson didn't even react. He and Stackhouse had beef already. Both needed the rock. One ball. Two egos. One had to go.
Behind the scenes, AI had already told management—get Stackhouse out. The team promised to move him. And not long after, Philly sent him to Detroit for Theo Ratliff—a big-time defensive upgrade that paid off fast.
"You got somethin' to say?"
Oakley wasn't letting that slick talk slide. He turned and stepped to Stackhouse, eyes locked in.
Oakley was a known enforcer—dudes like Barkley and Rodman had caught slaps off the court from him. Stackhouse? Not built like that. He stepped back, feeling the heat.
He just realized… the guy he was trash-talking was Zhao Dong, the same man who wrecked Karl Malone and went toe-to-toe with Tyson.
That chill in his spine? Very real.
"Come on, Charles, don't trip."
Zhao Dong cut in, and mid-sentence, flipped the script with a smirk, "But hey, if you gotta slap someone, don't just go for one side—make it even, man. Gotta keep the balance."
"Yo, he's a damn savage!"
The whole bench of the Philadelphia Team froze.
"Pfft!"
The Knicks burst out laughing.
"…"
Stackhouse's face twisted instantly.
At first, he thought Zhao Dong was backing him up—then boom, blindsided by that burn. Getting slapped once was rough, but twice? Damn.
Oakley, though, knew it was just a joke. He wasn't really gonna throw hands over something that petty. He just wanted to scare the rookie a little.
Zhao Dong stepped up, pointed his big thumb right in Stackhouse's face, and barked, "Listen up, rookie. I'm about to teach you the rules of this league.
"If you got real game, you can go toe-to-toe with anybody—even Jordan. I did that. But if you run your mouth with no game? You're just askin' to get embarrassed. Just like you are right now."
"Pop! Pop!"
He gave Stackhouse two light slaps on the cheek, then looked him dead in the eyes.
"Understand the damn rules yet? I'm a straight-up superstar in this league. MJ can't even hold me back. Who the hell do you think you are to call me out in front of everybody?"
Stackhouse's face was redder than a stop sign, but Zhao Dong's intense stare made him drop his head like a scolded kid.
And no one—not a single dude—on the Philadelphia Team stepped in to back Stackhouse up. Why? Because nobody on that squad had more clout than Zhao Dong. Not even Iverson or Derrick Coleman, the top picks.
It's like that one time Jordan chased Reggie Miller across the court and the refs didn't even blink. That's how the league rolls—superstars got perks. The strong eat.
Iverson looked like he wanted to say something, but he held back. Him and Zhao Dong were never cool, and Zhao had a shorter fuse than TNT. Not to mention, his star was rising faster than AI's. So yeah, Iverson shut his mouth.
No clout? No voice. That's NBA law, and Iverson knew it. Zhao Dong wouldn't think twice about punking him too.
"Visiting team, let's go!"
The arena host called out the players. Zhao Dong barked at his squad and led the way out of the tunnel.
Stackhouse waited a moment, then slowly lifted his head, eyes icy as hell.
Right then, he stopped seeing them as teammates.
He'd rather ride with a savage like Zhao Dong than roll with these fake-ass teammates.
---
Twenty minutes later, tip-off.
Camby got up and snatched the jump. Knicks' ball.
"Bang!"
First play, Zhao Dong slashed inside like a bullet, caught the rock, and exploded to the rack. Coleman tried to rotate over, but got dunked on so hard he stumbled backward pale as a ghost.
"Yo, do me a favor and get the hell outta the way. You ain't stopping me anyway."
Zhao Dong's trash talk hit just as hard as the dunk.
He looked down on Coleman. Dude might've been a top scorer, but he wasn't even good enough for a task from the system. Zhao Dong didn't even see him.
Sure, Coleman once posterized The Big Aristotle, but now? He had to eat that posterization himself—and say nothing.
---
76ers Team's possession.
Iverson brought it up the right side, danced past the three-point line, then snapped into gear. Crossover—shook Charlie Ward clean and sliced into the wing.
Oakley rotated to help, but AI crossed again and broke into the paint.
Camby was waiting. Zhao Dong, shorter but faster, chilled under the basket.
Iverson twisted a third time, getting past Camby with a nasty shake.
But by then, he'd burned a lot of gas—his speed was down, his first step gone.
"Bang!"
As AI slipped past Camby, Zhao Dong popped out from behind like a ninja and stripped him cold.
"Wait, what?!"
Iverson froze. Camby had completely blocked his view—he never saw Zhao Dong.
"Oh no! Allen just got picked clean!" Marv Albert shouted.
"Good D! Zhao Dong comes through with the steal—hits Ward! Ward's on the break…" Matt Goukas called out.
Knicks on the run. Iverson had no shot to get back, and Stackhouse? Man didn't even try.
Ward dropped in an easy layup.
Matt Goukas chimed in: "That was textbook defense by the Knicks. Three layers deep. Iverson got past two defenders, but burned out his gas, and Zhao Dong lurked behind Camby like a ghost. No vision on him—clean steal."
---
76ers Team back on offense.
Stackhouse drifted around the court like he was sleepwalking. Didn't move, didn't call for the ball. Just existed.
Iverson didn't mind. He just dribbled for a few seconds, then launched a deep three.
"Clank!"
Brick city. Ball bounced off the rim and right into Zhao Dong's hands.
Knicks ran it again. Iverson scrambled back on D, but Ward kicked it out.
Zhao Dong came storming down the middle like a freight train, caught the pass, and took flight.
"BOOM!"
The rim howled.
"Zhao Dong is a damn missile. The 76ers Team's bigs had no shot to keep up. That fast break was nasty," Marv yelled, voice electric.
---
76ers Team reset.
Iverson had to respond.
Right wing again—burned Ward with that killer first step.
Oakley stepped up—AI pulled a slick hesitation move and darted to the left wing.
Once there, he spun around, switched up, and dropped Camby with a sick change of direction. Clean path to the rim.
This time, he kept his speed. The Knicks' D couldn't catch him.
Only one dude left under the basket—Zhao Dong.
Iverson locked eyes on him, blood pumping. This was the moment.
He won Rookie of the Year, but people still doubted him. Said it should've been Kobe or Marbury. Said Zhao Dong was the real breakout star.
He had to shut that noise up. Right here, right now.
He'd worked all summer. For the first time in his life, he grinded extra. No college coach had ever gotten him to do that.
And the only reward he cared about?
Putting numbers on Zhao Dong's head.
"Screech—!"
Sneakers tore across the hardwood. Zhao Dong launched himself toward AI like a damn beast.
Iverson's instincts kicked in—he stopped on a dime, mid-paint.
He knew if he stopped too long, he was toast. Camby was right behind him. Double-team incoming.
So he reacted—fast. Pull-up jumper off the hesitation.
"Wait, what?!"
Too late.
Zhao Dong, already in flight, rose like he had springs in his sneakers. Arms stretched, body extended—
Dude was in the sky.
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong came outta nowhere and sent that shot packin' with one hand—nasty block!
"Damn, we gave him too much space."
Getting blocked like that? Straight-up disrespectful. Iverson's eyes lit up red—dude was heated.
"Beautiful play!"
Zhang Heli's voice cracked with excitement.
The Knicks flipped that defense into a fast break, and with the 76ers Team's D all over the place, they couldn't stop a thing. Allan Houston cruised in and dropped a layup.
8–0. Knicks takin' the early lead on the road. 76ers Team didn't even get a decent possession before callin' timeout right after inbounding the ball.
"The Knicks are lookin' clean on both ends," Zhang Heli commented. "There's a clear gap in talent tonight."
"Zhao Dong with the block and the steal? That man's out here dominating defensively," Sun Zhenping added with a grin.
"Hope Hu Weidong gets some early minutes. He's locked in a solid role off the Knicks' bench now—18 to 20 minutes a night, easy buckets," Zhang Heli noted.
"I heard Dazhi might be headin' stateside too," said Sun Zhenping. "And Zhao Dong brought Yao Ming over from the Shanghai Sharks youth squad. Once those guys grow into their game, the national team's future is lookin' real nice."
"Yup, that's big-time. But a lotta stuff still needs to be sorted—my status is a lil' touchy," Zhang Heli chuckled.
Timeout's over. Back to the game.
76ers Team back on offense.
Iverson tried to crash the paint twice, but nothing fell. This time, he sliced through Ward and pulled up for a mid-range jumper.
He'd been grindin' on that jumper in the offseason—especially those quick pull-ups that matched his speed and handles. The work paid off—dude was way sharper than last year.
Knicks with the rock now.
Ward sprinted up, slowed at the arc, then spotted Zhao Dong cutting in from the left. Quick dish to the rim—
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong caught the lob with one hand and threw it down hard! Alley-oop savage.
"Damn, that was sick!" Sun Zhenping said, hyped.
"Clean pass, too!"
Zhang Heli grinned. "Ward doesn't usually dish like that. But really, the 76ers Team's defense is straight-up tissue paper—poke it and it tears."
Next up, 76ers Team tried again. Iverson went for a quick jumper over Oakley—missed. Camby grabbed the board, and boom—Knicks off to the races.
"This team's not makin' the playoffs without defense," Zhang Heli said, shaking his head. "No boards, no second chances. AI needs to mix in more dishes with his drives. Chukin' up jumpers ain't beatin' the Knicks. They'll just crash the glass and run it right back down your throat."
76ers Team kept pushing.
This time, AI kicked it to Coleman after drawing a double in the paint.
Coleman posted up on the left block. He saw Zhao Dong rotating back under the rim—and couldn't forget gettin' posterized earlier. Dude came in hot, tryin' to dunk it right back.
"You tryin' to dunk on me?"
Zhao Dong locked eyes with him, let out a little smirk, then sprang up.
"Bang!"
Full-on volleyball spike! The ball popped sky-high and outta bounds. Coleman hit the deck hard.
"Another block! A monster block!"
Zhang Heli was practically yelling. "Zhao Dong's defense is just straight-up elite tonight!"
Zhao Dong pointed at the paint under his feet and barked at the fallen Coleman: "This right here? This is a no-fly zone. You fly again, I'll shoot you down mid-air."
Oakley came up right behind him, growling: "Next time you try that weak dunk on Zhao Dong, I'll yank you out the sky myself."
Two goons on the block? Coleman backed off—tight-lipped and salty.
"Shhh!"
Philly fans weren't havin' it. The boo birds came out, screaming and hurlin' abuse as Zhao Dong and Oakley stared down Coleman.
"Looks like some words were exchanged. Maybe a little trash talk goin' on after that near dunk," Zhang Heli explained.
"Trash talk is part of the NBA culture," Sun Zhenping chimed in.
"Yeah, it's rough out here. Zhao Dong's grindin' to survive in this league. He just got challenged, got trash-talked, and still sent that man packin'. Respect!" Zhang Heli said.
Man, if Coleman heard that commentary, he might've thrown his jersey off and left the building.
Next possession—Iverson drove and drew a foul from Oakley.
No free throws though—team hadn't reached the limit.
They reset. Iverson signaled for an iso.
Still not ready to give up, AI wanted that highlight. He danced past his defender, lost a bit of juice, but managed to break into the paint from the right.
Zhao Dong rotated fast—waiting at the rim again.
Iverson went up, both hands on the rock, looking for the jam.
Zhao Dong elevated, hand up, ready to swat.
Mid-air, Iverson twisted—spun 180, floated to the left of the rim, and flipped the ball up with his right.
But there he was again—Zhao Dong was still there.
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong extended with his right, full stretch, and got another clean block.
"Nope! That's not workin'. I ain't tall enough and his blocks are just too nasty!" Iverson groaned in his head. "Shouldn't have tried him again—walked right into the trap."
"BEAUTIFUL! Just unreal!"
Zhang Heli was losing his mind. "Zhao Dong's hangtime is next level! Core strength's gotta be off the charts!"
Zhao Dong grabbed the ball straight outta the air—palmed it and held it up like a trophy. Iverson backed off, no choice.
"Whoosh!"
Zhao Dong zipped a full-court laser to Allan Houston, already sprinting ahead. Stackhouse was nowhere to be found—Houston laid it in easy.
Timeout, 76ers Team. Larry Brown's voice echoed from the bench:
"Jerry, you still wanna play or what?! If not, sit your ass down!"
No cap—he yanked Stackhouse right then and didn't let him back in.
With Stackhouse benched, Iverson was left solo. No help, no rhythm. Knicks cruised the rest of the way.
Final score: 98–68. Knicks with the blowout road W.
Iverson only played three quarters—sat during garbage time.
In 33 minutes, AI dropped 21 points on 7-for-16 shooting, went 1-for-3 from deep, hit 6-of-8 at the line. He added 3 boards, 7 dimes, but had 6 turnovers and 3 fouls.
But the numbers told the story—he struggled inside, going just 2-of-7 in the paint. Under 30%.
Still, his jumper was clearly improved from last season.
He knocked down 5 of 9 from the outside—over 50%. That offseason grind was real.
He'd been studying Zhao Dong's quick stop jumper—figured it could help him create more space and get buckets over defenders.
As for Zhao Dong?
Dude went off.
In just 33 minutes:
13-for-17 from the field (76%),
6-of-7 from the line,
32 points,
12 rebounds,
6 assists,
3 steals,
7 blocks,
only 1 turnover,
4 fouls.
Unreal numbers.
All three of Zhao Dong's steals? Straight off Iverson. Three of his eight blocks? Same dude. The other four? He pinned Coleman.
Mission accomplished. System popped up—five quality points in the bag.
But Zhao Dong knew it wasn't just him. That W was the result of a full squad lockdown. Every time AI tried to blow by, he hit a wall of defenders, layer after layer, draining his speed and stamina. By the time he made it to the paint, he didn't have that trademark burst left in him. And without that insane first step, it was light work for Zhao to clamp him.
Still, he had to admit—Iverson's jumper was falling tonight. Dude shot over 50%. That's cleaner than his prime numbers. But one hot night doesn't mean anything. AI's jumper never was automatic. That man never put in enough reps outside the arc.
Zhao Dong strolled back to the bench, cracked open a water bottle, and pulled up the system.
Five quality points—he dropped four of them to boost his Flexibility and Balance from 88 to 90. Kept one on ice for now.
He figured he'd need about 20 more quality points to max those attributes. But regular season rewards were drying up, and he wasn't sure if there were enough left on the board before playoffs.
He gave a quick postgame interview before heading to the locker room to prep for the official press conference.
Meanwhile, across the court in Philly's locker room, it was a mess. Reporters had started to trickle in for postgame quotes from guys not scheduled for the podium.
Iverson and Coleman were off-limits, but the media found someone else to poke—Jerry Stackhouse. Dude was sitting there, stone-faced.
"Jerry, you barely played and didn't record a single stat. What's up with that?" a reporter asked.
Stackhouse snapped. "Because I don't belong here. I'm just some outsider. Nobody on this damn team has my back. I get disrespected, bullied—and not one of 'em said a word."
Then dude straight up lost it. Full-on locker room meltdown. Face twisted with rage, voice cracking from how hard he was yelling.
"Jerry, cool it!" Coach Larry Brown barked.
"NO!"
Stackhouse turned his fury on the coach. "I know you wanna trade me—do it! I don't wanna be here. I'd rather come off the bench anywhere else than rot in this locker room. This whole place is toxic!"
Reporters froze—then scrambled to record everything.
"What the hell just happened?"
"Internal beef?"
"We gotta get the whole story!"
Larry Brown tried shutting it down. "Alright, interviews are done. Everybody out."
But it was too late. Stackhouse had grabbed his bag and stormed out.
"Jerry! Stack! Hold up!" Larry shouted after him. No answer.
The media swarmed, trailing Stackhouse out to the underground parking lot, phones out, mics on.
They didn't even have to dig—Stackhouse laid it all out.
"Was it Zhao Dong and Oakley that started this?" a reporter asked.
"Yeah, they humiliated me," Stackhouse said coldly. "I hate them. But I also started it—I won't lie. What really pisses me off is the rest of the team. No one stood up for me. Not one dude. That's worse."
"So you really wanna bounce?"
"I'd rather retire than stay here. I'm done."
"What about Iverson? This is supposed to be his squad."
"He ain't no leader."
"So... is Iverson the one you really can't stand?"
Stackhouse just scoffed and walked off.
Next thing you know, it's all over the media—Philly's locker room exploded.
Meanwhile, the Knicks were boarding the team bus after their press conference when team insider Thomas got the news.
"Yo! Stackhouse went nuclear! Locker room fight!" he shouted.
"What? What happened?" someone asked.
"Don't know all the details yet, but Stackhouse demanded a trade—on the record."
Zhao Dong didn't even flinch. He didn't care. Philly was garbage. Their drama didn't affect the Knicks.
But Coach Don Nelson? He smelled opportunity. He dialed up General Manager Ernie Grunfeld in New York.
"Ernie, let's try and get Stackhouse. He's a swingman. We bring him in, and our bench gets scary deep."
"From Philly? You serious?" Ernie asked, confused.
Nelson filled him in on the chaos.
Ernie lit up. "Bet. I'll hit them up right now."
By the time the team pulled up to the hotel, Grunfeld called back.
"Coach, they want a big in return. Specifically, they're asking for Oakley."
Nelson shut that down fast. "Hell no. Once Zhao shifts back outside, we'll need Oakley banging in the paint. He stays."
Ten minutes later, another call.
"They're countering with Danny Fortson and Buck Williams. That's their final ask."
Nelson paused. Buck he could part with—Philly probably wanted his vet leadership to calm the locker room.
Buck had always been low-profile in New York. With Ewing and Oakley ahead of him, he didn't get the spotlight. But Buck was legit—third pick in '81, former All-Star, recently headed the Players Association. Big locker room presence.
But Danny Fortson? Nelson hesitated. Kid was a foul machine, yeah, but he hustled for boards like a wild animal.
Media already loved him. They called him a beast. Said he played like a hungry wolf, crashing the boards and throwing his body into every scrum.
"Nah," Nelson finally said. "That'd mess up our rotation. Deal's off."
Next day, Knicks flew out to Chicago, and the headlines exploded.
"76ers Team Implodes!"
"Stackhouse Calls Out Teammates, Demands Trade!"
"Zhao Dong, Oakley Behind Locker Room Tension?"
But nobody really cared. This was the NBA, mid-90s. Drama like this? Pretty normal.
Compared to the NFL? Man, NBA beef looked like kindergarten.
Last year alone, the NFL had 89 off-field incidents—16 were major. 131 people ended up in the hospital. 18 with serious injuries. 5 disabled. 1 died.
But even then, this ain't nothing compared to the carnage you see on an NFL field.
All that chaos in the NFL, dudes getting rocked and wrecked every game, it got lawmakers up in arms. For the past couple years, they been talking about tweaking rules just to tone down all the wreckage and brutality.
Now, compared to that madness, the NBA's violence? Man, it's like a soft breeze and a light drizzle. Barely scratches the surface.
Last night's scuffle? Nobody even lost a damn hair. Just some heated words and ego flexin'. Ain't worth crying about.
Once the Knicks touched down in Chicago, it was on. The hate was real. Die-hard Bulls fans were barking the moment they landed. Even at the damn hotel, the noise wouldn't stop.
Zhao Dong threw his bag down in the room, flopped onto the bed, and pulled up the system interface.
Team Sniper Mission: Lead the squad to win.
Mission Checklist:
Drop 20+ points
Snag double-digit boards
Rack up 10+ assists
Get 10+ blocks
Nab 10+ steals
Mission Rewards:
Hit 3 of the 5 goals: +5 Quality Points
Hit 4 goals: +5 Quality Points +5 Skill Points
Hit all 5? Break the ceiling — get 2 Limit-Break Quality Points
Zhao Dong wiped his face. "Man, five damn double-doubles? That's some 2K Hall of Fame difficulty s**t. Ain't no way."
"Yo, system! No new Jordan missions? What about Ewing? Ain't got one from him yet either?" he asked, frustrated.
System still played dumb. No answers. So he started plotting which goals he could realistically knock out.
Scoring and boards? That's a lock. Ewing's washed, no way he's stopping anything.
Assists? Kinda shaky. Depends if the homies got the hot hand. If they brickin', he might get nada.
Blocks, though? That's the real beast.
He noticed the Bulls barely used Ewing lately. Less than 20 minutes a night, minimal touches. They were clearly saving him for the playoffs.
Only move now? Bait Ewing into chucking shots so Zhao could time some chase-down blocks. Otherwise, forget about chasing a quadruple-double.
"Yo Dong, let's roll. Press conference started," Oakley called from across the suite.
Ten minutes later, the Knicks held their presser in the hotel.
"Zhao Dong, got anything to say about this stacked Bulls squad?" asked a local Chicago reporter.
"What, you want me to say MJ and them forming a superteam?" Zhao grinned.
"Not what I meant. Ewing's old now. You guys dumped him. He's not the main guy. And Kidd… he ain't even a superstar," the dude said, scrambling.
"Kidd not a superstar?" Zhao raised an eyebrow and let out a cold laugh. "Bruh, he started in the All-Star Game in '96. You seriously calling that man anything less than elite? You traded for Pippen — and if he wasn't a superstar, y'all's front office must be off their damn meds."
The reporter instantly shut down, red-faced.
"But you did get one thing right," Zhao said, calm but cold. "Ewing ain't it no more. That trade? Total L."
No one in the press dared to clap back. Doing so would mean calling Ewing the Bulls' core… which would make the Bulls a Big Three. That'd hand Jordan the 'team-up' label — and Bulls fans weren't tryna hear that.
Besides, Ewing's numbers told the whole story. Averaging 19 minutes, 11 points, 4 boards, missed 5 games. Old man status confirmed.
"Zhao Dong, you disrespectin' Ewing like that? He's still one of the top four bigs in the league. Ain't that reckless?" a reporter from LA asked.
Zhao cracked up. "Disrespect? Nah. Just facts. I face him tomorrow. First time ever, even in scrims. Let's bet. I say he takes less than 8 shots, scores under 11, and barely plays 20 minutes."
"What's the bet?"
"Ten bucks," Zhao smirked.
"That's it? Cheap shot!"
Zhao grinned wide. "You got more cash than me? Please. I'm tryna save you from going broke."
Reporter chuckled. Everyone knew Zhao was CEO of Zhao Dong Sporting Goods. Dude's pockets were loaded. Betting cash with him was a suicide mission.
"But Zhao Dong," another reporter pushed, "isn't this kinda shady? Ewing was your teammate."
"Shady?" Zhao shot back cold. "That man said the trade was on me. Called me out. That's slander. You slander me, you don't get my respect. Period."
"Do you think the trade was the right move?"
"I ain't the GM. I don't make trades. I told y'all before, I'm not Jordan."
That last jab made the room go dead quiet.
Zhao went on, "Record speaks. We 14-5. Top of the East. Second-best record in the league. Better than the Bulls. New coach, new system — we still cookin'. So yeah, we doing just fine."
That hit hard. Some reporters looked ready to throw hands.
Then Zhao hit 'em with the finisher: "Bulls wanna win the chip? Jordan tryna revive the dynasty? Man, he's dreamin'. I told him already — this ain't his era anymore. It's my time."
"Zhao Dong, that's straight-up arrogant!" a local snapped.
"Dynasties fall, eras end. That's how time works. Jordan ain't above history. Just watch. Y'all'll see."
With that, Zhao stood up and bounced.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Do you want to read Advanced Chapters?
Visit this link:
Påtreon.com/Fanficlord03
Change (å) to (a)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Check my Discord!
https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9