Witson was quickly strapped to a stretcher and rushed off the field, headed straight for the hospital.
Play resumed with just 1.2 seconds left. The Jets lined up for the extra point. The offense jogged off, the special teams unit ran on.
Crowd (chanting): "Tyrannosaurus! Tyrannosaurus! Tyrannosaurus!"
As Zhao Dong walked toward the sideline with the rest of the offense, he glanced around helplessly.
"Wait… did my nickname just change?"
Thor McGill, still amped from the touchdown, grinned.
"Zhao Dong, maybe 'Tyrannosaurus Rex' fits you better now."
The huddle of players around them broke into laughter.
"Good job, man!"
"Hans, put this one through."
"Don't worry, I've got it."
The special teams unit passed the offense, exchanging quick fist bumps. Hans Clingham, the Jets' veteran kicker, set up 15 yards from the uprights. He took two steps back, exhaled, and tried to shake off the nerves.
If he made it, the Jets would win. Miss it, and they'd head to overtime.
The whistle blew. Two steps forward—thump!—Clingham's foot struck the ball cleanly.
The football arced high into the night sky and sailed right between the uprights.
Crowd: "YEAH!"
The stadium erupted. Cheers roared upward, spilling into the New York night. Zhao Dong and the rest of the bench cleared, meeting the special teams on the field in a wave of celebration.
It was his first regular-season NFL game—and his first win.
---
By the time the postgame celebrations wrapped up, the clock was nearing midnight. NFL games run long—over three hours—and star players are often held for postgame press conferences. By the time Zhao Dong finally left MetLife Stadium, it was 2:30 a.m.
The New York media exploded with coverage of the game, Zhao Dong's performance dominating headlines.
Bingle Nestor, NFL editor-in-chief of the New York Sports Daily, opened his column with:
"It's time to officially call Zhao Dong the Tyrannosaurus. A violent force in the NFL—defenders drop at his feet one after another.
Witson is the second man unlucky enough to be seriously injured trying to stop him. His career is over; reports say he may require a respirator for life.
But let's talk football—because Zhao Dong's debut was remarkable. He played on special teams, defense, and offense, looking like he could fill every position on the field. That versatility is terrifying.
On defense, whether at weak-side or strong-side linebacker, he made plays—seven tackles and two sacks. Congratulations, Tyrannosaurus—you now lead the NFL in sacks after just one game.
And on offense? As a power back, you ripped off a 72-yard game-winning touchdown in the final seconds. Stunning.
But… a word of caution. You're still a rookie, and it shows. Your chemistry with teammates is shaky. You drift away from the playbook, still showing traces of your NBA-style hero-ball instincts. You need to blend into the system more.
Still, you played like a star last night. That's undeniable."
---
At 9 a.m., the Dolphins released an official injury report:
Witson's injuries were catastrophic. His chest pad had failed to absorb the hit—seven ribs shattered into fragments, several piercing both lungs, causing severe internal bleeding. He also suffered a severe concussion. The surgery lasted eight hours. He remained unconscious in intensive care, still in critical condition.
---
Home, Sweet Chaos
"Dad, there are so many reporters outside!"
"Dad, get up and play with us!"
Zhao Dong groaned awake, feeling small hands tugging his ears and pinching his nose. His four sons had piled on top of him, sunlight streaming through the curtains they'd already yanked open.
He cracked his eyes, wincing at the brightness.
"Alright, alright—I'm up."
The clock read 10:15 a.m. Seven hours of sleep after a game like that wasn't bad.
After breakfast and a little rest, he took the boys swimming. Lunch, a quick nap, and by two o'clock, he was standing outside his villa, facing a wall of microphones and cameras.
Reporter: "Tyrannosaurus, Witson's just been declared out of danger. He's still in ICU, but his family has announced his retirement. Do you have a comment?"
Reporter 2: "Zhao Dong, some media say your collision was too violent and should be restricted by new rules. Do you think that's reasonable?"
Zhao Dong answered a few, picking his words carefully.
"I hope Witson recovers well. If he has difficulties later in life, I'll help him. As for changing the rules… that doesn't surprise me. But I have to ask—should the NFL cancel rushing altogether? Put a speed limit on us like a highway? Or maybe have us walk down the field like an 80-year-old grandma?"
His tone carried a faint smirk, but his eyes stayed serious.
"Tyrannosaurus, how do you think the league can avoid injuries like Witson's?" a reporter asked.
Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow. "How about better gear? Start with thicker, stronger chest pads," he shot back.
While a few media outlets argued that Zhao Dong's physical style should be restricted by new rules, they were a small minority. Most of the sports world wasn't buying it. In fact, the idea drew heavy opposition—many NFL veterans came forward to defend him.
They insisted that the NFL's physical, high-contact style was exactly what made the sport great. As one player put it, "This isn't the NBA—we're not here to turn football into a non-contact game."
From the tone of the debate, it was clear: NFL rules weren't going to change overnight. Brutality was part of the game's DNA.
---
That afternoon, Lindsay approached Zhao Dong with a sparkle in her eyes.
"I want to take the yacht out for two days," she said.
Zhao Dong hesitated. "You're two months pregnant. Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"It's fine," she insisted. "I haven't had any morning sickness, and we'll just cruise along the coast. The yacht's big enough that I won't even feel small waves."
She had a point. Reluctantly, Zhao Dong nodded. Playing in the NFL meant his schedule was more home-heavy than basketball—only eight away games in a sixteen-game regular season—so Lindsay liked having him around more.
Seeing his agreement, she grinned. "Invite some friends. Let's make it fun."
---
First call went to Larry Johnson.
"Larry, we're heading out to sea tomorrow. You in?"
"Absolutely! Can I bring the family?" Larry replied, clearly excited.
"Of course," Zhao Dong laughed.
Then he rang up Oakley, Jordan, and the rest of the crew. They'd been courtside for his game last night and were still in New York.
On top of that, he extended the invite to about thirty or forty Jets teammates. Even the team owner, coaching staff, and front office got calls—and they all accepted happily.
After recent roster moves, only a handful of players inside the Jets' locker room still had issues with him. The rest were on board. The team atmosphere was stabilizing, and the internal shake-up was nearly complete.
He also reached out to Yang Yi, the only CCTV reporter still covering him. American football barely registered in China, so there weren't many others following.
---
After dinner, the four boys begged Lindsay to let them come along. Meanwhile, Zhao Dong poured himself tea and pulled up his system interface to check last night's rewards.
His debut had been a milestone:
First sack
First tackle
First collision interception
First running interception
First pass interception
First reception
First touchdown
First regular-season win
Eight out of nine objectives completed. The only one missing was a return touchdown.
System prompt: Task complete. Reward: 8 skill points.
"Nine skill points total. Where should I put them?" he muttered.
---
"System, can skills over level 80 be upgraded with points?" he asked.
No.
"Thought so," Zhao Dong said. He wasn't too disappointed—he'd suspected as much.
"Alright, boost my return ability to level 80."
Five points later, the skill went from level 75 to 80. His overall returner rating rose from 73 to 75. It didn't match the skill's max because the position required multiple attributes, not just one ability. Game performance mattered too.
"Add the rest to ball-carrying," he ordered. Four points took it to level 77.
---
"System, so above level 80, the only way to improve is through actual games? I just had a strong debut—why no increase?"
When a skill hits level 80, the technical foundation is complete. Improvement beyond that comes from in-game application and performance. Ratings above 80 require sustained results.
"In other words… from here on out, it's on me?"
Correct. The system will evaluate at the end of each month.
"Great," Zhao Dong said dryly. Skill points were still useful—speeding up training for sub-80 abilities—but the real growth now would have to come on the field.
---
Reviewing his hit stats from the game, Zhao Dong saw he'd knocked down opponents fifteen times, including two sacks. The system only counted five as "brutal collisions," plus one that caused an injury. That totaled fourteen toward his Brutal Force badge.
"System, so the other ten hits didn't trigger my talent effect?"
Correct.
"At this rate—only fourteen so far—it's going to take 300 for an upgrade. Not happening this season unless I flatten half the league," he muttered.
Still, he wasn't chasing injuries. It was football, not a battlefield. He wanted to dominate the game, not end careers.
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