Zhao Dong checked his system stats, grinning as he saw his improved attributes.
Physical Fitness:
Injury resistance: 100
Jumping: 98
Coordination: 96
Stamina: 95
Speed: 90
Balance: 86
Flexibility: 86
Strength: 91
Technical Level:
Basic Skills:
Ball control: 95
Shooting: 94
Passing: 86
Offense:
Bank jump shot: 99
Pull-up jump shot: 95
Turnaround jump shot: 95
Dribble breakthrough: 95
Step-back jump shot: 91 → Upgraded from 90
Low post single shot: 91 → Upgraded from 90
Spot jumper: 78 → Upgraded from 76
Hook shot: 78 → Upgraded from 76
Floater: 78 → Upgraded from 76
Straight-arm jumper: 71 → Upgraded from 70
Turnaround fadeaway jumper: 63 → Upgraded from 50
Turnaround step-back jumper: 66 → Upgraded from 55
Cut: 83
Running position: 75
Defense:
Perimeter defense: 95
Interior defense: 90
Rebounding: 99
Blocks: 91
Steals: 90
Organization:
99
Zhao Dong smirked as he realized how much the core strength boost improved his overall skill set. His shooting accuracy jumped from 93 to 94, giving him a sharper edge on offense.
The step-back jumper and low post moves leveled up, making his already deadly arsenal even more dangerous. The biggest surprise came from his turnaround fadeaway and turnaround step-back shots, which saw massive jumps in proficiency.
"Damn, what a steal!" Zhao Dong grinned with excitement.
Upgrading high-level skills took a lot more effort, but the boost to his mid-tier skills was insane.
---
Next, he opened the system space and pulled out the so-called indestructible basketball shoes.
The moment he laid eyes on them, he was blown away.
"Holy shit! These are insane!"
The futuristic design oozed cutting-edge tech. The logo—a five-clawed golden dragon baring its fangs—looked savage and menacing. The sleek, metallic design gave off a cold, ruthless vibe, while the brutal aesthetic made it look downright legendary.
"Silver Demon?"
Two small seal-like characters were imprinted on the sneakers, presumably their name.
He checked the interior and found a pair of never-wear-out insoles inside. He hoped the ventilation system was top-tier because if they trapped sweat, his teammates would probably gag during games.
Slipping them on, he was amazed by the perfect fit. Better than any sneaker he had ever worn.
Zhao Dong jumped a few times to test them out, immediately feeling the insane bounce and next-level cushioning.
"Shit, I feel like I just added three or four centimeters to my vertical. That's gotta put me at level 99 in jumping. Haha!"
With maxed-out core strength and near-perfect jumping ability, his air time would drastically increase. More hang time meant more room for creative finishes, making him even more dangerous offensively.
The same went for shot-blocking—more air time meant a higher success rate when swatting shots.
But he knew the full potential of his level 100 core strength wouldn't be fully unlocked until he boosted his flexibility and balance to elite levels. Otherwise, he'd only be using part of its power.
Pumped with adrenaline, Zhao Dong jogged down the hotel corridor a few times. The shoes' grip was flawless—sticky yet smooth, providing perfect traction.
In terms of quality, these sneakers were on a whole other level—superior to anything on Earth. Easily several tiers above the best basketball shoes on the market.
"Man, these kicks are gonna make me unstoppable," he smirked.
Back in his room, he pulled out a stack of hard drives from the system space—dozens of them, all loaded with technical data on the sneakers.
There were also countless paper documents, but they were too bulky to fit in the room, so he left them in the system space.
These patented technologies were his ticket to starting a sneaker empire.
Of course, he couldn't use them at full power. The performance had to be nerfed significantly for commercial use.
For the average consumer, the performance would need to be weakened by at least ten levels. For pro-level basketball shoes, the downgrade would be around five levels.
---
Zhao Dong called up Ringo Wells, his agent.
"Yo, Ringo, what's the deal with those sneaker companies we talked about?"
"Zhao, I checked into it. There are a few related research institutes in the U.S. and Europe that went under. You can buy them out."
"Why'd they shut down?" Zhao Dong asked.
"These were R&D departments from smaller companies. When the parent companies went bankrupt or ran into financial trouble, the funding dried up. Most of the staff left, and only the data remained," Ringo explained.
"How much are we talking?"
"You could probably buy a whole institute for a few hundred grand, including all their patents. But honestly, the tech is pretty outdated. Not worth much," Ringo added.
"Get it done. I want one," Zhao Dong ordered.
"Wait, are you seriously starting your own sneaker company?" Ringo asked, surprised.
"Hell yeah. Just make it happen," Zhao Dong said casually.
"Alright, alright. I'll take care of it."
Ringo shook his head, knowing his boss was one of a kind. Not only was Zhao Dong dominating the NBA, but he was also diving into the business world.
As an agent, Ringo was basically turning into a general manager at this point.
---
The next morning, Ringo called while Zhao Dong was still in bed.
"Yo, what's up, Ringo?" Zhao Dong grumbled sleepily.
"Hey, Karl Malone's agent is bugging me about your fight. He wants to know when and if it's actually happening. You sure you wanna go through with this? You could just ignore him. No one's forcing you to fight," Ringo advised.
"Hell yeah, I'm fighting him. You think I'm gonna pass up a chance to beat his ass? No shot."
"Alright, I'll set it up. You'll need a boxing coach. You've got the power, but you'll need some proper technique to avoid looking sloppy," Ringo suggested.
"Yeah, book one. What's the date?"
"June 12th," Ringo replied.
"Let's make it the 20th. That gives me a week to prep."
"Sure, but don't you want more time to train?"
"Nah, it's not like I'm fighting a pro. Karl Malone's a beast on the court, but this is boxing—we'll be on even ground," Zhao Dong said confidently.
"Alright, I'll confirm with his agent. Oh, and you still want me to finish up the deal on that house in New York, right?"
"Yeah, get it done before I leave town."
"Got it. I'll let you know in two days."
Ringo quickly arranged the fight with Karl Malone. The showdown was set for June 20th at a private boxing gym.
The next day, Ham, a professional boxing trainer, showed up.
For the next few days, Zhao Dong trained rigorously, focusing on dodging, technique, and power. He also sparred daily to get comfortable with the boxing rules and avoid accidentally throwing kicks in the ring.
One day, Zhao Dong suddenly remembered the Georgetown University invite he had received for Yao Ming.
But Georgetown wasn't even in the top ten NCAA sports schools.
Their basketball program had been slipping in recent years. If they didn't make it to March Madness, it could hurt Yao Ming's draft stock.
Without Yao's CBA dominance and March Madness performance, could he still lock in the No. 1 pick?
Zhao Dong's eyes narrowed, his mind already racing with future plans.
Years later, at the Olympics, Yao Ming was finally 20 years old and eligible for the national team. He was determined to make a mark on the international stage. The stronger Yao Ming became, the better it would be for Chinese basketball. That's why choosing the best university was crucial.
After mulling it over, Zhao Dong called Ringo Wells.
"Yo, Ringo. You remember Yao Ming? I wanna find him a better school. Georgetown is solid, but they've been slumping the past couple of years. They might not even make it to March Madness."
"Then how about Duke University? Coach K is there. They're known for developing big men and have a killer program," Ringo suggested.
"Got any connections? Can you hook us up with an invite?" Zhao Dong asked.
"Easy. You're the Finals MVP and the reigning champ. Even though you're not a Duke alumnus, Coach K will take your call seriously."
"Alright, send me his contact info," Zhao Dong replied.
On the 16th, Lindsay invited Zhao Dong over to her place.
"Zhao Dong, happy birthday!" she beamed, handing him a small box of chocolates.
It was Zhao Dong's 20th birthday. His mom had called the night before, telling him to cook himself a few dishes to celebrate. He didn't expect Lindsay to give him a gift.
"Damn, thanks, Lindsay. This is dope—I love it," Zhao Dong said with a grin.
"As long as you like it."
Lindsay's face flushed slightly, her eyes lowering shyly.
"I hope he doesn't know the meaning behind chocolate. He's Chinese… maybe he doesn't, right?" she thought, feeling a bit self-conscious.
She regretted not getting him something more casual—like a watch. Chocolate might be a bit too forward.
Just as they were about to head out to grab groceries, the Knicks management called to wish Zhao Dong a happy birthday. They also sent over a gift—a Hummer SUV courtesy of team owner Ernie Grunfeld.
Zhao Dong was genuinely grateful. Apart from Lindsay's chocolate, the Hummer was the most valuable birthday gift he'd ever received.
That night, ESPN aired a TV special: "Re-ranking the 1996 Draft"—analyzing who should have been the No. 1 pick.
The panel featured NBA legends like:
Larry Bird
Magic Johnson
Reggie Miller
Dominique Wilkins
Elgin Baylor
Matt Goukas and Marv Albert hosting the show.
When Zhao Dong saw the lineup, he burst out laughing.
"Man, they've got two guys who won rings against three who never did. Did ESPN just predict that Reggie Miller was never gonna win a title?" he joked.
By the end of the show, the consensus was clear: if the 1996 draft were redone, Zhao Dong would be the undisputed No. 1 pick.
The only player who could remotely challenge him was Allen Iverson.
The five legends compared the two in several categories:
Scoring
Athleticism
Leadership
Clutch performance
Playmaking
Efficiency
Defense
Zhao Dong came out on top in four of the categories and tied Iverson in the remaining three.
4 wins, 3 ties—clear dominance.
But if you asked Zhao Dong himself, he knew he had the edge in five out of six categories. His playmaking and scoring were already better than Iverson's.
Still, he knew Iverson wouldn't see it that way.
---
Meanwhile, in Philadelphia, Iverson sat slouched on his couch, staring at the TV. After the show ended, he stayed still for half an hour. Then, without saying a word, he grabbed his phone.
"Yo, I'm canceling tomorrow's party. Yeah, same for the day after. No reason. I just gotta train. I'm not losing to that Chinese dude. I'm the strongest rookie from '96."
After bailing on several parties, Iverson called his agent, demanding he book a trainer and practice facility.
His agent was stunned. He knew Iverson was crazy talented, but extra practice? That was unheard of. Clearly, Zhao Dong had struck a nerve.
In Los Angeles, another rookie was fired up.
"One day, I'm gonna smash both of you to pieces!"
It was Kobe Bryant, the young prodigy.
Despite having a rocky rookie season, Kobe's pride wouldn't let him back down. Watching the show and seeing Zhao Dong and Iverson getting all the attention only fueled his fire.
For Kobe, it was a wake-up call.
And it didn't stop with Iverson and Kobe.
Rookies from the '96 class started extra training plans, unwilling to be overshadowed.
Even NBA stars who were already established in the league began grinding harder.
Kevin Garnett threw himself into crazy extra training, determined not to get left behind.
Tim Duncan, still in college, took notes on Zhao Dong's post moves, determined to add more physicality to his game.
On the 17th, Zhao Dong's beef with Karl Malone hit the media, thanks to a Los Angeles outlet leaking the story.
The news exploded.
Two NBA superstars throwing hands off the court? One of them being the newly crowned Finals MVP? It was headline gold.
Zhao Dong's phone immediately started blowing up.
Knicks management
NBA officials
Media outlets
Even Sun Zhenping and Zhang Heli from CCTV called, demanding answers.
Fuming, Zhao Dong dialed Karl Malone's number.
"Yo, Karl, you bastard! You leak this shit?!"
"Hell no! I should be asking you, you asshole! You're the one that needs the clout—not me!"
"Me? I'm on top right now! Why the hell would I need more publicity? You, on the other hand—you cake-eating role player, you need all the attention you can get!"
"You son of a bitch!"
"Just wait till the fight. I'm gonna beat your face so bad, your mama won't recognize you."
"Bring it on, punk!"
After a few more expletives, they hung up.
Zhao Dong figured the whole incident was already an open secret. The referees, players from both teams, and anyone else around probably knew what went down.
Just as he was about to leave, Ernie Grunfeld stormed in, yelling.
"Zhao Dong! You tryin' to get me killed or what?! What if you catch a stray punch? The boss said he'd rather drop five million on you than watch you brawl with Karl Malone!"
"No can do," Zhao Dong shrugged. "Me and Malone? That's personal. We gotta fight. Don't worry—I won't get hurt."
"What about me?!" Grunfeld barked.
"C'mon, man. You ever watch pro boxing? Worst case, you get a swollen face. How many guys actually get seriously hurt?" Zhao Dong shot back.
"The league just held a press conference half an hour ago," Grunfeld warned, voice low. "They made it clear: if either of you gets injured, the league won't take any responsibility. You sure you're good with that?"
"Got it." Zhao Dong grinned. "Don't worry—I'll beat Karl Malone into retirement this time."
Seeing Zhao Dong's cocky smirk, Grunfeld was speechless.
"This guy's a freakin' menace. Forget him succeeding Michael Jordan—he's more likely to burn the whole league down. He doesn't give a damn about the NBA's interests or his own team's."
At NBA headquarters, David Stern sat behind his massive desk, his fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood. Across from him was Russ Granik, the league's VP.
"You want us to shut it down?" Russ asked.
Stern shook his head. "No point. They'll just fight somewhere else. Might as well milk the attention."
Starting on the 18th, NBA superstars began pouring into New York to witness the fight. Both Zhao Dong and Malone were bombarded with calls and messages.
Then Wells hit him with the biggest news.
"Yo, ESPN wants to broadcast the fight live," Wells said.
"What?" Zhao Dong was stunned.
"Yeah, they're offering a million dollars each—for you and Malone." Wells chuckled.
"The hell? We're getting paid for a street fight?" Zhao Dong scoffed.
"Karl's in. You good with it?"
"Wait, wait, wait. Malone agreed?" Zhao Dong asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Yup," Wells confirmed.
"Then screw that!" Zhao Dong snapped. "No way I'm letting him profit off me. I'm out."
"Huh?!" Wells nearly choked on his drink. He thought Zhao Dong would agree in a heartbeat.
When Malone heard the news, he was furious.
"That bastard! Won't even take the cash?" he growled, slamming his fist into the wall. "He's too stupid to make money!"
On the 20th, Oakley and a group of Knicks teammates rolled up to the hotel, hyping Zhao Dong up.
Even Ernie Grunfeld tagged along, looking nervous as hell.
"Yo, a lotta people are hitting me up for the address," Wells warned as they left. "Crowd's gonna be huge. Don't screw this up."
"Lose? To a freakin' role player?" Zhao Dong sneered.
He didn't invite Lindsay. Even though he was confident, he didn't want her to see him get punched around.
He knew Karl Malone wouldn't hold back—and neither would he.
As they drove to the boxing gym, Zhao Dong's phone buzzed. It was a call from home.
"Hello? Mom?"
"Nope. It's me, bro."
"Oh, hey. What's up? I'll be back in a few days."
"Listen, no matter what—**win or lose—don't back down."
"Wait, you guys know about this too?"
"How could we not? If you so much as fart, it'll fly across the Pacific right now."
"Pfft!" Zhao Dong snorted, cracking up.
When they reached the gym, the place was on lockdown—fully booked with no outsiders allowed.
But the media had already sniffed it out. Two to three hundred reporters and photographers were swarming the outside, cameras flashing.
And the crowd? Insane.
A whole of NBA legends were already there, including:
Charles Barkley
Shaquille O'Neal
Hakeem Olajuwon
Larry Bird
Shawn Kemp
Kevin Garnett
Isiah Thomas (aka "The Smiling Assassin")
Alonzo Mourning
David Robinson (aka "The Admiral")
When Zhao Dong stepped out, reporters swarmed him, shoving microphones in his face.
"Zhao! What's your strategy?"
"Are you afraid of losing?"
"Any bad blood with Malone?"
Zhao Dong ignored them. He fist-bumped a few NBA stars, then asked, "Malone here yet?"
"Not yet."
"I'm coming."
A deep voice rang out from the crowd.
The crowd parted, and Karl Malone strode in with John Stockton and several Jazz players trailing behind him.
"Damn. This is wild."
Everyone turned toward the voice. It was Michael Jordan—finally making an appearance after his Eastern Conference Finals elimination.
"Yo, Mike!" Zhao Dong grinned, talking shit right away. "You're lookin' kinda tanned. What, you been out fishing?"
He smirked. "Catch anything good? No one could find you, huh? Been hiding in New York?"
"I'm not here for you. I'm here to back Malone," Jordan shot back, clearly annoyed.
"Pfft. A couple of losers backing each other up, huh?" Zhao Dong snorted.
Jordan clenched his fists, but Zhao Dong wasn't done.
As Jordan tried to head inside, Zhao Dong blocked him.
"You forget somethin', Mike?"
Zhao Dong glared at him, then barked, "Where the hell's my apology? You better say it now before I beat your ass right here!"
"You?!" Jordan's face twisted in anger, his hands shaking. He'd shown up just to watch Zhao Dong get wrecked, but now he was being called out in front of everyone.
The other stars didn't say a word. No one spoke up for Jordan. They knew the deal—he lost the bet, and it was time to pay up.
Jordan hesitated. If he left, he'd look like a coward. If he stayed, he'd get his face smashed.
Clenching his jaw, he mumbled under his breath, "...sorry."
"What?!" Zhao Dong cupped his ear, pretending not to hear.
"Zhao, stop messing around. He already apologized," Oakley finally said, stepping in.
As Jordan's former enforcer, Oakley still had a soft spot for him.
Out of respect for Oakley, Zhao Dong let Jordan off the hook.
"Tch. You're lucky, Mike."
---
The crowd erupted, cameras flashing wildly.
The fight of the decade was about to begin.
Zhao Dong and Karl Malone locked eyes, both grinning viciously.
The Golden Tyrant vs. the Mailman of Jazz.
It was time to throw down.
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