Matt Goukas broke it down: "It's 10:15 now. Ewing's low-post presence is gone, sure, but the Jazz bigs can't double Zhao Dong quick enough. Man's cookin'—3-for-4 from the field, 2-for-2 at the stripe, already got 8 on the board. Knicks offense still flowin' smooth."
Marv Albert added, "Gotta give it to Utah, though. They're running that double pick-and-roll play, and it's hittin' like half the time."
"Couple offensive screen fouls got called, though," Goukas noted. "The Knicks tightened up on their switches and help defense. Malone and Jeff Hornacek still went 4-for-7 off those plays—solid numbers. But wasting two chances? Not ideal. Honestly, Utah's kinda stuck using it."
Second half, Nelson decided to crank the tempo.
His run-and-gun system wasn't super complicated—just classic fast break stuff: quick outlet passes, off-ball cuts, screens, and drive-kicks. Nothing wild like the future Kings' Princeton sets, but it demanded solid ball movement and chemistry—stuff that takes real reps to master.
The problem? When Zhao Dong ain't playmaking, Knicks don't have that elite floor general.
Back on offense.
The three Knicks guards sprinted into the frontcourt, scrambling the Jazz D.
Right wing—Alan Houston and Zhao Dong ran a tight pick-and-roll. Horacek got bullied on the switch. Zhao Dong slid into the lane like a freight train.
Malone came crashing in from the free-throw line to contest.
Charlie Ward tossed it high from the top.
Zhao Dong took flight.
"Whoa! UP THERE!" Marv Albert shouted on the NBC broadcast.
Zhao Dong was floating—head and shoulders above Karl Malone, who leapt up to swat it.
BANG!
Malone's hand smacked Zhao Dong on the elbow.
Then—boom!—Malone's face collided with Zhao's shoulder. He lost balance, tumbled mid-air, and hit the hardwood hard.
BOOM!
Zhao Dong crushed the rim with a violent two-handed alley-oop.
CRACK!
Malone smacked the floor so hard it bounced.
WHISTLE!
Ref signaled the and-one. Foul on Malone.
"YEEEAAHHH!" MSG erupted like a volcano.
"ROARRRRRR!!"
Even the broadcast booth was howling.
Zhao Dong just stood over Malone, laughing like a beast.
Man felt invincible—the new kicks were fire, letting him bounce higher, land smoother. No cap, every inch he gained in the air made him deadlier. His core strength was maxed out like a cheat code—balance in the air, contact ain't stopping him.
Even when Malone slapped his elbow mid-flight, Zhao still powered through and threw it down clean.
If he could level up his vert and body control even more, he'd be living above the rim full time. A real-life cheat build.
He looked down at Malone and shouted, "Get up, Mailman! This ain't nap time!"
Malone rolled over, breathing heavy. Looked like he just got knocked down in a heavyweight title fight. That voice? That shout from Zhao? Brought back flashbacks. Dude was shook.
He glanced at Zhao Dong, then just lowered his head and walked off.
Zhao laughed, turned toward the stripe.
"System was right," he thought. "This is what mental dominance looks like."
Media expectations before tipoff? Knicks by single digits, max. No Ewing. Jazz were supposed to have the edge.
But damn—nobody saw this coming.
71 to 103. Knicks won by 32. Smoked 'em.
Zhao Dong played 35 minutes, dropped 41 points on 16-for-25 shooting (64%). Missed his only three, hit 9 of 10 free throws. Also racked up 12 boards, 8 dimes, 1 steal, 4 blocks, 2 turnovers, 3 fouls.
Straight MVP statline.
Matt Goukas went in: "Malone didn't look like he wanted the smoke. Dude had zero fire tonight. Played soft—no edge, no fight. Looked neutered out there."
Marv nodded. "Yeah, man. If that's the version of Karl we're getting, Utah's got no shot at the Finals."
Postgame, Zhao Dong hit the live interview.
"Zhao Dong, 40-plus in the first regular season game. You thinking about chasing that scoring title this year?" asked team reporter Thomas.
"Hell yeah," Zhao nodded without blinking.
"Your playmaking was sharp too. You ever think about going for the assist title?" Thomas followed up.
"I ain't a pure PG. My main goal? Lead the league in buckets," Zhao replied.
A New York Times reporter chimed in: "You shot 64% from the field tonight. How'd you stay that efficient?"
Zhao grinned. "You know how to put an elephant in a refrigerator?"
Reporters blinked. "Uh… how big's that fridge? That thing gotta be a freezer, right?"
"Nah," Zhao said, still smirking. "Just open the fridge door, slide the elephant in, then close it."
Everyone laughed.
"Same thing on the court," he added. "Catch the rock, shake the defender, pull up. Easy work."
Interview wrapped, Zhao walked off and headed straight for the postgame presser.
A reporter broke it down: "Zhao Dong, Karl Malone went 4-for-15 from the field and 1-for-3 from the stripe, only putting up 9 points tonight. What do you think of his performance?"
Zhao Dong didn't hold back. "Same ol' story. Dude needs two screens just to get a clean look, and he still ain't efficient. And honestly? That whole game plan is trash. Jazz racked up seven offensive fouls on screens alone—wasted way too many possessions."
Another reporter jumped in, "Zhao Dong, Malone didn't show any aggression—"
Zhao Dong cut him off, raising an eyebrow. "Aggression? You serious?"
He chuckled, then leaned forward. "Can he even take his man off the dribble? If you can't put the ball on the floor, how the hell are you supposed to be aggressive? What's he gonna do, elbow his way through like a wrecking ball?"
Laughter erupted in the press room.
The reporter fumbled, "Uh, I meant on defense."
Zhao Dong smirked. "Defense? Aggression? Man, why don't you just strap a pair of steel elbows on him and see what happens?"
The room cracked up again.
A different reporter switched gears. "Zhao Dong, can you tell us more about your sneakers?"
"Yeah, they're called Silver Demon—Silver Demon Generation One." Zhao Dong knew he needed the hype. "These are from Zhao Dong Sporting Goods. First-gen Silver Demons drop during All-Star Weekend."
The press perked up. "Zhao Dong Sporting Goods? That your company?"
Zhao Dong grinned. "Yeah, I invested in it."
Silence. Then a wave of stunned reactions.
Meanwhile, the media's postgame verdict was brutal.
"The Knicks and Jazz ain't even in the same tier."
As for Malone? "Zhao Dong and Karl Malone ain't on the same level anymore."
The New York Times didn't hold back: "Zhao Dong is right—Malone's just a role player now."
New York Sports Daily doubled down: "The Black and White Duo looks washed, and the Jazz are crumbling!"
Over in Utah, the blame shifted straight to Zhao Dong.
Jerry Sloan told reporters, "That boxing match messed Malone up. Zhao Dong's got fighting experience, but Karl doesn't. It was a setup. The guy took a real physical and mental hit. He needs time to recover."
New York media wasn't having it.
New York Times clapped back: "So a fair boxing match is now a conspiracy? Jerry Sloan's spinning narratives. If Zhao Dong's a pro boxer, then let's see what Tyson thinks."
Sure enough, Mike Tyson came through with a quote: "Two nobodies fought a sloppy street match. I'd put both of them to sleep in three seconds."
Zhao Dong saw the article and laughed. "Damn, Tyson, you really trying to climb back up by clowning me and Malone?"
At that time, his phone rang.
"I'm Zhao Dong."
"Zhao, this is Hanks from the New York Times..."
"Go ahead."
"Appreciate it! So, what's your response to Tyson's comments?"
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Man said he'd knock me out in three seconds. He's just talking big."
"So... you down to fight him?"
Zhao Dong laughed. "Maybe in the off-season."
"Marvelous!"
After hanging up, he glanced at Lindsay next to him.
She sighed. "Zhao, you're not a boxer."
He shrugged. "I know. Just having fun with it. Tyson's strong, yeah, but hurting me ain't gonna be easy."
His Level 100 injury immunity was built different: 80% resistance to minor hits, 90% to moderate, and 99% to heavy damage. Even when Malone landed clean shots in their fight, dude barely left a mark.
If Tyson couldn't land a true power shot, Zhao would just eat the hits and counter. With his strength? Yeah, Tyson wouldn't want that smoke.
Beyond the game, another headline was buzzing: Zhao Dong's sneaker brand.
The Silver Demon Gen 1 was already making waves—arguably even bigger than the Knicks' blowout win over Utah.
Of course, the sneaker giants weren't happy.
Scottie Pippen dismissed it: "Just another knockoff. China makes cloth shoes, not basketball kicks."
Jordan chimed in: "They look cool, but performance matters. And nobody touches Nike in basketball shoe tech."
They were on Nike's payroll, so of course, they went all in.
Especially Jordan—Nike was his cash cow. With Silver Demon coming up, he wasn't about to let some upstart eat into his empire.
And it wasn't just Nike. Adidas, Reebok, and the rest sent their athletes to throw shade too.
Yeah, it shook some fans' confidence. But at the same time? It put the Silver Demon name in everybody's mouth.
By the time Zhao Dong was chilling that night, he fired up the system.
In yesterday's game, Zhao Dong racked up double the rewards—two skill points and two quality points.
He used the two quality points to boost his balance and flexibility to 87.
Then, he put the two skill points into his basic shooting, pushing it from 94 to a top-tier 95.
"Man, that top-notch level hits different!"
Thanks to the shooting upgrade, every shooting technique below 90—a.k.a. sub-elite—got an automatic two-level bump.
He had five different shooting techniques in total. The hook shot and floater both jumped to 80, reaching solid mid-tier status. His straight-arm jumper climbed from 71 to 73.
But the biggest W? His spot-up jumper skyrocketed from 78 to 90, hitting elite level.
---
On November 3rd, the media ran wild with Zhao Dong's phone interview.
"Mike Tyson, you ready? Zhao Dong is calling you out this offseason!" - New York Times
"Zhao Dong: Three-second KO? Tyson, quit dreaming." - New York Sports Daily
Tyson didn't waste time firing back.
"If Zhao Dong's got the guts to step in the ring, I'll give him his shot," he told reporters.
Later that day, Zhao Dong's agent, Ringo Wells, called.
"Zhao, I got calls from all the big boxing agents—Don King, Arum, Frank Warren from the UK, and Duva. You really trying to fight?"
"Man, I'm just having fun," Zhao Dong laughed. "Let's not talk about this now. We'll see in the offseason."
"David Stern's gonna be heated," Wells chuckled.
"Let him be. He rides for Jordan, not me. If I take out MJ again this season, let's see who he backs next year." Zhao Dong smirked.
"You that confident?" Wells asked.
"Man, we got a saying back home: 'Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard.' And tell me—do we look weak this season?"
The Tyson-Zhao Dong hype was blowing up. The media was eating it up, giving both of them a serious boost in publicity.
---
November 3: Knicks vs. Pistons at The Garden.
The Pistons had some history, but they lost Allan Houston to the Knicks, leaving Grant Hill to carry the team solo. Last season, they made the playoffs, but barely got past the first round.
This season? No major upgrades. Just mid.
That afternoon, the system dropped a mission:
Hall of Fame Sniper Challenge: Face off against Grant Hill, one of the last true finesse players in the league. Take him down with style.
Objectives:
Drop 40+ points on Hill's head.
Hold Hill to under 20 points.
Keep Hill's assists under 5.
Rack up double-digit assists yourself.
Reward: Unlock Grant Hill's first step.
"Damn, that's a big prize! System, you showing love today!" Zhao Dong grinned.
Grant Hill's first step was no joke. Faster than MJ's, even quicker than AI's. The fastest first step in NBA history, they said.
Dude crossed Jordan like it was nothing last season, smooth as silk.
Zhao Dong's core strength was already maxed at 100, so his first step had improved. But his flexibility still held him back.
If he snagged this reward and worked on his balance and flexibility, his drive game would hit another level.
---
Game Night. Madison Square Garden.
Starting Lineups:
Pistons: Bison Dele, Grant Long, Grant Hill, Malik Sealy, Lindsey Hunter.
Knicks: Camby, Oakley, Zhao Dong, Allan Houston, Charlie Ward.
In the home locker room, Coach Nelson could sense the team was too relaxed.
"Look, no weak teams in the NBA," he reminded them. "Stay locked in."
Zhao Dong peeped his teammates—yeah, they were way too chill. He clapped his hands and stood up.
"Alright, listen up! Whoever plays like trash tonight cleans every toilet at the practice facility for a week!"
"Oh hell no! How many toilets we talking?! Ten? Twenty?!"
"Damn, bro, that's cold!"
"Boss, you trippin'!"
Laughter erupted, but the team was instantly more alert. Even the coaches shook their heads, amused.
---
Halftime arrived, and the teams met at the tunnel exit.
"Yo, Grant."
"Allan, what's good?"
Former Piston teammates Grant Hill and Allan Houston dapped up, a bit nostalgic.
Hill couldn't help but feel a little salty. Houston already had a championship ring and was a solid starter on a contending team, while he was still grinding on a mid-tier squad.
Meanwhile, Houston looked at Hill and saw a dude whose career was skyrocketing past his own.
But that was just his perception. Back when Hill entered the league, his buzz was already way bigger than Houston's.
Grant Hill wasn't just any rookie when he came in. He was dubbed "The Next Jordan." His mom was Hillary Clinton's old college roommate, and he even got an endorsement from President Bill Clinton himself.
Talent, background, media hype—Hill had it all. The only thing he lacked?
A ring.
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