At noon, the Knicks hopped on a flight to Indianapolis. The second they got on the plane, everyone swarmed around Zhao Dong, buzzing with chatter.
"Yo, boss! You bought the jet? Damn! The owner of the Jets? How many lifetimes I gotta grind to buy the Knicks?" John Starks said, eyes wide with envy.
Starks had been riding high lately. With Zhao Dong moving back to the wing and old man Nelson scrapping the whole point forward idea, dude snagged the starting spot again.
Larry Johnson laughed. "Bro, even if you grind in your next life, you still ain't buyin' the Knicks. By the time you stack that kinda bread, Boss would've already bought 'em out."
Everyone cracked up.
"Boss, tell us straight—did Miss Lindsay drop the bag and gift you the jet?" Chris Childs said, throwing a wink and a smirk.
"Man, get outta here! You think your boss is some kinda gigolo? I got my own damn money!" Zhao Dong snapped, half-laughing.
"Zhao Dong, for real though—you really dropped over a hundred mil like that?" Hu Weidong shook his head, looking half-shocked.
"It's whatever. Give it 20 years, that jet might be worth over ten billion," Zhao Dong said with a grin.
"Ten bil?!" Everyone was straight up floored.
"Boss, how's our fund investment looking?" Danny Fortson asked, leaning in with curiosity.
Zhao Dong looked around. Everyone's eyes were glued to him, full of hope.
Most of them had tossed a chunk of their savings into his Storm Investment Fund. Zhao Dong split it up—30% risky plays, 70% safe bets. The risky side blew up thanks to the chaos from the Asian financial storm, and the stable side was already making moves in the U.S. market. Give it three years, it's gonna explode.
"Don't stress. I ain't putting y'all into anything that's gonna lose money. Some parts already started turning profit—over 30% returns so far," he said, smiling.
"Hell yeah!"
Everyone damn near lost it.
Hu Weidong had put in a little something too—nothing crazy, just $300K. A 30% return meant close to $100K in gains. For context, back in China during his peak, dude didn't even make $100K total.
Up front, guys like Coach Van Gundy looked a little salty. They weren't allowed to jump in on player investments, since mixing business with coaching would've been sketchy. Still, the envy was real.
In the back of the plane, Allan Houston pulled Larry Johnson aside.
"You hear from Adi?" he asked in a low voice.
Larry cursed under his breath. "You're with Nike, man. You get a call from them? 'Cause Adidas got zero authority to move me like that."
"You apply anywhere?" Allan asked.
"Nah, I'm tryna stay here. I vibe with this squad." Larry shook his head.
"Same here. I don't get what their play is, though. Why would Adidas push me to leave the Knicks?"
"Trying to sabotage our title run. Let MJ take it. Dirty move." Larry looked pissed.
"But Jordan's Nike, and they're competitors with Adidas," Allan pointed out.
"Yeah… wait—why would Adidas want me outta here then?" Larry finally paused, confused as hell.
"We need to talk to Boss, Charles, the rest. I think it's got something to do with Silver Demon," Allan said.
Larry's eyes widened. He nodded slowly. Made total sense. Silver Demon's performance and design? Once it dropped, it was gonna eat into Adidas and Nike's market share big time. No wonder those brands were making moves already.
Later that afternoon, the team landed in Indy.
The Pacers were no joke this year. In the previous timeline, this squad hit three straight Eastern Conference Finals starting from this season—and they even made the Finals in 99-00. So yeah, they were the real deal.
Their franchise guy, Reggie Miller, was lighting it up from deep—43% from three. Dude was a straight-up sniper.
Next up, center Rick Smits, dropping 16.7 PPG and pulling down 6.9 boards a game. Solid presence.
Third option? Chris Mullin—yep, that All-Star, Hall of Famer Mullin. Even at 34, he could still hoop on both ends.
Point guard? Mark Jackson. Led the league in assists last season.
Power forward? Dale Davis, grabbing almost 8 rebounds a game.
Off the bench, Dale Davis—not that AD—pulling in close to 7 boards a night.
The Pacers didn't have superstar firepower like the Knicks or Bulls. No MJ. No Zhao Dong. But what they did have was consistency. Balanced scoring. Gritty defense. Deep-ass bench. No glaring weaknesses.
They had one guy averaging nearly 20, two in double digits, two more with 9 PPG, and a few others hovering around 6–8 points. And every one of those dudes was shooting at least 42% from the floor. You couldn't cheat off anyone—every player was a threat. Straight-up matchup nightmare.
As a unit, they were averaging 96 points per game. For reference, Bulls were at 96.7 and the Knicks? 98.2. So yeah, Pacers could put up buckets.
That night, Zhao Dong's system dinged—and it was lit.
Hall of Fame Sniper Mission: Matchup against Reggie Miller. Lock him up and light him up.
Objectives:
Drop 40+ points and hold Miller under 15.
Get a triple-double.
Secure the W.
Reward: 2 Skill Points.
Zhao Dong rolled his eyes. "40+ and a triple-double… just for two points? Whatever, I'm used to this cheap-ass system."
Zhao Dong couldn't even be bothered to complain. This was his second season, and he figured the system might just pack up and retire next year.
Game Day – 15th.
Half an hour before tip-off, both teams dropped their starting lineups.
Knicks: Ben Wallace, Oakley, Zhao Dong, Allan Houston, John Starks.
Pacers: Rik Smits, Dale Davis, Reggie Miller, Chris Mullin, Mark Jackson.
NBC was broadcasting the game nationwide.
Matt Goukas checked out the lineup sheet and started breaking it down.
"The Knicks moved Ben Wallace, an undrafted second-year guy, to the starting center spot. That's wild, honestly. Dude's undersized. Without the fro, he barely scratches 6'7"."
He shook his head. "He's got no offensive bag, his defense is still raw, and aside from being a beast on the boards, there's not much there. But pairing him with Oakley? That frontcourt's got some grit, I'll give 'em that."
Marv Albert chimed in, "And they're running without a true point guard again. That's classic Don Nelson. He loves those point forwards, and Zhao Dong fits that mold perfectly."
Matt laughed. "Yeah, and lately, the Knicks are running a wild up-tempo game—real small-ball style. The fans are eatin' it up."
"Nah," Marv said, chuckling. "It ain't the small ball—it's Zhao Dong. Dude's a walking highlight. I'd bet 80% of the fans in the Garden tonight showed up just for him."
"A mix of violence and finesse? Ha! Yeah, he's like a dunk contest and a bar fight rolled into one."
"But hold up," Matt said, suddenly turning serious. "I caught some news outta China the last couple days."
"Oh?" Marv raised a brow. "What kinda news?"
"One of the Chinese outlets dropped a story about Zhao Dong messin' around with a bunch of girls at Stony Brook University."
Marv smirked. "That's hardly news."
"Wait, listen," Matt waved him off. "They listed like, a whole lineup of women he supposedly dated—white, Asian, mixed, Latina—but not one Black girl. So now they're saying he's got racist preferences or something."
"…What?" Marv blinked, confused. "So… they want him to start dating Black women to prove he's not racist?"
"Pfft!"
Matt straight-up lost it and ducked under the table, shoulders shaking.
---
In the visiting locker room, Oakley leaned in close and whispered to Zhao Dong, "Yo, I heard Camby's agent told the front office he wants a trade ASAP."
Zhao Dong's brows shot up. "For real?"
Camby had been dealing with nagging injuries, and ever since Nelson started pushing his small-ball lineup, Camby lost his starting role to Ben Wallace.
"I think it's just him trying to pressure the team," Oakley said. "Dude wants his starting spot back. Plus, the media's stirring sh*t up, sayin' the Knicks are all about undrafted guys now. Probably someone with an agenda. Watch your back."
"Got it," Zhao Dong nodded.
It did kinda add up. The front office had dumped two first-rounders during the offseason. Now, Camby—who was the #2 pick—had lost his spot to an undrafted dude.
But so what?
At the end of the day, only the best player should get the start. That's how it should be.
Zhao Dong glanced down the bench. Camby had barely spoken to him in days.
Actually… now that he thought about it, Allan Houston and Larry Johnson had been quiet too.
What Zhao Dong didn't realize was that Nike and Adidas had already started playing chess behind the scenes—and they made their first moves inside the Knicks.
Camby, Allan Houston, and Larry Johnson all had deals with Nike or Adidas. The companies were pressuring them to ask for trades.
Camby was salty about losing his starting gig and didn't feel tied to New York, so he was quick to jump ship.
Houston and Johnson, though? They'd been in the Big Apple since last season. They felt connected. Plus, their sneaker deals weren't top-tier, so there wasn't much incentive to leave. On top of that, they'd recently bought into Zhao Dong's investment fund—now they had more than just basketball reasons to stay.
---
Half an hour later, the two squads lined up in the tunnel.
Zhao Dong and Reggie Miller stood face-to-face, both smirking like it was personal.
"You gotta gargle with deodorant before you talk sh*t, Reggie," Zhao Dong sneered.
"Zhao, you ain't sh*t."
"I'm the reigning champ. Finals MVP. I've been sittin' at the top of the MVP ladder for damn near three months. You? You ain't got no hardware."
"I—I…"
"I punked Jordan and made him catch a tech. You? You get smacked around by him and the refs don't even blink. You're a damn side character."
"You—"
"You what?"
"Bastard!"
"Clown. I'm worth a hundred times more than you. I own the freakin' New York Jets. In a few years, I might own an NBA squad—and I could be your damn boss. What, you hatin' just to feel relevant?"
"…"
Reggie's face went red. He was so mad he couldn't get a word out.
(TL: Damn)
---
Fifteen minutes later, it was game time.
Ben Wallace stepped into the circle against Pacers' big man Rik Smits.
"Pfft!"
Marv couldn't hold in his laugh the moment the two squared up.
Matt chuckled too. "Rik Smits is 7'4" and got a whole damn head on Ben Wallace. The Knicks' front line looks like it belongs in the G League. That's what cracked Marv up."
Marv grinned. "Honestly, Zhao Dong's the tallest guy out there right now—and he's playin' small forward."
No shocker here—jump ball went to the Pacers. Ben had bounce, sure, but he just couldn't make up the size gap.
Pacers wasted no time—they dumped the ball down low.
"The Pacers went straight to the mismatch," Matt said, loud and clear. "When you got a guy like Rik Smits going against an undersized center, you feed him every time. I mean, that's just basketball 101."
Rick Schmitz caught the rock down low on the left block. Instead of backing down and working the post, he went straight sideways for a hook shot.
Big Ben was all over him, bodying up hard and trying to shift his center of gravity to throw off the shot.
Schmitz had weight on him—nearly 120 kilos, about 10 more than Ben—but strength-wise? Ben wasn't losing ground. He made that shot uncomfortable as hell.
"Bang!"
The hook bricked off the rim, and Big Ben spun around to snatch the board.
Out on the left wing three-point line, Zhao Dong was already turning and burning, sprinting down the court. Reggie Miller tried like hell to catch up, but he could barely stay within arm's length.
Reggie was shook. He was a swingman, barely tipping 80 kilos, and couldn't even keep pace. What the hell's this dude made of? Is his weight even real?
Big Ben grabbed the board and whipped the outlet with a loud whoosh, but the pass flew way off—straight outta bounds.
"Bro, what?!"
Zhao Dong had to stop on a dime, spinning around to glare at Ben like he'd lost his damn mind. "Yo, Big Ben! That pass was from another planet!"
"My bad, boss! Me? I—damn..." Big Ben looked like he wanted to disappear into a hole and never come back up.
On the sideline, Old Man Nelson just shook his head. That wasn't gonna cut it. Turnover rate's too damn high. Time for a tweak.
"If we can get Allen Iverson," Van Gundy suddenly said, "his speed with Zhao Dong's vision and fast breaks? Deadly combo."
Thibodeau chuckled. "They ain't even tight like that."
Nelson looked at Van Gundy. "Jeff, let's slow it down a bit. Run it through the point guard, even if it gives the other side more time to get back on D. Less turnovers. Zhao Dong's got the finishing and the dimes—we'll still get buckets. That way, we can keep Big Ben out there. If not, we might have to sub Camby in."
"Yeah, I'm with that," Van Gundy nodded. He knew Nelson wasn't really asking. The man was just being polite—he'd run the show last season, but Nelson had the final word now.
Back on the floor, the Pacers pushed the rock.
Mark Jackson was in the post, backing down John Starks on the right wing. That was his go-to. Dude had a backside built like Barkley—solid as hell.
And since the league hadn't dropped the five-second backdown rule yet, Mark's post-up game was a damn weapon at the one. Point guards hated seeing him back 'em down like that.
"Swish!"
Jackson bullied his way in, spun around, and knocked down a smooth turnaround J.
"Everybody on the Pacers can shoot," Marv Albert said on the NBC broadcast. "Even their bigs. And they got a solid hit rate, so doubling is tough. You double Mark Jackson? Be ready to eat that pass—he averaged 11.4 assists a game last season."
Matt Goukas added, "Yeah, man's a walking dime machine. That butt-back game is elite!"
Now it was the Knicks' turn.
Ben inbounded again, but no more of that risky long-ball stuff. He kept it clean, feeding Oakley, who waited to catch at halfcourt.
Alan Houston, John Starks, and Zhao Dong were already moving.
Oak got the pass but immediately got pressured. Pacers weren't letting up, trying to cut off the fast break early. Oak took two hard steps, waited for an opening, and finally got the ball to Houston.
By now, all three wings had crossed halfcourt. Tactically, Houston and Starks stopped up for spacing, while Zhao Dong gunned it straight into the paint.
Houston received the ball and saw Zhao Dong already chilling by the rim.
Damn. That delay from not being able to hit Zhao Dong earlier? That's the problem with not having a clean outlet.
Zhao Dong bodied up Reggie Miller to keep him on his back, grabbed the rock from Houston, spun, and rose for a two-handed jam.
Reggie Miller had zero chance to stop him—dude was outclassed physically. Zhao Dong just powered through.
"Bang!"
The rim exploded with a violent slam as the ref's whistle blew.
Turns out, Reggie tried to stop the dunk by straight-up hanging on Zhao Dong mid-air. Didn't matter. He still got posterized.
Zhao Dong landed, smirking.
"Yo Reggie, I don't need no dollar-store accessory on me, man. Take this cheap-ass pendant off!"
"…?"
Reggie froze. Did this man just call me a cheap-ass pendant? What was he supposed to say? No bro, I'm luxury? He was so pissed, he couldn't even clap back.
Matt Goukas was cackling in the booth. "Yo, there's gotta be a 30-kilo difference between these two, right?"
"Easy," Marv Albert replied. "Reggie's a featherweight next to Zhao Dong. Honestly, Zhao Dong needs to go easy on the man!"
Both of them cracked up on the air.
Zhao Dong hit the and-one free throw. Pacers came back down the other way.
Mark Jackson was back to doing what he does—bully-backing Starks on the right wing and watching that weak side like a hawk.
He lived off that horizontal vision—pulling the D to one side, then slicing it open with a whip to the other. Pure floor general vibes.
On the left, Reggie Miller set a pick with Dale Davis beyond the arc, slipped into open space, and popped out for a look.
Mark saw it—immediate pass, clean as hell.
But just as Reggie caught the ball…
A blur shot in like a missile.
"The steal! Zhao Dong jumps the lane! He's off to the races!" Marv yelled, hyped.
Reggie turned, tried to sprint—but Zhao Dong was already gone, two steps ahead with freakish speed.
"Bang!"
Another monster jam from Zhao Dong. He flew in and wrecked the rim with authority.
The whole damn Pacers arena? Silent.
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