"Reggie Miller and Mark Jackson really slept on Zhao Dong's perimeter defense," Matt Goukas pointed out. "Y'all gotta remember—he clamped up Pippen last season. That's how they bounced Jordan's Bulls."
"Watch your passes, man. Zhao's quick, got freakin' long arms, fast hands, and he's top ten in steals league-wide," Marv Albert added.
5–2, Pacers ball.
This time they fed the rock to Rick Smits down low, trying to bully with some size.
Big Ben had a rough matchup here—he's tough, no doubt—but solo against a skilled 7'4" center? That's a mismatch. Even in his prime, Yao cooked him in his rookie season.
Swish!
Smits backed him down twice and hit a clean hook right over Ben's head.
Knicks took it back, but Zhao Dong didn't sprint down this time—they settled into a half-court set.
Fast breaks burn energy quick, and unlike those future Suns squads that play no D, the Knicks play both ends. So they gotta manage the tempo.
And guess who controls that pace?
Zhao. Freakin'. Dong.
If he pushes? It's a break. If he chills? Half-court set. Simple as that.
Allan Houston brought the ball up.
Zhao Dong slid to the left wing, just outside the arc, and called for it.
"Yo, Miller," he said, dribbling while locking eyes. "I'mma pull up on you. Three-pointer, not two. Better square up now."
Squeak!
Reggie Miller lunged forward, tryna snatch the ball and shut down the trash talk.
Zhao pivoted, kept the rock tight with his left, used that big frame to shield Reggie, then hit him with a sharp right turn—one big step past the arc—and started driving hard to the wing.
Miller scrambled to recover.
But right then, Zhao slammed the brakes and pulled back.
"Sh*t!"
Miller's body kept going while his brain hit pause. Dude skidded and landed right on his ass.
"Oops. My bad! You good down there?" Zhao said, smiling while still cooking him with that trash talk.
Then, without any rush, he rose up.
Swish!
All net. Cold-blooded.
Bang!
Reggie, heated as hell, punched the hardwood in frustration.
"Oh man! Reggie Miller just got dropped!" Marv Albert shouted from the booth.
"Hilarious! A big man put a guard on the floor!" Matt Goukas laughed.
"Zhao does this all the time. He's damn near the best at shaking off defenders in the league," Marv added.
"For real," Matt agreed. "His shot percentage under pressure is higher than even Jordan's when double-teamed."
Back on D, Zhao locked onto Reggie like a heat-seeking missile. No off-ball screens, no pick-and-roll escape—he stuck to him like glue. Reggie couldn't breathe.
"Damn, it's the regular season! Why's he going playoff mode already?" Reggie muttered, pissed off.
Mark Jackson tried a jumper, clanked it, and Big Ben snatched the board.
Rick Smits contested it, which messed with Ben's outlet pass, so the Knicks had to slow it down again and run half-court.
Zhao Dong took it to his usual spot—left wing beyond the arc.
Coach Don Nelson's starting five was all offense except for Ben. Zhao, Houston, and John Starks could all get buckets. Straight up, this was New York's most dangerous lineup.
That's just how Nelson rolls. He doesn't care about traditional positions. He wants his five best hoopers out there, period.
That's why neither Charlie Ward nor Chris Childs made the cut—they just didn't bring enough scoring juice.
With all four guys able to shoot, the Knicks could stretch the floor like the Pacers, making it tough for Indy to send help or double anyone.
Reggie Miller barely touched the rock so far, but he was drenched in sweat, hunched down in a deep stance in front of Zhao Dong, looking like he was trying to guard prime MJ.
"You think I can drop you again?" Zhao asked, casually palming the ball with his right while nudging Reggie with his left.
"You couldn't even drop my grandma—" Reggie started, but Zhao was already up in the air.
Whoosh!
Reggie barely had time to lift off before Zhao let it fly.
Then Zhao leaned in and whispered, "Swish," right in Reggie's ear.
Swish!—for real this time.
Two fingers in the air.
"Two threes already, my guy. Might keep raining 'em all night. Wide open looks like this? You kiddin'? If I miss, I might as well retire."
Reggie clenched his fists. He wanted to swing, but… nah. Dude wasn't ready to catch those Zhao Dong hands.
"I think Reggie's in for a long night," Marv chuckled.
Matt nodded. "He's got heart, sure—but he's not on Zhao's level. Or Jordan's. He can't stop Zhao, but Zhao can stop him."
"The Pacers just don't have anybody who can clamp Zhao Dong," Marv said. "Come playoff time? This could get ugly."
With their defense stretched thin, Zhao was slicing through Indy like butter—fast breaks, iso drives, didn't matter. No one could hold him.
So the Pacers tried switching it up. They started keeping the ball away from Zhao on defense—basically using Reggie as bait just to keep Zhao occupied.
It kinda worked. That's the Pacers' strength, after all—they don't lean on one dude. Everybody eats.
So even without Reggie's offense, they didn't fall apart.
But here's the problem—just because they slowed Zhao down on one end didn't mean they could stop him on the other.
Whether it was full-court sprints or methodical half-court execution, Zhao was out there bustin' their schemes wide open.
It's the Knicks' offense again, setting up in the half court.
Zhao Dong pulled up at the left wing three-point line, gave Reggie Miller a quick pump fake, and the dude bit. Zhao blew by him with a lightning-quick first step.
The Pacers scrambled to recover on D, but Zhao was already in full gear. By the time their two bigs managed to retreat under the rim, still trying to set their feet, Zhao Dong was already taking off.
"BOOM!"
The rim shook as Zhao threw it down hard, and Pacers center Rik Smits hit the floor like a tree falling in the forest.
"Beep!"
Whistle blew. Ref pointed straight at Smits and hit him with a foul for catching Zhao on the arm.
Back on offense, the Knicks set up again.
Zhao attacked off the dribble, brushing Reggie Miller just slightly. Not even enough to knock over a traffic cone. But Miller flopped like a fish outta water and hollered.
Whistle blew again.
Zhao Dong braced, thinking it might be an offensive.
Then he saw the ref point at Reggie and curl his finger, motioning him over. A tech.
Zhao smirked. "What's up, man? You trying to sell that flop?"
Reggie popped up, pissed. "This is our house! That's a foul!"
Ref wasn't having it. "You flopped. Tech foul."
Zhao laughed in his face. "Told you, bro. You're faking it."
"I wasn't faking!"
"You were."
"I wasn't!"
"Aight then, swear on your mama you wasn't."
"Man, you—"
…
End of the first quarter, Knicks up big, 31 to 20.
"The Pacers just can't stop Zhao Dong on the break," Marv Albert commented. "They're also getting beat on the glass—Oakley and Big Ben are dominating."
"They're taking a lotta shots," Matt Goukas chimed in, "but not making enough of them. They better figure something out, or they're gettin' blown out tonight."
"Zhao's perfect so far," Marv added. "7-for-7 from the field, 4-for-4 at the line. Dropped 18 in the quarter. Aside from a couple threes, the rest were all power dunks—either on the drive or in transition. Reggie Miller can't do a damn thing to stop him."
Matt chuckled. "Too much weight and strength. Reggie tries to get in his way, and it's like watching a twig get bulldozed."
Marv laughed too. "What really gets me? We're in Indiana, but the refs aren't favoring the home squad. Reggie's the one who gets the tech."
"Yeah," said Matt, grinning. "You know, the league's been hyping Zhao Dong heavy lately. His highlights are running on every major network—like that dunk over Stockton in the Finals or that backboard-shattering slam last week."
"What's that mean?" Marv raised an eyebrow.
"You know what it means. The league wants a new face. And they've made their pick."
Marv nodded slowly, lips tight, letting that one hang in the air.
Last time these two teams met, the Knicks got wrecked mostly because Indiana was on fire from three. They hit 12 triples and torched New York from deep.
This time, the Pacers still jacked up 26 threes but only hit 7. That's under 30%. Cold as ice.
Final score: Knicks 112, Pacers 89. A 23-point beatdown.
Zhao Dong finished with a monster triple-double—42 points—and locked down Reggie Miller the entire game. Mission accomplished.
Postgame, he was mobbed by reporters.
"Zhao Dong, the Pacers have been killin' it this season. They're second in the East. What's your take on them?" asked a local beat guy.
"They're a tough squad," Zhao nodded with a slight grin. "It's impressive, for sure—being second in the East without a superstar. Gotta respect that."
The reporter blinked. "You said we don't have a superstar?"
Zhao looked confused. "Do y'all?"
He shrugged. "I mean, I checked the stats. Nobody's putting up 20 and 10. Reggie's got like 19.5 points, 2.9 boards, 2.1 dimes. Not exactly superstar numbers. Has he ever averaged 20 and 10? Nah. That's not superstar territory, is it?"
The reporters were stunned.
"Hold on now," one of them pushed back. "Reggie and Chris Mullin are All-Stars. That makes them superstars."
Zhao waved it off. "All-Star don't mean superstar. If you ain't putting up 20 and 10, then you better be at least doing 20, 5, and 5."
He said it with conviction. The kind you only get when you got a system in your head assigning goals like that.
"Well, Mullin has had some 20-5-5 seasons," another reporter shot back. "Doesn't that count?"
"Sure," Zhao nodded. "But I'm talkin' about right now. And Mullin wasn't even on the Pacers until recently."
"You're real arrogant, man," the reporters snapped.
Zhao laughed. "Aight, fair enough. I'll give 'em props—Reggie and Mullin, they're real solid. They'll probably end up in the Hall. But that don't mean they're superstars right now."
"Fei—uh, Zhao Dong," another reporter said, catching himself. "Reggie had 3 defensive fouls, 1 tech, and 1 offensive on you. By the end, he didn't even try to guard you. Is that normal?"
"All I know," Zhao said, smirking, "is dude kicked me at least four times when he was shootin'. Only got called for one offensive foul. Should've been four."
He leaned in a little, that edge in his voice kicking up.
"On defense, he was pulling every dirty trick he could. At the end, he wasn't avoiding me 'cause he didn't wanna. He couldn't guard me. Plus, he had five fouls—what's he gonna do? Play tight D and foul out?"
Back in the locker room, after a quick shower and the postgame presser, the Knicks boarded the plane to Cleveland.
On the flight, Zhao Dong leaned back in his seat and pulled up his system screen.
Two skill points. Not a lot compared to last season's haul, but still something. He dumped them both into his low-post game, boosting it from 93 to 94.
"Boss?"
Zhao looked up. It was Allan Houston, with Larry Johnson right behind him.
He quickly closed the system screen. "What's up?"
The two glanced at each other, serious looks on their faces.
"I'll head to the back," said Oakley, who was seated nearby.
"No, Charles," Larry Johnson said quickly. "You should hear this too."
Oakley stopped mid-step, raised an eyebrow, and looked over at Zhao.
Zhao nodded. "Alright. Go ahead. Let's talk."
A minute later, he looked surprised and asked, "Wait… hold up—Nike and Adidas personally reached out to you for a deal?"
"Yeah," Allan Houston nodded. "Through our agent."
"Man, these damn companies tryna stir up some sh*t." Oakley scowled.
"Hit up Ernie Grunfeld as soon as we get back to New York," Zhao Dong said firmly. "The front office needs to move on this, and we might have to loop the league in too. This ain't small—this is major. These sponsors think they run the league."
He'd already seen it coming. Nike and Adidas could easily team up—he was the target. Because he was pushing to take Jordan's throne. Because of the Silver Demon. He'd been ready for this since day one.
The Knicks' front office had to back him. As for the league? He wasn't sure of their stance yet, but he knew for a fact the league wasn't down with letting these brands start dictating things.
So once this went public, the NBA would have to step in.
That's the play. Him, the Knicks, and the league all had aligned interests.
He brought Coach Nelson in on it too. The coach was shook.
By 2 PM, Zhao Dong and the squad were back in NYC and headed straight to Knicks HQ.
He'd already hit up Grunfeld on the phone, so when he walked in, the whole management squad was there—including owner James Dolan.
Yeah, this was serious.
"We need to move Camby ASAP," Grunfeld said coldly. "Can't keep him around."
"Agreed," Dolan nodded.
"We need to take this straight to the league," said team president Ernie Grunfeld. "We can't let the NBA get hijacked by a couple sneaker giants."
Grunfeld added, "This is aimed straight at Zhao Dong—and by extension, the Knicks. We gotta strike fast. Hit the media. Go public. Push back."
"By the way…" Knicks VP of Operations Lewis cut in. "Have y'all noticed the league's been pushin' Zhao Dong heavy lately? Haven't seen this kinda spotlight since we won the chip."
Everyone froze.
James Dolan, who came from a media empire and ran a TV network, leaned forward with a knowing smile. "That means the league changed its stance."
Zhao Dong blinked. He hadn't even caught that.
"The league's tryna make you the face," Oakley whispered next to him.
"Congrats, boss," Allan Houston and Larry Johnson laughed.
"If that's true, then the league made a smart-ass move," Zhao Dong chuckled.
Grunfeld chimed in, "Jordan's gettin' up there. He lost that bet with the God of Basketball. Once his pull fades, the league's gonna feel it. They need a new icon, and Zhao Dong's the top candidate."
Lewis nodded, "This beef with the sponsors? It's the perfect chance to put the league back in control—and Zhao Dong front and center."
He knew all about the power Nike and Adidas had. And honestly, it wasn't good for the teams. He'd seen how heavy-handed they could be.
James Dolan suddenly turned to Zhao Dong. "So, how's your Zhao Dong Sporting Goods Company doin' right now?"
Everyone turned to look at Zhao Dong.
Right—they all remembered. He wasn't just a player. He owned the New York Jets. He ran Zhao Dong Sporting Goods. This dude was a whole empire.
Zhao Dong smiled. "Right now, we got 40-plus second and third-tier players under contract, a few NCAA names too. No big stars though. They're all still with Nike, Adidas, Reebok and the rest.
But the Silver Demon I? I'm tellin' you now, once it drops—it's gonna eat up market share, no question."
Truth was, he had zero doubts.
With his memory from the future, he'd already locked up a bunch of future stars from the NCAA and high school. That meant one thing—the future belonged to Zhao Dong and the Silver Demon series.
And with his own star power? Just give it six to eight years. That company would be a beast.
James Dolan laughed. "Exactly. That's why Nike and Adidas are coming for your neck. Especially Nike, 'cause of Jordan."
From his angle, this wasn't just player drama—it was business warfare.
And if this was a business thing? Then the Knicks weren't the main player here—Zhao Dong was. So any profits or protection would be dealt with accordingly.
Of course, Dolan expected some kickback later. He was making moves on Zhao Dong's behalf. So if the money came in, he'd want his cut.
Zhao Dong wasn't stupid. He saw through the whole game.
He knew his interests didn't exactly line up with the Knicks'. And hell, even the Knicks' interests didn't fully align with Dolan's.
Dolan might own the team, but the Knicks were still a full entity—management, coaching, players, fans, the whole package. Plenty of moving pieces.
After thinking it over, Zhao Dong looked over and smiled. "Tell you what, Mr. Dolan—how about we just cut the nonsense? I'll buy the Knicks. That way it's easier to split the bill."
Everyone was stunned.
Dolan especially.
"Nah, nah, nah—no way," Dolan shook his head fast.
He knew what Zhao Dong was saying. Basically: "If you start negotiating with me like I'm just a player, I can walk. And I will."
Dolan couldn't risk that. Without Zhao Dong? The Knicks were toast. No chip. No hype. The fans would riot.
Zhao Dong added with a grin, "But here's what I do want—Zhao Dong Sporting Goods as an official sponsor of the Knicks."
That was the trade-off.
Long-term contracts needed balance—benefits for both sides. Just like ball movement, if one guy hogged the rock too long, the team broke down.
Besides, Zhao Dong would need to sponsor teams eventually. Maybe even national squads. Getting the Knicks onboard was an easy win.
"Deal."
Dolan smiled and nodded.
This was good for him. Keeping Zhao Dong in a Knicks jersey was priority one. Everything else came second.
To be honest, if Lindsay hadn't tried buying a team for him, Zhao Dong wouldn't even be thinking about owning an NBA or NFL franchise.
As someone reborn with future knowledge, he had a thousand better ways to make money. Way cleaner than buying into pro sports.
Owning a team and playing for it? That messed with the fun of competition.
So as long as the vibe stayed right, and everyone played their part, he was cool repping the Knicks for years to come.
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