Knicks vs. Magic – Zhao Dong vs. Grant, Round 2
Zhao Dong was still raw when it came to pro-level experience, but with two lifetimes' worth of basketball knowledge, he wasn't lacking in hoops IQ. He played smart, leaned into his physical gifts, and dominated in the paint.
Grant had solid defense, but his low-post game was suspect. He couldn't hold Zhao Dong down from behind, and when he tried fronting him, the Magic struggled with rebounds and second-chance points.
When the final buzzer sounded, it was another Knicks W, 95-88.
Zhao Dong clocked 33 minutes, shot 7-for-10 from the field, hit 6-of-8 free throws, and finished with 20 points, 12 boards, 1 dime, 2 blocks, 2 turnovers, and 4 fouls.
Grant? He had a rough night—2-for-10 shooting, 6 points, 4 rebounds, 2 assists, 1 block, 1 turnover, and 3 fouls.
System Activated
Sitting on the bench, Zhao Dong couldn't wait to fire up the system.
> "Congratulations to the host for completing all the mission options. The rewards have been issued. Please choose whether to overwrite them."
"Hell yeah!" Zhao Dong lit up instantly.
Postgame Interview
"Zhao Dong, congrats! That's four straight 20-and-10 games for you!"
Zhao turned to see Zhang Heli and Sun from CCTV approaching him for an interview. He quickly stood up and greeted them.
"Thanks, appreciate it," Zhao said with a grin. "Honestly, the defense was kinda weak today. If they played tougher, I might've put up even better numbers."
Zhang and Sun laughed awkwardly at his not-so-humble response.
Meanwhile, in the Magic Locker Room
Grant sat on the bench, frustrated, when his phone started buzzing.
Michael Jordan.
The Bulls didn't have a game that night, and since this wasn't a national TV matchup, MJ hadn't watched it live. But he knew it was over and wanted the inside scoop.
"Yo, Horace, what's good? How'd it go?" Jordan asked the second the call connected.
Horace sighed. "Man, don't even ask, Mike. That rookie is a problem. If y'all run into him, watch out."
"You telling me you lost to that dude?" Jordan sounded surprised.
Horace chuckled bitterly. "I started off fine, but midway through, dude yanked me out the air on a layup. Thought I was about to be on a Shaqtin' a Fool highlight."
"Man, what the hell?!"
"Yeah, bro. My back's a little messed up, but it ain't serious."
Jordan exhaled sharply. "So, what's the deal? How'd he get off on you?"
"Dude's game is simple—he eats off second-chance points. Strength? Insane. Weight? He's got it. Bounce? Crazy. I can't stop him once he gets position."
Grant paused, then added, "But if y'all match up with the Knicks, Rodman's got a better shot than me. Rodman's lighter, but his hops are even crazier. He might be able to keep up."
"Rodman can handle it," Jordan said confidently.
But after hanging up, MJ leaned back, deep in thought.
The Bulls might have a real issue in the paint.
Luke Longley couldn't handle Ewing alone—Rodman would have to help. In the past, they only had to deal with Ewing, since Oakley played outside. But now, with this rookie bodying dudes in the low post, Chicago's defense might get stretched thin.
"Damn it!"
Jordan scratched his head, realizing his beef with Jerry Krause might've backfired.
If the Bulls had kept Zhao Dong, his low-post presence could've forced defenses to collapse, giving Jordan more space to cook.
But it was too late now. And MJ wasn't about to admit he was wrong.
As far as he was concerned, there wasn't a single problem his scoring couldn't fix.
His only issue? This damn rookie wouldn't stop making him a target in the media.
Postgame Press Conference
A reporter from a local sports paper went straight at Zhao Dong.
"Zhao Dong, you pulled Grant down from behind during a layup. Don't you think that was a dirty play?"
Zhao scoffed. "Oh, so Grant two chokeholds on me were clean defense? Dude had me in a rear-naked choke like it was UFC. You wanna feel what that's like?"
The reporter hesitated. "Uh…"
Zhao smirked. "By the way, I heard Jordan hit up Grant before the game. Told him to rough me up. Too bad it backfired."
The room erupted.
"Wait, Zhao Dong—are you sure Jordan called Horace Grant before the game?" another reporter asked excitedly.
"One hundred percent," Zhao nodded.
Some reporters didn't even stick around—they bolted out the room to check Grant phone records.
Ewing's Take
Back in the locker room, Ewing nudged Zhao.
"You sure about that?"
"Of course," Zhao grinned.
Ewing chuckled. "Welp, Mike's about to have a field day with the media. They already don't like him much."
He gave Zhao a sideways look.
This rookie had moves.
"Where the hell did you get that info, though? Or are you just talking out your ass?"
Zhao just smiled.
Magic GM Pat Williams was in the postgame presser when he heard what Zhao said.
He lost his damn mind.
"Check Grant's phone records!" he barked at his staff.
Dude was so cutthroat he once traded Shaq—if he found out Grant had been taking orders from Jordan, he might ship him out before sunrise.
On the Knicks' Flight to Charlotte
The Knicks had a back-to-back against the Hornets, so they hopped a flight overnight.
Zhao's seat had been upgraded—he now sat right behind Ewing, Oakley, and the other vets.
He flipped open the system.
> "Overwrite reward?"
"Do it."
> "Covering...
Complete.
Cutting ability increased by 8 levels. Current rating: 83."
Zhao grinned.
"Man, if only it was a full open-cut package instead of just Grunfeld's cut-ins. But hey, I'll take it."
His off-ball movement just got way better, which was huge since he still wasn't getting many on-ball touches.
When he looked up, Oakley was sitting next to him.
"Zhao, you messed up in that press conference," Oakley said.
Zhao frowned. "What you mean?"
"If you really wanted to drop that info, you should've given it to your agent instead of saying it yourself. Now you're in the heat, and that's not your job. Agents handle that."
Zhao nodded. "I get it now."
Oakley smirked. "I already hit up Wells. Expect a call."
Agent Wells Calls In
As soon as the plane landed, Zhao's phone rang.
"Zhao, next time, leave the media stunts to me," Wells chuckled.
"My bad, bro, I got caught up."
"No sweat," Wells said. "Just know this—if shit goes south, blame it on me. And if they ask where you got the info?"
Zhao grinned. "I plead the fifth."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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