Knicks offense.
Ewing missed another jumper, but Oakley crashed in, snagged the board, and kicked it out to Zhao Dong, who was already attacking the rim.
Zhao Dong caught it clean, but Shawn Kemp was right behind him, ready to challenge.
"Boy—"
Kemp started talking trash, but Zhao Dong was already moving.
He leaned in, backing down with his dribble.
"Bang!"
Kemp had insane athleticism and strength, but his frame wasn't as heavy as Zhao Dong's. That was his weak spot in this matchup. The first bump loosened his stance, tilting his upper body back just a little.
"Bang!"
The second bump hit even harder.
Kemp staggered, forced to take a half-step back.
"Bang!"
Then Zhao Dong pulled a nasty move—suddenly jumping sideways, planting his left hand on Kemp's head, and hammering the ball down with his right.
"YEAH!"
Madison Square Garden erupted.
"Damn it!"
Kemp hit the floor again, dunked on twice already. His face burned with frustration and embarrassment.
"Shit!"
In a Los Angeles hotel, Jordan cursed at the screen.
"Ohhh! Zhao Dong just posterized Shawn Kemp again! That's two in a row! Is he trying to take the title of the league's best dunker?!"
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena as the crowd went wild.
Zhao Dong hung onto the rim for a second, looking down at Kemp on the floor, soaking in the deafening cheers.
At that moment, he felt unstoppable—even better than when he was with Alice.
No wonder Kemp loves dunking on people—it feels damn good.
Kemp picked himself up, teeth clenched. He hated that cocky look Zhao Dong gave him. He hated being on the ground while some Chinese dude stood over him.
That's supposed to be me on top.
But Zhao Dong ignored him, running to the baseline and hyping up the crowd.
"HOW WAS THAT DUNK?! Y'ALL HAVING FUN?!"
"ZHAO DONG, WE'RE LOVING IT!"
A row of cheerleaders started shaking their chests at him, making some reporters turn their heads in shock.
Kemp was still fuming. Zhao Dong turned back and smirked at him.
"Hey old man, how's it feel getting dunked on over and over?"
"Get the fuck outta here, rookie."
Before Kemp could say more, Gary Payton stepped in, shoving Zhao Dong aside.
"Forget him, Shawn. Get him back."
"Two straight dunks! Zhao Dong is bullying Shawn Kemp in the post—using his size, strength, and footwork to dominate down low!"
NBC's broadcast team was hyped.
Marv Albert nodded. "I expect Kemp to answer back."
"Marv, look at this!" On the sidelines, Doug Collins pointed at the court. "That's the Knicks' new beast, Zhao Dong. He's dunking on Kemp like it's nothing. Is he trying to be the new king of New York?"
Marv Albert shook his head. "Nah, the Knicks already got Ewing. Another dominant guy would just cause problems."
Doug Collins laughed. "Still, Zhao Dong is the future of the Knicks."
"I bet Kemp blocks him next time and puts him on the floor," Marv said.
Doug smirked. "Wanna bet? 50 grand says Zhao Dong blocks Kemp first."
"You serious?"
"Hell yeah."
"Alright. Bet."
Back to the game. Knicks up 5-2. Supersonics ball.
Kemp caught it on the right wing, with Zhao Dong on him.
"You ain't scoring this time, fool."
Kemp was pissed. "Fuck you, you Chinese monkey."
Zhao Dong's expression turned cold.
"You racist piece of shit. I'll knock all your teeth out one day."
Kemp suddenly shoved him and tried to muscle his way inside.
"BEEP!"
Zhao Dong sold the contact, hitting the floor hard. Offensive foul.
That was a Rodman move—trash talk, mind games, and a well-timed flop to bait the refs.
"I didn't even push him!" Kemp barked at the ref.
"You want a tech, Shawn?"
"I think he does," Zhao Dong muttered with a smirk.
Payton rushed over, pulling Kemp away before he got himself T'd up.
"That's two quick fouls on Kemp! The Supersonics are in trouble early," the NBC commentators noted.
"That rookie is talking too much," Marv Albert said. "He should let his game do the work."
Collins laughed. "Trash talk is part of the NBA, Marv. And controlling your emotions is a must-have skill. Zhao Dong's got it. Kemp, after eight years in the league, still doesn't."
Knicks ball.
Ewing finally hit a mid-range jumper.
7-2, Knicks up.
Payton brought it up, backing down Oakley near the left baseline before spinning into a fadeaway.
Zhao Dong didn't rotate to help—he was on the right side, too far to challenge.
Next possession, Alan Houston got it.
He hit his first shot earlier, so now he was confident. He gave Hawkins a couple of hesitations, then pulled up for a three.
Zhao Dong stayed at the right-wing three-point line instead of crashing the boards.
He knew the Supersonics thrived on fast breaks, and if Ewing or Oakley didn't get the rebound, Kemp would be off to the races.
The shot went up.
Kemp ignored Zhao Dong and went inside for the board.
"BANG!"
Missed.
Oakley grabbed the rebound.
"Here!" Zhao Dong shouted.
Oakley zipped the pass to him.
Wide open.
Zhao Dong glanced at the rim, then calmly pulled up.
His shooting rating was a 90 in open space—this was automatic.
"SWISH!"
Money.
The crowd exploded.
Zhao Dong turned to the fans, flashed the three-point OK gesture, and the place went wild again.
"Zhao Dong's got the whole package—dunks, mid-range, and now three-pointers. What a steal for the Knicks."
"His contract is a bargain."
"Future star, no doubt."
Knicks fans couldn't stop talking.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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