While the fans were buzzing, the Supersonics pushed the tempo, running their best fast break. The Knicks hustled back on defense.
Zhao Dong sprinted back from the wing and cut straight to the basket after hitting the left three-point line. At the same time, Gary Payton saw Shawn Kemp slicing into the paint from the right wing.
In mid-air, Payton tossed a lob.
The lane was wide open—Patrick Ewing and Charles Oakley hadn't made it back yet, just reaching the free-throw line.
"Alley-oop?"
Zhao Dong locked onto Shawn Kemp as soon as Payton released the pass. Then he saw Kemp explode off the ground.
No hesitation. Zhao Dong launched himself toward him.
At that moment, across the U.S. and all the way to China, countless eyes locked onto the Knicks' paint.
BANG!
A loud slap echoed through the arena.
BANG!
The moment the ball shot high into the air, a deep, bone-rattling impact followed. Zhao Dong and Kemp crashed mid-air, both groaning as they flipped backward and slammed onto the hardwood.
"OH!"
The crowd erupted. Fans leaped out of their seats.
---
In a Los Angeles hotel, Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen exchanged looks.
Meanwhile, at Madison Square Garden, Spike Lee turned to Tom Cruise in the front row, hyped as hell.
"Tom Cruise, you lose!"
"That's brutal," Cruise muttered, shaking his head. He hated losing, but this Chinese kid was just different.
---
"Oh no, hope he's good!"
On the sideline, Zhang Heli and Sun Zhenping watched anxiously as Zhao Dong remained down.
Zhang Heli was the most concerned—he knew what injuries meant for an athlete's career.
Shaking his head, he sighed, "He really didn't need to go that hard… It's just one play. What if he's hurt? The national team is watching."
"The national team wants Zhao Dong?" Sun Zhenping asked, surprised.
Zhang Heli nodded. "Yeah, they've got him on their radar. This year's squad is stacked—people are calling them the Golden Generation. Wang Zhizhi is already a force inside, but with Zhao Dong? Man, our frontcourt would be scary. We might actually make some noise in the '98 World Championships."
---
Flat on his back, Zhao Dong gasped for air. His chest felt caved in—breathing was tough.
"How you doin', kid?" Oakley loomed over him.
"I'm… good… just… gimme a sec." Zhao Dong wheezed.
Oakley chuckled. "Damn, kid, you ain't scared of shit. But you just pissed Kemp off bad."
Zhao Dong, still catching his breath, was helped up by Ewing and Oakley. Across from him, Kemp was back on his feet too. Both had that locked-in look—like two wild animals ready to go at it.
That was the plan. Get in Kemp's head. Piss him off, disrupt his rhythm, then break him down with relentless defense. Finally, hit him with something even more vicious and crush his confidence. That was how you took out a beast like Kemp.
"Try that shit again," Zhao Dong taunted.
"Bet I will," Kemp shot back, seething.
"You'll be on your ass again."
"Hell no!"
They got in each other's faces, barking, but teammates pulled them apart before things got out of hand.
Still Sonics' ball—frontcourt inbound.
"Yo, Mr. Glove, feed Kemp again! I need another highlight!" Zhao Dong hollered at Payton.
"Man, shut yo' ass up! You talk more than Reggie Miller!" Payton fired back.
Damn. Even from two meters away, dude was spitting everywhere. That was elite-level trash talk.
---
On the sidelines, assistant coach Tom Thibodeau nudged Jeff Van Gundy.
"Jeff, Zhao Dong—looks even quicker these past few games. Almost as fast as Charles."
Van Gundy nodded, deep in thought.
He knew Zhao Dong wanted to expand his game—play outside more, handle the rock, shoot from deep. And honestly, he had the skills to do it.
Van Gundy had been studying him closely: his passing, handles, vision, speed, power, jumper, pick-and-roll execution, off-ball movement, ability to create…
"We might have to move Oakley or slide Larry Johnson to the four," he murmured, running scenarios in his head.
Oakley had already told him Zhao Dong was a future franchise guy, and management clearly saw him the same way. He had to make the right call.
---
Back on the floor, Zhao Dong and Kemp kept jostling in the paint, still chirping.
And honestly? Zhao Dong was winning the trash talk battle too. Kemp was getting heated, his game getting sloppier, his moves more reckless.
"Gary!"
Kemp finally got position on the right block and demanded the ball.
Payton saw it—good spot, strong back-to-the-basket game—so he fired the pass in.
Kemp caught it and immediately started backing Zhao Dong down.
BANG. BANG.
He slammed his shoulder into Zhao Dong's chest, trying to force his way closer.
But Zhao Dong held firm—too strong. Kemp couldn't move him.
Frustrated, Kemp spun off his left shoulder, aiming for a powerful dunk.
Zhao Dong didn't even turn right away. Instead, he took a quick step back before spinning around.
Kemp was already airborne, ball cocked back for the hammer.
Zhao Dong exploded off the ground, one step ahead, reaching up—
BANG!
The block sent shockwaves through the arena.
"Ohhh, what a SWAT! Zhao Dong stuffs Kemp for the second time tonight! Knicks ball—Oakley grabs it—fast break!"
Madison Square Garden was rocking.
Zhao Dong immediately took off. His 85-rated speed made him a nightmare in transition, and he wasn't letting this opportunity slip.
Kemp wasn't about to let it slide either. He sprinted after him, fuming.
"No way this dude's this fast," Kemp thought, stunned. He couldn't catch up.
On the bench, Thibodeau nudged Van Gundy again.
"That's top-tier small forward speed," he muttered.
Van Gundy just nodded, eyes locked on Zhao Dong's breakaway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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