"Zhao Dong, what's it feel like droppin' 40-plus for the first time and getting that W?" a New York Times reporter asked.
"Man, it feels damn good to just keep scoring and still take the win. I'd love to have nights like this every game," Zhao Dong said excitedly, wiping sweat from his face.
"Why do you think the Heat didn't double you tonight?" another reporter followed up.
"I ain't there yet," Zhao Dong admitted without hesitation.
He knew that once the double-teams started coming, his efficiency would take a hit. His game wasn't at Jordan's level yet—where even when teams threw everything at him, he'd still light 'em up like they weren't even there. Tonight, his main matchup was Austin, and honestly? It was a cakewalk.
After wrapping up the on-court interview, Van Gundy took Zhao Dong to the postgame press conference.
Meanwhile, over in Chicago, the Bulls had just finished handling business at home. Jordan led the squad back to the locker room.
"Mike, that Knicks kid just dropped 44, grabbed 13 boards, and swatted seven shots," a security guard told Jordan.
"What?" Jordan paused, clearly caught off guard.
"Wait, was Mourning hurt or somethin'?" Pippen asked right away.
"Nah, Mourning just got locked up all night. That dude blocked him six times and held him to 10 points," the security guard explained.
"What?"
Even Rodman looked stunned. Six blocks on one dude? His career-high was only five.
"They didn't double him?" Jordan asked.
"Not once," the guard confirmed.
Jordan nodded, and a smirk crept onto his face.
Pippen chuckled. "Man, 44 one-on-one is nice, but it don't mean a damn thing."
Then the guard added, "Oh, and he was cookin' Austin all night."
Pippen blinked. "That explains a lot. Where was PJ Brown?"
The security guard hesitated for a second, then said with a weird look, "Uh… that guy got taken out early. Zhao Dong accidentally stepped on his… uh… package."
"...?"
The locker room went dead silent for a second before the entire squad burst out laughing—even Jordan cracked up.
---
Madison Square Garden – Press Conference Room
The postgame presser kicked off.
"Coach Riley, why didn't you guys throw doubles at Zhao Dong? Was it just 'cause it's a regular season game?" a reporter asked.
Pat Riley smirked, glanced at Zhao Dong sitting next to him, and said, "I had my reasons. I wanted to see just how good his one-on-one game really is."
"If y'all meet in the playoffs, will you double him then?"
"He's definitely earned that kind of respect," Riley said, flashing another smile at Zhao Dong.
"What's your overall take on his game?" the reporter continued.
"Outside of playmaking, he's got a polished post game, can knock down mid-range and threes, and finishes well at the rim. He's an all-around scorer—think of him like a bigger, slightly weaker version of Karl Malone."
"Whoa!"
That got the media buzzing. A bigger version of Karl Malone? Even with the 'weaker' tag, that was still high praise.
"Zhao Dong, what do you think about your game tonight?" another reporter asked.
"It was solid, but I'm not blind—I was goin' at their backup big, not their best defender. I know what's up, but I'll keep getting better," Zhao Dong said with a confident grin.
"What do you have to say about PJ Brown's injury?" someone else asked.
"Yeah… that's on me. I was just attacking the paint, didn't realize he fell right under me. I didn't think a simple backdown would put him on the floor like that—it was honestly an accident."
"You sure it wasn't payback? He hit you with some dirty plays before that," the reporter pressed.
"Pfft!"
A few people in the room couldn't help but laugh.
Zhao Dong shrugged. "Yeah, that pissed me off, but look—I handle my business with buckets, not dirty plays. No way I'd ever step on a dude's… uh… ball's on purpose."
The room chuckled again.
Meanwhile, across the room, it was Mourning's turn at the mic.
"Alonzo, what's your take on the loss tonight?"
"I'm disappointed. We had problems, but we'll be ready in Miami in two days," Mourning said firmly.
"You got blocked six times by Zhao Dong tonight. Any thoughts?" the next reporter asked, half-smirking.
"...No comment."
Mourning's face went ice cold as he shut that conversation down instantly.
"Patrick, you shot 5-of-18 tonight. Not only were your hands ice cold, but you only got to the line three times. That's barely making an impact. You finished with 12 points, 7 boards, and just one block. You satisfied with that performance?"
A Miami Sports reporter hit Ewing with the question.
"Of course not," Ewing said, shaking his head. "My wrist injury flared up again, and that was the main issue. But it'll pass, and I'll get back to my usual level soon."
"What do you think about Zhao Dong's performance? Does this affect your role on the team?" The reporter was clearly fishing.
Ewing smirked. "He's good. But do you really think he's gonna push me out?"
"Do you two hang out off the court?"
"A little, not much. We got our own circles," Ewing replied.
After the press conference, Zhao Dong headed straight to the airport with the squad. They had a back-to-back coming up, facing the Nets on the road tomorrow.
On the flight, he hesitated before pulling up the system menu. He had completed his mission of locking up Mourning, but he wasn't exactly hyped about his reward. He sure as hell didn't want "iron kidneys," and he wasn't in the mood to roll the dice on the lottery.
"Man, this is a pain in the ass," he grumbled before finally opening the system.
"Congrats, Host. You have completed the 'Team Sniper' mission and earned five quality points."
"Congrats, Host. You have also completed all objectives in the 'Superstar Sniper' mission and have obtained Mourning's iron kidneys. Would you like to apply this attribute?"
"Apply what? Hell no!" Zhao Dong shouted in frustration.
Instead, he pulled up his player attributes and debated where to allocate his five quality points.
Speed had always been his go-to, but ever since hitting Level 86, he noticed something—his directional changes and spin moves felt kinda stiff. His balance, flexibility, and coordination weren't keeping up. If he kept stacking speed without improving those, he might actually injure himself.
"Yeah, I gotta fix that first."
Coordination was key. If his body wasn't working together smoothly, everything else would be off. He made the call and bumped his coordination from Level 70 to Level 75.
He estimated that for his height, capping his speed at Level 90 should be enough. Coordination needed to be around 80, maybe 85 at most, for everything to click.
"Alright, let's get this over with. System, spin the damn wheel."
"Lottery initiated. Wishing Host good luck!" the system chimed in.
The turntable appeared, and Zhao Dong eyed it nervously.
"...The hell?"
His face twisted at the first prize—Duncan's smug smile.
"Bruh, what is this? System, you tryna get me ejected like Timmy?"
Just thinking about it made him shudder. Duncan had once gotten tossed for literally just smiling on the bench. Zhao Dong wasn't trying to get on a ref's shit list for something stupid like that.
The second slot wasn't bad—Westbrook's reckless bulldozer drives.
Now that was something useful. If he maxed out his speed to 90 and combined it with this, even Shaq might get run over.
The third prize made him cuss again—Melo's 'gangster aura.'
"System, what kinda setup is this? You tryna get me blackballed like Anthony? We all know why the league never fully backed him!"
He scanned the rest of the prizes, growing more annoyed. The next five were all trash. But when he hit the ninth slot, he finally saw something dope—T-Mac's pull-up jumper.
"Yo! Now we're talkin'!"
That move was deadly. Even Jordan struggled to contest it. But damn, it was a stamina killer. His durability was only at Level 86—not high enough to spam it all game. It'd have to be a situational weapon, not a go-to move.
The tenth slot was solid too—Kyrie's elite handles.
With that, he'd be like a souped-up Barkley, breaking ankles inside the paint.
The eleventh slot? KG's fadeaway turnaround jumper.
He hadn't used many of those moves yet, but once he mastered them, his low-post game would become an absolute nightmare to guard. This was something he needed to develop long-term.
The twelfth slot was straight comedy—Harden's foul-baiting tactics.
"System, are you serious?" Zhao Dong facepalmed.
Then a thought hit him. "Wait… these moves, are they at their peak level?"
"If there's no special marker, they are at their prime proficiency," the system confirmed.
That was a relief. If he got KG's fadeaway, he didn't want some half-baked version—he wanted it at elite level.
"Alright, let's spin."
He closed his eyes, already half-expecting disappointment. The wheel started spinning, and fifteen seconds later, a notification popped up.
"Lottery complete!"
Zhao Dong opened his eyes and instantly cursed in his head.
"Congrats, Host. You have obtained T-Mac's pull-up jumper. Would you like to apply it?"
"HELL YES. APPLY THAT IMMEDIATELY!"
This was a no-brainer. He had never trained this move before, and now he got it for free?
"The prime T-Mac pull-up?! That's gotta be at least Level 95! Man, this is huge!" He grinned, hyped as hell about the new weapon in his arsenal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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