The ball got smacked out of bounds, but the Jazz still had possession. When they came back on offense, Karl Malone wasn't having it. He demanded the rock again.
Malone's moves were predictable—dude had a set routine. One hand pushing off the defender, the other calling for the ball. Once he caught it, he'd muscle his way in, then spin for a jumper.
Zhao Dong knew what was coming. He lunged forward, ready to swat the shot again, but Malone went dirty—brought his knee up just as he rose.
BAM!
Another shot to the lower abdomen. Zhao Dong gritted his teeth, but this time, he couldn't get the block.
Clang!
The ball smacked off the rim. Ewing snatched the rebound, and the Knicks were off to the races.
"Oh no, again! Zhao Dong just took another shot below the belt!" Zhang Heli shouted.
"Zhao Dong, a straight-up beast on defense!" Doug Collins said from the NBC broadcast booth, shaking his head in respect.
Zhao Dong ignored the fast break and slowly got up from Malone, towering over him. He adjusted his waistband, talking his shit.
"Yo, don't back down, old man. Let's see whose body gives out first."
Malone winced, clutching his chest as he scrambled to his feet. His face twisted in pain. That elbow had landed HARD.
"Shit, get off me!" Malone snapped, still hurting. Seeing Zhao Dong fixing his pants right after knocking him down made it feel even more disrespectful.
BOOM!
Ewing threw down a slam at the other end.
2-8. The Jazz were off to a trash start, already trailing by six. Seeing Malone struggling, coach Jerry Sloan had no choice—he called a timeout.
"Yo, Mailman, you good?" Stockton asked as he and the other Jazz players gathered around.
"Did that dude cheap-shot you again?"
Malone pulled up his jersey. A red mark was already swelling on his chest.
"That bastard elbowed me," he growled.
"Damn, man. That wasn't just an elbow—that was the point of his elbow! He trying to kill you?" Stockton's eyes widened.
Malone rubbed his chest and hissed in pain.
"Malone, let me check that," the Jazz's team doctor said, stepping in with his med kit.
Jerry Sloan frowned as he took a look. "Karl, you should sit this one out."
"Hell no, Coach. I ain't letting that punk walk all over me," Malone shot back.
The team doctor shook his head. "Muscle's bruised and swollen. No obvious fracture, but we'd need a scan to be sure."
"My bones are fine," Malone insisted. "I ain't going out like this."
Jerry Sloan hesitated, then finally gave in. "Alright, but be smart out there."
---
On the Knicks' bench, Oakley leaned in. "Yo, Zhao Dong, that elbow was ruthless."
Zhao Dong smirked. "You expect me to be nice? That dude's tryna ruin my sex life, man. He gotta pay." He lifted his jersey, showing a nasty bruise forming on his stomach.
Oakley chuckled. "Next time we play the Bulls, you gotta take care of Jordan. We shut him down, we got a real shot at a ring."
Zhao Dong side-eyed him. "Bro, if I take out Jordan, Stern's gonna have me whacked."
Larry Johnson cracked his knuckles. "Feelin' like settin' up another meeting in the locker room after the game?"
Zhao Dong grinned. "Hell yeah. Time to remind 'em who runs this building."
"Bet. But this time, I go first," Johnson said.
"Deal," Zhao Dong nodded.
Oakley watched the exchange, a weird feeling settling in. If Zhao Dong kept this up, Ewing might not even be the toughest dude on the team anymore. Hell, this kid might take over the whole locker room.
---
Timeout over. Game back on. Knicks' ball.
Zhao Dong planted himself in the low post on the right wing.
The coaching staff had already agreed—he'd get at least 15 shots per game, second only to Ewing. But Zhao Dong wasn't content. He wanted more. He wanted to prove he could carry the squad.
"Ball," he barked at Chris Childs at the top of the arc.
Childs didn't hesitate. After that street fight with the Heat, he saw Zhao Dong differently. He passed the rock immediately.
As soon as Zhao Dong caught it, Malone hit him with a sharp elbow to the lower back.
Zhao Dong didn't flinch. He spun hard inside, then countered with a quick pivot back outside. Malone bit on the move, his balance wobbled. Zhao Dong took a step into the paint and rose for the jumper.
Bryon Russell flew in to contest, but it was too late.
Swish!
Money. Zhao Dong was already holding up the "OK" sign before the ball even went through the net.
The crowd roared. Cameras flashed.
His confidence skyrocketed. "Damn, my post game is deadly. If I keep getting these clean looks, I'm gonna cook this dude all night."
It hit him—just like how Duncan used the glass, he could use these mid-range jumpers to destroy defenders. His Gold Medal Low-Post Scoring badge was no joke. Combined with his pull-up game? He could tear Karl Malone apart.
Malone clenched his fists. "Damn it! He got me again!"
He made a vow—next time down, he wouldn't fall for it. No matter what, he'd stay on balance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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