Hall of Fame Sniper Mission
Block and steal the ball from Olajuwon three times in help defense.
Dunk over Olajuwon once.
If Zhao Dong gets knocked down by Olajuwon, the mission is automatically canceled.
Mission Reward: Complete all tasks and gain Olajuwon's coordination talent.
---
"Coordination talent?"
Zhao Dong nodded. Olajuwon's physical gifts were damn near one of a kind. His coordination? Unmatched in NBA history.
Between this and the Barkley mission, he'd rather go after Olajuwon's skillset. Barkley was tough, no doubt, but dude was already on the decline.
Barkley was pushing 34 and slowing down. This season, injuries had him missing 25 games—pelvic tear, ankle strain—you name it. Next year? It'd only get worse. Zhao Dong felt like he had a legit shot at taking him down.
He still remembered how Barkley's body started betraying him around this time. So, while the dude was still dangerous, he wasn't invincible.
But let's be real—he didn't wanna waste his shot on Barkley's skills anyway. Olajuwon's coordination? That was gold. Barkley's big ass? No thanks.
---
Houston, Texas – 3:00 PM
The Knicks touched down and headed to their hotel, where the media had already lined up for a press conference.
"Zhao Dong, you're going head-to-head with Barkley. Confident?" a reporter from the Houston Chronicle asked.
Zhao Dong smirked. "Can he still fly? If not, I'm gonna mop the floor with him. Beat his ass so bad he calls me daddy."
Laughter rippled through the room.
"Do you see yourself as a bigger Barkley or a weaker Barkley?" another reporter pressed.
Zhao Dong leaned in. "Tomorrow night, I'm the butcher. That flying pig? I'm shaving him clean."
Reporters cracked up.
A local Houston journalist wasn't amused. "What if you can't back it up?"
Zhao Dong shrugged. "I'm just a rookie. Ain't it normal to lose to a Hall of Famer?"
The room went silent. The Houston reporters had nothing to say.
---
Meanwhile, reporters swung by the Rockets' training facility to get Barkley's response.
"The hell did he say? He's gonna shave me? That little bastard!" Barkley burst out laughing—part pissed, part entertained.
But deep down, he knew the stakes. He and MJ couldn't afford to lose to a rookie. It wasn't just about the game—it was about pride. Lose to a rookie, and that kid would be talking shit for the next three nights straight.
Of course, Barkley wasn't gonna lose a war of words.
"That boy is scared," he told reporters. "MJ and I are gonna put him in his place. He thinks he's big-time? Please. My 80-year-old grandma could take him."
---
Game Night – January 14, 1997 – 6:00 PM
The Knicks pulled up to Compaq Center. Compared to the modern Toyota Center, this arena looked ancient—16,000 seats, 30 luxury boxes, nothing fancy.
As they turned a corner, the Rockets' squad walked right into them.
"Patrick." Olajuwon greeted first.
"Hakeem." Ewing nodded back.
The beef between the NBA's elite centers was real—too much competition for respect to go around. After a brief exchange, they left it at that.
Then Barkley swaggered up. "Little rookie, you talk too damn much!"
Zhao Dong stepped forward. "Biggest mistake of my life was looking up to you."
Click! Click! Cameras flashed. Microphones got shoved in their faces.
Barkley got heated. "The hell does that mean?"
Zhao Dong smirked. "You're listed at 6'6"… that accurate?"
"Damn right! 198 cm, on the dot!" Barkley shot back.
Zhao Dong laughed. "Man, looking at you now, I feel bad for my future. You bounced around teams, still no ring… tragic."
Reporters burst out laughing.
Even some Rockets players behind Barkley chuckled.
"If I was a magician," Zhao Dong continued, "when I hit your age, I'd at least help your grandma get a ring. But I'd never go begging for one like you."
More laughter.
Barkley lost it. "You little shit! I'll fight you right now!"
Zhao Dong stepped back, smirking. "Nah, I don't pick fights with old heads."
Barkley's face turned red. "Man, you can fight Karl Malone but not me?! Who you tryna disrespect?"
Zhao Dong kept walking. "Ain't about respect, Chuck. You wanna make a bet?"
Barkley shouted after him. "Bet?! Yeah, I got one for you! Loser calls the other one daddy!"
The room froze.
Zhao Dong turned around, eyes flashing. "The fuck did you just say?"
Click! Click! Cameras went crazy. Reporters were eating this up.
Ewing stepped in. "Chuck, come on now. You a grown man betting against a rookie?"
Barkley threw up his hands. "Bully? Me? Hell no! This punk said he'd get my grandma a ring!"
Oakley snorted. "Chuck, you ain't got the muscle to bully him."
Barkley marched up to Oakley. "Oh, you wanna go too? You think I'm Malone? Man, I'll fight all of y'all!"
Oakley shoved him. "Move, Chuck."
The two glared at each other.
Their beef wasn't new. Earlier this season, they straight-up fought in a preseason game. Barkley got suspended four games, fined five grand. Oakley? Suspended two, fined two grand.
Now, they were about to throw hands again.
---
Pregame tension? Off the charts.
Zhao Dong cracked his knuckles. He had one job tonight—shut Barkley up.
And if he could embarrass Olajuwon too? Even better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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