"...Asshole!"
Watching Zhao Dong jog back, Barkley was straight-up speechless.
Before the game, he never thought he'd be disrespected like this by a rookie. This kinda premature celebration? That's straight-up humiliation for a defender. It made him look like a traffic cone out there—dude didn't even deserve his name at this point.
"Arrogant kid, has he never thought about failure?"
The commentator sounded hyped but also kinda pissed. "Charles, put that dude on a poster! Show him whose house this is and tell him to cut the cocky act!"
Zhao Dong knew he could fail, sure. But so what? If he was always worried about that, how was he supposed to enjoy himself? His last life was a mess, so in this one, he was here to live it up.
4-0, Houston ball.
This time, Olajuwon caught it at the left block and went straight into his bag—legendary footwork on display. Ewing, whose knees weren't what they used to be, got left in the dust. In a blink, Olajuwon was already at the rack.
Zhao Dong had already hustled back, ready to meet him at the rim.
He'd heard about Olajuwon's footwork for two lifetimes now. That move had dropped legends—O'Neal, countless others. Hell, even superstars made special trips to learn from the guy. The system even had a whole-ass mission for it. But this? This was his first time seeing it in action.
Dude hit a one-hand gather, stepped toward the basket—and then poof, disappeared.
"What?!"
By the time Zhao Dong reacted, Olajuwon was already behind him, levitating.
BOOM!
One-arm slam. Net barely survived.
"Ohhh…"
The commentator let out some weird-ass scream, then immediately went full hype mode. "Knicks rookie, that's a welcome package from the Rockets squad—a dunk. Hope you enjoy it!"
"Fuck, I just got put on a poster?" Zhao Dong gritted his teeth.
And right on cue, the trash talk started.
"Welcome to the NBA, rookie." Olajuwon barely even looked at him, then jogged back upcourt.
Zhao Dong clenched his jaw. He wasn't even mad—just locked in. "It's fine. Plenty of stars got cooked by him. Even if I take the L today and miss the mission, it ain't the end of the world. I can handle an L. But damn it, Olajuwon, you got lucky. Next time, you're mine."
He took off downcourt.
Back on offense, Ewing finally got a shot to go.
6-2, Knicks still up. Back on defense.
"Yo, rookie, how's it feel getting put on a poster?"
"Old man, how's it feel playing defense like a damn mannequin?"
Barkley had pulled up to the right-wing three-point line, and Zhao Dong was sagging off, giving him a couple of feet. They were talking shit back and forth the whole time.
Then Barkley took off, cutting hard to the paint. Zhao Dong stayed on his hip but got caught outside on a screen—just enough to keep him from shutting down the passing lane.
Barkley caught it at the top of the key, then ran into Oakley's help.
Dude didn't even hesitate—between-the-legs dribble, front-body shift, straight-up guard shit—blew past Oakley, using him as a shield against Zhao Dong.
Swish!
Pulled up just inside the free-throw line. Cashed it.
"What good are two traffic cones?" Barkley grinned, jogging back.
"Barkley, have your fun now. Clock's ticking." Oakley's voice was ice-cold.
Barkley just smirked. "Heh."
Knicks ball.
Ewing got it, spun—missed the hook.
Barkley snagged the board. Houston pushing.
Post-up, right block.
Barkley wanted the ball.
Zhao Dong wasn't about to let that ass-back-down game start, so he played him on the side, cutting off the direct entry. That forced the ball out to Olajuwon at the top of the arc.
Then Barkley hit the jets. Hard cut toward the hoop.
Zhao Dong flipped his hips and chased, but Olajuwon didn't even look—whipped a no-look bounce pass over Ewing's head, right into Barkley's hands.
Zhao Dong's eyes locked in.
90-rated block. 93 bounce. That's a kill shot.
Barkley rose up, cocked it back—
"BANG!"
Zhao Dong spiked that shit off the glass.
Ball bounced. Oakley scooped it up. Knicks break.
"Ohhh, Charles got robbed!" The commentator groaned.
"Beautiful! Zhao Dong with the block! He's off to the races—Barkley chasing!" Zhang Heli was losing his mind.
Zhao Dong sprinted middle.
By the time he hit the top of the key, the PG still hadn't passed it, forcing him to slow down.
Barkley caught up, got back under the rim.
Zhao Dong shrugged—fuck it. He ran straight to the paint, turned, sealed him off, and called for it. This time, they passed it in.
Double-team.
Drexler came flying over from the weak side.
Van Gundy facepalmed on the sideline. "Should've given it to Ewing first," he muttered. "Let him draw the defense before kicking it out."
But Zhao Dong wasn't worried.
90-rated post game.
Did he have Olajuwon footwork? Nah. But that gold badge work made him a problem down low.
He took the ball, kept Barkley on his hip. Drexler lunged.
Pump fake.
Drexler left his feet.
Pump fake again.
Barkley jumped.
One more time.
Both defenders floating in midair, looking lost.
Then Zhao Dong really went up—two-hand power slam.
BOOM!
Arena went silent.
Commentator sounded dead inside. "Round Mound Of Rebound and the Glider just got put in a blender by the rookie… and Charles just got yammed on. That's tough."
"THAT'S ELITE POST WORK!" Zhang Heli was screaming.
Zhao Dong landed, grinning ear-to-ear. Looked Barkley dead in the eye.
"Mr. Traffic Cone, I dunked on you. And trust me, I ain't stopping here."
"SHUT UP!"
Barkley snapped—shoved him.
Oh, it's like that?
Oakley was immediately in his face. "You tryna throw hands, Charles?"
Tensions flared. Both benches half stood. Ref whistles blew.
"Calm down! Cut that shit out!" Olajuwon was trying to play peacemaker.
Zhao Dong just grabbed Oakley's arm. "Not yet. We'll handle this properly later."
Oakley stared him down for a second—then nodded.
"Fine."
Barkley watched them walk off, fuming. "Damn rookie's acting different tonight."
Olajuwon sighed. "Just hoop, Charles. Don't start anything extra."
"I don't take disrespect." Barkley's voice was firm.
Dream just shook his head. "…Man."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do you want to read Advanced Chapters?
Visit this link:
Påtreon.com/Fanficlord03