wing, completely ignoring Alan Houston, who was chilling at the three-point line, and headed straight for the basket.
But the moment he saw Zhao Dong charging like a freight train, his instincts screamed danger. That kind of power was real—like getting run over by a damn truck. Jordan's heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively slowed down.
Zhao Dong exploded past the right elbow, took flight, and threw down a vicious one-handed slam.
"BOOM!"
The rim rattled violently as the ball smashed through the net.
"YEAH!"
The arena erupted in chaos.
Marv Albert's voice rang through the broadcast, "Ohhh! A one-handed tomahawk jam! Zhao Dong is tearing apart the Bulls! He's straight-up wrecking them!"
Zhao Dong hit the floor, chest puffed out, and barked at Jordan. "You ain't stopping me, Mike!"
As they passed each other, he threw a sharp elbow into Jordan's right shoulder, making him stumble slightly.
In his past life, he'd watched Jordan do the same thing to Barkley. Back then, Barkley had no choice but to take it and walk away.
But now? Zhao Dong wanted to see how Jordan would handle it when the tables were turned.
"Motherf—" Jordan's blood was boiling. Outside of the Bad Boys, nobody had ever dared to punk him like this.
He once chased Reggie Miller around the court for trash talk. But this? This was different.
He clenched his teeth, fists tight, eyes locked on Zhao Dong. His desire for revenge burned. But deep down, he knew the truth—the Bulls couldn't stop the Knicks tonight.
Still, there was no way in hell he'd just roll over.
"Alright, kid... bet."
Jordan waved Harper off and demanded the rock. He was taking over.
Even if it meant going 1-on-5, he didn't care.
"I'll kill y'all myself."
Alan Houston and Charlie Ward instantly doubled him, but Jordan didn't flinch. He spun, faded back—pure muscle memory.
"Turnaround fadeaway?!" Matt Goukas shouted.
Jordan didn't even watch the shot. He knew. That's just who he was.
"SWISH!"
The net barely moved.
The crowd gasped, then roared. The away fans went nuts.
"YEAH!"
"There he is! That's the killer, Michael Jordan! This is when he's most dangerous!" Marv Albert shouted.
"79-84! Bulls still down 5, but Jordan ain't slowing down. Even with dead legs, he's still money!" Marv added.
Zhao Dong wasn't fazed. He clapped his hands and barked at his squad. "We're getting that back! Let's go!"
Pippen tried to clamp him up.
That would've worked on someone else.
But Zhao Dong was bigger, stronger, faster—just better. He stiff-armed Pippen off him, broke free, and called for the pass.
As soon as he caught it, he exploded forward, forcing the Bulls' defense to collapse.
Another triple-team.
This time, Zhao Dong made the right read—kicking it to an open Alan Houston.
Jordan scrambled, but it was too late.
Houston let it fly.
"NO!"
The ball bricked.
Both Zhao Dong and Rodman read the miss instantly and raced for the board.
Zhao Dong got there first. He snatched it over Rodman's head and landed smoothly.
No hesitation. He spun off Rodman and went straight to the rim.
Jordan and Longley jumped in to contest.
Zhao Dong smirked and dropped a dime to Ewing, who was left wide open.
"SWISH!"
"BIG SHOT!"
"79-86! Knicks up 7! Bulls ball!"
Jordan walked it up, motioning for spacing. He locked eyes with Houston.
"Kid, your defense is straight-up nonexistent. Guarding you is easier than dribbling past a traffic cone."
Houston didn't back down. "Yeah? And Pippen's D on Zhao Dong is like a revolving door."
Jordan blinked. That trash talk made no damn sense.
"Squeak!"
Jordan jab-stepped hard.
Houston reacted, taking a step back.
Wrong move.
Jordan quickly pulled back, elevated, and launched from deep.
"SWISH!"
Another bucket. Jordan was heating up.
"82-86! The Bulls cut it to 4! Jordan with 50+ in Madison Square Garden!"
Zhao Dong didn't wait. He pushed the tempo, attacking from the left wing.
He broke down the defense with a flurry of crossovers, split the double-team, and went straight at Rodman.
"BANG!"
Another violent slam.
The whistle blew.
Rodman got caught reaching.
"AND-ONE!"
Zhang Heli chuckled. "Rodman only has three fouls, which isn't much. The ball's been in Zhao Dong's hands all night, so Rodman didn't even get the chance to hack him."
Sun Zhenping nodded. "He still grabbed eight boards tonight—not bad at all."
Zhang Heli scoffed. "Nah, he's not in top form. If Rodman's not himself, the Bulls can't hang with the Knicks. This year's Knicks are just too damn strong!"
On the NBC broadcast, Marv Albert grinned. "Jordan's finishing at the rim? A work of art. But Zhao Dong? That man dunks like he's trying to break the basket. Two completely different styles—both unstoppable."
Matt Goukas added seriously, "Especially Zhao Dong. For a guy his size, his first step is just as quick as Jordan's. That's scary. Honestly? I think he's even deadlier once he gets into the paint."
Marv Albert nodded. "Exactly. He started as a power forward, so his footwork down low is elite. Once he gets deep inside, he's more dangerous than MJ."
The game continued, and Jordan went berserk. He pushed himself past exhaustion, his competitive fire burning like never before. With two minutes left, he had already dropped 60 points—one shy of Elgin Baylor's second-highest playoff total and three away from his own record.
But he was running on fumes. During a timeout, he hunched over, hands on his knees, sweat dripping off his chin and pooling on the hardwood.
Still, his effort wasn't enough to close the gap.
100-108. Knicks up by 8. Bulls ball.
In the fourth quarter, Zhao Dong ramped up his attack. He bulldozed his way to the rim, refusing to settle for jumpers. 4-of-6 from the field, 4-of-5 from the line, 12 points in 10 minutes.
On top of that, he dished out three dimes and secured a triple-double.
With his dominant performance, the Knicks kept control from start to finish.
Zhao Dong walked over to Jordan, towering over him, and smirked. "You regretting it yet?"
Jordan took a deep breath, lifted his head, and locked eyes with him. "Game ain't over. You're getting ahead of yourself."
Then, with pure defiance, he added, "And listen up, kid—I don't regret anything. When I said you didn't deserve the Bulls, I meant it. You still don't."
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Damn, you're stubborn."
He took a step back, then turned to leave. "Alright, Mr. Air Jordan, let me spell it out for you—you're never winning another ring. Ever. I won't even let you hit a clutch shot. I want this to be so lopsided, you don't even get hope. If your teammates can't keep up, I'll just sweep you. What can you do about it?"
Jordan's teeth clenched so hard they nearly cracked.
"Jordan looks pissed. Feels like Zhao Dong just got under his skin with some next-level trash talk," Marv laughed.
Matt Goukas grinned. "Man, we need a lip-reader on standby for this."
"Now that's an idea!" Marv chuckled.
As Zhao Dong walked past Lindsay, he slowed down and asked, "So? How'd I do? Not worse than that guy, right?"
Lindsay flashed a soft smile. "My friends are the best. Oh, and congrats on your fifth triple-double, Zhao Dong."
"Appreciate that!" Zhao Dong grinned.
Meanwhile, the Bulls' bench was dead silent.
Phil Jackson had no answers. His famed triangle offense was useless tonight—Zhao Dong completely locked down Pippen.
Without Pippen creating plays, the system crumbled.
Jordan's 60+ wasn't because of the triangle—it was pure talent and willpower.
There was an old saying around the league: "The one guy on the Bulls who doesn't need the triangle is Michael Jordan." Tonight proved it.
Marv Albert broke it down. "The Bulls' biggest weakness? No inside presence. No low-post scoring to relieve the pressure on the perimeter. And with Pippen shut down, their whole offense fell apart. That's why they lost tonight."
Matt Goukas nodded. "This team is loaded. They won 72 games last season. Jordan called them the greatest team ever. But tonight, we saw the cracks. This roster has serious holes."
Marv Albert continued, "The Bulls need a real two-way center. And a forward who can at least put up a fight against Zhao Dong."
Matt sighed. "Good luck with that. Where are they gonna find a guy who can actually match up with ZhaoDong ?"
Marv shook his head and smirked. "They won't. That's the problem."
Matt crossed his arms. "Alright, so what's the game plan? How do they even beat the Knicks?"
Marv thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Unless Pippen has a monster game, they don't. If they can't beat Zhao, they at least have to wear him down."
Matt sighed. "I don't think Pippen can go one-on-one with him."
Marv agreed. "Exactly. Pippen's a great player, but his off-the-dribble game isn't good enough. He can't match Zhao Dong iso for iso. The only way the Bulls improve is if Pippen stays away from him and focuses on running the offense. That would at least take some weight off Jordan's shoulders."
Then Marv smirked. "But let's be real—Jordan did everything tonight. He carried the entire Knicks defense on his back and still dropped 60. That's why he's the best in the league. But he won't be this efficient every game. The moment his shooting dips, the Bulls collapse."
Matt nodded in agreement. "And if that happens, this series is over."
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