"This ain't it, man…" Zhao Dong muttered, feeling the pressure mount.
Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind—a tactic no one in the league had ever used before.
"Clap!"
He slammed his hands together, catching everyone's attention.
"Coach! I got something!" he shouted.
Van Gundy and the team turned toward him.
Grabbing the playbook, Zhao Dong quickly sketched out the tactic.
"We run it like this…" he explained, his voice sharp with urgency.
When he finished, Van Gundy and the staff were stunned.
"Is this legit? Who the hell taught you this?" Van Gundy asked, squinting.
"I've seen it in baseball—some outfield play," Zhao Dong shrugged. "No one's ever tried it in the league. It might catch 'em off guard. Worth a shot, right?"
"Let's do it." Van Gundy nodded, desperate for any edge.
Even Thibodeau looked embarrassed. The coaching staff had come up empty, and now a rookie had come up with the clutch play.
The timeout ended, and play resumed.
Oakley stood at the left sideline, ball in hand.
The Knicks lined up horizontally, facing Oakley, with Zhao Dong at the back of the formation.
"What the hell is this?" the crowd murmured in confusion.
Even the commentators and Bulls bench were clueless.
Jordan, Phil Jackson, and the entire Bulls roster stared at the strange formation, unsure how to defend it.
The ref blew the whistle. Time to inbound.
"RUN!"
Zhao Dong's roar pierced through the silence.
In an instant, the Knicks' players exploded outward like a firework blast.
The Bulls defense scrambled, unsure of who to guard.
Pippen, caught off guard, was a step slow as Zhao Dong slashed toward the rim.
Oakley launched a laser-like pass toward the hoop.
"BOOM!"
Zhao Dong soared, snatching the ball with both hands and hammering it through the rim with a vicious slam.
"BOOM!"
The United Center fell silent.
"ARGHHH!"
Zhao Dong hung on the rim, pumping his fists in celebration, roaring like a beast.
97-96, Knicks win.
He'd done it.
He'd slayed the God of Basketball.
He'd completed the mission.
Jordan stood frozen, mouth slightly open, staring at Zhao Dong in disbelief.
"No… not again…"
He had been on the cusp of victory, only to be sniped by the rookie once more.
"Fuck!" he growled, clenching his teeth.
"YOUR ERA IS DONE!" Zhao Dong bellowed at Jordan from the rim. "IT'S MY TIME NOW!"
The Knicks bench and fans erupted.
The coaching staff, players, and even the management stormed the court, losing their minds.
"Zhao Dong, you fucking legend!"
Oakley and Ewing rushed over, lifting him into the air.
"Hell yeah!"
Cameras flashed, catching the Knicks' euphoria.
In Salt Lake City, the Jazz players were watching the game together at the team headquarters.
Jerry Sloan stood up, deadly serious.
"Get ready, boys. This is gonna be a goddamn war."
Karl Malone and Stockton exchanged grim nods, knowing the finals would be brutal.
Back in Chicago, after the celebration, Zhao Dong was swarmed by reporters.
"Zhao Dong, you called your shot—you crushed the Bulls' dynasty. What's going through your head?" Thomas, the team reporter, asked breathlessly.
Zhao Dong smirked.
"You know what I wanna say? I wanna tell Jordan—the bet is over. You lost. I won. Now you better pay up."
"Don't worry, Zhao Dong!" Thomas grinned. "Every media outlet in New York's gonna be on his ass."
"What do you wanna do most right now?"
Zhao Dong rubbed his chin.
"June 2. The finals. All I wanna do is head back to New York, rest, and get my ass ready for the fight."
"Tonight you beat Jordan for the fourth time, eliminated the Bulls, and made it to the finals. What's the secret to your clutch finishes?"
Zhao Dong laughed loudly.
"Besides skill? Luck. I'm just a lucky bastard this life."
"Zhao Dong, what was that final play called?" a reporter asked.
"Starburst." he grinned.
"Starburst?!" The media gasped, hearing the name for the first time.
After the interviews, it was time to present the Eastern Conference trophy.
NBA VP Russ Granik gave a congratulatory speech before handing over the trophy.
But Zhao Dong noticed Russ fake smile.
"Tch, dude's pissed," Zhao Dong muttered under his breath.
He knew why—the NBA's cash cow was gone. With Jordan eliminated, the finals wouldn't have the same star power. The league was bracing for huge financial losses.
The NBA's rapid growth was largely due to Jordan's dominance.
When he first retired, the league's ratings tanked and Nike's stock dropped 4% in a day.
When he returned, Nike's shares soared by 30%, and the league's ratings bounced back.
That was Jordan's influence.
After the media frenzy, Zhao Dong made his way to Lindsay.
"Zhao Dong, congrats on takin' down Jordan!" she smiled as she approached the sidelines.
"Thanks. Beating Jordan means just as much as winning the whole damn championship," Zhao Dong grinned.
After saying goodbye to Lindsay and the wives, Zhao Dong and his teammates rushed back to the locker room.
Knicks owner Dolan had prepared champagne, and the moment they walked in, the room exploded into a wild celebration, as if they'd already won the title.
For years, the Bulls had been their kryptonite. Finally defeating Jordan felt just as sweet as hoisting the trophy.
From players to management, everyone was ecstatic.
After showering, Zhao Dong and Ewing made their way to the post-game press conference.
"Hey, Zhao Dong! These are the Eastern Conference Finals stats."
Thibodeau handed him a stack of papers as they walked.
"Appreciate it!"
Zhao Dong glanced over his own stats:
48 minutes
15/24 FG (62.5%)
2/3 from deep
6/8 FTs
38 points, 12 rebounds, 10 assists
3 steals, 7 blocks
2 turnovers, 5 fouls
For the series, he averaged:
44 minutes per game
11.3/20.6 FG (54.8%)
11.3/13.8 FTs (82%)
35 points, 12 rebounds, 7.5 assists
3.5 steals, 4.3 blocks
3.3 turnovers, 4.6 fouls
He led the team in seven major stat categories, a crazy feat.
Flipping to the Bulls' side, he scanned Jordan's stats:
Game 6: 45 points in 48 minutes.
Series average:
46 minutes per game
13/27 FG (48.1%)
10.1/11.8 FTs (85%)
41.1 points, 7.7 rebounds, 5.5 assists
1.8 steals, 1.3 blocks
2.6 turnovers, 2.7 fouls
"Damn, MJ was in God mode," Thibodeau chuckled.
"Best playoff series of his career, and he still couldn't pull it off."
Zhao Dong grinned.
"We're just deeper. He can't carry 'em alone."
Ernie Grunfeld, walking ahead, glanced back and smirked.
"Yeah, he gave us hell... and the dub."
They arrived at the press conference hall, which was already packed with reporters from all over the world.
The Knicks' influence was now on par with the Bulls.
"The Bulls ain't even here yet," the Knicks' PR director Jonathan said.
"They're still stuck in the locker room sulking. But the media's already flocked to us."
Zhao Dong laughed.
"I bet their locker room's gonna need some repairs after tonight," he joked.
"Hahaha!"
The whole room erupted in laughter.
The first reporter, from the Associated Press, fired off the first question.
"Zhao Dong, how does it feel to eliminate Jordan?"
"Jordan's the face of the league," Zhao Dong replied, coolly.
"Beating him? Yeah, I know a lotta people ain't happy. Nike's probably crying right now. But us? We're happy as hell. The future belongs to the Knicks."
The next reporter followed up:
"Was it your individual performance or the team's strength that won the series?"
Zhao Dong smirked.
"Offensively? I'm still not as lethal as him, no doubt. But overall? I got him beat—or at least, we're on the same level. But basketball ain't a one-man show. Our squad was just stronger. Period. The Bulls are old. They couldn't keep up."
The next question came from Thomas.
"Zhao Dong, do you think the Bulls will fall apart after this?"
Zhao Dong paused, considering it.
"Nah, not as long as Jordan's still around. He's still got it. His fitness might be fading, but his skill's still at its peak. The Bulls ain't collapsing anytime soon. But if they don't add some firepower, they're gonna be even weaker next year. No doubt."
The next reporter, from the New York Times, asked:
"With the finals against the Jazz coming up, how confident are you?"
Zhao Dong's eyes narrowed.
"100%."
His tone was firm—no hesitation.
He refused to even consider the possibility of losing.
The Knicks' win over the Bulls had fired up the media, making the press conference lively and energetic.
It ran for nearly an hour.
Meanwhile, in the Bulls' locker room, the Knicks were already done with their presser, but Jordan was still inside, fuming.
After Game 1, he had lost his cool despite dropping a record-breaking 69 points, only to lose.
Now? He'd been eliminated.
And the final nail came from Zhao Dong, a rookie.
Jordan sat seething, unable to accept the ending.
"We didn't work hard enough! We should've trained harder! We didn't put in the damn effort!"
The locker room shook with Jordan's furious roars.
Pippen and the rest of the Bulls sat in silence, not daring to utter a word.
Only Rodman remained unfazed, chilling with his headphones on, vibing to his music.
"Michael, can we talk?"
Jerry Krause, the Bulls' GM, stepped forward.
"Can we drop the bullshit and have a real conversation?"
Jordan glared at him.
Their relationship had been toxic for years.
He had insulted Krause openly on team buses, clashed with him repeatedly, and even had a blowout fight after the regular season.
But no matter how much he hated Krause, he couldn't deny the GM's role in building the Bulls dynasty.
"What do you want?"
His voice was ice cold, his eyes burning with resentment.
"The Bulls need to change."
Krause kept his tone calm.
"If you want to take down Zhao Dong and the Knicks, we gotta make moves. You know it."
"Zhao Dong..."
Jordan's fists clenched.
His dream of being the undisputed GOAT was now threatened—shattered by a rookie.
The second dynasty he hoped to build was crushed.
To make it worse, he was now faced with the humiliation of possibly having to apologize to Zhao Dong.
His hatred for the rookie now burned hotter than his grudge against Krause.
"Let's hit the presser first,"
Krause suggested.
"We'll deal with this tomorrow in Chicago."
Jordan, ever the competitor, took a deep breath, regaining his composure.
"Fine."
By agreeing, Jordan signaled a shift—he was finally willing to listen to Krause.
Something that had seemed impossible before.
The team's elimination had created an unexpected turning point, forcing Jordan to accept reality.
But it pissed him off.
He hated needing Krause, but right now, he did.
As they left the locker room, Pippen felt a sinking feeling in his gut.
If Jordan and Krause were mending fences, he knew it could mean trouble for him.
If Krause chose to clean house, would Jordan stop him this time?
At the press conference, the media was already restless.
They were pissed that the Bulls had stalled for so long.
The first reporter, from the Associated Press, fired away:
"Jordan, you've been eliminated by Zhao Dong and the Knicks, ending your second dynasty run. Does this make you consider retirement?"
"Hell no!"
Jordan snapped.
"I ain't retiring after a loss. Never. Our second dynasty hit a roadblock, sure—but we're coming back stronger. Our hunger for the title is still there. That's the only reason I'm still here—to win again."
The second reporter, from the Washington Post, jumped in:
"What do you think about Zhao Dong? Do you think he can actually win the championship in his rookie year?"
Jordan didn't even flinch.
"I'm only focused on my team. I'm not here to talk about the Knicks."
He dodged the question.
But the next reporter wasn't letting him off easy:
"Do you regret pushing him out of Chicago?"
Before Jordan could respond, Jerry Krause stepped in.
"Let me be clear. Dropping the contract with Zhao Dong was a management decision. It wasn't on Michael."
The reporter just shrugged, not buying it.
But since Krause had taken the blame, the question became irrelevant.
Jordan glanced at Krause.
He knew this was the GM's way of extending an olive branch.
Then, a Chicago sports reporter asked:
"Mr. Krause, will the team make moves in the offseason?"
Krause nodded.
"No doubt. We need to strengthen our roster and boost our competitiveness."
"Which positions? Any trade targets?" the reporter pressed.
"We need to bulk up our frontcourt and inside game," Krause said vaguely.
"I can't get into specifics."
Pippen's face darkened.
Hearing Krause call out the forward spot made his stomach sink.
That was his position.
And with his trade value still sky-high, he knew he could easily be shipped out.
He glanced at Jordan.
Would MJ fight for him this time?
The two had history—they'd gone to war together.
But Jordan was unpredictable.
The rift between him and Krause had been growing for years.
Back in the draft, Jordan wanted the team to select his college buddy, but Krause went with Horace Grant instead.
That was their first major conflict.
This season, their clashes worsened.
Jordan had fought tooth and nail to protect head coach Phil Jackson, whom Krause wanted gone.
There was even a nasty shouting match over it.
But now?
Seeing Jordan and Krause possibly mending ties made Pippen nervous.
If they reconciled, would Jordan still have his back?
The Bulls' front office, led by Krause, was ruthless.
Pippen knew they wouldn't hesitate to put him on the trading block.
And this time, Jordan might not stand in the way.
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