On the NBC broadcast, Matt Goukas broke it down.
"No doubt about it—the Jazz just caught a massive break. They don't have to deal with Zhao Dong terrorizing them on the perimeter, because he's shifting back to the low post."
Marv Albert added, "Yeah, but with Zhao moving inside, the Knicks might lose some of his playmaking ability. Still, Bryon Russell isn't built like that. He can't guard elite wings—he was just lucky Jordan wasn't himself in the Eastern Finals. With Zhao back in the paint, the Knicks' perimeter defense won't even be a problem."
Matt chuckled. "The Jazz got lucky, no doubt. A damn shame for the Bulls—they just missed their shot at a wounded Knicks team."
Both commentators broke into laughter, knowing Chicago would be fuming.
---
Knicks Locker Room – Pre-Game
The mood was tense as hell. Even though Zhao Dong was stepping into Ewing's role, the team still felt the weight of the injury.
Zhao could feel it too. There was no pre-game speech that would fix it—they needed to play their way out of it.
At that moment, Charles Oakley turned to him.
"Yo, Zhao—you think Karl Malone's gonna come out swinging with those dirty-ass elbows tonight?"
Zhao's eyes narrowed. "I'm on his ass tonight. If he tries anything, I'm dropping him. No mercy."
Oakley and Larry Johnson exchanged nods. They were both brawlers in their own right, probably better boxers than Zhao Dong. But Zhao's MMA-style combat—elbows, knees, and kicks—made him a different kind of beast.
Zhao cracked his knuckles. "But honestly? I don't think Karl's that dumb. The last time he tried his cheap shots, he got suspended. If he pulls that crap tonight, he's gambling his Finals on it. And since they think they've got the upper hand, they'll probably play it safe."
He smirked slightly. "But… if we're kicking their ass by 20+, they might lose their cool. That's when they'll get sloppy. So, watch your backs around Malone."
Larry Johnson chuckled bitterly.
"Yeah… us leading by 20? You dreaming or what?"
The room fell into an awkward silence. No one believed they could blow out the Jazz without Ewing.
Zhao knew it too. Utah was stacked, and Karl Malone + Stockton were easily on par with Jordan and Pippen. Some even called them the most dangerous duo ever. Underestimating them? Suicide.
Once the bench players left for warm-ups, the locker room cleared out.
Zhao opened his system and said in his head, "Upgrade my bank shot to max."
"Upgrading…"
"Upgrade complete. Congrats, host! Bank Shot is now a Gold Medal Skill."
The system's voice rang out:
Gold Medal Effect: +10-20% increased shooting accuracy.
Zhao's jaw nearly hit the floor.
This was his first Gold Medal skill with a direct shooting buff. No gimmicks. No tricks. Just pure deadeye accuracy.
His low-post game had always lacked an elite finishing move, but now? With a full-level bank shot, his efficiency in the paint would spike.
With his Level 90 low-post offense and a Level 99 bank shot, Zhao Dong's footwork was now on par with Tim Duncan's—maybe even deadlier.
---
Final Instructions
"Zhao!" Van Gundy's voice called out.
"Yo?"
Van Gundy's face was dead serious. "In the Finals, you have unlimited firing rights."
Zhao's eyes flashed with determination. He nodded firmly.
This wasn't just trust—it was a burden.
Unlimited shots and control of the offense was something even Jordan didn't have. In Phil Jackson's triangle, Jordan still had to play off-ball while Pippen ran the offense.
But against the Knicks, Zhao had clamped Pippen into oblivion. With Chicago's offensive anchor locked down, Jordan was forced to carry both roles—ball handler and scorer—which was a nightmare for any superstar.
That's why Zhao and Van Gundy agreed earlier to let the point guard run the show. Zhao could then focus purely on scoring, rather than being weighed down by playmaking duties.
The coaches left, giving the players some final locker room time.
Oakley walked over and slapped Zhao on the shoulder.
"Yo, big guy—you're calling the shots out there. Play it your way."
Zhao nodded. "Got it."
In reality, players didn't call the shots—they executed the coach's game plan. But with Van Gundy's offensive schemes being basic as hell, Zhao freelanced on the court more and more during the Eastern Finals, switching tactics mid-game.
---
Game Time – Tunnel Standoff
Ten minutes later, the starting lineups gathered at the tunnel. The Knicks and Jazz lined up on opposite sides.
When Zhao Dong and Karl Malone locked eyes, the tension was palpable.
The bad blood between them was no secret. The Jazz and Knicks were practically a rivalry now, thanks to their personal beef.
When their eyes met, they were like two junkyard dogs, ready to scrap.
The Knicks were itching for a fight, while the Jazz were all business.
Karl Malone, who had been beaten down by Zhao Dong three separate times, wasn't eager to start anything. He knew he'd get washed again, and he wasn't about to gamble the Finals on a brawl.
Beyond Malone, the Jazz had no enforcers. No one on their roster could throw down with the Knicks' bruisers.
Zhao smirked and cracked his knuckles.
"Yo, Karl—how 'bout we throw hands before tip-off? Y'know… just to warm up the crowd a little?"
Larry Johnson immediately stepped up, cracking his neck.
"Yo, lemme get first dibs," he grinned.
Next to him, Oakley slowly rolled up his sleeves, shooting Karl Malone a death glare.
Behind Oak, John Starks followed suit, rolling his sleeves with a wicked grin.
The Knicks weren't bluffing—they wanted smoke. If they could drop Malone or Stockton with a pre-game brawl, they'd already be one step closer to winning the Finals.
"Man, Karl ain't dumb. He's not gonna take the bait with a championship on the line."
Malone snorted, his eyes cold. "You bunch of lunatics—you're not gonna get to me. I'm not falling for it."
Zhao Dong spun around, frustrated. "Damn it! He's not biting!" he shouted to his teammates.
Behind Malone, John Stockton leaned in and whispered, "Don't let them get to you, Karl. They're just trying to mess with your head."
Malone clenched his fists but shook his head. "I know. I'm not falling for it. We're taking this championship—no matter what."
---
Arena Entrance – Player Introductions
Outside, the announcer's voice boomed, calling out the Jazz players first. When Utah walked onto the court, they were met with a wave of boos.
But when the Knicks were introduced, the roof nearly came off. The crowd's roar was deafening.
And when Zhao Dong stepped onto the court? The Garden exploded.
But Zhao didn't soak it in. He knew New York fans too well. They were like the media—they'd worship you one day and trash you the next.
He remembered how, in his past life, Patrick Ewing was booed in his final season. Despite everything Ewing gave to the city, the fans turned on him when his form slipped.
Zhao knew better. "This is all business. That's the NBA, especially in New York."
Still, he needed to fire the crowd up. He grabbed the mic from the host and turned to the crowd.
"Yo, Knicks fans!" his voice boomed. "In 24 years, this is the closest we've ever been to a championship! But now, we're facing our greatest challenge."
His voice dropped slightly.
"We've lost our pillar. Our future's shaky. Everything we've worked for could be gone in an instant. And guess what? No one believes in us."
The crowd fell silent. The mood shifted, and some younger fans and women in the crowd even started crying.
Zhao's eyes burned with intensity.
"But…" he shouted. "That's exactly why we can't back down! When we're cornered, when it seems impossible, that's when we have to fight the hardest.
We're gonna throw everything we've got at this—our blood, sweat, and heart.
All we ask… is for you to have our backs!"
The Garden went ballistic. Over 20,000 fans erupted in a roar that shook the building. People were on their feet, waving their arms, screaming like maniacs. The sound was deafening, like a tidal wave crashing down.
In the NBC booth, Charles Barkley stared at the scene with jealous eyes.
"Damn… lucky kid." He shook his head. "I've never had a home crowd get this crazy for me."
Next to him, Magic Johnson smirked. "Pfft. Back in my Showtime days, every home game was this wild."
Behind them, Shaquille O'Neal sat watching. He muttered to himself, "Man… why don't I ever get that kinda love?"
On the sidelines, Lindsay clapped fervently. Her eyes glowed as she stared at Zhao Dong.
When he walked over to greet her, she suddenly lunged in and wrapped her arms around him.
Zhao froze, wide-eyed.
Their first hug.
For a moment, he felt her soft warmth, her fragrance filling his lungs. He suddenly felt nervous, a rare sensation for him—far different from his usual carefree attitude around women.
Then, she leaned in and whispered softly into his ear, her lips brushing against his skin.
"I love you."
The Garden's deafening roar made it impossible for Zhao to hear her clearly. His ears were buzzing, the noise making her voice barely audible.
"What?" he asked, lowering his head.
Lindsay's face flushed, but she only smiled shyly and let him go.
Her heart pounded, but she was relieved. With the crowd so loud, he probably didn't hear what she said.
Suddenly, Jackie Chan approached Zhao.
"Zhao Dong!" he shouted over the noise.
Zhao spotted him and grinned. "Jackie? Hey!"
They shook hands firmly.
Jackie pointed at the insane crowd, then gave Zhao a thumbs up with a wide grin.
When the crowd finally calmed down, the buzzing in everyone's ears still lingered. It felt like their hearing had short-circuited from the noise.
Back in the NBC booth, Matt Goukas shook his head in disbelief.
"Man… what a leader. That kid's not just carrying the Knicks roster—he's carrying the whole city."
Marv Albert nodded. "If he wins this championship? He's cementing himself as the greatest Knicks star ever."
Matt chuckled. "Yeah, it's possible."
On CCTV, Zhang Heli was practically screaming into the mic.
"Zhao Dong is unstoppable! He just ignited the entire Garden! The Knicks might still have a fighting chance!"
In Shanghai, Yao Ming sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the TV. His idol had always been Arvydas Sabonis, but now? Zhao Dong was right up there.
Seeing Zhao's court vision and leadership, Yao's admiration soared.
Next to him, his agent Zhang Mingji smiled. "When Zhao Dong comes home, we're going to Beijing to meet him."
"Of course," Yao's mother chimed in. "We have to thank him in person."
At Madison Square Garden, Zhao Dong and Jackie Chan were having a quick chat, about to start warming up, when Bryon Russell strutted over.
"Hey, Chinese." Russell sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance. "If you step on that court, I'm gonna beat your ass today."
Russell's cocky attitude was nothing new—after all, he once trash-talked Michael Jordan. To him, messing with Zhao Dong was light work.
But Zhao Dong wasn't one for patience. Especially not at home.
"Get lost."
Without hesitation, he shoved Russell hard. The Jazz forward went flying back two or three meters, hitting the floor with a thud.
"Zhao Dong! Kill him!"
The Garden crowd roared with approval.
Both teams swarmed in, rushing toward the scene.
Jackie Chan stood nearby, stunned.
"Shit." His eyes widened.
In the States, if a Chinese martial artist laid hands on someone—even in self-defense—they were legally screwed unless the attacker was armed.
Watching Zhao shove Russell, Jackie thought,
"Damn… if I did that on set, I'd be in some serious trouble."
Seeing the commotion, Karl Malone stormed over, his face twisted in anger.
"Zhao Dong, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Malone barked. "You trying to start some shit before the game? This is the Finals, not a street fight!"
Zhao Dong didn't back down. He stepped right up to Malone, pointing a finger in his face.
"Then tell your boy to watch himself," Zhao snarled. "Keep your people in line—or we can end this shit right now."
On the sidelines, Charles Barkley leaned over to Shaquille O'Neal, grinning like a kid at a brawl.
"Yo, Shaq! You think they're gonna throw down?" Barkley asked, excitedly rubbing his hands.
Shaq chuckled. "Who you got your money on?"
Barkley's eyes gleamed. "Both of 'em are punks." He smirked. "I hope they both get their asses kicked."
Up in the VIP box, Knicks owner James Dolan sat beside NBA VP Russ Granik, calmly smoking a cigar.
Seeing the escalating tension, Russ wiped the sweat off his brow.
"Mr. Dolan, we need to separate them ASAP. The whole world is watching this!"
But Dolan exhaled a smoke ring and grinned smugly.
"Relax." He waved dismissively. "We're not gonna do anything stupid. The Jazz are the thugs, not us. My guys? They're perfect gentlemen—especially Zhao Dong." He smirked.
"Hell, why do you think Miss Lindsay fell for him?"
Russ stared at Dolan in disbelief.
"Gentlemen?!" he thought. "This guy's shameless as hell."
In the end, there was no fight.
The Jazz had the lead in the series—they weren't looking to risk suspensions. The Knicks? They knew better than to mess with New York gangs.
After security broke it up, both teams finally went back to warming up.
Ten minutes later, the '96-'97 NBA Finals officially began.
Zhao Dong won the tip-off, giving the Knicks the first possession.
He cut to the low post on the left wing, where Jazz center Greg Ostertag was guarding him.
Out on the perimeter,
John Starks matched up with Jeff Hornacek on the left wing three-point line.
Charles Oakley stretched out to the right wing near the three-point line, squaring off against Karl Malone.
Larry Johnson went toe-to-toe with Bryon Russell in the low post on the right.
Charlie Ward and John Stockton stood at the top of the key, ready to initiate the offense.
Suddenly, Zhao Dong took a sharp step back to create space.
Ostertag, towering at 7'2" (218 cm), couldn't keep up. Zhao caught the pass, spun, and drove hard toward the paint.
Ostertag slid sideways, trying to cut him off, but Zhao juked him, changing direction mid-stride.
Seeing the lane open, Bryon Russell left his post and rushed over to contest the shot.
Too late.
Zhao Dong exploded upward, launching off the hardwood.
"BOOM!"
The rim rattled violently as Zhao Dong threw down a monster dunk, sending Russell flying.
Russell hit the floor hard, sliding back two meters. The impact left him dazed as he struggled to get back up.
The Garden erupted.
"YEAH!" The crowd was on its feet, fists pumping.
As Russell staggered to his feet, Zhao Dong sneered.
"Hey, dumbass!" he barked. "You know what the word 'blow up' means? 'Cause you just got the definition written on your face!"
Oakley strolled over, clapping Russell on the back mockingly.
"Yeah, bro. Just look in the mirror—that's what 'blow up' looks like."
On the perimeter, Starks smirked.
"Yo, come on, Russ!" he taunted. "Get up and take another L!"
Nearby, Larry Johnson snorted, shaking his head.
"Yo, whose man is this?" he jeered, pointing at Russell.
The Knicks players erupted into laughter, flaunting their dominance.
From the other end, Karl Malone glared at the Knicks bench, his face red with fury.
"Yo, y'all better chill the hell out!" he roared.
But the Knicks players just laughed louder.
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