Stern hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, thinking hard. After a moment, he picked it back up and dialed again.
"Hello, this is Phil Knight."
"Hey, Mr. Knight. It's Stern."
At Nike HQ, inside the president's office, Knight's heart sank the second he heard Stern's voice.
A call straight from the commissioner? That wasn't what he expected at all.
He figured the league would just brush this under the rug, maybe send a couple of mid-level suits to do damage control. Instead, the man himself called. That meant trouble.
It was the worst-case scenario.
He immediately knew—yeah, they crossed the line.
"I understand, Mr. Stern," Knight said before Stern even explained himself, a bitter smile on his face.
"Mr. Knight, you can throw your weight around a little, but don't cross the damn line. This league belongs to us."
Stern hung up.
Look, Nike and Adidas were big sponsors, sure. But they weren't untouchable. There were plenty of sports brands out there. Without the league's backing, companies like Nike and Adidas wouldn't last long in the North American basketball scene.
Hell, in Stern's eyes, even those big-name sponsors weren't as valuable as the media. The media drove the league's hype, shaped the narrative, and pushed the players into global icons.
That's why, even when the media went after Jordan a few years back, Stern had to eat it. Couldn't risk fighting back.
Meanwhile, back in his office, Knight was already cooking up his next move.
Yeah, the Knicks were off-limits. Stern made that clear. But that didn't mean other teams couldn't be boosted to balance things out. That was doable.
As for the media—well, U.S. outlets needed to tread lightly now. No wild smearing or shady hit pieces on Zhao Dong. One more step out of line, Stern would be back on the phone.
But China's media? That was fair game.
With January winding down, All-Star voting was heating up, nearing the final stretch.
In the West, the center spot was tight—Shaq was leading with David Robinson close behind. Both had over 500,000 votes. Hakeem "The Dream" was third with a little over 300k.
At forward, Karl Malone was leading, with Kevin Garnett right behind him. Both sat around 500,000. Barkley and Tim Duncan weren't far off, each clocking over 400,000. That race was still wide open.
For guards, Gary Payton had the top spot with over 500,000. Rookie Kobe Bryant, still finding his groove, was second with just under 400k. Stockton and Marbury were hovering around 300,000.
In the East, center votes were split: Mutombo led, Mourning was second, and Ewing, the super-vet, held third.
At forward, Zhao Dong was crushing it. His vote count was nearing a million, way ahead of second-place Grant Hill, who had just over 800k. Shawn Kemp and Scottie Pippen were trailing far behind.
For guards, Jordan still reigned. The GOAT had over a million votes—barely ahead of Zhao Dong. Just goes to show, MJ's grip on the league hadn't loosened one bit.
Second in the East for guards was Penny Hardaway with just over 500k. Tim Hardaway and AI both had around 300k.
"Man, I can't believe Karl Malone's still first," Zhao Dong grumbled that night, scrolling through the voting numbers.
He wasn't shocked though. In the U.S., folks loved tough, bruiser-style ball—NFL was proof of that. So Malone's physical style wasn't a turn-off, it was a badge of honor.
Still, seeing those numbers ticked him off.
And damn, Grant Hill was popular too. Dude had it all—good looks, smooth game, and came from a solid family. If injuries hadn't wrecked him, Zhao Dong figured he might've been the only guy who could've challenged MJ's throne.
This year's All-Star Game was gonna be in New York—and that wasn't all. Zhao Dong's wedding was scheduled that weekend too. Everything was nearly set.
Life was moving fast. Between wedding prep and the premiere of Silver Demon, plus all the commercials he'd been filming—his face was everywhere.
Not just personal ads either. The league had him shoot promos to push the brand worldwide. His star was blowing up.
But one thing had been grinding his gears lately: back home, the media had gone wild slandering him. Straight-up hatchet jobs with zero chill.
And it wasn't even about anything new. He hadn't been out partying, no scandals. They were just dragging up old fight footage and painting him as a violent thug.
"Mr. Wang, these three tech startups—NetEase, Foxconn, and Penguin—I want them on our radar. Their founders got real potential," Zhao Dong said over the phone.
He was talking to Wang Xin, the general manager of Julong Venture Capital.
"Got it, boss. I'll start pulling their files today," Wang replied.
If he couldn't shut down the media now, he'd play the long game. Once China entered the digital era and online platforms took over, those old-school media goons wouldn't be able to touch him.
By the end of the month, Zhao Dong and Lindsay moved into their newly renovated villa.
On the 27th, they threw a big New Year's dinner. Zhao Dong's fam—his mom, brother, sister-in-law, and niece—were there, plus Lindsay. They invited Mrs. Dolores and her husband, still in town, and the eight of them sat down for a cozy feast.
Only one person was missing—his dad, Zhao Zhenguo.
But it was all good. He was flying in soon for the wedding, so they'd celebrate then.
That same night, the Knicks were on the road, facing the Spurs.
Without Zhao Dong in the lineup, the squad struggled hard.
Tim Duncan came out like a beast, a whole different player than when they met earlier in the season. He dropped a monster stat line: 31 points, 15 boards, 2 dimes, and 4 blocks.
The Knicks got blown out, and the season series between the two teams ended in a tie.
After beating the Spurs, the Knicks hit the road without Zhao Dong, flying straight to L.A. for a back-to-back clash with the Lakers. Without their star, they took an L, marking their first two-game losing streak of the season.
Back in the East, the Knicks faced off against the Sixers. Zhao Dong linked back up with the squad and led 'em to a dub, snapping the skid.
In those final three January games, New York went 1-2. Thing is, each of those games featured future superstars: Tim Duncan, Allen Iverson, and a rookie Kobe Bryant. And man, all three of them low-key surprised Zhao Dong.
"Feels like they're leveling up faster than they should be..."
Back in NYC, Zhao Dong pulled up to team HQ and found Ernie Grunfeld. He asked for the season stats on those three rising stars—and the numbers confirmed his gut.
"Why you diving into their stats, Dong?" Ernie asked.
"They're either already monsters or about to be. Iverson and Kobe especially, they've both taken serious leaps this year," Zhao Dong replied.
"Kobe though?" Ernie raised a brow. "That kid's been hyped to the moon by the Lakers. Second in All-Star voting? C'mon, that's just marketing. He ain't ready to start in an actual All-Star game."
"Nah, I'm talking potential," Zhao Dong said.
Ernie laughed. "You think he's really got it like that? What, you want us to trade for him?"
Zhao Dong grinned. "With what pieces? We're thin on the wings, and the Lakers got the big fella—Shaq—holding it down in the paint. They're not biting on anything we offer."
Ernie nodded, switching topics. "I don't know about Duncan, but there's word on the street that Iverson and Kobe been grinding hard in the offseason."
Zhao Dong's jaw damn near hit the floor. "What? Iverson? Nah man, media capping. That dude don't even like practice, now he's putting in extra reps all summer?"
"Same with MJ. Heard he only took two weeks off after last season and went right back in the lab. Man's conserving energy all regular season. You better watch for him in the playoffs," Ernie warned.
"I know," Zhao Dong nodded.
Jordan ain't just hard on his teammates—he's brutal on himself. Dude's relentless. And if there's one thing Zhao Dong respected, it was someone who didn't take shortcuts.
By the end of January, Zhao Dong still held the top spot in the official MVP race.
But guess what? The league gave Player of the Month to Jordan instead.
Makes sense though—Zhao Dong had already won it twice straight, and the league ain't tryna make it too easy. Even with his god-tier numbers, they passed him over.
With a 31-12 record, the Knicks were still holding it down at the top of the league standings, holding that spot for three months running—something that had the media buzzing.
But it was close. The Lakers were just half a game behind. The Jazz sat one and a half games back. And the Spurs were only two games out. Top-tier squads, no doubt.
Zhao Dong wasn't cocky about it either. He knew the Knicks weren't guaranteed to beat any of those squads in a seven-game series. Big Ben still hadn't broken out. If the playoffs turned into a dogfight, his inexperience could become a major liability.
Same went for Fortson. If he couldn't stay disciplined—cut the fouls and keep his cool—he'd cost them big.
John Starks had also been mad inconsistent lately, to the point where the coaching staff benched him in favor of a new Charlie Ward stepped in, but while the defense held up, the offensive output took a hit.
And Oakley? Man was still a beast on the boards with 8.5 a night, but his scoring and mobility were clearly slipping. Age was catching up.
Alan Houston was a wild card too. Sometimes dude would light it up like a flamethrower, other times he'd brick wide-open shots. Zero consistency.
Zhao Dong knew he wasn't trying to sound cocky, but facts were facts—if he hadn't been putting up near triple-doubles on the regular, playing elite on both ends, this Knicks squad might be scraping just to make the playoffs.
And that's not even counting the big threat lurking behind all of them—the Bulls.
Everyone wanted to act like the Bulls dynasty had faded. But Zhao Dong knew better. The most dangerous team in the league was still Jordan's Bulls.
Now it was February, and his wedding was just a few days away. The whole villa was decked out by a wedding company—Mrs. Dolores had handled all the details.
The wedding was set to go down in the U.S. After the season ended, he'd do a traditional ceremony back in China.
On the morning of the 1st, Ernie Grunfeld gave him a call.
"Zhao, I tried pulling off a trade for a top center or a lead guard—but nothing. Even when teams agreed, the stars straight up refused to come. I swear Nike and Adidas are behind this."
"So what now?" Zhao Dong asked.
"There's only a couple of decent shooters available..."
Ernie listed two names, but Zhao Dong shook his head.
"Both of them streaky. No point in trading for guys who can't stay hot. Might as well hold the line and grab a lottery pick in this draft."
Media's been calling this a weak draft year, but Zhao Dong knew the truth—this class was loaded.
White Chocolate Jason Williams, Larry Hughes, Al Harrington, Mike Bibby, Rashard Lewis, Antawn Jamison, Vince Carter, Paul Pierce, Dirk Nowitzki—man, these dudes are all future stars. Straight up.
And outside of those big names, there's still some solid talent in this class—guys like Bonzi Wells, the Morris twins, and even streetball legend Rafer Alston.
Oh, and don't sleep on the undrafted ones either. Brad Miller? Dude went on to become an All-Star center.
What really sets this draft class apart is that a few of these guys? They got real Hall of Fame potential. We're talkin' Dirk, VC, The Truth—Paul Pierce—legit legends.
If 1996 was the golden generation, then this class right here? It's right on that level, maybe even deeper in some ways.
What's wild is that some of these future beasts already signed with Zhao Dong's sporting goods company. They're basically his people now.
Take Vince Carter, for example. He's about to be that guy—the future demigod of the league after MJ dips. Dude kept the ratings alive with his bounce alone. Zhao Dong already scooped him up.
The rest of the signings? Mostly second-tier deals. Not everyone's gonna move shoes or shift culture like that. Even vets like Paul Pierce, they'll make noise, but they ain't touching VC's hype.
So Zhao Dong? He made sure Vince got a first-class signature shoe contract—top shelf. Outside of his own line, VC's was the first big signature shoe outta the Silver Demon draft class.
But 'cause of that move, he couldn't go shoutin' it from the rooftops. He had to keep it lowkey for now.
"Tryna hit the lottery, huh?"
Ernie Grunfeld was caught off guard.
This year's draft wasn't hyped up like that. Real quiet, not a ton of buzz, and a lot of teams weren't even lookin' too hard. Still, there's potential talent hidden in the mix. Getting a signature early might not be a bad look.
"But Zhao Dong, we ain't got time to bring in more guys. Trade window's closing on the 16th," he added.
"Then how 'bout we go crazy? Trade for Kobe from the Lakers or McGrady from the Heat," Zhao Dong joked. "They're both riding the pine anyway—shouldn't be too tough, right?"
He was clearly messin' around.
Zhao Dong ain't stressin' the lineup too much. He don't want a team full of future stars stealing his shine and touches. He'd rather build with reliable role players—dudes who know their role and play it well.
"Kobe? No shot," Ernie shook his head. "Jerry West traded Divac for him. Ain't no way he's lettin' go of that investment. But McGrady? Now that's interesting. He ain't gettin' minutes in Miami. I'll make the call."
Zhao Dong smirked.
Truth is, the Knicks were basically in timeout from Nike and Adidas—blackballed from makin' star-level moves. They could only work with smaller deals. The Hu Weidong pickup had been solid. And Ben Wallace? He made it into the starting lineup. So Ernie's hopin' Zhao Dong had another gem up his sleeve.
"Camby for McGrady?"
Pat Riley wasn't feelin' it when Ernie hit him up.
He knew McGrady had potential, but he had no room for him to shine right now. Still, he wasn't about to just give him up for Camby.
Riley wanted his bigs tough—real Oakley or Alonzo Mourning-type vibes. Hard-nosed, built-for-war types. Camby? Man's made of glass. Get touched and he's out. Not Riley's type at all.
So yeah, that call went nowhere.
Ernie was back to square one. Clock ticking on the trade deadline. Pressure was real now.
That's when the Raptors hit him up.
"You're tryna move Camby and Toni Kukoc? What kinda joke is that?" Ernie was heated.
They really tried to flip Ewing into Camby, and now they wanna send Kukoc back for him? That's some shady math. Dude was fuming.
"How 'bout Ron Harper and Kukoc instead?" he fired back.
"Lemme sleep on it," the Raptors replied—not a no, but not a yes either.
Ernie didn't wait around. He called up the Celtics next.
He had his eyes on their point guard—Chauncey Billups, last year's third overall pick.
Scoring-wise, Chauncey wasn't it. He wasn't efficient, and his jumper was shaky. But Ernie didn't need him to light it up—he needed a floor general. Billups had the speed and passing chops.
And the Celtics? They weren't exactly thrilled with Chauncey either. He hadn't really lived up to that No. 3 pick hype. Plus, they had just picked up a new PG and were ready to offload him.
"Camby for Billups straight up?" Ernie asked.
The Celtics' GM didn't even blink. "Deal."
Ernie was lowkey suspicious. That quick an answer? Felt like he was gettin' hustled. Maybe Billups had some injury they weren't disclosing?
But nah, the Celtics just needed a center—badly. Their current five was McCarty, the same guy the Knicks had traded away in '96. Camby, even with the injury risk, was an upgrade.
The deal was smooth. No contract headaches—both had similar deals. Celtics even threw in a few hundred grand to sweeten it.
That night, the Knicks caught an L at home against the Heat.
Big Ben just couldn't stop Mourning—got bullied out there.
He's still too raw to hang with the league's elite bigs right now.
Danny Fortson? Foul trouble had him glued to the bench early. The Knicks' whole frontcourt got cooked—that's why they lost.
"Zhao Dong, you think Fortson's worth the grind?" Coach Nelson asked as they walked to the postgame presser.
"Yeah, I think so. Give him another year. He's cut out the techs, but he's still wild on the boards—way too much contact," Zhao Dong replied.
"You'll be in the post a lot come playoffs," Nelson added.
"No doubt," Zhao Dong nodded.
Regular season's for growth. But once the playoffs hit? It's go time. No more experiments. Big Ben and Fortson's minutes will shrink fast, maybe even benchwarm unless they really show up.
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