In the home team's locker room, Zhao Dong was quietly adding skill points.
After locking up the MVP and scoring title, he had officially completed the regular season objectives from the system. As a reward, he received thirty skill points and a Dominance Fragment.
"That's my fourth Dominance Fragment," he muttered. "Not super useful on its own, but hey, it's better than walking away empty-handed. The system rewards always come in clutch. I'll just stash it for now."
Now came the fun part—adding the skill points. Zhao Dong had already made up his mind: max out his basic skills first.
He started with Ball Control and Shooting, both currently at Level 96. Each level cost him three points. Nine points later, both were sitting pretty at Level 99.
He checked the rest of his attributes. Unlike before, leveling up basic skills didn't boost related techniques this time. Maybe the threshold had changed.
Next up was Passing & Receiving, currently at Level 90. It would take 22 points to push it to 99, but he only had 12 left.
"I'm focused on offense anyway. Ninety is good enough for now," he decided.
Then he glanced at his gold and first-class skills.
Gold Medal Skills:
Bank Jump Shot: 99
Pull-Up Jumper: 95
Turnaround Jumper: 95
Dribble Drive: 96
Pull-Up: 95
Post-Up: 95
Step-Back Jumper: 95
First-Class Skills:
Turnaround Fadeaway: 94
Spot-Up Jumper: 91
These were elite. Some were super-first-class. He had 12 points left. Four points could level up a gold technique by one notch.
He really wanted to level up the Turnaround Fadeaway, but it was balance-locked—capped at 94 unless it upgraded into a gold skill.
"Damn shame," Zhao Dong thought. "It's close to Jordan's level, but the hit rate still ain't there. Still, I've got seven golds to work with. Let's focus on strengthening those."
"System," he said aloud, "can I max out all seven of my gold skills?"
"Confirmed," the system replied.
Zhao Dong grinned. "Alright. Max out my Dribble Drive, and bump my Pull-Up Jumper to 96."
A second later, his Dribble Drive hit 99, and Pull-Up Jumper moved up to 96. His 30 points were officially spent.
Fifteen minutes later, Zhao Dong led the squad out of the tunnel. The first person he saw? Charles Oakley.
"Charles, you've been killing it with the Bulls!" Zhao Dong said, throwing a hand up.
Oakley grinned proudly. "I ain't washed yet, man. I can still put in work—thirty minutes a night, easy."
"Charles!" Big Ben walked over and dapped him up with a hug.
Zhao Dong pulled Oakley aside and leaned in.
"Yo, Charles, the investments this year look solid. There might be a fat dividend coming at the end. You gotta treat us if it hits."
Oakley's eyes lit up. "For real? I'm down."
Zhao Dong nodded. "If the payout comes through, you're lookin' at around twenty mil in dividends. Add that to your initial buy-in, and you're walking away with thirty mil."
Oakley's jaw dropped.
The man only had about ten mil total—five mil of which came from last year's dividend alone. This was a sixfold return in two years.
"Can I invest more?" Oakley asked, trying to contain his excitement.
Zhao Dong shook his head. "Storm might dissolve all its funds in two years. You'll probably get your full principal back next year."
"Why stop now?" Oakley asked, stunned.
Zhao Dong shrugged. "We're shifting to long-term investments—more stable, but not as profitable. Might even take losses. Best to take the money, enjoy life, travel after retirement. If you still want in, we'll talk. But keep this between us, alright?"
The reason Zhao Dong gave Oakley such a generous share was because of their bond. Oakley had always had his back. No way he'd give other Knicks players the same treatment.
He also wasn't planning to involve them in the next move—shorting the U.S. market was way riskier than buying stocks.
Plus, part of what he told Oakley was true… and part wasn't.
Oakley nodded. "Zhao Dong, meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me."
By now, Ben Wallace and Fordson had also joined them.
"Boss," Big Ben asked quietly, "how much am I getting?"
"You put in $200K. You already got $200K back last year. This time, you're earning $800K in dividends. With your principal, that's $1.2 million."
Big Ben rarely smiled, but he did now. "That's clean."
"What about me, boss?" Fordson asked eagerly.
Zhao Dong replied, "If you started investing last year, you're looking at doubling your money. So $500K turns into $1 million. If you started the year before and didn't cash out last year, it's about six times profit. Do the math."
"Haha! I started last year—guess I'm making bank!" Fordson whispered excitedly.
Chauncey Billups was grinning from ear to ear. He'd put in $800K and was now pocketing over a million in pure profit.
But the real winner? Larry Johnson.
He was outside warming up, oblivious to the locker room chatter. As the No. 1 pick of his draft class and the first in the league to sign a billion-dollar contract, LJ had money. And loyalty. He had helped Zhao Dong take down Jordan. That loyalty earned him a massive stake.
From across the tunnel, Michael Jordan narrowed his eyes, watching Zhao Dong and the crew chat.
He caught a few words—dividends, investment—and quickly put it together: Storm Fund.
To be honest, Jordan had made peace with Storm buying out Nike. His brand still existed, and the upcoming Silver Demon tech sneakers were dropping next season. His financial empire wasn't going anywhere.
Zhao Dong noticed MJ's stare and walked over with a smirk.
"Mr. Jordan," he said with a wink, "I've got a feeling this might be your last dance."
Jordan scoffed. "Man, cut that crap. You trying to play mind games? Not gonna work. This year's our turn to hit the Finals. You better get your fishing gear ready."
Zhao Dong just laughed and didn't push the topic.
But in his heart, he was dead serious.
If the Bulls failed again this year, there was a high chance Jordan would hang it up for good.
The tension in the tunnel was thick as both teams prepared to walk out. Off to the side, Chauncey Billups leaned in toward Tracy McGrady, voice low.
"Tracy, you alright, man? You don't look like yourself tonight. Pressure getting to you?" Billups studied him, his voice calm but sincere.
"I'm fine," McGrady replied, shaking his head.
Billups smirked. He wasn't trying to press him—it was just obvious. McGrady looked tight. The whole Bulls locker room was walking like they had weights on their shoulders.
"What about you?" McGrady asked, trying to deflect.
Billups chuckled. "Same as always, man. Our front office got me on the trade block 24/7. I'm used to it. Gotta stay ready."
Before McGrady could respond, Jordan's voice came from down the hall, sharp and commanding.
"Tracy! Let's go!"
McGrady jolted and hustled toward him.
The Bulls stepped onto the court, met immediately by a wall of boos from the Madison Square Garden crowd.
"Yo, I bet McGrady's off tonight," Billups told Fordson with a smirk. "Kid's too tight."
"Yeah, I saw it in his face," Fordson replied, chuckling as he jogged toward center court. He was hyped—back in the starting five again. But he knew Coach Nelson's lineups weren't permanent. If the tactics changed, so could his minutes.
Tonight, the Knicks' game plan was all about spacing. Zhao Dong would operate from the perimeter more, so Fordson's rebounding and interior defense were a better fit. If they shifted to low-post offense next game, he'd probably be back on the bench.
BOOM!
The Garden exploded in cheers as the Knicks were introduced. The boos flipped like a switch to deafening roars.
"Sweep! Sweep! Sweep!" Knicks fans chanted, their voices thundering through the arena.
After sweeping both the first and second rounds, the Knicks were on a seven-game playoff win streak. The fans were dreaming of another sweep. Maybe even something more.
"Ha ha…" Zhao Dong looked around the packed house and grinned. The crowd energy was insane—rivaling even the Bulls' United Center.
"Dynasty! Dynasty! Dynasty!" came the next chant, louder than ever.
Jordan clenched his fists on the sideline, his eyes burning with fire. "You ain't sweeping us. And you can forget about a dynasty," he muttered under his breath.
The Garden crowd was star-studded tonight. Celebrities, athletes, and NBA legends filled the front rows.
Yao Ming sat in the VIP section with Lindsay and one of her bodyguards. She hadn't attended many games this season—too busy with work—but this was different. It was the Eastern Conference Finals. She had to show up for her husband.
During warmups, Cuttino Mobley jogged over to midcourt and greeted Zhao Dong.
"Yo, Boss Zhao," he said with a grin.
Zhao Dong returned the smile. "Playing well with Chicago, I see."
Mobley nodded. "Not bad, not bad." Then he lowered his voice. "You think I got a shot at coming back to New York?"
Mobley's minutes with the Bulls weren't much better than when he was with the Knicks. But he knew if he came back, he'd have a chance to invest with Zhao Dong—the Knicks' superstar who had built an investment empire off the court.
"You had a shot," Zhao Dong replied. "If you finished out a full season with us, you would've had your chance. Now? It depends on what the front office does. Bulls might not even let you go."
He paused for a moment, then added, "If things collapse in Chicago, maybe. Keep your head up."
"Collapse?" Mobley looked stunned.
Before Zhao Dong could answer, Jordan's voice rang out again.
"Mobley! What the hell are you doing?!"
Mobley flinched and quickly jogged away. Zhao Dong shouted behind him, "Charles, dinner tomorrow?"
Oakley gave a helpless smile. "You got it."
Jordan's jaw clenched. He looked around in disbelief. "What is this, Knicks reunion night?! Damn!"
After warmups, the teams returned to their benches.
"Boss, are we getting dividends soon?" Larry Johnson whispered with a grin.
"Just wait. You're about to get paid," Zhao Dong said with a wink.
"I'm in. But you promised I could reinvest."
"Yeah, yeah. Talk to Charles later. I told you—I'll help you build wealth."
Zhao Dong already had plans. Instead of pooling everyone's money into his Storm Fund, he would create a new fund—targeting future tech monsters like Apple and Google. He wanted his teammates to win on and off the court.
Meanwhile, over in San Antonio, the entire Lakers squad had rented out a hotel conference room to watch the game. Same thing over at the Spurs' HQ—everyone was glued to the screen.
Five minutes later, tip-off.
"Alright, let's get it!" shouted Matt Goukas on the national broadcast. "43 million viewers—this game's breaking records tonight!"
Marv Albert followed up. "You can feel the energy through the screen, Matt. This crowd is electric."
Zhao Dong stepped back as Fordson took the jump ball against Rasheed Wallace. The ball went up—Fordson tipped it first. Knicks ball.
The Bulls immediately dropped into a hybrid zone: a 2-3 shifting into a 3-2 depending on Zhao Dong's position.
Oakley held down the middle. Rasheed shaded the low post left, McGrady guarded the opposite block, Jordan was at the left elbow, and Jason Kidd was on the right.
Their whole scheme was clear—trap Zhao Dong in the post.
If he got to the block, Rasheed would body up, with Oakley and Jordan ready to collapse. If that didn't work, McGrady would rotate over for a four-man wall.
Phil Jackson was trying to strangle the paint.
But zone defense always had its weak spot—perimeter shooting. If a squad got hot from outside, the zone could fall apart fast.
That's why most teams never dared play zone against the future Warriors. Once the Splash Brothers started getting hot, it was over. Teams switched to man-to-man just to survive.
And when Golden State broke through that, they countered with double pick-and-rolls, elevator doors—the works.
Tonight, though, Jackson was betting that Zhao Dong would stick to the low block.
He guessed wrong.
Zhao Dong drifted to the left wing—way beyond the arc. He raised his hand. Billups passed him the rock.
"Switch to two-one-two!" Jackson yelled from the sideline.
Too late.
Zhao Dong faked the drive, pulled up, and launched.
The ball sailed over Jordan's outstretched hand and swished clean through the net.
This first shot? Just a warm-up for Zhao Dong.
"Splash!"
Right off the catch, he nailed a three from the top of the arc.
"Yeah!"
The entire Garden erupted as the crowd roared. Marv Albert's voice boomed across the broadcast:
"Zhao Dong—who hardly ever pulls from deep—buries his first shot of the game from downtown! I got a feeling he's not done yet tonight."
Matt Goukas added, "That was smooth. The fake drive and pull-up was so clean it sold Jordan out. He bit hard!"
Hubie Brown chimed in, excited, "Exactly! Zhao Dong completely shook Jordan off. That's a highlight already."
Over on China's CCTV live broadcast, Zhang Heli praised,
"Zhao Dong's efficiency comes from his elite ability to shake defenders. His moves always force the defender into the wrong choice. That fake drive just now—Jordan was already out of position the second Zhao Dong raised the ball. That's how lethal Zhao Dong is, even against Jordan's top-tier perimeter defense."
Bulls' ball.
Jordan and McGrady went to work off-ball, moving along opposite wings. The Knicks set up in a 2-1-2 zone, with Zhao Dong patrolling the middle, floating between the high post and the paint.
Hubie called it in real-time:
"The Knicks are zoning up to stop drives from Jordan and McGrady. Smart move."
Jordan cut from the left wing, fast. Zhao Dong immediately sank down, cutting off his path to the rim. In this zone, the paint's a soft spot. The two bigs anchor the low blocks, but if anyone cuts in clean, Zhao Dong's the insurance policy.
But when Zhao Dong dropped down, it opened space at the top of the key. McGrady saw the window, cut hard to the elbow, and Kidd fired a pinpoint pass.
"Bang!"
Too much juice—McGrady bricked it. Zhao Dong secured the rebound and turned on the jets.
"Great look by Kidd," Hubie commented. "His vision is insane. He'll find any hole in the defense."
Zhao Dong stepped up to the left wing, just behind the arc, calling for the rock again.
Tonight's game plan was clear. Zhao Dong was stretching the floor. Sprewell had the weakside drive, Billups was the outlet, Big Ben and Fordson held it down on the boards. Roles locked in.
Coach Don Nelson had a plan—draw Rasheed Wallace and Oakley out, open up driving lanes, dominate the glass.
So Zhao Dong wasn't just gunning threes. He'd mix in mid-range jumpers after drives, anything to force the Bulls to adjust.
This time, he caught the ball, shielded Jordan with his off-hand, then jabbed and swung the ball back diagonally, freezing Jordan for a split second.
Then—pop!—Zhao Dong exploded into a standing shot.
"Damn!"
Jordan took the bait and jumped—too early.
But Zhao Dong didn't shoot.
Zhang Heli called it,
"Fake shot—real drive!"
As Jordan flew past, Zhao Dong tucked the ball and blew by him, cutting down the left wing.
The ref kept eyes on his pivot foot and ball-handling—clean. Zhao Dong's fundamentals were elite, no wasted motion, no violations. The ball was gone before the pivot lifted.
This was why he dared to play on the perimeter tonight—confidence.
The Bulls were in their own 2-1-2. McGrady rotated middle to help. Rasheed stepped up to cut off the lane.
Zhao Dong didn't push deep. He stopped on a dime at the left elbow, rose for a jumper with McGrady flying in.
McGrady jumped high, hand extended—
But Zhao Dong pulled the ball back midair—McGrady overcommitted and flew past.
"Huh?!"
Behind him, Zhao Dong was still floating.
Then he let it go.
"Splash!"
Nothing but net.
McGrady turned around, stunned.
Zhao Dong was still in the air longer than him.
How?!
McGrady had bounce, but Zhao Dong? A 115-kilo beast still hanging like that?
Core strength like a tank.
"Incredible! Zhao Dong just straight-up out-hung McGrady in the air. He shook Jordan, dodged McGrady's block, and floated like gravity forgot him. That's insane!"
The arena popped again.
Zhang Heli shouted, "Two for two! Zhao Dong's feeling it tonight!"
Sun Zhenping added,
"The Bulls opened with a 2-1-2 zone, probably not expecting Zhao Dong to attack from the outside."
Zhang nodded,
"Exactly. When they played the Philly—Malone and Iverson—they forced him low. Phil Jackson must've assumed Zhao Dong would post up again. Reasonable guess, but Nelson flipped the script. That's his style—make you play his game."
Score: 5–0. Knicks lead.
Next play, Jordan ran a pick-and-roll on the right wing. Jordan caught Kidd's pass mid-cut and hit the lane.
Zhao Dong dropped down quick—help defense again.
Jordan pulled up near the right elbow. Zhao Dong rose to contest.
Jordan didn't jump as high as he used to, but this wasn't about hops—it was about craft.
He leaned back midair—fadeaway. Vintage MJ.
The ball floated just out of Zhao Dong's reach and swished through.
Classic Jordan.
He looked at Zhao Dong, almost said something, but bit his tongue.
Instead, he turned and locked in on defense.
As the teams flipped sides again, Zhao Dong trotted up court, focused.
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