NBA: The Dynasty Crasher

In the morning, all All-Stars had to show up for some official events and gather at the designated hotel by 10 AM.

When Zhao Dong pulled up, the place was packed with fans, media swarming everywhere, and plenty of All-Stars already there.

He was just a rookie, not too familiar with these superstar players. They were all opponents on the court, and if you weren't friends off the court, there wasn't much to talk about.

Take Shawn Kemp, for example—dude was already throwing daggers at him with his eyes. Same with Kevin Garnett and Hakeem Olajuwon, who Zhao Dong had dunked on before. They all had a chip on their shoulders.

But the one staring at him like he wanted blood? Karl Malone.

"There's a damn bug in here," Malone gritted his teeth. "We should stay far away."

"Yo, Mailman, anybody here got an elbow from you yet? Did you catch them from behind like you did me?" Zhao Dong fired back. "They're lucky to be alive, huh?"

Malone's face instantly turned dark.

Only now did he remember—he wasn't exactly well-liked around the league.

"You're lucky to even be a starter," Zhao Dong said, shaking his head. "Barkley got screwed over."

"You—" Malone's anger flared up.

"What? Just be happy you made the starting lineup. You gonna cry about it?" Zhao Dong clapped back.

Mutombo, standing nearby, looked a little embarrassed too. He knew he only got the starting spot by a stroke of luck—otherwise, he'd be on the bench.

At that moment, footsteps sounded behind them. Zhao Dong turned around—it was Michael Jordan.

With everyone present, the officials started organizing the players to board the team bus.

When Zhao Dong stepped onto the bus, Jordan blocked his path in the aisle and said loud enough for everyone to hear, "The guys who actually deserve to be here aren't, and yet some unqualified folks made it. What a joke."

"My votes came from the fans, all fair and square," Zhao Dong shot back. "What, you want to hand-pick the All-Star roster too? Like you try to run the Bulls?"

"What did you say? Who's running the Bulls?" Jordan's voice rose.

"Alright, alright, Michael, don't waste your breath on a rookie," Olajuwon stepped in to cool things down.

"Snort."

Jordan scoffed, clearly pissed off. If this wasn't an official event, he might've swung on Zhao Dong right then and there.

"Move."

Zhao Dong reached out and shoved Jordan onto his seat.

"Damn it!" Jordan's expression shifted.

Zhao Dong flopped down right next to him. "Yeah, I'm sitting here today. What you gonna do? Try all your little tricks, I'll be waiting."

"Get lost. This isn't your seat," Jordan snapped.

"I'm sitting right here. Anyone got a problem with that?" Zhao Dong stood up and looked around.

The rest of the guys exchanged glances—was this rookie really trying to go toe-to-toe with Jordan?

They weren't dumb. This was the same dude who dropped Malone. No one wanted to get involved, so they stayed quiet.

Except for Malone.

The Mailman stood up, pointed to the back of the bus, and barked, "Move to the back. That's where rookies sit."

Zhao Dong laughed. "You? A dude I already cooked? Who the hell are you talking to? Step up if you got something to say." He curled his fingers, motioning Malone forward while clenching his other fist.

"Alright, gentlemen, that's enough. Do you really want the media catching this nonsense?" The NBA's vice president, stepped in.

That finally shut everyone up.

Zhao Dong ignored Jordan after that but didn't move. He really sat right next to him, making Jordan fume even more.

Jordan wanted to switch seats but felt like that'd be a weak move. Now he was stuck, pissed as hell.

"Young man, your career is gonna be a disaster. I guarantee it," Jordan said coldly.

"You can't guarantee shit," Zhao Dong shot back. "You're pushing 40, your body's already breaking down."

"Damn it, I'm only 33!" Jordan snapped.

"That's still old. Next season, I'll be locking your ass up."

"I could whoop your ass when I'm 80."

"So far, I'm undefeated against you," Zhao Dong smirked.

Jordan froze.

Shit. They only played one game. This cocky bastard was really calling that an undefeated record?

"From now on, don't bother me. You're like a damn fly, buzzing in my ear."

Zhao Dong was done talking because his system had just triggered a new mission.

Jordan wasn't finished, though. "Who told you to sit here? You don't feel like trash right now?"

"Shut up before I knock you out. You'll look like a pig, and then pig shit," Zhao Dong raised his fist.

"…!"

Jordan glanced at Zhao Dong's hand, then back at his face. "We settle this with basketball."

"Then shut the hell up."

Zhao Dong popped in his headphones and closed his eyes.

All-Star Mission:

Win All-Star MVP – Earn 2 random skill or attribute points.

Successful early celebrations against Karl Malone – Earn 1 skill or attribute point per celebration.

Get 10 blocks – Earn 1 skill point.

Get 15+ rebounds – Earn 1 attribute point.

Zhao Dong shook his head. The rewards weren't much, but with Jordan on his ass, he probably wouldn't even get a chance.

Throughout the official All-Star activities, Jordan's influence was obvious—no one talked to Zhao Dong. They weren't close anyway, but now it was like he was invisible.

Only Joe Dumars came over to say what's up.

Zhao Dong was already prepared for this and didn't let it get to him. Instead, he just focused on the event and avoided any awkwardness.

At 7 PM, the All-Stars arrived at the arena.

When the Eastern and Western squads split at a corridor fork, Jordan suddenly stepped in front of Zhao Dong, tapped his chest, and smirked.

"Kid, tonight is gonna be an All-Star game you'll never forget."

Bang!

Zhao Dong smacked Jordan's hand away and shoved him back with his palm.

"Oh yeah? Is it gonna be as 'memorable' as your first All-Star?"

Jordan's face twisted.

Damn rookie bringing up his worst memory?

The other All-Stars turned their heads, watching to see if the two would actually throw hands.

Zhao Dong locked eyes with Jordan and said coldly, "I'm ready for whatever you're planning, Michael. Your little tricks won't work on me. So don't test me. If you do, well…" He glanced at Karl Malone. "You saw how that ended."

"YOU—"

Malone was livid.

"Taking advantage of someone being unprepared? Oh, you mean like when you elbowed me in the back of the head?" Zhao Dong asked, tilting his head.

Malone's face turned red, his mouth opened… but no words came out.

He was dead.

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