NBA: The Dynasty Crasher

In the second quarter, Zhao Dong checked back in at the 4-minute mark, and the black-and-white duo followed him onto the floor.

Jazz ball.

Zhao Dong switched onto Karl Malone, shadowing him as he fought for position.

"Alright, kid, let's see if you can handle me," Malone muttered, raising his elbows as he tried to carve out space.

This was his bread and butter—using his strength and dirty tricks to get open. His mid-range game was deadly, and most guys didn't even dare to get in his grill.

Last game, Zhao Dong had taken Malone's elbows head-on, playing tight. This time, though, he switched it up—no more bodying up close. Instead, he slipped around him, staying mobile.

Why? Because his agility, balance, and coordination had all leveled up. His ability to turn, react, and explode had taken a massive leap, making him more mobile than any big man in the league. Hell, some of his skills were creeping into guard territory. That gave him a huge mismatch advantage.

And tonight, he had a mission—bait Malone and Stockton into making mistakes.

Malone kept shifting, trying to shake him. He finally got a step of separation, just in time for Stockton to zip a pass his way.

Bad move.

Zhao Dong read it perfectly, using his long reach to snatch the ball out of midair before Malone could react.

"Damn it!" Malone cursed, watching Zhao Dong take off down the court. He clenched his fists, debating throwing an elbow, but hesitated.

Last time, he'd cracked Zhao Dong with a shot to the face, and the kid just ate it—then whooped his ass. Getting embarrassed in front of 20,000 home fans again? Nah. If Zhao Dong humiliated him like that twice, retirement might be the best option.

Zhao Dong pushed the tempo, sprinting down the left wing in transition. Malone was left in the dust.

Stockton and Bryon Russell scrambled back, trying to wall him off. But just as they committed, Zhao Dong spotted John Starks cutting baseline. Without hesitation, he fired a pass.

"Bang!"

Starks exploded off the ground, catching the lob and hammering it home with an alley-oop slam.

"Beautiful! The Knicks just caught a body on that alley-oop! And look at Zhao Dong—calm as hell, made the right read instead of forcing the issue," Doug Collins hyped up on the NBC broadcast.

"Zhao Dong is playing the passing lanes like a damn free safety," Marv Albert added. "That's already two steals off Stockton—he's disrupting Utah's whole rhythm. His lateral movement is unreal, like a guard's, and I think we're seeing why he wants to play the three. As a four, he's stuck in the trenches. But as a wing? He's got the space to use all that speed and athleticism."

Jazz ball.

As usual, Stockton and Malone ran their signature pick-and-roll.

But Zhao Dong wasn't falling for it. He cut off Stockton's passing angle, forcing him to look elsewhere. Stockton swung it to Jeff Hornacek instead.

Now, Hornacek wasn't flashy, but he was rock solid—40% from three, elite off-ball movement, and a sneaky defender. Alongside Stockton and Malone, he was the glue holding Utah's system together.

Hornacek lost Starks with a well-timed cut, caught the pass, and rose for a mid-range jumper. Money.

Knicks ball.

"Utah's still hiding Karl Malone on defense, putting him on Bryon Russell," Marv Albert noted. "They know Malone can't keep up on the perimeter, and that's a big weakness."

Zhao Dong caught the ball at the left-wing three. He took a quick glance inside, then signaled for the floor to spread out.

Ewing and Oakley shifted to the wings, dragging Ostertag and Malone with them. The paint was wide open now.

Zhao Dong palmed the ball with his right hand, feinted like he was pulling up for a jumper—then immediately yanked it back.

Russell bit hard, jumping to contest.

Big mistake.

Zhao Dong blew past him, cutting inside with long, powerful strides. He picked up speed, faster… faster…

The crowd felt it coming. The energy in the arena shifted.

Malone and Ostertag scrambled back, realizing too late that they were in the danger zone.

Malone got there first and jumped to contest.

Bad move.

Zhao Dong was already airborne. With his guard-like speed, small forward explosiveness, and the raw power of a center, he was a goddamn freight train in midair.

"Bang!"

The refs' whistle cut through the air as Malone got bulldozed.

The arena fell dead silent.

"YEAHHH!" The Knicks bench erupted.

Malone let out a pained groan as he crashed hard into the stanchion. The impact shook the entire hoop.

The rim rattled. The backboard shuddered.

"OH MY GOD!" Doug Collins lost it. "THAT… THAT WAS VICIOUS!"

"That might be the most terrifying dunk I've ever seen!" Marv Albert shouted. "He came in with the speed of a guard, the explosion of a wing, and the mass of a big man. You cannot stop that! Karl Malone just got put in a BODY BAG!"

Marv was still shaking his head in disbelief. "This confirms it—he has to play small forward. The amount of space he gets out there? No one can stop his downhill momentum. NO. ONE."

"SQUEAK…"

The basket groaned under the strain. The rim wobbled like it might snap off at any second.

Malone was still on the floor, sucking in deep breaths. His back was screaming in pain.

He looked up—and locked eyes with Zhao Dong, who stood over him like a damn executioner. Those eyes weren't just competitive. They were feral.

Malone swallowed hard.

"Listen up, Mailman," Zhao Dong said coldly. "You step in my way again, you better be ready to get torn apart."

Malone clenched his jaw, the humiliation burning deep. He could feel 20,000 Utah fans staring at him, waiting for his response.

"You just wait," he growled.

Then, with the help of his teammates, he pulled himself up—bruised, rattled, and, for the first time in a long time, scared.

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