NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

Marv Albert wrapped up the broadcast with a firm tone.

"The Knicks shot 61.2% from the field tonight. Now that's actually below their usual average, but once you factor in the free throws, the offensive efficiency still held strong. Their true shooting percentage ended up at 68%, which basically sealed the win against the Bulls.

Chicago played well, no doubt. They stuck around until the final stretch, but they couldn't hold off the sheer force Zhao Dong brought in the paint.

From what we've seen tonight, it's clear: New York still leans on Zhao to pound the Bulls inside. Same as last year's Eastern Conference Finals—they're not trying to outshoot the Bulls, they're dismantling the interior defense. If the Bulls don't adjust, we're lookin' at a repeat outcome."

---

[Postgame – Courtside Interview with Zhao Dong]

Reporter Thomas stepped in with the mic.

"Zhao, what's your take on the Bulls' defense against you tonight?"

Zhao Dong nodded, serious.

"They made some adjustments. I'm talkin' about their perimeter defense. You could tell they were prepped."

He paused, recalling moments on the court.

"Jordan and McGrady were working that double-team real smooth. One would stick with me, the other would cut off the angle. Even when I shook one, the other one was right there. That level of awareness? Yeah, they did their homework."

Thomas asked again, "What exactly changed?"

"They gave me space near the three-point line," Zhao replied. "They weren't trying to contest it fully, just baiting me into shooting from deep. And let's be real, even if I'm shooting 50% from out there, it's still less efficient than my low-post game. So yeah, I wasn't as efficient as I usually am."

CCTV's Yang Yi jumped in next.

"Zhao, in the second half, Oakley and Rasheed Wallace seemed to bother you down low. What kind of challenges did they bring?"

"They didn't give me an inch," Zhao said flatly. "They were aggressive, physical, always on me. That's why my low-post shots weren't falling as clean tonight."

Yang Yi followed up.

"How do you plan to deal with that defense next game?"

Zhao grinned.

"Guess you'll have to wait and see."

Yang chuckled and backed off.

Another reporter stepped up.

"Zhao, you had 9 second-chance points off offensive boards tonight. What's that say to you?"

"Means I gotta clean up my low-post offense," Zhao said. "Can't be relying on putbacks every time."

After two more questions, the interview wrapped, and Zhao returned to the locker room.

---

[Knicks Locker Room – Strategy Session]

Coach Don Nelson gathered the staff as the team cooled down postgame.

"Offensively, we're starting to hit resistance," Nelson started. "Chicago's defense on Zhao is evolving, and we've gotta stay ahead. We can't let them lock us down the same way next game."

Van nodded. "They saw results from that tonight. They'll double down on it moving forward."

Nelson agreed.

"So we gotta stay unpredictable. Keep the playbook open. Mix in new offensive sets, make 'em guess every possession."

He turned to the assistant coaches.

"Study how the Bulls played Zhao out on the perimeter and inside. We need counters, tailored adjustments."

Zhao chimed in.

"When I'm out on the wing, their priority isn't to block the shot. They're sealing the paint and daring me to pull up. They're leaving the mid-range vulnerable but not letting me get a full drive in. I say we exploit that.

"When Fordson is on the floor, we're holding our own on the boards. We should up our mid-range game, take what the defense gives. Also, if I'm getting doubled out near the arc, give me a wing shooter cutting to the baseline—same side. Makes the pass easier, forces Jordan or McGrady to scramble back. That's a mismatch we can work with."

"Alright," Nelson nodded. "That's on us. We'll build that in before Game 2."

---

[Courtside Interviews with League Legends]

A group of reporters caught Magic Johnson just outside the tunnel.

"Magic, thoughts on Game 1?"

"The Bulls came out sharper on defense," Magic said. "They really keyed in on Zhao. If they clean up the fouls, they've got a legit shot. But the thing is—Zhao's so good down low, if you don't foul him, you're probably getting scored on. That's the conundrum."

"What about the Knicks' backcourt? They had more chances because of the doubles on Zhao, but their efficiency dropped. Why?"

"Because Jordan and T-Mac were messin' with the passing lanes. Zhao's outlet passes didn't have the same punch. Jordan even picked one off. You mess with the delivery, shooters can't get in rhythm, even if they're open."

"Can the Bulls win the series?"

"Sure. They're close. One or two tweaks and they're right there."

"You flying out for the Lakers vs. Spurs?"

"Of course! I'm headed to San Antonio tomorrow. Gotta be there for my guys."

---

[Bulls Press Conference]

Michael Jordan walked into the room, towel over his shoulders.

"Mike, are you disappointed with the Game 1 loss?" asked the New York Times.

Jordan shook his head.

"Nah, I actually feel good. We saw something tonight. There's hope."

"Zhao shot just over 60% tonight—down from 70+ last year in the East Finals. What do you expect him to do next game?" asked Chicago Sports Daily.

Jordan paused, gave a small smirk.

"We'll look into that. That's a good question."

Then came the dumb one.

"Mike, if the Bulls lose the East Finals again, are you thinking about a second retirement?" asked a New York Sports Daily reporter.

Jordan's eyes narrowed.

"Man, don't ask me no stupid stuff like that. We're goin' to the Finals. Period."

"Michael, in this game, the Chinese big man you traded away dropped 11 points and shot 54%. What's your take on that?" a local reporter asked.

Jordan chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Fifty-four percent? Not bad," he said. "But we're not hurting for bigs. What we need are bruisers—guys like Charles and Rasheed. Defensive beasts in the paint."

He glanced at the rookie stats in his hand, then turned to the team staff next to him. "What did Mobley shoot tonight?"

The staffer flipped through the sheet and replied, "5-of-11 from the field, 1-of-4 from three, 2-of-3 from the line. Total of 13 points. That's 45.4% shooting."

Jordan nodded, flashing a small grin. "See that? Our outside rookie shot just under 10% less than a center. That's a win for us. That trade? It was the right move."

Another reporter jumped in. "Michael, I noticed something during the game. You and Zhao Dong barely used elbows out there. Like, almost none. Why's that?"

Jordan paused, thoughtful. "That's mutual respect. We're not out here trying to hurt each other—we play with skill, not cheap shots."

He rubbed a band-aid above his brow and added, "Look, even though I don't like him, I'll admit this: Zhao Dong's got class. No matter how tight the defense is, he never throws an elbow. That's more than I can say for some people."

Jordan leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You know who I'm talking about. Some dudes don't care who's in front of them. Even a guy that's 5'3", 130 pounds can catch an elbow to the face."

He paused, his tone sharp. "Yeah, I'm talking about the Mailman—Karl Malone. I can't stand him. And for the record, I want that Top 50 list re-done."

---

May 28 – Game 1, Western Conference Finals

Zhao Dong didn't wake up until ten that morning. He'd stayed home with Lindsay, lounging around after breakfast as they sipped tea.

"Our funds are leaving the market as planned," Lindsay said casually, flipping through a financial report. "We've already pulled out $10 billion. The plan should wrap up before year's end. But since we're betting against the market, Wall Street's been buzzing—some people are starting to question Storm's future."

Zhao Dong leaned back, crossing his arms. "The U.S. stock market's still climbing. The trend looks solid. You've got analysts saying the Nasdaq's going to hit 6,000. Of course there's noise."

Lindsay nodded. She already had her own analysis. Top dogs like Goldman Sachs were also offloading shares—but not nearly as aggressively as Storm. The issue was scale. Zhao Dong's fund was massive. If they waited too long and the market turned bearish, those profits could evaporate fast.

"Oh, and how's your plan to mess with Adidas going?" Zhao Dong asked suddenly, smirking.

Lindsay laughed. "Waiting for the market to crash next year. That's when I'll light the match. Adidas and the others won't survive it. Then we'll swoop in using Nike's brand to buy them up on the cheap. If they fight back, we'll crush 'em. We've got the money to go all-in."

"If they fold," she continued, "Nike acquires them outright—takes them private, delists everything. At that point, the global sportswear game will be divided between Nike and Zhao Dong Sports."

She paused, sipping her tea. "I've already had lobbyists start planting seeds—telling these companies to go heavier into U.S. stocks."

"Pfft!" Zhao Dong laughed out loud. "You're really trying to destroy Adidas. My grandfather was right—capitalists are cold-blooded."

"Honey," Lindsay said with a smile, "we're starting a business in China. Should we funnel the money through Julong Investment or start a new group?"

"New group, for sure," Zhao Dong replied. "Julong's a VC firm. We gotta keep things separate."

"And Zhao Dong Sports? Should we roll it into the new group too?"

"Absolutely. Better to manage them under one umbrella."

"Do we need to bring in outside funding?"

"Depends on the project. For core tech stuff, we keep it in-house. If we need more cash, Storm will back us. Also—we're launching Storm Investment Bank. I'm thinking we base it in Hong Kong but register it in the Caymans."

Lindsay nodded again. "Smart move. Tax benefits, plus fewer foreign exchange restrictions. It'll make capital operations way easier."

Zhao Dong agreed. "Operating from Hong Kong isn't ideal for mainland expansion, but domestic commercial banks are still tight with policy. With our capital, though, we'll have to negotiate with the top brass and push to get a branch in China."

---

Later That Afternoon – Game 1 Watch Party

Zhao Dong invited a few friends over for dinner—Yao Ming, Wang Zhizhi, and Hu Weidong. After the meal, they all sat down to catch Game 1 of the Western Conference Finals: Lakers vs. Spurs.

"Yao," Zhao Dong asked casually, "when's your tryout with the Nets?"

"Right after the Eastern Conference Finals, Brother Dong," Yao replied.

"It's close," Zhao Dong nodded. "Just over two hours' drive—about 200 clicks. The Nets used to be based in New York City, then shifted over to Jersey."

"Wait, they were originally in New York?" Hu Weidong asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Zhao Dong explained. "Back when they were in the ABA. They moved to New York in '69 and played in Long Island—at Island Garden and Cormack Arena. I've played in both, actually."

"Then in '76, they joined the NBA and went back to New Jersey. Whole thing was about market competition between the ABA and NBA."

"Interesting," Wang Zhizhi muttered. "I didn't know that."

After chatting for a while, Zhao Dong and Lindsay headed to the kitchen to cook dinner themselves.

Seeing this, Hu Weidong, Yao, and Dazhi exchanged awkward glances. They were used to Zhao Dong's hospitality, but seeing Lindsay—a legit Wall Street tycoon—put on an apron and get involved in the kitchen made them feel uneasy. It just didn't sit right having someone like her cook for them.

By six o'clock, the table was loaded with a clean and healthy spread: steamed fish, boiled chicken, and a few other light dishes.

"We're all pro athletes," Zhao Dong said, pulling off his apron, "so we kept it lean—no greasy stir-fries, not much pork either. Just enough to fill us up without weighing us down."

He gestured for everyone to sit down.

Lindsay snapped her fingers, and someone brought out several elegant-looking boxes.

Zhao Dong chuckled. "We're having a mix of Chinese and Western today. You guys need that extra protein."

Hu Weidong reached for one of the boxes. The tin shimmered with gold, and the brand name "AIMAS" was engraved on the lid. It looked fancy, definitely not your average grocery store product.

"Yo, Zhao Dong, what even is this? How much does it cost?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

Zhao Dong grinned. "That one? It's albino sturgeon caviar. High-end stuff. Each box is about a kilo—goes for over twenty grand in U.S. dollars."

"Oh my God!"

All three of them were stunned.

Zhao Dong laughed. "Yeah, I know. But it's top-tier. Best in the world. Loaded with nutrients, and the taste? Unreal."

Dazhi raised the tin, eyeing the golden shimmer. "Wait, is this thing painted gold?"

"Nah," Zhao Dong said, waving it off. "It's just gold foil. One gram of gold can make about half a square meter of this stuff. Just a gimmick to make it look premium."

After dinner, they kicked back on the couch, sipping tea and chatting while they waited for the Western Conference Finals to start. Lindsay even had someone bring out some snacks: melon seeds, chicken feet, and other Chinese comfort food for the guys to munch on.

Half an hour later, the game was underway.

Right out the gate, the Lakers ran their offense through Shaq. He got the ball in the low post, muscled his way inside, spun for a hook shot—but missed. David Robinson grabbed the board and kicked off the Spurs' fast break.

On the other end, Tim Duncan backed into Shaq, then quickly dished it to Robinson, who cut to the basket for an easy layup.

Zhao Dong leaned forward, eyes sharp. "That's the Twin Towers, man. Their inside coordination is nasty. Shaq can't handle both. If the Lakers' perimeter defense doesn't step up, this series belongs to San Antonio."

Hu Weidong nodded. "They're both double-team magnets. You key in on one, and the other punishes you. It's a nightmare to defend."

"And don't forget," Zhao Dong added, "the Lakers' power forward spot is weak. They're gettin' killed on both ends."

Dazhi turned to Zhao Dong. "Brother Dong, if we meet the Spurs in the Finals… how do we beat 'em?"

Zhao Dong took a sip of tea before answering. "Offensively, we gotta pull their bigs out of the paint. Only one of Ben Wallace or Danny Fortson can be on the floor at a time. If we let both Twin Towers stay in the lane, we're not getting anything done in the post."

He paused, then continued. "Defensively, we'll have to pick our poison. Robinson's still got that bounce, and Duncan? Dude's a demon in the post. We can't stop both, but we can cut off the connection between them—disrupt that two-man game. That's how we beat 'em."

Game 1 ended just as Zhao Dong expected.

The Spurs dominated. Their Twin Towers duo combined for 57 points, 27 rebounds, and 7 blocks. Duncan led the charge with 33 points, 16 rebounds, and 4 blocks. His shooting efficiency was off the charts—56% overall, 63% from the low post, 72% at the rim, and even 51% near the paint. On both ends of the floor, he was an absolute monster.

After the game, Zhao Dong's expression was serious.

"Duncan's efficiency tonight… it's close to mine," he said slowly. "His low-post game is elite. The kid's footwork, timing, touch—textbook stuff."

"Too strong…" Yao muttered, shaking his head.

Zhao Dong turned to him. "You've already got the physical tools. You're tall, strong, and smart. Right now, your strength puts you in that 'first-class center' conversation. But your footwork and post game? Still got room to grow."

Yao sat up straighter, listening carefully.

Zhao Dong continued, "When Duncan entered the league two years ago, his post moves were sharper than yours are now—but he's younger than you, so it's understandable. That's why I'm telling you—this offseason, double down. Keep building your strength, but also grind on those post fundamentals. Work like crazy on your touch around the rim."

"I got it, Brother Dong. I'll put in the work," Yao said, nodding firmly.

Zhao Dong added, "You've got something Duncan doesn't—your jumper. Your touch is smooth as hell, even from mid-range. Long-range too. He ain't got that. Like your turnaround fadeaway? Man, Duncan could practice for ten years and still not hit it like you do."

"But remember, as a center, the closer to the rim, the better. That's your bread and butter. You're not Shaq—you're not just gonna bully people under the rim. You need footwork. You need finesse. Don't waste this offseason. You and Dazhi—learn everything you can from Dream. He's flying into New York tomorrow."

"We will," both Yao and Dazhi said in unison, eyes burning with determination.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Check my Pâtreon for (40) advanced chapters

Pâtreon .com/Fanficlord03

Change (â) to (a)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Discord Link Here:

https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9