"Congratulations to the Knicks for winning their fourth NBA championship!"
"Congrats to Zhao Dong for leading the team to another title. That's two straight! The dynasty is real!"
"Shoutout to Don Nelson—you finally got that ring as a head coach."
"Big ups to every Knicks player. You did it again! Your status just shot through the roof..."
As confetti rained down in Madison Square Garden, the live broadcast commentators kept talking through the madness.
"Next season's mine!" Charles Barkley shouted, excited like a kid at Christmas.
"Charles, if I were you, I'd pick a thicker thigh to hug," O'Neal grinned beside him.
"Which one?" Barkley asked.
Smack!
Shaq patted his own massive leg and said proudly, "Right here, baby."
Barkley smirked. "Zhao Dong's only been here two seasons and already has two rings. And you? The Magic shipped you off like a bad contract."
"..."
Shaq's jaw dropped. He was speechless—devastated like he just got dunked on.
"Oh, and remember? Back in '96 when they named the 50 greatest players ever, you were the one people doubted," Barkley kept jabbing.
"Shut up. You tryna throw hands right now?" Shaq snapped.
"..."
Now it was Barkley's turn to be stunned. Did this dude seriously just say that on live TV?
"YEAHHH!"
The crowd went wild as Zhao Dong hoisted the Larry O'Brien trophy above his head.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
Flashbulbs exploded across the arena.
"Now," David Stern said, holding the Finals MVP envelope with a smile, "I'm honored to announce… the Most Valuable Player of the 1997-98 NBA Finals is—Zhao Dong!"
BOOM! The crowd erupted again.
In the NBC booth, Marv Albert and Matt Goukas were wrapping up the broadcast.
Matt said, "Zhao Dong dropped 42 points, 10 boards, 10 dimes, a steal, 3 blocks, 3 turnovers, and 4 fouls in 44 minutes. That's a 40-point triple-double in the clincher. Insane."
Marv added, "For the whole Finals series, Zhao averaged 34 points, 11 rebounds, 10.5 assists, 2 steals, 4 blocks, in just 38 minutes a night.
He didn't even need to go full throttle—Utah just couldn't keep up."
Matt grinned, "He made history again. Four series, four triple-doubles. Nobody's ever done that in the playoffs before."
Marv nodded. "And now look at the trophy case: Regular season MVP. Scoring champ. Defensive Player of the Year. All-Star MVP. And now Finals MVP.
Not even MJ had all six of those in one season."
"Jordan had MVP and Finals MVP in '91 and '92, plus the scoring title and All-NBA First Team, but never DPOY and All-Star MVP too," Matt laughed.
Meanwhile, during the CCTV live broadcast, Zhang Heli said, "With the season ending, trade season will begin after the draft. The Knicks are expected to reshuffle the roster a bit. Hopefully they stay competitive."
"No progress on the labor negotiations though. They won't actually go into a lockout… right?" Sun Zhenping chuckled.
"Hard to say. It's happened before. If it does, trades are gonna freeze too," Zhang replied.
After nearly an hour of celebration, Zhao Dong returned to the locker room, showered, and headed to the championship press conference.
The media presence was massive. Every outlet packed the room wall-to-wall. Cameras flashed nonstop when the players arrived.
On the other side, the Jazz's postgame conference was empty and awkward. Barely anyone cared.
That night, the Knicks partied until sunrise.
June 10th, 9 a.m. – New York, Jazz Team Hotel
Karl Malone had just woken up and was sitting on his bed, staring at his phone like he'd seen a ghost.
Adidas had just contacted him. They wanted him to request a trade himself.
They said they were ready to move him to the Lakers and build a championship squad around him there.
"The Lakers?"
Malone clenched his fists.
If he teamed up with Shaq, who the hell could stop them? Not even Zhao Dong would survive under the rim against both of them.
But asking him to leave the Jazz? To ask for the trade himself? That felt like betrayal.
Utah was his home. Thirteen seasons. His whole career. His blood, sweat, and tears. How could he just walk away?
Still… he wanted to beat Zhao Dong. Badly.
He glanced over at John Stockton, still sleeping in the other bed. What would his brother-in-arms say if he knew?
"John… I'm sorry," he muttered in his heart before gently shaking him awake.
"Carl? Why'd you wake me so early?" Stockton groaned. His head was pounding. He'd drowned his frustrations in whiskey last night.
"I need to tell you something."
Malone hesitated, then came clean.
Stockton blinked in confusion, then sat up as the words sank in.
"What?"
When he realized what Malone was saying, he froze—completely silent, stunned.
"John?" Malone called out.
"Are you out of your damn mind?" Stockton suddenly snapped. "You leave the Jazz and what happens to the team? I don't care if it's Adidas—they're just a sponsor! Why the hell are they making trade calls?"
"John, come on, man. You know I can't say no to Adi," Malone tried to reason.
"What about me?! I'm 38! If you leave, what the hell do I do?" Stockton shouted, practically losing it.
"John. Calm down." Malone put a hand on his shoulder. "I really can't say no. And let's face it… we can't beat Zhao Dong."
Stockton just stared at the floor in silence. Then he slumped—not onto the couch, but right down on the floor.
"John?" Malone rushed to help him up.
"Get your hands off me, you damn traitor!" Stockton shouted, pushing him away.
"I'm done. I'm retiring. I'm done with this crap!"
"John, you're not too old! You've still got years left in you," Malone said desperately. "Or hey—request a trade too. Go to the Spurs. Duncan and Robinson would be great teammates. You could chase a ring there."
"I'd rather never win a title than betray this team," Stockton said, cold as ice.
11:00 a.m. – Flight back to Salt Lake City
Some Jazz players didn't return—they stayed in New York to party or unwind.
But on the flight, GM Tim Howells and coach Jerry Sloan immediately noticed something was wrong.
Karl Malone and John Stockton were sitting far apart, stone-faced, saying nothing.
Sloan asked around, but no one knew what had happened.
Finally, he walked over to Malone, sat beside him, and asked quietly, "Karl, what did you do to John?"
Malone let out a long sigh. "Coach… I've made a decision. I hope the team can understand."
Sloan's expression changed.
"I… I want the team to trade me."
Jerry Sloan's jaw dropped. "What? You want out of Utah?"
He looked toward Stockton at the back of the plane, then finally understood why the two had fallen out.
Everyone in the room was stunned—including General Manager Tim.
He knew right away: the team was finished. Once Karl Malone walked out that door, the Utah Jazz were headed for collapse. A long, painful rebuild was on the horizon.
But Tim was a professional. He took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and started analyzing the situation.
Malone's only got one year left on his deal, he thought. Six million a year. Even if we force him to stay, he's gone after next season. What's the point of holding on to him now?
On the contrary, this might be the best time to make a trade. If they could get decent assets in return, it could fast-track their rebuild.
At 6 p.m., the team's plane landed in Salt Lake City. After dismissing the team at headquarters, Tim was immediately summoned to team owner Larry Miller's office.
"Tim," Miller said flatly, "get ready to trade Karl. He's headed to the Lakers."
"The Lakers?" Tim blinked, surprised. Then it clicked. "Boss… this is Adida's idea, isn't it?"
Larry Miller nodded. "The Mailman wants to beat Zhao. He's all in. We need to capitalize on this. Let's get something valuable in return."
"I understand," Tim said. "But the Lakers don't have what we're looking for. This has to be a multi-team deal."
"Let the Lakers and Adidas figure that out," Miller replied. "You just make a list of the pieces we want."
"Alright, I'll get started right away."
After a moment of silence, Larry Miller added, "With Zhao Dong's sudden rise and the explosive growth of Zhao Sports, brands like Adidas and Nike are scrambling to make moves. The league might see the emergence of several superteams next season. Our rebuild doesn't have to be rushed—we should aim for more draft picks."
He paused before dropping the real bomb.
"If the chips aren't enough... we can also move John."
Tim's heart skipped a beat. John Stockton?
But he nodded. "Understood, boss."
While the Knicks were still celebrating their championship run, the rest of the league was already scrambling—trades, signings, draft prep. It was war.
The next day, as the city of New York came down from its title high, the Knicks' front office got busy again.
That afternoon, Zhao Dong hosted a private dinner at his place—a celebration party and a lowkey farewell for the teammates who were leaving.
"Charles," Zhao asked, "Ling'er told me yesterday the Raptors reached out to you. Is that locked in?"
"I gave them a verbal yes," Charles Oakley said with a grin. "Three-year deal, twenty-five mil. First year's eleven mil, then seven each after that. I mean, two-time champ, locker room vet? I cashed in, bro."
Zhao laughed and nodded. "That's great, man. I'm happy for you. Raptors need a big brother in that locker room—you'll be perfect for that."
Oakley chuckled. "That's what I thought too. I mean, who the hell wants to go to Toronto right now?"
Everyone burst out laughing.
Zhao turned to the next guy. "Alan, what about you? Got any teams in mind?"
Allan Houston grinned. "Boss, I got two rings now. I'm not really chasing titles anymore. I just wanna go to a weaker team and try to make the All-Star team."
"Respect," Zhao nodded. "Go for it. Talk to your agent and get your value up."
He continued chatting with his other teammates—saying goodbye, offering advice, and wishing them well.
That night, once things calmed down, Zhao Dong opened the system panel and started handling his championship rewards.
The final reward was a breakthrough in one of his physical attributes—and ten upgrade points.
He'd already decided how to use them. First, increase lower body strength. Then, boost speed.
He spent four points to raise his lower limb strength from 93 to 95. His overall strength jumped to 93↑.
The remaining six points went into speed, raising it from 92 to 95.
The lower body boost didn't just make him faster. It improved his balance in the post, made his footwork sharper, and gave him more explosion on both ends.
Then came the big decision—choosing the final attribute to push beyond human limits.
He picked stamina.
In the brutal grind of the NBA, endurance was king. Being able to stay fresh and dominant until the final buzzer gave him an edge that stats couldn't measure.
Here were his updated physical stats:
Physical Attributes
Injury Resistance: 100
Stamina: 100
Jumping: 98
Coordination: 96
Speed: 95
Balance: 91
Flexibility: 95
Strength: 93↑
His upper body strength had also grown from boxing training, and he could still improve further with lean mass conditioning.
Right now, he was in peak shape—an absolute monster physically.
On the 11th, Yao Ming flew back to China, while Wang Zhizhi stayed in New York to prep for the draft.
That afternoon, Zhao Dong got a call from Wells.
"Zhao, Mike Tyson reached out," he said. "He wants to know—do you still wanna fight?"
"Find me some pro boxing coaches and trainers," Zhao said calmly.
"You serious?"
Wells sounded hesitant.
"Look, Tyson's still the most terrifying boxer on the planet," he warned. "You sure you're ready for that smoke?"
Zhao Dong smiled. "If I fight him, I'm definitely getting hit—but whether I lose? That's a different question. Don't worry about it. Just get things moving."
Wells sighed. "Zhao, Tyson's situation ain't great right now. Some states won't even approve his matches anymore. He wants to fight you to stay relevant. This won't be some underground match like what Karl tried to pull—this'll be global."
"No problem," Zhao said. "We'll take our time. If the league shuts down, we'll have months to train."
"You think the NBA's really gonna shut down?" Wells asked.
"Pretty likely," Zhao replied. "If that happens, I'll just temporarily retire. Let the Knicks and the league know. I don't want this fight to be a distraction."
"Got it," Wells said. "Still, man, your retirement's gonna be a bombshell. Even if it's temporary."
Zhao laughed. "Whatever. It's the offseason anyway. Ratings ain't gonna take a hit. Chill."
Meanwhile, over at the Lakers' HQ, Jerry West was ecstatic—and so was owner Jerry Buss.
Adidas and Reebok were working together to push for the Karl Malone deal, and if it happened, the Lakers would have the most dominant frontcourt in league history.
"The Jazz are in," West said, barely able to hide his grin. "Now we just need a multi-team deal to meet Utah's demands. Once that's done, Karl's coming to L.A."
Buss was just as pumped. "Do it. Make it happen."
With the backing of Reebok and Adidas, the Lakers weren't afraid of anything.
"Oh, and Adidas wants Kobe starting next season," West added. "I agreed. The kid's ready."
"That's your call and the coach's," Buss said with a chuckle.
West nodded. He'd already made up his mind—head coach Del Harris was out. He needed someone who could handle a superteam.
He had tried getting Phil Jackson, but the Zen Master decided to stick with the Bulls, which was a big disappointment.
Now, West was looking at other options: Jerry Sloan, ABC commentator and former coach Hubie Brown, and Duke legend Coach K.
Back in New York, Zhao Dong and Lindsay were finalizing their offseason plans. After the draft, they'd head back to China to meet with Zhao Dong Sports' senior management and expand their training base.
Then, in mid-August, Zhao would play in the Men's Basketball World Championships before finally going on his long-overdue honeymoon.
Zhao knew this year's World Championship had lost its star power—most NBA players were skipping due to the ongoing labor disputes. Ticket sales were poor. In the end, Yugoslavia took gold, Russia finished second, and the U.S. got eliminated by Russia, settling for third.
This year might actually be China's best shot at a medal in decades.
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