That evening, Zhao Dong treated everyone at the base to a nice dinner. By the time he got home, it was nearly 9 p.m.
As soon as he stepped inside, his phone rang. It was Wells, delivering some unexpected news.
"Zhao Dong, we've run into something strange with the supermarket case. The guy you beat to death? The police found $200,000 in cash at one of his hideouts. That's a serious red flag. He had no job and had been a drug addict for years—there's no way in hell he could've had that kind of money legally. Honestly, even most middle-class families across the U.S. don't keep that kind of cash lying around."
Zhao Dong frowned. "What are you getting at?"
Wells continued, "From what the police uncovered, the other two suspects didn't know anything about the money. It was all his. Now the cops are investigating the source."
Zhao Dong's voice turned cold. "You think there's more to it?"
"Attorney Vint Mortensen thinks it could've been a setup—but we've got zero evidence to back it right now."
Zhao Dong's heart sank. That kind of speculation was dangerous. His thoughts immediately went to big companies—Nike, Adidas...
Killing him would be like killing Jordan to Nike. For Zhao Dong Sports in China, Zhao Dong was the brand.
"Keep digging. Hire a private investigator. I don't care what it costs. I want answers," Zhao Dong said with a sharp edge in his voice.
"Mortensen already got someone on it, but it's tough. Tracing unmarked cash is a dead-end nine times outta ten. He said we shouldn't get our hopes up."
"I get it," Zhao Dong muttered.
After hanging up, he leaned back, his mind spinning. Something really did feel off about that night. He and Lindsay had been hiding behind the shelves... and the guy came right for them. It didn't feel like a random robbery. If all the dude wanted was money, he would've taken it and dipped. Why come at a world-class celebrity like him?
His expression turned icy.
"Nike, Adidas... I don't care if it was you or not. I'm coming for you either way."
With that, he told Lindsay everything.
Her face darkened. She picked up the phone and called her team at Storm Fund.
"Starting now, I want you to dig deep into Nike, Adidas, Reebok, Puma—everything. Get me all the intel. And raise $2 billion in funds. I'm targeting Nike first."
Zhao Dong looked at her. "What are you planning?"
"I'm gonna crush them," she said coldly. "Nike's the likeliest suspect—and the biggest threat."
This wasn't the same Lindsay from last year. With Storm Fund rising fast, she'd become a rising star in the Wall Street investment world—a true capital predator.
At exactly 9:00 p.m. on July 1st, Wells called again.
"The NBA just announced the lockout. The season's officially suspended."
Zhao Dong paused. "So... is Jordan retiring again?"
He was curious—what would Jordan do this time around?
"Let me announce my retirement first," Zhao Dong replied calmly.
"You got it," Wells answered.
In New York, Wells immediately left his apartment and rushed to the Knicks headquarters. This kind of news couldn't just be dropped over the phone. Zhao Dong's contract had to be handled face-to-face.
The Knicks' offices were in chaos. Trades had been frozen due to the lockout, and when they heard that Zhao Dong was retiring, jaws dropped.
"Relax, he'll be back next season," Wells quickly explained. "He just wants a chance to fight Tyson. If it weren't for league rules, we wouldn't need to announce anything."
"I'm calling Zhao Dong myself," said Ernie Grunfeld as he grabbed the phone.
When the call connected, Zhao Dong's voice came through, calm and clear. "Ernie, knew you'd call."
"Tell me the truth—are you really coming back next season?" Grunfeld asked, tension thick in his voice.
"Of course," Zhao Dong replied with a grin. "We already got two chips. Phil Jackson said a three-peat makes a dynasty. Let's go build one."
"Alright. It's a deal," Grunfeld said, exhaling. He knew he couldn't stop Zhao Dong, so this was the next best thing.
After the call, Grunfeld reported directly to team owner James Dolan. They had to discuss how to handle Zhao Dong's contract.
There were two options on the table.
First, they could keep paying Zhao Dong under the current deal, since he planned to return next season. That way, the contract would remain valid, and there'd be no hiccups.
Second, they could buy him out. That would make Zhao Dong a free agent. Once he returned, they could renegotiate a new contract from scratch.
Grunfeld laid it out: "Boss, there's a risk. If Zhao Dong gets hurt fighting Tyson and can't come back, we're still on the hook for next season's salary. His deal is a three-plus-one with a team option, so we're tied in for at least another year."
James Dolan frowned, thinking it through.
Grunfeld sat quietly, watching the gears turn in Dolan's head. Truthfully, he hoped they'd buy out the contract.
Why?
Because Zhao Dong's current deal didn't match what he brought to the table. Not even close. Two back-to-back championships, massive brand growth, and a global fanbase boost—he was worth way more now.
This temporary retirement? It was a perfect excuse to wipe the slate clean.
Buying out the old contract and offering Zhao Dong a monster deal when he came back would send a clear message: the Knicks were all in on him.
As for the salary that would come from executing the remainder of Zhao Dong's contract—next season's pay—that wasn't even a concern.
"How much could that even be?"
Ernie Grunfeld was confident. He bet everything that the boss would choose to buy out Zhao Dong's contract. It was the best play on the board.
"Ernie, contact Wells. We're buying out Zhao Dong's deal. But we need to make sure he comes back," Dolan said with certainty.
"Knew you'd say that."
Grunfeld grinned.
"What do you mean?" Dolan raised an eyebrow.
"I guessed it right," Grunfeld laughed. "I'll get Wells on the line immediately. But we've gotta hammer out a new contract first. What's your stance?"
"We give him the best. Whatever Jordan got, Zhao deserves better. I want Zhao Dong in a Knicks jersey forever," Dolan said excitedly.
"But we can't use Bird Rights unless he's got three years under his belt. He's only two years in. And with labor talks breaking down, next season's cap could shift. We might not even be allowed to pay Zhao more than Jordan under league rules," Grunfeld explained.
"Zhao's got money. But we need to show our sincerity," Dolan said with a sly smile. "You've already done that, haven't you?"
Grunfeld nodded knowingly. "Got it."
Back in the 1996 offseason, the Knicks had tried to lure Michael Jordan with a $12 million salary. Dolan, who owned the Sheraton Hotel at the time, had even offered Jordan an endorsement contract worth $15 million a year. Despite protests from other teams, Commissioner Stern had let it slide.
That move? Grunfeld's idea.
And now? They were going to run the same playbook—offer Zhao Dong a massive off-court deal to keep him in New York.
After finalizing the conversation with Dolan, Grunfeld immediately scheduled a sit-down with Wells, Zhao Dong's agent. Within the hour, Wells agreed to the terms.
By 2:00 PM that afternoon, the Knicks and Wells held a joint press conference.
Zhao Dong officially retired from the NBA.
And bought out the remainder of his contract with New York.
The announcement rocked the entire league.
"Zhao Dong's lost his damn mind!" one exec shouted.
When Commissioner David Stern got the news, he nearly flipped his desk.
"Mr. President, that Chinese guy's reckless. We shouldn't care what he does. Honestly, the league would be better off without him," said Silver, trying to kiss up.
"Shut the hell up, Silver, you moron!"
Stern was already frustrated. Hearing Silver talk trash about Zhao Dong just set him off.
"Do you even realize how much value Zhao brought the league last season? Global jersey sales? Number one. Even higher than Jordan. He's got tens of millions of fans in China! His Eastern Conference Finals duel with Jordan? Highest ratings in league history! He cleaned up every major individual award. He's the face of this league now! And you want to kick him out? Are you brain-dead? You call yourself a manager?"
Stern glared at Silver.
"I'm telling you now, we're about to get calls from owners. Zhao's retirement impacts everyone's bottom line. Keep this up, and I won't even need to fire you. The owners will."
Silver went pale. Just as he was about to speak up, Stern's phone rang.
"Hello, Stern speaking."
"David, it's Jerry—Jerry Buss."
"Jerry! What's on your mind?"
"David, we need to talk about Zhao Dong. This ain't good. The league needs to fix this. We should send someone to China, and fast. We have to bring him back. Also, speed up the CBA talks. Jordan might be next to walk away."
"Absolutely, Jerry. I'm with you 100%."
Stern glanced at Silver.
Silver lit up, thinking Stern might be sending him to China. He nodded quickly, desperate to redeem himself.
But Stern looked away.
"I'm gonna speak with the Knicks first. If necessary, I'll send Vice President Russ Granik to China."
Silver's face fell. Stern didn't trust him anymore.
After ending the call, Stern turned coldly to Silver.
"Get ready. The Development League needs help. You're going.
(TL: The D-League Is founded Early in this fanfic in real life its 2001)
"Wait—what?"
Silver froze.
The D-League? That was beneath him.
Before he could protest, Stern's phone rang again. Another owner. Then another.
All asking the same thing: What's going on with Zhao Dong?
Once the calls ended, Stern looked at Silver again. He was fed up.
"Don't wanna go to the D-League? Fine. The league's building connections in Africa. Go run the show there. Pick one: Africa or the D-League."
"…"
Silver's face turned ghost white. He would rather resign than vanish into a side project after spending years climbing up the league ladder.
In the end, he chose to tearfully head to the Development League. From that moment on, he was pushed far from the league's power core.
"Luckily, this ain't the same situation as Jordan," muttered Commissioner David Stern after confirming the news of Zhao Dong's retirement through Knicks owner James Dolan. He let out a sigh of relief.
"That guy really retired? What the hell is he doing?"
Over in Chicago, Michael Jordan didn't take a break after the league was suspended. He was grinding hard every day, maintaining his form like the season was still in full swing. But once he heard about Zhao Dong retiring, his calm cracked.
"Man, how am I supposed to beat him if he just runs off? That bastard!" Jordan roared at his agent David Falk, who had been watching him train.
"David, call that bastard! Get him to come back right now!"
Falk looked awkward. "Mike... I'm not even his agent."
"Chill, Michael," Falk said, trying to calm him down. "Let's check with management first and figure out what's going on."
Jordan cooled off slightly and said, "Fine. Call Phil."
David Falk dialed up Phil Jackson right away. After hanging up, he looked back at Jordan with a grin. "Alright, Mike, here's the deal: the Bulls owner told Phil that Zhao Dong's just stepping away for a bit. He's tired of the league's restrictions. Word is, he wants to go fight Tyson."
"Wait... like Mike Tyson Tyson?" Jordan raised an eyebrow.
"Yup. And get this—he was supposed to play in the World Championships too, but the league wouldn't let him. So he bounced, just like that."
"That crazy bastard scared the hell outta me," Jordan said, frustrated. "Let him go get wrecked by Tyson."
Falk chuckled. "Honestly, with Tyson's punching power, I bet Zhao Dong gets KO'd real fast. He'll lose, but he won't be hurt too bad. It'll be over quick."
"I need to see that with my own eyes," Jordan said. "Look into it. I wanna be at that fight."
"Uh... Mike, you sure that's a good idea? You don't wanna catch any heat from Tyson again, right?"
Jordan's face darkened. "It's been ten years. That mess is behind us. Don't bring it up."
"Alright, alright," Falk nodded. "But if Zhao Dong's really going through with this retirement to step into the boxing ring, it's gonna blow up. The media's gonna go nuts."
Meanwhile, calls flooded in.
"Mr. Wells, this is Pat Riley. If Zhao Dong joins the Heat, name your price. The owner said you can write the damn check yourself."
"Mr. Wells, it's Jerry Buss from the Lakers. Call me Jerry..."
"Mr. Wells, Larry Bird here..."
Zhao Dong's sudden retirement made him the biggest free agent in the league overnight. Every team with a shot was going all in. Phone calls poured in so fast, Wells' phone died mid-call.
As a free agent, Zhao Dong could join any team without compensation. Just like when the Knicks picked him up two years ago, no second-rounder, no role player—he was a straight steal.
Now, his power rivaled Jordan's, and his influence? Unmatched.
Wells had only one thing to say to everyone calling: "Zhao Dong is retired. Until the lockout is lifted, he won't consider a return. No contact with any teams."
On the other side of the basketball world, USA National Team head coach Rudy Tomjanovich was stressing hard. Without NBA players, he was forced to build a roster from the US CBA and NCAA.
"Damn it. If I'd known it'd turn out like this, I wouldn't have taken this job."
His assistant, Del Harris—recently released from his Lakers contract—rubbed his temples. "We should pick a few guys from Europe. Most of our competition's gonna be European teams. Those guys know their playing style better than we do."
The World Championships were set for August 17th. With a little over a month left, Zhao Dong trained daily, setting aside hours to work with professional boxing coaches.
Time flew, and by August 7th, he was ready for a punching power test.
BANG!
Zhao Dong smashed the target on the dynamometer with a right hook, shaking the entire machine like it was about to fall apart.
"458 pounds?! He's gained another 20! He's nearly at Tyson's prime level!" one coach exclaimed.
"But his technique still ain't there yet. If he keeps training, his power will jump even more."
"Zhao Dong, you're built for boxing, not basketball!"
"Facts. With your durability and strength, give it a year or two of serious training and you could challenge the top heavyweight in the world."
His younger brother, Zhao Dacheng, laughed from the sidelines. "Bro, your punch could probably kill a cow!"
Zhao Dong grinned. "Please, this strength? Maybe a baby calf."
His body stats were off the charts. His explosiveness was on Tyson's level—maybe even higher.
Zhao Dong weighed 115 kilograms. Tyson at his peak was only 100 kg. Despite being smaller, Tyson had freakish strength. But Zhao Dong had more muscle mass, more raw power.
If he stuck with boxing long-term, he'd surpass Tyson for sure. But he had only recently started formal training. He could hit over 400 pounds now, but he still wasn't connecting his body fully in a punch.
A true boxing master channels strength from foot to fist in perfect harmony. Zhao Dong wasn't there yet. His level 100 core strength was only half-tapped. His upper and lower body weren't working together just yet.
His current training focused on three things:
Punching Technique
Footwork
Defense
His footwork needed work, but his movement speed was already elite. With a foundation like Grant Hill's explosive first step, he had tools to build from—even if NBA footwork wasn't identical to boxing.
Defense was critical. His coach built a defensive counter-attack strategy, meaning Zhao Dong had to tank Tyson's hits and survive early rounds.
He stood at least 15 centimeters taller than Tyson. With Tyson's preference for taking out bigger guys using hooks, Zhao Dong's chin and mid-section were high-priority targets.
So for now, he still needed time.
Only after sharpening his footwork, defense, and technique would he be ready to step into the ring with Mike Tyson.
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