"Kevin, welcome to the Knicks."
Ignoring the Madman for the moment, Zhao Dong walked up to the veteran forward Kevin Willis with a firm handshake and a smile.
Willis was tough—solid and dependable. In Zhao Dong's eyes, he was more reliable than Charles Barkley, who was always dealing with some kind of injury. The man was even more durable than Karl Malone. If there was such a thing as a real Iron Man in the NBA, it was Kevin Willis.
"Zhao Dong, getting the chance to chase a championship this late in my career... that's the biggest reward I could ask for," Willis said with a smile.
"You'll feel right at home with the Knicks. We're the most united squad in the league," Zhao Dong replied.
"Everyone knows that," Willis nodded, grinning.
As Zhao Dong said those words, Willis couldn't help but recall that infamous road game against the Bulls last season.
Jordan had thrown a flagrant elbow at Zhao Dong, and in response, Zhao Dong socked him right in the jaw. Somehow, the refs only gave Jordan a common foul and hit Zhao Dong with a tech. But right after that, the entire Knicks bench stood up, ready to throw hands for their captain. The pressure was so intense that the refs had no choice but to switch Jordan's call to a technical.
That incident cemented the Knicks' reputation across the league—New York wasn't just a team, they were a solid block of brothers.
And on top of that, there were all kinds of stories floating around the league—about how Zhao Dong, the team's boss and superstar, led the whole squad in investing off the court and making big money together.
Who wouldn't want to join a squad like that? Who wouldn't want a team leader like Zhao Dong?
"Charles, we've got a few new guys joining us this season. You and Kevin are our vets—you'll help me keep the locker room in check."
Zhao Dong turned to Barkley, giving him a subtle but meaningful look. The message was clear, even if it was politely worded—no matter how long you've been in the league, there's no pulling rank here. This was his team. His rules. Everyone follows them.
"I got you. No drama in the locker room, I promise," Barkley said with a smirk.
"No problem at all," Kevin Willis added with a nod.
Zhao Dong gave an approving nod and then turned his attention to Cuttino Mobley.
In his past life, Mobley had been one of Yao Ming's teammates and had his back in the locker room. He had real loyalty and a complete two-way skill set. Even in his rookie year, the kid had what it took to get minutes on a playoff team.
Mobley felt Zhao Dong's gaze and stiffened.
Like Zhao Dong, he didn't come from some powerhouse basketball school. The University of Rhode Island didn't exactly turn heads. If Mobley had entered the draft earlier instead of waiting for his senior year, he wouldn't have fallen to the second round. In truth, he had the talent of a lottery pick—better than a lot of the guys picked before him this year.
To him, Zhao Dong was legendary. The Knicks' alpha, the man who beat Jordan, ran the team, ran the locker room, and now ran business too.
"Cuttino?" Zhao Dong called.
"Y-Yeah, Boss!" Mobley stammered, clearly nervous.
"Train hard. I want you to earn the starting shooting guard spot."
"Wha—huh?" Mobley was stunned.
Zhao Dong chuckled and shifted his gaze to Chauncey Billups.
Technically a second-year player now, Billups had already been part of the Knicks' championship run. But Zhao Dong still wasn't sure how long it would take for him to truly grow into his role.
"Boss," Billups said, standing up straight as Zhao Dong approached.
Despite already winning a ring, Billups still got nervous around him. Who wouldn't? The guy had just knocked out Mike Tyson in a boxing match, for crying out loud. His wife bought out Nike. The man was like a walking legend.
To be fair, Zhao Dong had always treated him well. Never too strict. Life on the Knicks was way easier than what he'd heard about McGrady's situation on the Bulls—Jordan apparently yelled at the kid constantly until he cried.
And on top of that, Zhao Dong had helped him get paid. That financial stability meant the world to Billups. There wasn't a better boss in the league.
But that also meant the pressure was real. He didn't want to be traded. He didn't want to disappoint.
"Chauncey, if you don't step up this season, you're getting traded."
Zhao Dong didn't mince words. Sometimes a guy like Billups needed a little push—someone constantly at his back lighting a fire under him.
In truth, Zhao Dong felt like Billups might've been better off on the Bulls getting chewed out by Jordan, and McGrady would've fit in better with the Knicks.
"Wha—what?!" Billups felt his scalp go numb.
"Ben."
Zhao Dong now turned to Ben Wallace.
The big man had barely taken two weeks off after the Finals. From July to now, he'd been in full beast mode—working on his game, lifting, grinding. His body was chiseled like steel, radiating strength.
"This season, the paint belongs to you. You're our gatekeeper. No one gets in, got it?" Zhao Dong said firmly.
"I got you, Boss!" Big Ben thumped his chest like a war drum.
"Danny."
Next was Danny Fortson. He gave Zhao Dong the most headaches out of anyone.
"Boss, don't worry! I've been training with Ben all offseason. I swear, 15 boards a night, no more than three fouls, and zero techs!"
Fortson beat his chest hard as he spoke.
"Stop hyping yourself up. I'll believe it when I see it. If your numbers don't back it up, nobody's gonna stick around for you. Got it?"
"Hehe…" Fortson rubbed the back of his head and gave a sheepish laugh.
Zhao Dong finally turned to the Latrell, who looked a little anxious.
"Latrell?" Zhao Dong called out calmly.
Latrell swallowed and answered in a hoarse voice, "Y-Yeah, Boss…"
Zhao Dong nodded. "This is the Knicks. My team. My locker room. Whatever nonsense you pulled with the Warriors—don't even think about it here. Understand?"
Latrell lowered his head and stayed quiet for a while, clearly not knowing how to respond.
"If you don't get it, I promise you won't get even a minute of playing time here," Zhao Dong said coldly, eyes locked on him.
"Latrell, you've been around me long enough to know my temper," he added. "I don't give minutes to guys who don't respect the coach."
Coach Don Nelson chimed in. "I agree."
Other coaches like Van Gundy nodded as well.
Latrell Sprewell's face turned as pale as a sheet. He looked like he wanted to storm out of the room, but deep down he knew—if he walked out now, his career might be over. Still, he stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say.
Zhao Dong stepped forward and said, "Alright then, give me and the coaching staff your word right now. Promise us that from today on, you're gonna be the most obedient child on this team."
Pfft!
Someone in the back couldn't hold it and burst out laughing.
Zhao Dong's glare swept the room like a laser. Of course, it was Danny Fortson—the brainless goof. Couldn't even tell that Zhao Dong was talking to both of them. Dumbass.
And it wasn't just Fortson. A couple of others were hiding their laughs too. Barkley had his head down, shoulders trembling like he was trying to hold in a fit.
Latrell looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. "What... what does a 'good child' do, exactly?"
"You dumb or something?" Zhao Dong said bluntly. "Repeat after me."
"Oh, okay." Sprewell nodded stiffly.
Zhao Dong began reciting seriously, "From today on, I swear to listen to the boss, follow the boss, respect the boss, respect the coach, and care for my teammates. I swear to be the most obedient child in the New York Gentlemen's Team. I'll hit whoever the boss tells me to hit, and I'll lock up the opponent's throat—not the coach's throat."
Sprewell repeated every word, his face blank, like he wasn't sure if this was an initiation or a roast.
"HAHAHA!"
Barkley and the others couldn't hold it anymore and fell over laughing.
Zhao Dong patted Sprewell on the shoulder. "I'm not messing with you, man. You needed to hear that. Now that you've sworn it, if you ever break your word, don't blame me for coming down hard. I'll beat your ass and boot you off the Knicks."
"Yes, boss." Sprewell nodded robotically.
"But if you stick to it, then you're one of us. Got it?"
"Got it." A trace of life returned to Sprewell's face at those words.
Just then, Danny Fortson ran up, grinning wide. "Boss, that the welcome gift for the new season? Haha! Where's ours, huh?"
"Relax," Zhao Dong chuckled. "Your new season gift is being custom made. You'll get it at the press conference."
"Custom made?"
Everyone's eyes lit up. Custom stuff? That had to be fire.
From now until February 4th, every team would be deep in training camp. With no preseason games and a long offseason, these ten days were critical to get into game shape.
Zhao Dong put special focus on Ben Wallace, Danny Fortson, and Chauncey Billups during camp.
He was pleased with Big Ben's development. His low-post defense had stepped up, and his rim protection and help defense were noticeably better.
His passing had also improved—but not enough.
Ben didn't have the height, his hands weren't big enough, and his one-handed passes lacked control. On top of that, he was too strong—he couldn't dial down the power on his passes.
Coach Nelson agreed. The Knicks couldn't count on Big Ben to run fast breaks. That responsibility would stay with the point guard. Ben just didn't have the passing talent for it.
As for Fortson, his long-standing issues with fouls and turnovers still lingered. Last season, Zhao Dong had helped him get over his habit of racking up technicals.
After a few days of watching, Zhao Dong noticed real progress. Fortson was reading the ball better off the rim, which helped him time his jumps and avoid reckless contact.
That growth gave Zhao Dong hope that Fortson could turn into a true rebounding beast.
More importantly, lowering the intensity of those battles would help him avoid injuries—a major reason Fortson's career had flamed out early in his last life.
Billups, meanwhile, showed noticeable improvement in both shooting and playmaking. His balance leaned more toward being a floor general, which fit the team's needs.
By February 2nd, the Knicks were deep into their internal scrimmage. Zhao Dong sat on the sidelines, resting, and turned to Barkley beside him.
"Charles, you think we got a real shot to run it back this season?"
"Hell yeah," Barkley said with excitement. He pointed to the guys grinding it out on the court. "We got the boards locked, toughest paint defense in the league. You and Latrell carrying the offense on the wing, perimeter D is solid, bench got depth... We can smack any squad out there."
Van Gundy walked over and added, "Just remember—the regular season is gonna be a grind. Fifty games packed into three months. That's 17 games a month, and less than two days between games. Back-to-backs will be everywhere. Injuries will come if we're not careful."
Zhao Dong glanced at Barkley and grinned. "Coach is talking to you. Don't go down on us mid-season, then try to ride our ring from the bench. That title won't mean a thing if you're just chillin' on the sidelines."
Pfft!
Van Gundy and Thibodeau, who had just arrived, cracked up laughing.
"…"
Charles Barkley was at a loss for words. Yeah, he'd been dealing with some health issues lately. With a frustrated snort, he grumbled, "Don't worry, Zhao Dong. Even if I gotta crawl onto that damn court, I'll be there."
"Haha…"
Zhao Dong and the others burst into laughter.
The next morning, Zhao Dong headed to the Knicks' headquarters.
Right behind him was a large truck—his latest gift for his teammates.
Today was the Knicks' official media day to kick off the new season. Before facing the press, Zhao Dong planned to surprise the whole squad.
"I bet it's a bikini hottie in there," one player joked.
"If it's a beauty, I hope it's Big Mouth Roberts," someone else laughed.
"Maybe it's a monster?"
The Knicks players stood in front of a line of black suitcases, curious and suspicious about what Zhao Dong had up his sleeve this time.
"Open 'em up and put 'em on!" Zhao Dong called out.
"Put on what? Sneakers? Don't tell me it's the new Silver Demon II!" Fordson shouted.
Zhao Dong rolled his eyes. "You already got the second-gen Silver Demons on your feet. Why the hell would I gift you another pair?"
"So what is it? Whoa—wait, are these clothes?"
Fordson cracked open a suitcase and blinked. Inside was a sharp black suit with a red tie, a crisp white shirt, polished black leather shoes, and even a matching belt.
The others opened theirs one by one, and to their surprise, every single suitcase held the same setup—identical color, same brand.
"Alright! Change outta that mess y'all are wearing—hip-hop, rock, cowboy junk, I don't care—put this on!" Zhao Dong ordered. "From now on, we're rollin' as one unit. We're the New York Gentlemen!"
"Wait, for real? We all gotta change?"
Most of the players looked stunned. Suits? Not exactly their favorite look.
"Yeah. Change."
Zhao Dong didn't even blink.
Fordson groaned but shrugged. "If the boss says change, we change."
"Let's do it."
Hu Weidong was the only one who seemed genuinely happy about the outfit. He liked suits, especially nice ones—and this was definitely high-end.
"Zegna. This brand ain't cheap. Looks custom, too."
Old Coach Nelson wandered over, took a look, and raised his brows. "Zegna? That's top-tier right there. They say once you buy a Zegna jacket, you'll want the pants too. And then the shoes. It's that addictive."
Van Gundy chuckled from the side. "I heard the Pope wears Zegna."
Once the whole team was dressed—twelve towering athletes suited up in slick black—everything changed.
The locker room that was just chaos a few minutes ago now radiated cohesion. They didn't just look like teammates anymore—they looked like a damn unit. Unified. Powerful. Classy.
Zhao Dong grinned. "Alright, now this—this is team spirit."
He flipped open one last suitcase. Inside was a dozen pairs of sunglasses.
"Here. Put these on too."
"Oh hell yeah, now this I'm feelin'!"
Fordson rushed over and grabbed a pair.
One by one, the players slipped on their shades.
The vibe shifted again—less classy now, more badass. Mysterious. Like they'd just walked out of a movie.
"Oh damn, we look good!"
"This is fire!"
"There ain't a single team cooler than us."
"We're the New York Gentlemen!"
The squad hyped each other up, cheers bouncing off the walls.
Meanwhile, the coaching staff stood there speechless.
Gentlemen?
Nah. With those sunglasses, they looked more like the New York gangsters.
Their eyes landed on Zhao Dong at the front. Yeah… he really did give off godfather vibes right now.
Just then, GM Ernie Grunfeld walked in with some front office folks and stopped in his tracks.
"Wait… What the hell happened here?"
They blinked in confusion, wondering if the Knicks had been taken over by a mob crew.
Click-click-click!
Cameras went off like fireworks.
The press conference had officially started.
When Zhao Dong and his suited crew stepped into the room, the media didn't even recognize them at first. It wasn't until they took off their sunglasses that the frenzy erupted. Reporters scrambled for photos, shutters snapping nonstop.
"Zhao Dong! Was this look planned by the management?" one reporter shouted.
"Nah, management doesn't bother with stuff like this. This one's all me," Zhao Dong said coolly.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Because I want my team to be more than just a team. I want us to have an identity. A vibe. A style. Something unique."
"What kind of style?"
"Gentleman style," he said proudly. "We're the New York Gentlemen."
"Will you be dressing like this all season?"
"Any time we've got group events—yeah. This is the look."
After the photos came the Q&A.
"Zhao Dong," asked Knicks beat reporter Thomas, "this upcoming season's gonna be compact, intense. How confident are you that the Knicks can pull off the three-peat?"
Before Zhao Dong could answer, someone from the back of the press pool shouted, "One hundred percent!"
The whole room laughed.
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Look, he answered for me."
"Haha…"
The reporters burst out laughing.
"Alright, alright, I admit that was a dumb question," Thomas said, grinning. He quickly shifted gears. "Historically, only three teams have ever pulled off a three-peat: the Minneapolis Lakers in the '50s, the Celtics with their eight straight, and Jordan's Bulls. But let's be real—the first two were in a whole different era. The NBA was tiny back then. In modern basketball, only the Chicago Bulls have done it."
He paused, then asked, "So, Zhao Dong, who do you think is greater—this current Knicks squad, or Michael Jordan's Bulls?"
The room fell silent.
Every reporter leaned forward, eyes locked on Zhao Dong.
They all knew what was happening—this wasn't just a question. It was a setup.
Thomas had just placed the Knicks on the same level as the Bulls dynasty. If Zhao Dong answered directly—if he chose one over the other—it would mean he was admitting the current Knicks were already a dynasty-level team.
Zhao Dong caught on instantly.
It was a trap.
And he wasn't about to fall for it.
He wouldn't go and compare his team to Jordan's Bulls. Not yet. Not until they earned it.
Because without that third ring, they weren't qualified. And this wasn't about confidence—it was about reality.
A great team isn't just about flash, style, or wins.
It's about legacy.
And they hadn't written theirs just yet.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Check my Pâtreon for (40) advanced chapters
Pâtreon .com/Fanficlord03
Change (â) to (a)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Discord Link Here:
https://discord.gg/VvcakSux