"Damn it, Thomas. Hope you get some Viagra soon—and it still don't work."
Cursing under his breath, Zhao Dong smiled and said, "I'll answer that question once the season ends. Cool?"
Thomas was caught off guard for a second, then cracked up and nodded.
The next question came from a New York Sports reporter.
"Coach Nelson, will there be changes to the Knicks' starting lineup this season?"
Coach Nelson answered, "We'll stick with what worked during the regular season last year. But the new guys and our young talent? They're gonna get a lot more chances."
As soon as he said that, Danny Fortson, Chauncey Billups, and Cuttino Mobley all lit up.
Then another reporter followed up, "So if you guys add a wild card to the mix, is that gonna mess with the locker room chemistry?"
Old man Nelson grinned, glanced at Zhao Dong, then said, "You should ask Zhao about that—locker room dynamics are more in the players' world.
"But I'll say this: Zhao's got serious leadership in that locker room. With Barkley and Kevin Willis backing him, I don't see any problems happening."
"Zhao, what do you think?" the reporter turned his mic toward him.
"We got ourselves a new 'good kid' in the locker room," Zhao Dong replied with a grin.
"Pfft!"
Fortson and Barkley immediately cracked up.
"What do you mean by 'good kid'?" the reporter asked, confused. Others looked just as lost.
Zhao turned to the new guy and said, "Yo, Latrell, tell 'em what a good kid is. Latrell's face twitched. He stood up, clearly embarrassed, and said in a stiff voice, "Listen to the boss… respect the boss… respect the coach… help out teammates..."
"Haha!" The room exploded in laughter.
Latrell couldn't finish. His face was so red it looked like it was about to bleed. Dude just wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
"Alright, alright."
Zhao waved his hands to calm everyone down, then said seriously, "Latrell's officially with the Knicks now. I told him—if he can live up to what he just said, he's one of us.
"And if anyone thinks his presence will cause problems in our locker room—well, I'm telling you now, I won't let that happen."
Another reporter stepped up.
"Zhao, which teams do you think pose the biggest threat to the Knicks this season?"
Zhao didn't rush. He thought for a second before answering.
"The Bulls cleaned house and came back with a better lineup than last year, no doubt.
"The Lakers? They pulled off some trades and got that paint on lock. Shaq's getting more dominant by the game, and their young guys are leveling up too.
"Then there's Tim Duncan over in San Antonio. He's settling into the league, and with him there, the Spurs are now a serious title threat.
"Those three—Bulls, Lakers, Spurs—along with us? Those are the four real contenders this season."
A reporter from the Los Angeles Times followed up:
"Philly formed the Mailman-Lightning duo and filled in the other pieces. You don't think they're title-level yet?"
Zhao nodded respectfully.
"The combo of Karl Malone and Iverson? Yeah, that's a solid move. Props to Philly's front office.
"Iverson's getting better every year—this is his third season, and he's drawing doubles now. That opens up the floor for Karl Malone.
"For the first time, the Mailman's got a teammate who can break guys down 1-on-1 and hit clutch shots. That's big.
"But… with this season's packed schedule? They ain't got the time to build real chemistry.
That's gonna test them.
"So nah, I don't see them as a title team this season. Maybe next."
"So you think they'll be championship-level next year?"
"Depends on how it plays out," Zhao said. "If the pieces fit like they should, then yeah, they got a shot. I think I've made that clear."
A third reporter asked,
"The Jazz sent Stockton to the Mavs for an unprotected first-rounder this year. Thoughts?"
Zhao broke it down.
"This year? Even if the Mavs don't make the playoffs, Stockton's gonna raise their floor. They might even sneak into the postseason.
"So that pick? No way it lands top three.
"And this class? Probably a weak draft year.
"Giving up Stockton for a low lottery or mid-first? Nah, not worth it.
"Stockton's still got gas in the tank. That trade's gonna make Utah's rebuild way harder."
The Knicks' new-season media day was a huge hit—every sports outlet locked in, and the Knicks were suddenly the headline team in the league.
"The Knicks complete a stunning transformation—New York's Gentlemen now run the Garden."
"Dressed to kill: Knicks rock custom uniforms and unity like never before."
"Led by Zhao Dong, the Knicks shift from bruisers to icons of class and style."
"Bulls, Lakers, Spurs, and Knicks—Zhao Dong picks the big four for this season's title run."
All this media fire gave fans something to get hyped about. The new NBA season was already heating up.
Meanwhile, over at the Bulls' training center in Chicago...
Jordan shut off the TV with a cold face, then turned to his teammates.
"We gotta step up. Can't let Zhao and Knicks show us up."
"But they're rocking full-on Zegna suits, even leather shoes," someone muttered. "I heard Zhao got three custom sets made for each dude."
Jordan's face twitched.
Tens of thousands a set, three each? That's over a million for the whole squad. Damn.
Then he sighed.
Forget it. Zhao's wife owns Nike now. Any day now, they might shut down our shoe brand. We better save every penny we got.
"That Zhao guy, always gotta be flashy..." he grumbled, sitting down.
"Why won't Nike come to me? What's Zhao's wife even trying to do?"
"Zhao Sports already dropped the Silver Demon II, and now my new shoes are in limbo. Are they really gonna kill off my whole line?"
"Hell no. I ain't going out like that. I gotta prepare to sue..."
A thousand thoughts raced through Jordan's mind.
During this time, ever since Nike changed ownership, Jordan had been anxiously waiting for their call. But days passed, and not a single message came through. It was like he had no ties to Nike anymore. No contact, no updates—just silence. And that silence was driving him crazy. What exactly was waiting for him up ahead?
"Rookie, get over here," Ewing suddenly called out.
"What's up, Patrick?" Dazhi stood up right away, trying to stay respectful.
Ewing pulled out a Franklin from his wallet. "Go grab me a Hosman's—"
Before he could finish, Oakley—standing nearby—cut him off immediately.
"Yo, Patrick, ain't Hosman's right by your place? You can swing by on your way home. I need the rookie to handle something else for me."
"…"
Ewing was caught off guard. But even he wouldn't go against Oakley in front of everyone. He just sighed and nodded.
"Th-" he tried to say something.
But Oakley waved him off and turned to Dazhi. "Yo, rookie, grab my sneakers when we head out. That's your job now. Got it?"
"Got it."
Dazhi nodded quickly, keeping his tone polite.
Oakley then swept a glance around the locker room, checking to see if anyone had a problem with that. His message was loud and clear: I got this kid's back. Even Ewing's gotta step aside. If anyone's got an issue with that—including Jordan—come see me.
Jordan met Oakley's gaze and stayed silent. He had no reason to stir the pot. Besides, with Oakley making his stance clear, he didn't feel like messing with the rookie over that earlier conflict with Zhao Dong.
Honestly, Jordan was already kinda disappointed in Dazhi. Offensively, the kid was okay—enough to get minutes in the rotation. But his defense? Way too soft. Not the type of player Jordan wanted on his squad.
No one else in the room spoke up. Oakley wasn't just any vet—he was one of the Four Enforcers, the former starting power forward of a two-time championship squad. He'd been personally invited back to the Bulls by both Phil Jackson and Jordan. His voice carried serious weight—equal to Jordan, maybe more in the locker room. Even Ewing couldn't challenge him here.
---
Meanwhile, over at NBA Headquarters in New York…
David Stern was flipping through a newspaper, clearly pleased. On the front page was a photo of the Knicks, dressed in clean, top-tier suits, posing like professionals. They looked sharp—nothing like the rough, disorganized bunch they used to be.
"This is the image I want," Stern said, satisfied.
"Locke," he called out.
A white man in his thirties walked in. "Yes, Mr. President? What do you need?"
This was Stern's new executive assistant. After firing the last guy—who got shipped off to the Development League—Stern made sure to hire someone who didn't carry any racial bias.
"The Knicks did a hell of a job this time," Stern said with a smile. "Promote it. Push this hard. I want the Knicks—and Zhao—to be our model franchises in the league's image campaign."
"Yes, sir. I'll notify the PR department right away," Locke replied with a grin.
"Do it."
---
February 4th – Season Opener
After months of delay and a shortened schedule, the new NBA season was finally about to tip off. The Knicks were set to face their longtime rivals, the Bulls, in the opening night matchup.
This wasn't just any game—it was a statement. The league had taken huge losses during the suspension, and Stern wanted to bring the hype back with a banger. Knicks vs. Bulls? Perfect drama.
The Bulls touched down in New York around noon.
By 2 PM, they were already checked into their hotel and holding a press conference.
A New York Times reporter fired off the first question. "Michael, has Nike's ownership change affected you at all?"
Jordan clenched his jaw.
What kind of dumbass question is that?
Out loud, he just said, "Storm Fund buying Nike? Yeah, it's got me a little confused. But I'll handle it."
"Do you think the acquisition helps Zhao Dong?" the reporter followed up.
"Of course it helps," Jordan said, irritated. "That's his wife. Dude's the definition of a simpin' husband."
He clicked his tongue, then added, "But let's be real—the league ain't gonna let sponsors mess with team operations. Look what happened with the Lakers and the Karl Malone trade. Shut down immediately."
"So even if Storm Fund wants to use Nike to boost the Tyrant or the Knicks, the league will block it?"
"Exactly. They can try, but it won't fly."
Another reporter jumped in, "What about the MJ brand? What's Storm's impact there?"
That hit Jordan hard. He didn't know. For all he knew, that girl might just shut the whole brand down. No warning. No mercy.
Seeing Jordan's expression, the reporter pressed again, "So… Nike hasn't contacted you since the sale?"
"No," Jordan admitted, frustrated.
"And you haven't contacted them either?"
"I'm not reaching out to them. They can do whatever they want. If they wanna cancel my contract or shut down my brand, let them try. I'm ready to sue if it comes to that."
The reporter kept digging. "But realistically, aside from Nike, no other brand—maybe not even Adidas—would dare cross Storm Fund. If Nike cuts you off… what brand of shoes are you gonna wear?"
Jordan snapped. "Me? What am I supposed to do—play barefoot?!"
---
That same day, ESPN released their championship odds for the upcoming season…
The top tier of the league was clear, at least in Zhao Dong's eyes. Four teams stood at championship level.
The Knicks, back-to-back champions, were still the favorites with a 39% chance to three-peat. Right behind them were the Bulls, clocking in at 35%. The Lakers held the third and fourth spots with odds of 31% and 30%.
Then came the second-tier teams—Miami Heat, Indiana Pacers, Philadelphia 76ers, and Orlando Magic. Each of them had less than a 10% shot at the title. Not impossible, but definitely unlikely.
In Philly, the Sixers were grinding through their internal training, but Allen Iverson was clearly frustrated.
Not only had ESPN left his team out of the top tier, but even Zhao Dong had skipped them in his recent interview. That hit a nerve.
To him, it didn't make sense.
With the addition of Karl Malone, the team had transformed. The mid-range game was lethal now. Defense and rebounding had gotten a serious boost. And nobody could ignore Karl's consistent jumper—he could open the scoring like few others in the league.
Offensively, Iverson had way more room to operate now than he ever had with Derrick Coleman on the floor. Compared to the Coleman era, this version of the Sixers had leveled up on both ends of the court.
But still… Zhao Dong wasn't completely wrong.
Truth was, the chemistry between Iverson and Malone hadn't clicked yet. It had only been ten days, and it was awkward. Karl had played off pick-and-rolls for over a decade, while the Sixers leaned heavy into isolation and dribble-drive action. That adjustment was gonna take more than just a few practices.
Even so, Iverson muttered under his breath as he walked off the court:
"Zhao Dong, you'll see. My team's gonna beat the Knicks. Just watch."
---
Madison Square Garden – January 5th, Night Game
Before the game tipped off, something unexpected happened.
Michael Jordan walked straight into the home team's locker room tunnel, a cigar clenched between his teeth.
"I'm here to see Zhao Dong," he told the confused security staff.
Taking the cigar out, he blew a perfect smoke ring, lifted his chin, and repeated himself. "I said—I'm here for Zhao Dong."
"Dudu!" One of the guards knocked on the door and called out, "Zhao Dong, Jordan wants to see you. He's outside."
"Jordan?" Zhao Dong raised a brow, surprised, and stepped out. "What's up?"
"What's up? What do you think is up?" Jordan snapped, throwing the cigar to the ground and stomping it out. "I wanna know what the hell you're doing."
"Huh? Are you mentally unstable or something?" Zhao Dong frowned. "What did I do to you?"
"You know damn well!" Jordan pointed angrily. "Your wife bought Nike. So what happens to me and the MJ brand now? You ghost me for weeks, and my new kicks ain't even dropped yet! What the hell are you trying to pull?"
Zhao Dong laughed dryly. "Man, you're trippin'. The acquisition just wrapped up. They gotta restructure everything—no one's thinking about MJ shoes right now."
Jordan's voice rose. "You tryin' to destroy my brand?! Is that it?"
Zhao Dong shook his head. "Look, whatever beef we had? That's in the past. I'm not coming after you anymore. What happens to your brand? That's up to Nike's new management, not me.
If you're worried Storm Fund is gonna target you, you're overthinking it. You're actually an asset to us now. You're making money for Storm. Neither me nor Lindsay has any reason to come after you."
"Really?" Jordan squinted in disbelief. "'Cause back in London, your wife told me straight up—she wanted to kill the MJ brand."
"Seriously?" Zhao Dong scoffed. "She never said anything to me. Probably just talking smack."
He smirked and added with a tone that made Jordan's blood boil:
"Also, MJ… you're old. I'm not trying to dunk on you anymore. You should think about retiring while you're still on top. If you drag it out, your legacy's just gonna take a hit."
"Man, cut the crap!" Jordan growled. "Let's go one more time this season. I'm not losing again."
And he wasn't just bluffing—this season, he really believed in his squad.
All summer long, rookie Tracy McGrady had been grinding under his intense supervision. The kid's offensive upside was crazy, especially off the dribble. Jordan saw something in him—more firepower than Pippen ever had.
If McGrady could draw double teams soon, Jordan might finally have the sidekick he'd been looking for since Scottie.
Whether McGrady would grow into that role this year or next was the real question.
And that wasn't all.
Jason Kidd had stepped up his shooting. Rasheed Wallace was young, springy, and explosive. Oakley still brought that veteran grit. They'd just added defensive anchor Kurt Thomas from the Mavs. With Ewing, Mark Bryant, and Dickey Simpkins also in the paint, the Bulls' frontcourt wasn't just better—it was stacked.
Jordan was confident. This wasn't the tired, old Bulls of previous years. This was a whole new beast. They had the tools to go head-to-head with the Knicks.
As Jordan turned and walked away, Zhao Dong stared at his back, arms crossed.
"Don't worry, MJ. Your brand'll stay. But Nike?"
He smirked.
"Nike's going down."
He knew exactly what Lindsay was doing. Right now, she was deep into a full investigation of Phil Knight and his entire executive crew.
When that was done?
Nike would be split apart.
Zhao Sports would pick off the best pieces—Nike's R&D labs, global sales network, the MJ brand, and of course, all those juicy NBA endorsement deals.
That was the public-facing plan.
The real one?
That stayed locked in the vault.
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