NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

The next second, Zhao Dong pounced.

General Johnson had just pulled the ball up from the floor. He brought both hands together, preparing a chest pass. But the moment he stepped forward—BOOM—Zhao mirrored him with a lightning-quick first step.

As soon as Johnson's arms extended to release the pass, Zhao Dong exploded forward. His feet dug into the hardwood, and he shot up like a missile. His right hand reached out, slicing through the air.

"SNAP!"

With a single-handed snatch, Zhao Dong intercepted the pass cleanly out of the air.

"OHHH!"

A loud gasp swept through the SBC Center.

"Zhao Dong picked his pocket!" Bob Costas shouted from the broadcast booth. "Clean takeaway off the pass—he timed it perfectly!"

Zhao Dong hit the ground and took off like a rocket. Johnson reached out in desperation, but Zhao used his off-arm to shield him. Johnson stumbled and couldn't get a grip.

Bang! Bang! Two hard dribbles.

Zhao Dong was already in the paint. He soared into the air, ball cocked back like a warhammer.

"Damn!"

On the sidelines, Coach Popovich's eyes widened. He swore under his breath, bracing himself for the backboard to shatter.

But—

"BANG!"

The rim rattled violently. A vicious tomahawk slam crushed through the net—but the backboard held firm.

Popovich blinked in disbelief.

Behind the basket, Spurs fans who'd ducked instinctively now peeked up in shock.

"He didn't break it!" someone screamed.

"Look at that!" a fan yelled. "Zhao Dong didn't have the force—or maybe he held back!"

"Beautiful execution!" Doug Collins said excitedly on the broadcast. "He picked the pass right outside the arc, took it coast to coast, and there's just no stopping that fast break once Zhao Dong gets loose."

"That's a full-court freight train," Isaiah Thomas added. "Even God's not stepping in front of that one."

Bob Costas shook his head, still stunned. "But why didn't he break the glass? We've seen him do it before. Don't tell me Zhao Dong can't anymore—there's no backboard in the league that should survive that force."

It wasn't just the commentators. Fans in the arena and watching at home were all asking the same question: Why didn't Zhao Dong break the backboard?

Even Popovich looked puzzled.

Meanwhile, across the Pacific on CCTV, Zhang Heli chuckled knowingly.

"Now I understand why old Nelson put Zhao Dong on the Spurs' point guard. He wants to disrupt the attack from the very beginning, at the 1-spot. It's a full-court scheme," he said.

"Zhao Dong moves like a top-tier guard," Sun Zhenping chimed in. "Speed, agility, lateral movement—he's right there with Johnson."

"And don't forget the size mismatch," Zhang added. "Zhao Dong's got the speed to keep up, but physically? He's towering over him. It's like Magic Johnson with even more muscle."

---

The Spurs took the ball out. Zhao Dong immediately pressured Johnson full-court.

And he wasn't alone.

Sprewell followed shooting guard Mario Elie step for step in the backcourt, turning up the defensive pressure.

On NBC, Bob Costas raised his brow. "Wait, are the Knicks going full-court press to start this thing?"

Doug Collins nodded. "They've got the bodies for it. Charlie Ward, Hu Weidong, and even Billups sitting on the bench—plus Zhao Dong's conditioning is legendary. They can press all game if they want."

Caught flat-footed, the Spurs struggled to inbound. Duncan tried to find a passing lane—but time ticked away fast.

5… 4… 3…

"Violation!"

Duncan couldn't get it in. 5-second turnover.

"Damn it!" Popovich barked, stomping the floor. "Move! Don't let them trap you! Stay composed!"

---

Knicks ball.

Zhao Dong brought it up, cool and focused. Johnson tried to crowd him for a steal—but it was a mistake.

Zhao spun off his defender with a slick crossover and blew past him like he wasn't even there.

"The kid's got wheels," Isaiah laughed.

Zhao accelerated with each step, charging toward the frontcourt. The Spurs' defense wasn't even set yet.

"Zhao Dong on the break!"

"It's a one-man stampede!" Doug Collins yelled.

Johnson trailed behind, out of position. Duncan tried to rotate up from the low post, meeting Zhao at the top of the arc.

He squared up. Arms wide. Defensive stance perfect.

Zhao Dong didn't blink.

He slowed just enough, then snapped the ball through his legs with a lightning-quick crossover, switched hands mid-stride, and blew by Duncan like a gust of wind.

"He broke him!" Bob Costas cried.

Duncan's eyes widened in shock. "So fast…"

By the time Duncan turned his hips, Zhao had already exploded from the free throw line.

"Is he taking off from twenty feet out?!"

The arena held its breath.

Under the basket, David Robinson stood tall—San Antonio's last line of defense.

But as Zhao Dong took flight, every cell in Robinson's body screamed danger.

"Not good!"

He jumped to contest anyway. He had no choice.

On the sidelines, reporter Mike near the baseline yelled with wide eyes:

"Johnson, contest it—!"

"BOOM!!"

Zhao Dong collided with Robinson in midair. The sound was thunderous.

"BOOM!!"

Robinson was blown away like a ragdoll.

"BOOM!!"

The ball detonated through the rim. Zhao Dong swung from the iron, snarling.

The SBC Center went dead silent.

No one breathed. Not even the Spurs fans.

"He baptized Robinson!" Isaiah gasped.

"That's not a dunk—that's a statement!" Doug Collins shouted.

Robinson landed awkwardly, stumbled backward two steps, then completely lost balance. His body flipped back into the baseline media row, knocking over two photographers and landing right on top of a young Tracy McGrady, who was tangled in cables and falling cameras.

Zhao Dong hung from the rim with one arm, his body swaying slightly as he glared down coldly at David Robinson, who was struggling to get up. That domineering look in his eyes said it all—he wanted to make a statement. Regret lingered in his mind. If Duncan hadn't stepped in and slowed him down, he might have seriously injured Robinson with that dunk.

"Boss, hell of a play!"

Several teammates rushed over, hyped and energized, surrounding Zhao Dong in celebration.

Robinson finally got to his feet with help from a few sideline reporters, limping slightly as he walked back onto the baseline. He was panting, checking his body for any injuries.

"Admiral," Zhao Dong called out, his voice cool and sharp. "Next time, let's see if you get the better of me—or if I rip that thorn out of your side."

"Hmph!"

Robinson snorted, but his heart was a mess. He felt a mix of relief and fear. That was way too close. Luck was the only reason he wasn't hurt.

"Johnson, are you outta your mind?!"

On the sidelines, Gregg Popovich exploded. He screamed at the young point guard like a man possessed. "I didn't tell you to go for the steal! Your job was to stop his acceleration! Keep him from picking up speed!"

Johnson kept his head down, swallowing his words. He didn't dare respond.

Popovich turned his fury toward Robinson next. "David, you need a breather?"

Robinson shook his head firmly. "No."

He couldn't leave the court. Not now. Not when the game had just started. If he stepped off, Zhao Dong might blow the team wide open.

He wanted that ring—desperately. Hakeem had two. Ewing had one. Shaq was still in his prime and had time. But Robinson? He was getting older. He knew the window was closing.

That's why when the team landed Duncan, he'd immediately stepped back, handed over the number one option, and committed to playing the second fiddle. He wasn't giving up without a fight.

Spurs' Possession

The Spurs came down the floor, sticking to their bread-and-butter: the high-low double towers. Robinson took position at the free throw line.

From there, he could do everything—cut, pass, shoot, screen. He became the offensive hub in the high post.

Johnson carefully advanced the ball into the frontcourt, flanked by the Spurs' wings on both sides. As soon as he crossed the timeline, he swung the ball to Robinson and drifted over to the left wing, positioning near the arc.

New York's 2-1-2 zone kicked into gear. As the ball hit Robinson in the high post, Zhao Dong and Sprewell immediately converged. Dazhi stepped up to complete the three-man trap.

Three-on-one pressure suffocated Robinson. No hesitation. He wasn't trying to score here—he was bait. Just as the double-team closed in, he dished the ball down low to Duncan with a swift one-handed pass.

The ball zipped to Duncan at the left block.

Again, the zone kicked in. Sprewell and Dazhi broke off and collapsed on Duncan, aiming for another three-on-one trap.

But Duncan didn't flinch. His footwork was surgical. As soon as he caught it, he gave a subtle jab step, got Fordson leaning, and spun back up for the bank shot off the glass at a 45-degree angle—

Smack!

Out of nowhere, Charles Barkley came flying in from the weak side and stuffed the shot clean.

He had left Sean Elliott open and gambled on the rotation, and it paid off.

"Boss!"

Sprewell grabbed the loose ball and shouted. Zhao Dong was already sprinting out like a rocket. Sprewell tossed the ball ahead with both hands.

"It's over. Another fast break…," Bob Costas sighed on the broadcast. "Zhao Dong's got a full head of steam beyond the arc."

Two seconds later, Zhao Dong exploded into the air at the rim. A full 360-degree spin in midair, then BOOM!—a thunderous one-handed slam.

"Ohhh! A 360 windmill jam—are you serious?!" Doug Collins shouted.

"At the Spurs' home court, Zhao Dong is putting on a show," Isaiah Thomas added with a laugh. "Our ratings are skyrocketing thanks to this guy."

Back on CCTV in China, Zhang Heli was cracking up. "The Knicks' defense tonight is on another level. That was a four-on-one swarm on Duncan just now! If he had passed that out, the Spurs had three wide-open shooters."

Sun Zhenping nodded. "That's exactly what the Spurs did last game. They doubled and tripled Zhao Dong down low, messed up his passing angles, and forced turnovers. It's his weakness—not enough height to see over the traps in the post."

Spurs' Possession Again

This time, Spurs' point guard brought it up, but Zhao Dong picked up Johnson early near half court.

With his size and wingspan, Zhao Dong formed an impenetrable wall in front of Johnson. The smaller guard tried to shake free, but Zhao Dong mirrored him step-for-step, using his length and strength to cut him off.

Then—poke!

Zhao Dong jabbed his hand in, knocking the ball loose.

Johnson panicked, quickly turning to scoop it back up—but he'd already dribbled. He couldn't put it down again. All he could do was protect the ball and look for a bailout pass.

But it was too late. Sprewell and Barkley blitzed him. Another three-on-one trap.

Johnson was swallowed alive.

Sprewell got a hand on the ball again—pop!—it came loose. Barkley pounced on it, spun around, took two dribbles, and laid it up with ease.

Popovich was losing it.

"Where's the backcourt help?! Connect! Connect! Why is no one rotating back?! What the hell are you doing out there?!"

Meanwhile, local San Antonio sports reporter McCarty sat courtside, visibly shaken. He never imagined the Spurs would come out this flat. A creeping sense of dread was setting in.

"It was a beautiful sequence!" Bob Costas said with excitement in his voice. "The Knicks came out locked in. They forced two turnovers from the young floor general Avery Johnson, blocked Duncan at the rim, and forced a five-second inbound violation. Four straight empty trips for San Antonio. Meanwhile, New York converted all four fast breaks. In just under two minutes, it's an 8–0 run, and the Spurs still haven't scored a single point at home!"

Doug Collins added, "Zhao Dong is on another level tonight. He was involved in three of those four stops and knocked down all three of his shots. He's anchoring both ends—absolutely carrying."

On the Spurs' sideline, Gregg Popovich was fuming as he called a timeout. Players gathered quickly, the atmosphere tense.

"Listen up!" Popovich barked like a general under fire. "No slow passes in the backcourt! Move the ball fast. Don't let them trap you—don't be stupid out there!"

He pointed toward the court.

"David, stay at the midline and give us a high outlet. We need a release valve. Tim, watch for the help on the weak side—Barkley's gunning for you."

"Sean," he turned to Elliot, "if the ball goes low, drift to the corner. Barkley's sagging off you—make him pay. You're hitting 40% from deep in this postseason. Let it fly if you're open. Tim, keep your eyes on him and swing it when you see the opportunity."

As play resumed, the Spurs inbounded and tried to adjust.

"Zhao Dong's back at it with that full-court pressure," Isaiah Thomas chuckled. "He's relentless."

"This kid," Popovich muttered on the sideline, "I want to see how long you can keep this up…"

San Antonio had three players helping bring the ball up this time—two guards and Sean Elliot, with David Robinson stationed near half-court to assist. With that formation, they managed to get it over the timeline cleanly.

Zhao Dong stayed glued to Johnson, applying solo pressure. The Knicks didn't overcommit, avoiding any traps, which left no openings for the Spurs to exploit.

Robinson moved into position at the free-throw line. Mario Elie made the pass, and from there, Robinson kicked it down to Duncan in the low post.

Sean Elliot spaced to the right corner, pulling Barkley away from the paint. Given Elliot's hot shooting, the Knicks couldn't risk helping off him, which meant no immediate weak-side help for Duncan.

Still, the Knicks brought pressure from above—Sprewell and Wang Zhizhi quickly closed in. Behind Duncan, Fordson applied pressure physically, pushing Duncan off his spot and denying him the spin move.

Seeing the trap coming, Duncan fired the ball back to Robinson, who had cut toward the rim after his pass. He caught it on the move.

"Watch out!" Duncan shouted urgently.

"Huh?" Robinson glanced up.

Too late.

Zhao Dong soared in from behind like a missile, rising high—well over a head above Robinson—and swatted the dunk attempt with a thunderous chase-down block. The ball flew into the air, sending shockwaves through the SBC Center.

"Oh my god!" Doug Collins shouted. "Zhao Dong just erased it!"

"Damn it!" Popovich roared. "That was picture-perfect execution, and they still denied us!"

The ball bounced off the glass and Fordson rose up, snatching it with authority. He handed it off to Zhao Dong, who began bringing the ball up—no fast break this time.

Avery Johnson shadowed Zhao Dong closely, this time hanging back and refusing to gamble on a steal. His only job now: slow the freight train down.

Near the top of the arc, Zhao Dong called out a play with a hand signal.

"This is the Knicks' first real half-court set tonight," said Bob Costas. "Let's see how the Spurs decide to guard it—zone or man? And how they handle Zhao Dong in the half-court?"

The Knicks spaced the floor. Sprewell shifted to the left wing, Wang Zhizhi to the left block. Barkley stationed himself on the right wing. The Spurs set up in a 2-1-2 zone, with Robinson stepping up to the free-throw line, ready to help. As Zhao Dong approached the arc, Mario Elie joined Robinson for a soft trap.

"Just pull up!" Isaiah shouted instinctively.

Right on cue, Zhao Dong rose up from the top of the arc and let it fly.

No hesitation. At 6'9", facing the 5'10" Johnson, it was like shooting over a chair. The ball arced high, splashed clean through the net.

"Splash!"

Zhao Dong backpedaled, shouting toward the Spurs bench: "Hey, good job. You almost stopped me that time."

Popovich turned red with fury. His jaw tightened.

"11–0! The Spurs still haven't scored!" Bob Costas exclaimed.

Doug Collins shook his head. "Zhao Dong is breaking this game open from the point. The Spurs just can't contain him in the backcourt, and once he gets to the frontcourt, Johnson is too small to contest his jumper."

Isaiah added, "Exactly. The Spurs have to find someone who can match Zhao Dong's speed in the backcourt—maybe match him stride for stride for half a second—just enough time for a help trap. But right now, Johnson can't stay in front of him for even a split-second. It's barbecue chicken out there."

Collins nodded. "And neither Elie nor Sean Elliot have the foot speed. That's why Pop's stuck with Johnson. But Johnson's giving up six inches and 60 pounds—Zhao Dong's just shooting right over him."

The Spurs tried to answer. On the next possession, Duncan caught the ball early off a Robinson feed and quickly pulled up before the double could arrive.

It rimmed out.

But Robinson crashed the boards hard, leapt, and tipped it in with a soft touch.

"Clap clap clap..."

Cheers finally erupted inside the SBC Center as the home team got their first bucket.

(End of Chapter)

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