The Rose Garden Arena was alive with energy, the kind of electricity that could make your skin tingle. Known for hosting everything from basketball to ice hockey, boxing, concerts, and even cowboy competitions, tonight it was all about one thing—basketball.
At exactly ten o'clock, the 20,000-seat arena was packed to the rafters. Every Trail Blazers fan in the building wore the same jersey—Zhao Dong's No. 68, the brand-new home edition.
When Zhao Dong walked onto the court, the crowd erupted.
"Zhao Dong!"
The roar was deafening, shaking the rafters as if Portland had already won a championship.
Taking the microphone from the event host, Zhao Dong grinned and raised his voice, his Mandarin-accented English carrying perfectly through the speakers.
"I'm very happy to come to Portland. This is a new beginning for me in the NBA. I can feel your passion here, and it makes me very happy."
He paused, then shouted, "But tell me—if I reward you for all this enthusiasm, what do you want from me?"
"CHAMPIONSHIP!"
Twenty thousand voices answered as one, a wall of sound crashing into him.
"Then I'll give you the championship!" Zhao Dong roared back.
The crowd exploded. It felt like the Blazers had already lifted the trophy.
The bold statement, first released to the media the day before, had already spread across every sports outlet, sparking heated debates.
---
The League Reacts
Shaquille O'Neal was the first to fire back.
"He's talking big," O'Neal scoffed in an interview. "The Pacers made the Western Conference Finals last year by luck, not strength. That's why we swept them. Even with Zhao Dong joining, the Blazers' lineup is trash. They're nowhere near our level."
His tone was sharp, lacking his usual humor—clearly still bitter after being swept in last year's Finals.
Kobe Bryant was more direct.
"If the Blazers even make it to the Western Conference Finals, fine. But we'll sweep them again," Kobe said flatly.
The media swarmed other stars for opinions, including Ernie Grunfeld, Karl Malone, and Allen Iverson.
Malone, ignoring questions about Zhao Dong and the Blazers, turned his frustration toward recent trades.
"The league's unfair," Malone said. "I wasn't allowed to join the Lakers, but now Duncan and Robinson can team up with the Nets and Lakers. They're hiding behind injuries and age as excuses. That's not competing, that's stacking the deck. It's shameful."
Iverson echoed the sentiment, shaking his head at the league's new direction.
"The era of one man guarding a city is over," Iverson said bitterly. "That's the real tragedy. We won't see NBA superheroes anymore."
The debate dominated sports talk shows for days.
Still, most media outlets defended Tim Duncan and David Robinson, pointing out that Duncan had been injured and Robinson was past his prime.
Duncan himself laughed at the criticism.
"They call me a team player, but that's not true," Duncan joked. "Right now, I've only got one good leg. Yao Ming and I together? We're a three-legged floor player combo."
Yao Ming chuckled when reporters repeated Duncan's words.
"Tim's right," Yao said modestly. "The 'floor flow combo' fits us perfectly. We don't rely on athleticism—we rely on hard work and fundamentals."
Zhao Dong couldn't help but laugh when he heard their comments.
If Duncan and Yao don't have talent, then no one in the world does, he thought.
To Zhao Dong, talent wasn't just about athleticism. Technical talent was just as valuable, and Duncan's fundamentals were legendary, while Yao's shooting touch and footwork rivaled Duncan's. In contrast, O'Neal's dominance relied purely on his size, and Karl Malone's offensive power came mostly from his elbows and mid-range shots.
The media loved Duncan and Yao's self-deprecating humor, dubbing them "The Three-Legged Floor Flow Combo."
---
Training Camp
In the days that followed, Zhao Dong focused on tactical training with his new teammates.
On the morning of the 25th, he arrived at the Trail Blazers' training facility at 9 a.m., where the entire roster was already warming up.
Before practice started, Zhao Dong approached head coach Larry Bird.
"Larry, I've got a suggestion," Zhao Dong said seriously.
Bird looked curious. "Go ahead."
"I think we should give Jermaine O'Neal a bigger role this season. Start him at power forward, give him some real touches. I've watched him for a while—his offense and defense have improved a lot over the past four years. Just give him a chance, and he'll prove himself."
Bird studied Zhao Dong for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You really believe in him?"
"I guarantee it," Zhao Dong said firmly.
Bird smiled faintly. "Alright, let's see what he's got."
During the team scrimmage, Bird paired O'Neal with Zhao Dong's unit and ran several plays designed for him.
---
Scrimmage Battle
Across from them was veteran forward Brian Grant, who looked eager to prove himself.
Grant, standing 6'9" and weighing 115 kg, had a similar build to Zhao Dong. Jermaine O'Neal, at 6'11" and 105 kg, was lankier and less physical.
Zhao Dong caught the ball at the top of the key, then fed it into the left low post.
The moment O'Neal received it, Grant leaned hard into him, trying to shove him out of the paint.
But O'Neal spun quickly, slipping baseline before Grant could react.
"Bang!"
O'Neal exploded to the rim, finishing with a two-handed dunk.
Zhao Dong grinned. Exactly what I expected.
Jermaine's low-post game was his strongest weapon—either a power move to the rim or a quick turnaround jumper. Against someone like Grant, who lacked lateral quickness, he was unstoppable.
"Damn it, kid, do it again!" Grant barked, embarrassed at being beaten by the younger player. His face turned red as he squared up for the next possession.
Looking back at the scrimmage, Grant's team was on offense. Zhao Dong deliberately called for Grant to take the shot—he wanted to see how Jermaine O'Neal's defense held up.
Grant caught the ball in the left low post, faked left, faked right, then spun into a turnaround jumper.
"Bang!"
The ball never had a chance. O'Neal exploded upward, slapping it clean out of the air. Grant's eyes widened in shock.
"…"
He stared at O'Neal, hardly recognizing the kid standing in front of him. Is this really the same quiet, overlooked kid from before?
"Heh-heh…" O'Neal gave a shy, almost embarrassed smile.
"Good job, kid."
Grant chuckled despite himself and patted O'Neal on the head.
---
On the next possession, Zhao Dong's squad pushed the ball. O'Neal suddenly popped out just inside the three-point line, caught the pass, and rose for a smooth jumper.
"Swish!"
Grant cursed under his breath. His feet were too slow to contest.
"Damn it!"
O'Neal was on fire. Maybe it was the first time he'd been given this many touches, maybe it was just adrenaline—but today he was unstoppable. Zhao Dong fed him the ball again and again, and the kid dominated, scoring repeatedly on Grant while shutting him down on defense.
Grant couldn't keep up when O'Neal faced him up on offense. Defensively, Grant's height and athleticism were no match; every shot was a struggle, and O'Neal erased several attempts.
After a few back-and-forth sequences, Grant finally accepted reality.
Looks like I can't compete for that starting power forward spot anymore…
But then he sighed and smirked to himself. So what? I didn't stay in Portland to chase stats—I came here for a championship. If this kid can help us win, perfect. Besides, I just signed a new deal. This isn't a contract year. Let him start; I'll be the backup.
Still, he glanced toward Danny Fortson, who was sitting on the bench. Fortson hadn't even touched the court yet, and Grant knew he'd have to fight him for minutes too.
---
Larry Bird, meanwhile, was watching closely from the sideline. This scrimmage had been enough to convince him—O'Neal wasn't just potential, he was ready.
Bird glanced at Zhao Dong and smiled faintly. Once again, Zhao Dong had been right.
Over the next few days, O'Neal kept up his level of play, slowly earning the trust of both the coaching staff and his teammates.
Even General Manager Whitsitt started showing up to practices, standing quietly in the corner, eyes glued to O'Neal.
The GM couldn't help but feel lucky. We were about to cut him loose this offseason. If I had done that and he turned into a star elsewhere, I'd be a laughingstock. Zhao Dong might've just saved my job.
He rubbed his hands together, excitement building. We already landed Zhao Dong… now O'Neal is breaking out. Can the Trail Blazers really… win it all this year?
The thought made him tremble slightly.
Zhao Dong, however, wasn't as optimistic. He knew O'Neal had his flaws—more, in fact, than Danny Fortson had back in his rookie days. Against elite big men, O'Neal was still outclassed.
At best, he can pull defenders out of the paint and buy me some space. But if we're going to win, it won't be because of him. It'll be on me.
---
The League's Spotlight
On October 29, the NBA released its national broadcast schedule.
The Blazers had only 24 nationally televised games last season. This year? 62.
The front office was ecstatic. More national games meant more broadcast revenue and more sponsorship deals.
The players were even happier—more exposure, more endorsements, more fame.
But Zhao Dong didn't care. The only thing that mattered to him was the championship.
Publicly, he dismissed the powerhouse lineups in New Jersey and Los Angeles. Privately, he knew the challenge ahead.
The Nets had Yao Ming and Duncan—a high-efficiency, low-post scoring machine. The Lakers had Shaquille O'Neal and David Robinson, still the league's most imposing interior duo.
Portland's roster was nowhere near as strong. Last year, they'd been swept by the Lakers in the Conference Finals. This year, with the league's new superteams, it was going to be a war.
Even in his prime, Jermaine O'Neal wasn't on Duncan or Shaq's level. Robinson, even aging, still had more polish. And Yao? His skill set already surpassed Jermaine's.
No matter what happens, Zhao Dong thought, it's still on me.
---
That same morning, at nearly ten o'clock, Shawn Kemp finally strolled into the training facility. Late.
"Kemp! Over here!"
Zhao Dong's voice cracked like a whip across the gym.
Though he'd already asked management to trade Kemp, as long as Kemp was on this roster, Zhao Dong wouldn't let him poison the team's chemistry.
Kemp swaggered over, chin raised. "What do you want, Zhao Dong?"
Zhao Dong eyed him up and down. The once-explosive "Reign Man" was gone. Kemp's body was heavier, slower, far from the beast he used to be.
"Can you still play?" Zhao Dong asked coldly.
"Of course I can," Kemp shot back, narrowing his eyes. "Hell, I can still dunk on you."
"Then try."
Zhao Dong dropped the ball in front of him and backed into the paint, crouching into a defensive stance.
"Come on, then."
Kemp wasn't about to back down. He grabbed the ball and started backing Zhao Dong down.
The gym quieted, every player and coach turning to watch.
"The boss is gonna school him," Shawn Marion whispered to Danny Fortson.
"Man, Kemp looks heavier than last season," Fortson muttered. "What's he at now, 140 kilos?"
In his prime, Kemp's agility and leaping ability rivaled Zhao Dong's. But now? Not even close.
Kemp tried to spin baseline, leaning hard into Zhao Dong, planning to finish with one of his signature power dunks.
Zhao Dong didn't budge. He slid, forced Kemp into a tough fadeaway, then rose effortlessly.
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong swatted the shot straight out of the air.
Kemp's face flushed with anger and humiliation.
In the past, no one blocked Shawn Kemp like that. He was the one doing the posterizing, not the other way around.
"I attack now, you defend," Zhao Dong said, grabbing the loose ball and walking to the top of the key.
"Bring it on!" Kemp barked, fists clenched.
Zhao Dong started dribbling, the sound of the ball echoing through the silent gym.
Bang, bang…
When Zhao Dong was two meters in front of Shawn Kemp, he suddenly went to work. The ball snapped between his legs several times, his shoulders faked left and right in rhythm, and his feet shifted with lightning-quick changes of direction.
Kemp couldn't keep up—his legs were heavy, his reactions slow. Zhao Dong forced him under the basket like a traffic cone.
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong rose and dunked over him with a level-rim throwdown.
Kemp didn't even get off the floor. The impact sent him stumbling three steps backward, nearly falling flat on his back. The once-feared "Reign Man" now looked helpless and awkward.
And it didn't stop there.
Over the next few possessions, Kemp didn't score a single point. Zhao Dong stuffed him every time on defense, and on offense, dunked on him repeatedly. Kemp's face turned pale with embarrassment.
On the sideline, Whitsitt watched in silence, shaking his head. What a disaster of a trade, he thought bitterly.
---
"Enough. You're useless."
Zhao Dong blocked Kemp's shot again, snatching the ball clean. His voice was calm, but the words hit like a slap.
"Who the hell are you calling useless?" Kemp roared, his pride boiling over. He stepped forward, fists clenched, glaring at Zhao Dong.
Zhao Dong didn't flinch. He met Kemp's glare with a cold, sharp stare.
"Why? You thinking of swinging at me?"
His voice carried an edge, and his body radiated an intimidating aura.
The tension cracked when a dozen bodyguards, all stone-faced and massive, stepped through the entrance of the training facility.
Kemp froze.
The fire in his eyes vanished instantly. He wasn't just staring at a teammate anymore—he was staring at a man with power, someone who could crush him on and off the court.
One wrong move… and I'm done, Kemp realized.
"Move."
Zhao Dong shoved him aside lightly and turned to the rest of the team.
"Keep training. I've got business to handle."
Without another glance at Kemp, he gestured to Whitsitt. The two of them walked out of the gym.
---
Inside Whitsitt office, Zhao Dong sat across from the general manager.
"Mr. Whitsitt, is trading Kemp really that hard?" Zhao Dong asked directly.
Whitsitt let out a deep sigh. "I've tried everything. Nobody wants him. His contract is massive, and every GM in the league knows he's finished."
Zhao Dong nodded. "I usually don't interfere with trades, but you can't let him rot here. I'll give you a lead. The Orlando Magic failed to land Duncan—they're desperate for an inside presence. Try them."
Whitsitt eyes lit up.
"Last time Kemp stayed here for two seasons, the Magic were still willing to take a shot at him. There's a chance."
"Then take it," Zhao Dong said, standing. "I don't care how—just get him off this team. We're chasing a title. There's no room for him here."
Whitsitt nodded firmly.
As Zhao Dong left, Whitsitt was already running through scenarios in his head.
The Magic are desperate, but I can't ask for too much. I just need them to feel like they're stealing him.
He sat at his desk, scribbling notes. Eventually, he came up with a package: Shawn Kemp for Mike Miller and three marginal players to balance salaries.
The Magic front office was ecstatic when they got the offer. They only remembered Kemp's numbers from last season with the Cavaliers—17.8 points, 8.8 rebounds, 1.7 assists, 1.2 blocks, and 1.2 steals. To them, it looked like a bargain.
The deal was finalized quickly. Portland sent Kemp to Orlando and received Mike Miller plus three fringe players, all of whom were waived immediately.
Whitsitt exhaled in relief. The locker room cancer was finally gone.
---
That evening, Zhao Dong sat in his apartment reviewing film when a familiar sound chimed in his mind.
Ding!
A system notification popped up. Season Mission Issued.
He opened it and read carefully.
---
Regular Season Mission
Lead the team to the best record in the league and break the Bulls' 72-win record.
Play all 82 games and average a 40+ triple-double for the season.
Score 100+ points in a single regular-season game.
Requirements: Complete all objectives.
Rewards:
Three automatic recoveries from minor injuries.
One fragment of the Dominance Badge.
---
Zhao Dong stared at the list, eyebrows raised.
"Seriously, System? Why don't you just ask me to put up 50+25 every night like Wilt Chamberlain back in '61-'62? Wouldn't that be easier?"
But he wasn't really angry. It was more of a bitter laugh.
A 40-point triple-double average across a full season? That was almost as absurd as Chamberlain's mythical stats.
And the Blazers weren't exactly loaded. Breaking 72 wins with this roster? Nearly impossible.
Still, Zhao Dong clenched his fist.
Impossible or not, I have no choice. If I want the Dominance fragment, I have to try.
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