In Philadelphia, Karl Malone—the Mailman—was ready to call it quits.
According to his previous endorsement deal with Adidas, he had to sell off some of his assets to clear lingering debts. Now, standing at the twilight of his career, Malone had lost all hope of winning a championship. Back with the Jazz, at least he made it to the Finals. But after being traded to the Philly 76ers, he'd suffered three consecutive eliminations at the hands of the Nets. Not once had he sniffed the Finals.
Defeated, he was preparing to call his agent and announce his retirement to the press.
But just then, his phone rang. It was his agent, Philier.
"Karl! Zhao just announced his retirement at a press conference!"
Philier's voice boomed through the line, loud and full of disbelief.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Karl snapped.
He was already irritated. I'm the one actually retiring—don't mock me.
"No joke, Karl. Check the news. TNT Sports Channel. It's real!"
Confused and annoyed, Malone grabbed the remote and flipped to TNT.
"I'm Ruth from TNT," the reporter said onscreen, her voice shaky with shock. "I'm reporting live from the press conference, where just moments ago, the NBA's top player, the undisputed No. 1 in league history, global icon Zhao Dong... has officially announced his retirement from the NBA. He will be joining the NFL..."
"He's going to play in the NFL?"
The words left Malone's mouth in a daze.
"Karl? You still there?" Philier's voice buzzed through the phone.
"Yeah... I saw it. Shit. Is he crazy? He's gonna fail in the NFL. Definitely."
Malone's tone was laced with disbelief and frustration. Zhao Dong had dominated the NBA for seven straight years, claiming title after title. Now, just entering his prime, the man had turned his back on the league—for football?
How was Malone supposed to feel? He'd chased that elusive ring his whole career, and now the league's best just walked away?
"Karl, calm down," Philier urged.
"Calm down? I can't calm down!"
The Mailman roared. The very symbol of greatness—the glory, the rings, the legacy—Zhao Dong tossed it all away like it meant nothing. And here I am, still dreaming about those things!
"Listen to me, Karl," Philier said, more seriously now. "Zhao Dong's gone. This is your shot. Your chance to finally win a championship. Just hold on for another season or two. You can do this."
Malone's eyes widened.
"Championship? My chance..."
The thought stunned him. The strongest is gone. This really might be my chance.
But the next wave hit even harder. He was now the league's second all-time scorer. A legend. A future Hall of Famer. Yet even with all that, he only had a chance because Zhao Dong left. Not because Malone got better—just because Zhao Dong was gone.
And that realization crushed him.
---
At the same moment, in Philly, Allen Iverson sat stunned in silence.
Seven years.
For seven long seasons, he—the No. 1 pick of the legendary 1996 draft class—had lived in the shadow of an undrafted phenom. Zhao Dong had dominated the league since his debut, locking Iverson out of every breakthrough.
Even worse? In the past three years, Iverson hadn't even reached Zhao Dong. He'd been stopped short every time—by Yao Ming's Nets.
The pressure Zhao Dong put on the league was unbearable. To Iverson, it felt like a mountain on his back. And now? That mountain was suddenly gone, vanished without warning. He couldn't even react. He just stared blankly at the screen, heart racing, unsure whether to feel relief, confusion, or something else entirely.
---
Down in Dallas, Michael Jordan was in the middle of a team meeting, discussing offseason roster moves when the news broke. He froze for a solid thirty seconds.
No one dared speak.
Then suddenly—he laughed.
"He's gonna play in the NFL? Hah! That guy…"
Jordan laughed so hard tears streamed from his eyes.
"Anyone wanna bet? I'm telling you, Zhao Dong will be back. He's gonna get wrecked out there—football's a barbarian sport. He'll fail. Maybe even get himself killed. But after enough failure, he'll realize how sweet winning felt in the NBA. He'll regret it."
He pointed at the stunned executives in the room.
"Mark my words—he's coming back."
Then, like a tire losing air, Jordan collapsed into his leather chair. Curled up. Dazed. Silent.
No one said a word. They didn't know what to make of his emotions.
Inside, Jordan was spiraling.
Zhao Dong had once defeated him, forcing the GOAT to pass the torch. And now that torchbearer... was gone?
Jordan had left the game once too, but his reason was different—personal tragedy, media pressure, grief. Zhao Dong left because he was too good... too bored.
And that shook Jordan to his core.
---
In Los Angeles, at Shaquille O'Neal's home, the news had the Diesel sitting completely still, eyes locked in disbelief.
Across from him, David Falk—his agent, and also Jordan's—watched in silence.
O'Neal, the most dominant big man in NBA history, had spent four years being wrecked by Zhao Dong's teams. Once swept in the Finals. Three times sent home in the Western Conference Finals. His confidence was in ruins.
But now... the invincible wall that blocked his path—was gone.
"Yo, Falk... he's not playing some joke on us, right?" Shaq muttered.
"No joke," Falk replied. "The Trail Blazers terminated his contract. The league already announced it. He's really making the jump."
Even he sounded uncertain.
Falk had managed the careers of two of the league's most dominant superstars, but neither Jordan nor Shaq could stop Zhao Dong. Invincible. Unstoppable. That's the only way to describe Zhao Dong in Falk's mind.
And now, that very king stepped down, because he was too dominant.
It rattled Falk more than he expected.
---
In L.A., Kobe Bryant—also a member of the 1996 Diamond Generation—sat in front of the TV, fists clenched.
He was different from the others.
Iverson, Jordan, Malone, even Shaq—everyone felt stunned or crushed. But Kobe? Kobe was furious.
He had spent his entire career chasing greatness, obsessed with getting better, obsessed with beating Zhao Dong.
But now that opponent, the one he'd worked so hard to surpass, walked away?
It was like Zhao Dong was saying: None of you are even worth playing against anymore.
"Coward," Kobe muttered, eyes burning.
He didn't want to win by default. He wanted to beat the best. He wanted Zhao Dong on the court, across from him, in the Finals, trading buckets.
He didn't understand the decision—and he didn't respect it.
---
In New Jersey, Yao Ming stood silently in the Nets' training facility, watching the news play over and over again.
As someone brought from China to the United States by Zhao Dong himself, Yao Ming had always seen Zhao as the towering mountain behind him—his guide, his shield, and the one who cleared the path.
But as someone who had also lost to Zhao Dong in the Finals for three straight seasons, Yao's feelings were... complicated.
Now? More than anything, he felt lost.
As soon as he saw the news, he tried to call Zhao Dong. Over and over. But the line wouldn't connect.
Zhao's phone was off.
At that moment, Zhao Dong was at home, packing his trophies in the honor room. He was preparing for a move to New York.
"Dad! Dad! Mom said our yacht is almost in New York!"
His youngest, Rong Xing, burst into the room, voice full of excitement.
"Yeah? That fast?" Zhao answered absentmindedly as he wrapped a championship ring in velvet cloth.
The $500 million mega-yacht had taken 30 months to build and launched just two months ago. Now it was cruising toward New York. Zhao had already sold a large plot of land on Long Island and built a private dock for his family.
"Mm-hmm!" Rong Xing nodded vigorously.
Three more kids followed behind—quadruplets, nearly three years old. All of them had inherited Zhao Dong's ferocious genes. Little tigers, every single one.
Especially the fourth, Rong Xing—the smallest at birth, now the biggest and strongest. He was already showing freakish athletic ability.
Now, their family was urging Zhao and Lindsay to have a fifth child. They had plans to try again once they got settled in New York.
Just then, a call came through from Trail Blazers owner Paul Allen.
He wanted to organize a massive retirement ceremony at the Rose Garden Arena. He promised 20,000 fans, dozens of NBA legends, and a send-off worthy of a king. He hoped Zhao would agree.
Zhao Dong accepted. He knew he needed closure.
The ceremony was scheduled for the day after tomorrow—2:00 PM on the 26th. NBA Commissioner David Stern would attend in person.
That evening, at 7 PM—which was 7 AM on the 25th in China—Zhao Dong made a call to Liu Yumin back home.
"Zhao Dong, is this real?" Liu asked after a long silence. "You're really retiring?"
"Yes, Director Liu. But I'll still play in next year's Olympics and in the 2008 Beijing Games. I'm not backing out of those."
Liu Yumin didn't know what to say. She repeated the same advice over and over:
"Just think it through. Don't make a hasty decision."
---
By 8 AM, Zhao Dong's retirement dominated China's sports coverage.
CCTV-5 broke the news in its morning broadcast, and within hours, every major channel and online portal had picked it up. The entire country was buzzing.
That night, the national evening news on CCTV aired a full three-minute feature on Zhao Dong's career.
---
On the 25th, in Portland, Yao Ming rushed to Zhao Dong's home.
"Brother Dong, are you really changing careers?"
C'mon, I made this decision years ago." Zhao smiled.
Yao couldn't argue with that. Zhao had been talking about football for a long time. And truthfully? He had won everything. MVPs. Finals. Rings. Records. It wasn't a surprise anymore—it was just… hard to accept.
"I'll push your front office to beef up the roster this summer," Zhao said, patting Yao on the back. "Next season is yours. You and the Lakers—it's finally your turn."
Yao smiled bitterly.
We're fighting for leftovers, he thought. The glory Zhao Dong didn't want.
---
Meanwhile, the front offices of the Lakers and the Nets were working overtime.
With Zhao Dong's departure, the Trail Blazers were expected to become a fire sale—a "player supermarket." For rival teams, this was a rare opportunity.
At the same time, NBA executives were in emergency meetings, trying to solve a looming crisis.
The league had lost its greatest attraction—its icon.
They needed a new face of the NBA. Fast.
Some proposed boosting the league's top four shooting guards—Kobe Bryant, Allen Iverson, Vince Carter, and Tracy McGrady.
Commissioner Stern listened quietly.
"They're all fantastic," he said finally. "But they're not young anymore. They're Zhao Dong's age. We'll use them as a transition. But we need to find the next great star."
That afternoon, Stern boarded a plane to Portland with a full team of league officials.
All across the country—and the world—players, coaches, legends, and fans booked flights to Oregon.
By evening, dozens of stars had arrived in Portland. Jordan, Kobe, Magic Johnson, Hakeem Olajuwon, Barkley, Charles Oakley, Alan Houston, O'Neal, Duncan, Shawn Kemp, Eddie Jones—more than fifty current and retired players came to pay tribute.
Kobe even brought his wife Vanessa and their five-month-old daughter, Natalia.
Team executives and coaches joined too—Jerry Buss, Pat Riley, Don Nelson, Jeff Van Gundy, Tom Thibodeau, Larry Bird, and more.
Because Zhao's house was a mess during the move, he booked out a luxury hotel to host everyone.
Coincidentally, Stern and his delegation were staying at the same hotel.
At 5 PM, Zhao Dong arranged a private banquet. Media included, over 300 people packed the ballroom.
---
"Are you sure you can make it in the NFL?" Kobe asked bluntly, his tone sharp.
He was angry. Angry that Zhao was leaving. Angry that he might never get a chance to beat him. Angry that his greatest rival would just... walk away.
Even if he had no rings, even if O'Neal had nothing either—Kobe still wanted Zhao Dong around. He needed that mountain to chase.
"Kobe, enough," Vanessa said gently, bouncing Natalia on her hip.
Kobe snorted and turned away.
Zhao smiled.
In his previous life, Kobe and Shaq had completed a three-peat by the end of this season. But in this life, they had nothing.
Still—Zhao could tell. Kobe was stronger now than ever.
"You're not gonna pull a Jordan, right?" MJ chuckled. "Retire for a year or two, then come back?"
"Nah," Zhao Dong shook his head. "I don't have some big goal in football. It's just a new challenge. A dream I've had for a long time. Whether I succeed or not doesn't matter to me. As long as I try, I'll be satisfied."
He paused, then added:
"When I went to study abroad at Stony Brook, the first sport I played was football. That's always been the one I wanted to play."
"Too bad the football team didn't want you," Jordan jabbed.
Laughter filled the room.
Zhao grinned.
"That's why I'm doing it now. I think I've got the physical tools to make it work. I want to step onto that massive field, in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans, and feel that adrenaline.
You guys don't get it—what attracts me most to football is that raw collision. That physical, brutal impact. That's where the excitement is."
He spoke with fire in his eyes—like a rookie again.
The room fell silent.
Everyone looked at him, some in awe, some in disbelief, some in sadness.
The king was really walking away. And he was walking into something even more dangerous.
All they could do… was shake their heads.
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