"Let's go, boys! Game time!"
A staff member's voice echoed down the hallway outside the locker room.
"Then get the hell out!" General Manager Philip barked.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Dozens of players grabbed their helmets and charged toward the tunnel, the floor trembling beneath their cleats. No one dared look at Philip as they passed—he might as well have been the devil himself.
At the back of the group, Zhao Dong walked at a steady pace, only to be stopped by Philip's hand on his arm.
Philip looked past him at the wall of twelve bodyguards, their expressions like stone.
"Zhao Dong," he said with a tired sigh, rubbing his temple. "I'll do my best to get those guys traded, alright? But for God's sake—try not to stir up any more trouble. I'm begging you here."
Zhao Dong gave him a calm, almost innocent smile. "Don't worry, Morin. I don't cause trouble... I'm a gentleman. A New York gentleman."
Philip gritted his teeth as Zhao Dong walked away. "Yeah, sure. Gentleman. My ass…"
---
In the tunnel, the Jets players were bunched behind the gates like warriors waiting for battle. Pads tightened. Cleats stomped. Helmets slapped.
"Open the gate!" a staffer shouted.
WHOOSH.
The doors burst open, and the New York Jets stormed onto the field like a tidal wave, a thunderous wave of cleats crashing onto turf.
In the crowd, Zhao Dong surged forward with the others, helmet under one arm. The deafening roar of 80,000 fans slammed into him like a wall of sound. His ears rang. His heart pounded.
Adrenaline spiked.
This was it.
---
"And here he comes! The rookie in the No. 1 jersey—Zhao Dong, making his NFL debut with the Jets!"
From the TNT broadcast booth, commentator had to shout to be heard.
His voice was hoarse before the kickoff even began. That's what happens when you're commentating in a stadium louder than a fighter jet hangar.
In addition to TNT's national coverage, the game was also being broadcast by regional New York media—which, in the NFL, is where the real money came from. With limited national air time, local markets like New York provided the bulk of a team's broadcast revenue.
Inside the regional booth, Russell Neveda, a white veteran sportscaster, sat alongside Wells Michael, his Black co-commentator.
The camera panned to Zhao Dong, and his face immediately appeared across the four 1,210-inch jumbotrons at Giants Stadium—the NFL's largest venue, packed with 82,500 screaming fans, over 2,000 TVs, and a staggering 1,350 toilets. Costing $1.6 billion, it wasn't just a stadium—it was a palace.
"BOOM!"
Zhao Dong's face filled every screen, and the crowd responded with an earth-shaking roar.
Neveda grinned. "You hear that?! Even after three years away from New York, even after switching from the NBA to the NFL, Zhao Dong's still got it. That man's influence is alive and well."
Wells laughed. "That's 'cause half the people in this stadium probably saw him drop 50 in Madison Square Garden. He was the king of the NBA."
---
The Detroit Lions emerged from the opposite tunnel just as the Jets were finishing their runout.
Two teams. Two battle lines.
They circled the field, saluting the fans like gladiators before returning to their respective benches.
The Jets' sideline was sunken into the field—a unique feature of certain stadiums—requiring players to descend a few steps to reach the bench area.
Zhao Dong sat down, exhaling hard.
"Haaah…"
His blood was still running hot. His fingers twitched.
He was ready.
---
At midfield, Jets quarterback and captain Welin Paul stepped up for the coin toss.
NFL rules were clear: the visiting team calls the flip. The winner chooses whether to receive or defer. The loser picks which end zone to defend.
The Lions captain called heads.
Tails.
Paul didn't hesitate.
"We'll take the ball."
Lions got the wind. Jets got the first possession.
A minute later, Zhao Dong stood up from the bench.
His NFL career—officially—was about to begin.
He opened the system in his mind and glanced at the interface.
"No mission?"
"The system only counts regular season and playoff performance," the reply came coldly.
"Cheapskate…" he muttered.
Still, he understood. In both the NFL and NBA, the preseason was a time for backups, rookies, and evaluations. Starters rarely played more than a few snaps.
---
Back in the TNT booth, Philo ras exploded again:
"YES! He's on the field! Zhao Dong is in the Jets' special teams unit!"
"Dammit," Noby groaned. "I lost a bet... Edwards must've caved under fan pressure. Ugh, I can already feel those three giant burgers sitting in my stomach."
Ras grinned. "I'll take mine with extra bacon."
---
Across the stadium, Charles Barkley, seated with friends, saw Zhao Dong on the jumbotron.
"That guy's actually getting snaps?"
> "C'mon, Chuck," someone nearby laughed. "Half the stadium's here just for him. It's a meaningless preseason game—if the coach didn't play him, fans would riot."
Barkley chuckled. "True. Man's got more fans in football than some quarterbacks."
---
As the players took the field, the crowd swelled again, like a tidal wave crashing against steel.
It was time for the kickoff.
Though the Jets won the toss, they would receive the ball—which meant the Lions would kick it off, and the Jets would field it with their special teams unit.
Once the ball was caught and the return play ended, the special teams would clear, and the Jets' offense would start their first drive.
---
Kickoff strategy was no joke in the NFL.
The kicking team—Detroit in this case—had several options:
Kick it out of the end zone for a touchback, giving the Jets the ball at the 25-yard line.
In an NFL kickoff, there are several strategic options for both teams.
First, the kicking team can boot the ball out of the end zone—this results in a touchback, and the receiving team starts their drive at the 25-yard line.
Second, the kicker can place the ball short of the end zone. In this case, the ball is live, and whoever grabs it takes possession. The receiving team then has two choices:
Call a fair catch or kneel down, which halts play and sets the offense at the spot of the catch.
Attempt a return, running the ball as far as possible toward the opponent's end zone.
Returners will typically call for a fair catch if the ball is received within 20 yards of their own end zone—it's just too risky to run it from there.
Third, the ball lands inside the end zone. Once again, the receiving team can either down it for a touchback or run it out. But if they choose the return and lose the ball, the play is dead wherever it ends.
Also important: once the ball has traveled 10 yards, or after a receiving player touches it, the kicking team can legally recover the ball. However, if they do, they can't advance it—the spot of recovery becomes their new offensive position.
In short: even though the Jets had won possession, it didn't guarantee they'd keep it. A return was still risky business.
---
Zhao Dong lined up deep, alone in the backfield, near his own end zone—his job: return man.
Up ahead, on the Lions' 20-yard line, the two teams crouched at the line, ready to explode forward.
The Lions had two players handling the kick: the kicker, a trained specialist—and the holder, typically a backup wide receiver or punter doing double duty.
BOOM!
The ball snapped off the kicker's foot with a sharp thud, sailing high into the air.
"That one's heading straight for the end zone! Can Zhao Dong field it cleanly?"
In the regional broadcast booth, veteran commentator Russell Neveda called it like he saw it, eyes tracking the spiraling pigskin.
Down on the field, Zhao Dong sprinted backward while tracking the ball. His eyes didn't blink once.
Touchdown zone.
The trajectory was clear—it was going to drop inside the end zone.
---
"Will he go for the return?!"
From the TNT booth, Sessler Noby, who'd already lost a bet over Zhao Dong's playing time, nearly jumped out of his seat.
"Yes, yes!"
His partner Philo ras was already bouncing, voice filled with glee.
In the regional broadcast booth, Wells Michael shouted, "Zhao Dong's going to return it! He's not playing it safe!"
"Damn right he is!" Neveda roared over the mic. "This guy wasn't just the most dominant scorer in NBA history—he lives for offense. It's in his DNA!"
---
Inside Giants Stadium, all 82,500 fans were locked in, eyes glued to Zhao Dong.
Kickoff returns were the fireworks moment fans prayed for. That rare chance to watch a player dodge 11 defenders, dash 100 yards like lightning, and punch it in for six. A full-field touchdown return happened maybe once a season—when it did, it was a moment for the highlight reels and the history books.
And for returners? It was a one-way ticket to fame, fortune, and endorsement deals… and more than a few models in the DMs.
---
The fish-bladder-shaped ball spun tightly through the air, a perfect spiral.
It dropped into Zhao Dong's massive hands—hands so large they could nearly wrap around the ball from top to bottom. At 27 cm long and 28 cm wide, his grip was a cheat code.
Snap!
With barely a sound, the ball landed in his gloves. His fingers closed around it like steel clamps.
Zhao Dong's grip was legendary. In the NBA, he palmed basketballs like apples. In football? The control was even stronger, especially with gloves that added extra friction.
He had complete command of the ball.
But in this moment, he also had a choice.
---
"RETURN!"
The stadium thundered.
"RETURN!"
Even NBA legends like Michael Jordan, Charles Barkley, and others who had come to watch were on their feet, shouting from the stands.
And Zhao Dong?
He didn't hesitate.
His right foot stepped forward—no kneel, no fair catch.
He was going for it.
---
The Lions special team erupted like hounds off a leash.
The eleven defenders fanned out, forming lanes and coverage walls to contain him. Their objective: stop Zhao Dong before he hit the 20-yard line.
As for Zhao Dong?
He was on his own.
This wasn't a play where teammates could bail him out.
No passes. No blockers in front. No do-overs.
He had to break through eleven elite athletes, all gunning for his head.
---
His receiving point was seven yards deep into the end zone—he had to gain at least 27 yards just to break even and justify the return.
But Zhao Dong didn't care about "safe."
He wasn't built for fair catches.
He was built for headlines.
And now… it was time to run.
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