Sunday, September 5 – the NFL season kicked off.
At noon, the Miami Dolphins landed in New York.
Their two biggest stars were hard to miss: Brent Lint, the flashy white wide receiver with top-end speed, and Murphy Wallace, the power-house black defensive end.
One thing about the NFL—unlike the NBA, white players are a much bigger presence here, both in numbers and impact. On the gridiron, talent is talent, no matter the skin color.
As soon as the Dolphins stepped off the team bus at the airport, the media swarmed them. Cameramen shoved mics forward, reporters yelled over each other, and New York TV crews fought for the best angle.
Being the faces of the franchise, Brent and Murphy were magnets for questions.
---
Reporter, New York Sports Daily:
"Brent, last season the Dolphins and Jets split the series 1-1. This year, Zhao Dong joins New York. Do you still believe Miami can compete head-to-head?"
Brent Lint let out a short, sharp laugh.
"That so-called 'Tyrannosaurus'? The guy's just a big body with no real skills. You think he's making them better? Please. His arrival makes them weaker. Flat-out ridiculous."
Murphy Wallace grinned and leaned into the mic.
"We're gonna crush him. He's just another NBA guy trying to play in a man's league. If he was really that good, why didn't he even make it to a decent NCAA football program—like, I don't know—Stony Brook?"
Lint smirked, piling on.
"A bunch of the Jets' core players are gone. 'Three-Eyed Monster' Venis retired with an injury in camp. Tomorrow night, you'll see exactly what I mean when I say we're going to run them off the field."
---
The Jets' Response
At that very moment, inside the Jets' training facility cafeteria, Zhao Dong sat with dozens of teammates, finishing up lunch.
The TV above the buffet line was playing the live airport interview.
BANG!
Thor Chris McGill slammed his fist into the table so hard the silverware jumped.
"Man, we have to shut those two clowns up tomorrow night. Murphy Wallace is mine. Zhao, you take Lint. He's quick, but I don't think he's quicker than you."
Zhao Dong chuckled, a calm smile on his face.
"I'm faster than him."
He glanced over at head coach Edwards, silently asking the question—would he even get the matchup?
If he wanted to cover a star receiver like Lint, he'd have to line up at cornerback, not linebacker. That meant more speed, more agility, and way more one-on-one responsibility.
Edwards caught his look, then shrugged.
"Zhao, you've never played corner before, and this is a divisional game. I'm not just going to toss you into that fire. Honestly, the Dolphins might be counting on matching Lint against you to break the game open."
Zhao nodded. He understood.
Football wasn't basketball—there was no freelancing. This was the ultimate team sport. One weak link could sink the whole ship. And the truth was, he didn't yet have the reps to lock down a Pro Bowl receiver like Brent Lint.
---
Over the past month, the Jets had shaken things up. Five backups who'd openly clashed with Zhao were traded away, stabilizing the locker room a little.
Still, more than a dozen players were cold toward him—seven of them starters. Moving those guys wouldn't be easy; starting-caliber talent doesn't just grow on trees.
GM Philip had promised to work on it, aiming for a few more trades by the October deadline without weakening the roster.
The NFL's trade window was open from March 13 to November 1. For now, Zhao would have to coexist with whoever was still in that room.
---
Game Night – Monday, September 6
Kickoff was at 8 p.m. But by 7, Giants Stadium was already a deafening wall of noise—like ten thousand engines roaring at once.
It was the first regular-season home game in over eight months, and New York fans had been starved for live football. Every seat was packed.
TNT was broadcasting nationally, with the New York regional crew also on-site. The two commentary teams shared the same booth row.
---
TNT Booth – Russ & Cecil Nobby
Russ: "Cecil, last time you wolfed down three giant burgers before kickoff. You going for a repeat?"
Nobby patted his stomach with a groan. "Haven't touched a burger since. Not making that mistake twice."
Russ: "Zhao Dong looked sharp in the preseason—played multiple positions, started at each. I'm betting he starts again tonight."
Nobby: "His name value helps. With his actual game experience? Eh… he's been up and down."
Russ: "True. But he's got upside. The Jets would be crazy not to keep giving him reps."
Nobby: "I'll give him this—seven years in the NBA without an injury. That's wild."
Russ (laughing): "Compared to the NFL, the NBA's a non-contact sport. That's why!"
---
New York Local Booth – Russell Neveda & Wells Michael
Neveda (pointing at the monitor): "Look who's here—the NBA crew again."
Wells chuckled. "Season's still two months away. Half of those guys are retired, nothing better to do."
On the east side of the stadium, Michael Jordan sat with a group of NBA legends. Zhao Dong had comped them tickets—good ones.
Jordan had joked, "If we're coming to support you, you're covering food, drinks, and the seats."
---
In the NBA Section
Barkley: "Bet time—Zhao's been the return man all preseason. I say he's still the return man tonight. Loser borrows his yacht for a day."
Jordan (snapping back instantly): "Hell no. That's a guaranteed loss for me."
Oakley, deadpan: "His yacht costs over a million a day to operate. You paying for that?"
Barkley: "It's borrowing, not renting."
Oakley: "Shameless."
The whole row shook their heads, laughing.
"Just kidding—operating that yacht costs at least a million dollars a day. One trip out to sea? You're talking several million. And Zhao Dong would have to cover all the expenses. Who's shameless enough to borrow that?"
Hearing Oakley's jab, Barkley's face darkened. The two had never been best buddies; their history leaned more toward rivalry than friendship.
Barkley fired back instantly.
"Oakley, that case involving your club—settled yet?"
"Shut up!" Oakley barked, instantly defensive. "It's been closed for two years! Why the hell bring it up now?"
Jordan, face tight, turned on Barkley.
"Barkley, you idiot… you know I've been a patron of that club too. You just pissed off two people in one sentence."
Barkley froze. Then it got worse—Larry Johnson was giving him the death stare from two seats down.
"Don't invite him next time," Oakley muttered.
"Agreed," Jordan said.
"Yeah," Johnson echoed.
Barkley's mouth opened, but no words came. This was retaliation with zero mercy.
---
Inside the Jets' Locker Room
Head coach Edwards and his staff had just finalized the main roster. From special teams to offense to defense, every slot had to be locked in before kickoff.
NFL games are brutal. Careers can change on a single snap. One injury, and a backup gets their shot.
Tonight, Zhao Dong wouldn't be on special teams. He was starting on defense, slotted as the primary linebacker, with the flexibility to move around depending on the situation.
During the preseason, he'd been the return man for four games—managing only one touchdown.
The other returns had been mixed at best: one for 43 yards, and one disastrous 4-yarder where the offense got pinned just outside the end zone. That bad field position had led to an interception on the very next series, and the opponent punched it in for six.
Edwards had nearly blown a gasket. If Zhao Dong hadn't been such a high-profile figure, the coach might have chewed him out publicly.
That was the problem—Edwards hadn't wanted Zhao Dong in the first place. High status, inconsistent skills, and a role he couldn't bench? It was a headache.
—
BANG!
The locker room door slammed open. Coach Melos leaned in, voice booming.
"Let's go! Time to hit the field!"
The Jets' 53-man roster filed out in full pads, helmets gleaming under the lights, a steel wave headed for the tunnel.
Near the exit, the noise hit like a physical force—80,000 fans roaring, the sound vibrating through the concrete. Adrenaline spiked instantly. Heart rates doubled.
"Open the gate!"
The staff gave the signal, and the team burst onto the field in two lines.
---
Crowd: "OHHHHHH!"
Giants Stadium exploded. Fans leapt to their feet, fists pumping, the home crowd feeding off pure energy.
"This is it!" shouted regional broadcaster Russell Neveda. "The New York Jets open the new season against our mortal enemies—the Miami Dolphins! Jet warriors, smash their bodies, crush their will, and leave them broken on the turf!"
The crowd roared even louder. The noise rattled through Zhao Dong's helmet. Behind the steel facemask, his eyes swept over the sea of faces—wild, fierce, fists waving. His skin tingled, scalp buzzing with electricity.
---
Coin Toss & First Assignment
After a lap around the field, both teams returned to the sideline. Captains met midfield for the coin toss.
Miami won and chose to receive. The Jets would kick off, giving them first possession in the second half.
"Special team—out!"
Coach Melos barked the order, sending his eleven-man unit onto the turf.
"Remember—kick it deep. Don't give them a return," Edwards barked at Lex Teshinem, the starting return man.
Teshinem, who wasn't exactly on friendly terms with Zhao Dong, nodded and jogged out. His former backup, Winston John—the guy who'd clashed with Zhao Dong—had been traded. Now, Zhao Dong was next in line behind him.
---
In the Stands
"Damn—Zhao's not returning kicks?" Jordan groaned. "I should've taken that bet."
Larry Johnson and Oakley both nodded, knowing Barkley would've been the one begging to borrow Zhao's $500 million yacht—not a 20-foot fishing boat.
Barkley grinned smugly, though inside he was relieved.
---
Teshinem followed orders, blasting the ball out of the end zone. Miami would start from their own 20-yard line.
Special teams cleared, and the Jets' defense trotted out. Zhao Dong was lined up at linebacker, ready for the first snap.
Quarterback Minsk Reuben crouched in the huddle, eyes sharp. "Alright, listen up. Luka, middle seam route. I'll put it high—don't drop it."
Tight end Luka Rex thumped his chest. "Got it."
Reuben turned to Brent Lint. "Brent, pull coverage to the right. They'll be all over you."
Lint grinned. "Don't worry. Those clowns will chase me all night."
They broke the huddle and moved into formation. The opening battle was about to begin.
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