The next morning, while Zhao Dong was still asleep in his hotel bed, the sports world was already buzzing about him.
"Zhao Picks Off Peyton Five Times—An Interception Machine is Born."
That was the headline in The New York Times, which also handed Zhao Dong a brand-new nickname.
The New York Sports Daily went with: "Armed With a Cannon Arm—Tyrannosaurus Could Be the NFL's Next Phenomenal QB. Jets Have Struck Gold!"
The Los Angeles Daily News was more playful: "Rainbow Pass Served Hot—Tyrannosaurus kills the Colts."
The strangest headline came from an unexpected place: The Wall Street Journal. Normally nowhere near sports, the paper had apparently been starved for gossip because Lindsay—pregnant and out of the public eye for two months—was married to Zhao Dong. Their headline screamed: "Mrs. Lindsay's Husband Vows to Hunt Down and Destroy the Amazing Tom—Brady, Are You Ready to Surrender?"
---
That same morning, Bingle Nestor, NFL editor for New York Sports Daily, posted his Yahoo! column:
"The Raptors looked even sharper in Game 2 than in their opener—more highlights, more impact. In the final seconds, he turned the tide, sealing the Jets' comeback win.
His versatility reminds me of his NBA days—dominant across the board. All he needs now is the seasoning of a rookie season, and he'll explode into full NFL stardom.
My advice to the Jets: make the trades now. Build the best roster you can around him. Once Zhao matures, this team could be Super Bowl-bound."
---
Meanwhile, in Foxborough, the head coach of the Jets' next opponent—Bill Belichick—was giving his own assessment.
"Zhao is tough," Belichick said flatly. "On the basketball court, on the football field—it doesn't matter.
"He can play in all three phases—offense, defense, special teams. In some games, he'll line up at multiple positions within the same unit, creating mismatch after mismatch. That's what elite all-around athleticism does—it lets you beat people in ways they're not ready for.
"Of course," he added with that familiar Belichick shrug, "we still believe we can beat the Jets. We've got the confidence."
---
On the afternoon of the 15th, the Jets flew back to New York. Their next matchup was a Thursday night game on the 18th—nationally televised under the lights.
On the 16th, General Manager Maureen Phillips pulled the trigger on a deal: kick returner Lex Teshinem—long rumored to want out—was traded for a backup offensive lineman.
Inside the locker room, the only remaining vocal critic of Zhao Dong was star safety Kaneki Lewis, the defensive captain.
When Lewis heard about Teshinem's departure, the isolation hit him hard. After talking it over with his agent, he requested a trade of his own.
Phillips agreed—but finding the right deal would take time. His eyes were already on a target: Lions defensive enforcer Herb Hanks.
Hanks was a beast—6'1", 352 pounds of muscle and menace, a black-and-white mixed-race veteran entering his prime at 25. No history of locker room drama, no racial issues—exactly the type the Jets wanted anchoring their defense.
Problem was, Detroit wasn't letting him go cheap. They wanted Lewis and the Jets' second-round draft pick for next year.
Phillips balked. A second-rounder was premium real estate—it could be the ticket to finally landing a top-tier quarterback prospect. And Phillips had been chasing one for years. He knew the Lions didn't really care about Lewis. The pick was what they were after.
That morning, after staring at Bingle Nestor's article for the second time, Phillips finally exhaled, muttered a curse, and picked up the phone.
---
"Herman," he told head coach Herm Edwards, "you're getting a new middle linebacker."
"Let Zhao take a look at him," Edwards replied without hesitation.
By that afternoon, the trade was official: Herb Hanks—one of the league's top five defensive linemen—was a New York Jet.
---
On the 17th, Hanks arrived in New York, signed his paperwork, and was in uniform for practice that very afternoon.
When Zhao Dong saw him in person, it was clear why the man had his reputation. Built like a bear, radiating sheer physical dominance, eyes cold and unblinking—like a lion daring you to step into his territory.
One word summed him up: power.
Edwards slid him straight into the middle linebacker role—just one yard behind the two defensive tackles. Less than a meter from the line of scrimmage, exactly where a predator like him could do the most damage.
Simply put, Herb "Bloodslaughter" Hanks was the kind of defensive lineman who made life easier for the guy behind him. His job? Blow up the opposing O-line, break the blockade, and give Zhao Dong a clean lane to the quarterback.
In the first two games, Zhao Dong hadn't recorded a single sack—not because he'd lost a step, but because the Jets' interior couldn't collapse the pocket fast enough. He'd have to fight through the tight end himself before even thinking about touching the QB, and by then, it was too late.
Now, with Hanks in front of him, it was different. If Bloodslaughter could crack the line, Zhao Dong would have a straight shot into enemy territory.
After a brief chat with Hanks, Zhao Dong liked what he saw. No side-eye, no offhand comments, no subtle digs—no trace of racial bias in the man's words or body language.
"Herb," Zhao Dong said, "after we play the Patriots tomorrow, you should come out on my yacht for a couple days."
Hanks grinned wide. "Oh, you mean that yacht? The most luxurious private boat in the world? I saw the photos a few days ago—looked like a floating palace. Man, I was jealous."
Despite being built like a bear, Hanks' animated expressions and big gestures made him feel more like Shaquille O'Neal than an intimidating defensive enforcer.
"Zhao, what about us?" Thor called out from across the locker room. "We want in!"
"Haha—of course you're coming," Zhao Dong laughed.
---
That afternoon, Herm Edwards put the defense through a crash course in single-gap and double-gap schemes. The idea was simple: use the interior linemen to hammer the gaps between offensive guards and tackles, bust the pocket, and give linebackers or edge rushers a free run at the quarterback.
The Jets hadn't recorded a single sack in their first two games—a problem. Without pressure, opposing QBs had too much time, too clean a look. In the NFL, the quarterback is the brain of the offense. Disrupt him, force hurried throws, and you control the game.
---
Bang!
Hanks exploded off the snap, ramming between two substitute O-linemen. One was bulldozed straight to the turf, the other staggered and lost his position.
Zhao Dong shot through the open lane like a tiger pouncing downhill. The offensive pocket collapsed instantly.
Bang!
Two steps later, Welin Paul—standing five yards deep—was retreating under pressure. He never got the throw off. Zhao Dong wrapped him up and drove him into the grass.
"Beautiful!"
"Well done!"
Shouts of praise echoed across the practice field.
"Damn it, Zhao, trying to kill me?" Welin Paul groaned, pinned so hard his face was turning blue before Zhao Dong let him up.
By the end of the session, the defense was a different beast. Quarterbacks were feeling heat on nearly every snap, and the offense's rhythm was breaking apart.
From the sideline, GM Maureen Phillips watched with a satisfied smile. For the first time since the trade, she felt no regret about giving up that draft pick.
---
Game day. Thursday, the 18th.
At noon, the Patriots rolled into New York and set up shop at their hotel.
During the press conference, a New York Sports Daily reporter went straight for the headline grabber:
"Tom, did you see The Wall Street Journal piece? Zhao says he's going to 'capture and kill' you. No comment from you in two days—are you ready to surrender?"
Tom Brady chuckled. No longer the green kid from his rookie days, the league's most famous quarterback knew how to play the media game.
"As a defensive player, his job is to try and sack me," Brady said evenly. "Just like my job is to throw touchdown passes. Nothing to respond to."
"So do you think he can get to you?" the reporter pushed.
Brady paused. "They've added Herb Hanks, so the Jets' defense is back to where it was last season. Zhao moves like a top-tier wide receiver. From the linebacker spot, if the pocket breaks… yeah, it could get dangerous."
"You mean, you might actually get sacked by him?" another pressed.
"I'm going to do my best to avoid getting sacked by any defensive player," Brady said with a grin.
---
Then the focus shifted to the Patriots' own pass-rushing star, Newman "Man-Eating Shark" Dakal.
"Newman, Raptor's looking to take back the sack lead. Your thoughts?"
Dakal's voice was ice cold. "He's dreaming. That Chinese guy spent the Colts game picking on cornerbacks and safeties. Coward move. Let's see him line up across from me."
The room buzzed instantly.
"Are you taking a shot at him, Dakal? Aren't you worried about firing him up?" a reporter shouted over the noise.
Dakal didn't flinch. "Does he have the guts to face me without hiding behind his blockers? He can hire a battalion of bodyguards to keep him safe, but I'll still show the world he's a coward on the field. He won't have the nerve to go head-to-head."
His tone left zero room for doubt—there was no respect in it at all.
(End of Chapter)
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