That morning, Zhao Dong kept refreshing the system, waiting for his game assignment. Finally, at noon, the mission appeared.
Superstar Sniper Mission: Target—Tom Brady
Requirements:
Sack Brady twice.
Intercept Brady three times.
Force five bad throws.
Return one interception for a touchdown.
Score two touchdowns.
Rewards:
Complete all: earn a full serious-injury recovery ability.
Complete 4: unlock Brady's long-pass skills.
Complete any 3: gain five skill points.
"Great. They're basically forcing me to check off at least three of these," Zhao Dong muttered.
Brady's long-pass skills tempted him, but the Jets had bigger problems. Even with Hanks in the fold, their wide receiver corps was thin. Without strong receivers, no QB—no matter how good—could fully unleash a passing attack.
That meant ground offense was still the Jets' bread and butter. With starter Weylin Paul being an average passer at best, Zhao Dong knew his biggest contributions would come as a running back and wideout.
After reviewing the mission, he checked his collision counter: 14 in the opener, just 5 in the second game. Nineteen total. Still a long road before leveling up.
---
"Dad! Tons of reporters outside!"
His fourth son, Rongxing, burst into the room, shouting.
Zhao Dong grinned. "Really? Well, Dad's headed to practice. Don't fight with your brothers while I'm gone, or the older three will straighten you out."
This kid was his favorite—strongest of the four, with a personality most like his own. Plus, unlike the other three, Zhao Dong could actually tell him apart without asking.
Outside the villa, reporters swarmed the driveway as his motorcade rolled out. Cameras flashed, microphones shoved forward. Zhao Dong cracked his window just enough to answer.
A question about Newman "Man-Eating Shark" Dakal's comments came up.
"Coward? Facing him? Is his brain broken? Or does he think mine is?" Zhao Dong smirked. Then he added, "Here's my advice—have him eat more pig brains. They'd suit him."
He rolled the window up, signaling the cars to pull off. Behind, the press corps was left scratching their heads.
"Pig brains? People eat that?" one muttered in disgust.
"Maybe it's perfect for a man-eating shark," another said dryly.
Moments later, the mob was already plotting to chase Dakal for a response.
---
By evening, Giants Stadium was jam-packed. Inside and out, the place was buzzing like a playoff game.
In the visiting locker room, reporters pressed Dakal.
"Dakal, Zhao Dong says pig brains are the perfect food for you. What do you think?"
"What?" Dakal's face twisted in revulsion. "Who the hell eats that garbage? Maybe those Chinese do, but not me. My dog wouldn't even touch that disgusting stuff!" His glare was sharp enough to cut glass.
At 8 p.m., the teams took the field. The Patriots, as hated division rivals, were greeted with a storm of boos, jeers, and middle fingers. Jets fans made sure they felt the hostility.
"Open the gate!"
The home side burst out of the tunnel, helmets gleaming, the ground rumbling under their cleats. The roar from more than 80,000 fans shook the stadium like thunder.
This was prime-time football.
---
Broadcast Booth
On the regional telecast, Russell Neveda and Wells Michael settled into their mics.
Russell opened with the Patriots: "This New England team looks sharp. Two wins to start the season, and they're rolling. Tom already has five touchdown passes, leads the league. In two games, he's thrown for 578 yards, 47 completions, just three picks, and only one sack. He's playing lights out."
Wells chuckled. "And now the headlines say Zhao wants to sack Tom. Russell, think he can pull it off?"
"He'll get him," Russell answered firmly. His hometown bias was clear.
Wells laughed. "Well, our roster's been rebuilt through trades, and the additions of Zhao and Hanks give this team a new edge. If those two bring it tonight, we've got a shot."
Russell nodded. "Remember, we barely scraped by the Colts last week. Lucky win. This time, the Patriots are a tougher opponent. We've got to play sharper."
The coin toss was finished. Weylin Paul called it right, giving the Jets first possession. New England chose their side of the field.
Special teams lined up for the opening kickoff.
Herm Edwards had no hesitation—Zhao Dong was his primary return man. The bigger the game, the more work Zhao had to shoulder.
Across the field, Bill Belichick pulled a card of his own. To strengthen coverage, the Patriots sent out their star defensive end—Newman Dakal—on kickoff duty.
The ball was placed at the 30. The kicker stepped up.
Bang!
The football boomed into the sky, high and deep, carrying a perfect arc toward the Jets' end zone.
---
Broadcast Booth
Russell Neveda's voice sharpened. "That's a high kick, very high. Look at that hang time—it's dropping right toward the end zone!"
His partner Wells Michael added, "That's deliberate. The Patriots are giving their gunners time to get downfield. They want Zhao trapped deep."
---
Zhao Dong shaded his eyes, already backpedaling. He tracked the flight—straight toward the end zone.
He knew the play. It was the same trick the Colts had tried in preseason, hoping to pin him down before he even cleared the red zone. Back then, he'd nearly been buried at the five. Tonight, the Patriots were trying the same poison bait.
If he knelt for a touchback, the Jets would start at the 20. Safe, smart, standard.
But if he ran this out…
The math was clear. He stood two yards in front of the back line. If he took it all the way, it wouldn't just be a touchdown—it'd be a league record. 108 yards. The current mark was 106. His own 105-yard preseason run had come up just short.
The crowd of 80,000 held its breath. Millions more watched on TV as the ball dropped like a missile into his waiting hands.
---
Broadcast Booth
Russell's voice cracked with excitement. "End zone! He's catching it two yards deep—what's the choice of Zhao? Kneel or run?"
---
Zhao Dong's eyes flicked forward. The nearest Patriot—a safety—was already sprinting into the red zone, closing fast. Two more, a cornerback and another safety, were angling from opposite sides.
Three-man wall. First blockade.
If he hesitated, he'd be crushed.
If he played it safe, the fans would groan.
But Zhao Dong wasn't built for safe.
---
He gritted his teeth. I'm no ordinary returner. I'm not going down to a 190-pound safety.
His body tensed, explosive power coiled like a spring.
The decision was made.
He was running it out.
---
Broadcast Booth
Wells leaned forward in his seat. "He's coming out! Oh my—he's not taking the knee! He's going for it!"
Russell shouted over him: "This could be history, folks! But first, he's gotta get through three Patriots waiting to smash him!"
---
The ball tucked tight against his chest, Zhao Dong charged out of the end zone—straight at the first wave.
How would he get through?
(End of Chapter)
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