Suk earned a lot from that one diving performance, enough to not have to worry for a good half a month.
The dive had almost no ill effects on him.
Although he wasn’t growing much taller, his physical condition was truly excellent. He’d rarely ever had a cold or fever since he was little, making him an easy child to raise.
Otherwise, during the turbulent years of war in Croatia that stemmed from the breakup of Yugoslavia, getting sick was basically a death sentence.
The lives of children in the orphanage weren’t worth much; everything came down to fate.
In the old director’s words, Suk was a child blessed by God. After all, of the children in his group, only a handful had survived the war.
"Meal money!"
Suk swaggered over and slapped the money on the table. Before Buckqi could say a word, he turned and bolted.
By the time Buckqi came storming out, Suk had already darted out of the restaurant, zipped into an alley, and vanished from sight.
"You little bastard! You’re still short 5 Marks!"
There was no sign of Suk on the empty street. Buckqi shook his head in resignation, then couldn’t help but crack a smile.
The truth was, they looked out for the kid.
Despite all the bickering, they knew how hard it must be for a boy his age to make a living for himself while playing soccer here.
Or perhaps it was because they had all lived through those devastating years of war, had seen too much death, separation, and tragedy. Watching a bright young man like Suk seemed to soothe the scars on their hearts.
In their playful bickering, they found a sense of comfortable stability and inner peace.
In fact, many of the Croats living in Bosnia and Herzegovina were refugees who had fled there during that period.
Suk weaved left and right through the alleys, navigating the intricate labyrinth of paths with a fluidity that suggested he had a bird’s-eye view. He finally arrived at a house on the edge of town.
The small house was about 80 square meters, with white walls and red tiles, built along the Neretva River just like the neighboring houses.
From the outside, it looked clean and tidy. But the moment Suk opened the door, a wave of smells—stale smoke, alcohol, and the thick stench of body odor—hit him in the face.
Suk seemed used to it. He grabbed a pair of soccer cleats from a tool rack by the entryway.
They were his cleats. Though very worn, they were still kept spotlessly clean.
Suk then rummaged through a plastic crate on the floor and pulled out something that resembled a soccer ball.
Why "resembled"? Because it was just a dark, cloth ball.
The white leather panels that had once been glued to it had completely peeled off, leaving behind a dark, fabric-like underlayer. The whole ball looked limp and deflated.
Suk gave it a gentle squeeze. He didn’t dare press too hard, afraid the tattered old ball couldn’t take the pressure and would simply pop.
Feeling it still had enough air, Suk immediately grabbed the ball, turned to leave, and shouted towards the other room, "Oripé, I’m heading out!"
There was no response from the room. Suk paid it no mind, turned, closed the door, and left.
After leaving the house, Suk walked for about another 1,000 meters until he reached an open area.
It was an abandoned factory.
During the time of Former Yugoslavia, this region had a long coastline with numerous ports.
Mostar had been a prosperous city back then, serving as an overland transit hub for goods.
But with the dissolution of Former Yugoslavia and the independence of Bosnia and Herzegovina, the country was left with only a single port. As a result, this transit area fell into ruin.
Left untended for years, the entire factory was now overgrown with weeds, some of which were as tall as Suk.
However, one section had been paved with concrete, so it was still relatively flat.
Suk sat on the ground and put on his battered cleats, the studs nearly worn smooth. Only then did he pick up the tattered ball and walk to the center of the makeshift field.
Suk took a deep breath. He still hadn’t had a chance to truly feel the effects of the ability from his last card draw—the Red Card.
[Tolister’s Short Pass]!
As the number 10 and core player for Sarajevo Club, Tolister was their undisputed star.
His short passes were incisive and extremely threatening.
Playing as the team’s attacking midfielder, Tolister was famous for his Dribbling and passing. His Dribbling was a powerful weapon for disrupting the opponent’s defense, and his passes could slice through their back line like a knife.
Suk had seen Tolister play in broadcasts of the Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League.
In one match, Tolister was the core of Sarajevo’s passing progression, leading to a goal in a 14-pass sequence that went from their own half to the opponent’s net.
And Tolister himself was involved in eight of those 14 passes.
You could say Tolister linked the team’s entire attack with his passing, which ultimately led to the goal.
The consistency of his short passing was what made him such a potent weapon for advancing the ball.
’Of course, passing isn’t just about technique; it also requires awareness.’
’Although I don’t have Tolister’s passing awareness, I have Inzaghi’s sense of positioning. I’m incredibly sensitive to open spaces and congested areas.’
’I can pass the ball to the side with less pressure, into a safe zone, or use an open lane to deliver a pass that splits the defense.’
’These can all be my weapons!’
’A center forward does more than just shoot!’
’In modern soccer, tactical thinking leads most teams to choose center forwards who are fast, tough, and ruthless.’
’Of course, there are also unorthodox forwards like Inzaghi, but players like Ronaldo are the mainstream.’
’I dream of being like Ronaldo, but with my current physique, I have to choose a path that suits me.’
’Center forwards today need to break through defensive lines and they need to shoot.’
’But the center forward of the future will be defined by one thing: being all-purpose!’
’Able to shoot, pass, and win the ball back.’
’When it’s time to be tough, you have to be like Drogba, the team’s battering ram.’
’When it’s time to play with finesse, you drop back, orchestrate the attack, and distribute the ball to the wings.’
’You need physical skill, but you need even more skill with your feet!’
Thinking about all this, Suk placed the ball in front of him and tried to feel the changes in his body.
Since he wasn’t in a match, Suk couldn’t practice passing combinations with anyone, but he could still feel a huge difference in how the ball felt coming off his foot.
The power, precision, and angle of his passes—concepts that were once hazy to him—suddenly felt crystal clear.
Suk lifted his right foot and suddenly chopped down on the ball.
It was a chop pass.
He brought the top of his foot down on the ball, causing it to roll forward while spinning violently on the ground.
After traveling a certain distance, the friction from the backspin would cause it to decelerate sharply.
When used to pass to a player running forward, it could create the effect seen in professional matches on TV, where the ball seems to stop and wait for the player to run onto it.
After getting a feel for the chop pass, Suk switched to his other foot.
’Tolister is ambidextrous. If I inherited his Short Pass skill, does that make me two-footed too?’
But clearly, he was getting ahead of himself. As he watched the ball sail into the weeds, Suk had to abandon the idea of being suddenly two-footed.
’Looks like I’ll have to practice with my weak foot the old-fashioned way!’
Still, Tolister’s Short Pass ability had given him a transformative experience.
In future matches, he wouldn’t have to just run wide to avoid physical challenges. He could drop back to receive a pass from a teammate and, when the time was right, initiate a secondary attack.
Mostar Wanderers’ attacks were initiated solely by Mulinar, which made their offensive patterns monotonous and easy for opponents to read.
But with Suk in the mix, they could create secondary attacks in the final third.
He and Mulinar could even use coordinated overlapping runs to further disrupt the opponent’s defense. If they used it well, they could even create a dual-playmaker system.
At this thought, Suk began to practice with even greater enthusiasm.
Finding the right path for himself was crucial.
But with his limited height, the role of a traditional center forward seemed hopelessly out of reach, which often left Suk feeling lost.
That’s why he was so excited after getting Tolister’s Short Pass skill.
His excitement came from having found a path that suited him.
A center forward who drops deep to orchestrate the play!
If necessary, he could even play as a winger, since his Speed was pretty good.
A winger who combines attacking runs from deep, creative passing, and defensive pressing—such players weren’t common now, but they would be in high demand in the future.
「That evening」
Suk returned to Oripé’s house.
The house was dimly lit. Oripé was sitting in front of the television, engrossed in a soccer match, seemingly oblivious to Suk’s return.
Suk went into the bathroom for a quick rinse, then changed his clothes and came out of his room. He took four slices of bread and some thick slices of ham from the refrigerator. After warming everything up, he slathered them with ketchup and started eating, one sandwich in each hand.
"What match is this?"
Suk asked, walking up behind Oripé.
Without looking away from the screen, Oripé replied, "The FA Cup. Arsenal versus Liverpool."
Suk glanced at the score and saw that Liverpool had scored first. It was 1-0.
"Who scored?"
Suk asked.
Oripé answered with a grimace, "Owen. The guy’s just too fast!"
At this point in time, Owen had just won the 2001 Ballon d’Or. He was a bona fide superstar, shining brightly.
His ability and performance were terrifying, and his talent was plain for all to see.
At this point in his career, Owen was unrealistically good.
His Speed was especially fearsome. Paired with Liverpool’s high-impact lineup, they relentlessly attacked Arsenal’s defense.
But Arsenal was no pushover.
When you watched Arsenal play, you had to look at the team as a whole. The link-up between the front line of Henry, Pires, and Bergkamp and the midfield was excellent, and the connection between the midfield and the defense was just as seamless.
This was why Arsenal was able to control possession.
Suk watched the match while eating his homemade sandwiches.
He relied on his Inzaghi-like awareness to constantly analyze the flow of the game.
Liverpool’s attacks were fierce, but they couldn’t break through Arsenal’s defense again. As a result, they were expending a huge amount of energy on counter-attacks. At the same time, being forced into a passive defensive posture increased the pressure and drained their stamina even further.
Meanwhile, Arsenal was like a slowly encroaching tide, relentlessly pushing their attack forward.
"Liverpool’s in trouble," Suk muttered.
Oripé frowned. "Liverpool has the advantage..."
The words had barely left his mouth when Arsenal’s midfielder, Vieira, launched into a vicious sliding tackle, taking down both ball and man before Owen could even get up to speed.
In that same motion, Arsenal launched their attack.
If Liverpool’s offense was a study in violent aesthetics, then Arsenal’s was a captivating tango.
The ball moved constantly between the Arsenal players, with Bergkamp, in particular, acting as the focal point of their passing in the final third.
Their advance was like a swarm of butterflies dancing through a flower garden—beautiful, yet deadly.
Arsenal pushed forward, and Liverpool kept retreating. By the time they realized the danger, Bergkamp had already carried the ball into the penalty box.
Facing pressure from a defender, Bergkamp faked a shot. After baiting the defender into a block, he turned and flicked the ball with his heel.
The ball threaded through a crowd of players and arrived perfectly at Henry’s feet.
Facing an open goal, Henry calmly tapped the ball in for the score.
"Beautiful!"
"Perfect!"
Suk and Oripé exclaimed in unison.
The entire sequence was the pinnacle of beauty. This was Arsene Wenger’s Arsenal, a club that played the beautiful game to perfection.