Back at the home field next to the farm, the place was still in a state of disrepair. The pitch hadn’t been maintained at all.
Although the Mostar Wanderers were a Second Division League team, the old saying still held true: in all of Bosnia and Herzegovina, anything below the Super League was basically amateur.
Many of the Mostar Wanderers players had their own full-time jobs, which meant they didn’t have much time for practice.
Their one training session per week was the only chance they had to build chemistry.
And on this day, the players would drop everything to gather at the field.
Around one in the afternoon, the players started trickling in.
The Mostar Wanderers only had 12 players, which allowed them to run 6v6 scrimmages during their internal training sessions.
But today, something unexpected happened.
"Buckqi called out. Said he’s not feeling well today."
Mulinar said to Oripé.
Oripé put a hand to his forehead, a helpless look on his face.
’With so few players, our margin for error is razor-thin.’
In the Second Division League, it wasn’t unheard of for matches to be canceled because a team couldn’t field enough players, let alone hold a training session.
"It’s fine. I’ll take his spot."
Oripé took off his jacket. The Head Coach was about to step onto the pitch.
Everyone gathered around as Oripé began to explain the tactics.
"Alright, fellas, we’re changing up our playstyle today."
Oripé said, "Our playmaking has always run through Mulinar, and only Mulinar. This time, we’re going to add a second playmaker."
"Me! Me!"
Suk eagerly stepped forward. "I’ll be the playmaker up front."
Everyone stared at Suk in surprise, including Mulinar.
"You think you can handle it?"
Mulinar asked curiously.
Suk gave a thumbs-up. "If I can, how about you stick around for another half-season?"
Mulinar froze for a second, then scratched his cheek.
Normally, seeing someone’s hesitation would be enough to drop the subject.
But Suk was relentless. "Just half a season. If you still feel like you can’t go on after that, I’ll leave with you."
Mulinar looked over at Oripé, who pursed his lips and said, "You can manage half a season, right?"
Mulinar thought for a moment before sighing. "Fine. Half a season. But that’s my absolute limit."
Hearing this, smiles broke out on everyone’s faces.
Mulinar was too important to the team. Suk was confident that in half a season, he could improve enough to take the reins from Mulinar.
"Let’s get started!"
With a wave of his hand from Suk, everyone started walking onto the pitch.
At the same time, a hooded young man walked through an archway at the edge of the field.
’A game is going on?’
Modric walked in curiously. He soon spotted the Mostar Wanderers players in the middle of their training session.
There was a huge gulf between the Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League and the first division, which was why newly promoted teams were usually sent packing right back down in miserable fashion every year.
And the gap to the Second Division League was even wider.
After watching for a short while, Modric shook his head.
’Poor discipline, not enough chemistry, sloppy defending...’
Modric assessed.
’A complete mess.’
’Still, some of these players aren’t bad.’
’For instance, the number 10 in midfield. He’s old, but his fundamentals are solid. His passing and receiving are smooth, and his distribution is reasonable. But he lacks vision and holds onto the ball for too long, costing the team chances to counter-attack.’
’As for that short guy up front... what is he running around for?’
Modric stood on the sideline, watching Suk’s positioning with curiosity. From a distance, it looked vaguely familiar.
Just then, Suk suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs, "No! No! That’s not the right feel for it!"
Suk’s shouts brought the play to a halt. He walked over to Mulinar. "Chief, pass it to me! Not into space, pass it to my feet."
Mulinar gave a wry smile. "Can you even hold it up? You’ve got Roten Mashiqi right behind you."
Suk glanced over. The one-point-nine-meter-tall Roten Mashiqi raised an eyebrow at him and flexed his pecs, as if putting on a show.
"Don’t worry about him. Just give me the ball."
Mulinar shook his head. "Alright, I get it."
The match resumed. Suk moved back and forth constantly. When he saw Mulinar push forward, Suk immediately dropped back to receive the ball.
Mulinar saw him and immediately made the pass.
Suk received the ball and continued to dribble back.
Instead of stopping or turning, he tried to take a wide loop, using his agility to get around Roten Mashiqi’s defense.
By the time he finally got past him and was ready to pass, the space up front was completely empty.
"Where is everyone?"
Suk yelled.
When he turned to look, both wingers were level with him, and Mulinar hadn’t pushed forward after making the pass.
Suk was so furious he could have spit blood.
But he had no choice but to press on, only to be taken down by the defenders.
And this same scene repeated itself over and over.
The players had no idea what Suk was trying to do, but from the sidelines, Modric found it increasingly strange.
’Why aren’t they pushing forward?’
’That short forward has already drawn the defenders out of position, pulling them toward the flank.’
’But the winger isn’t cutting into the middle to form an attacking triangle with him.’
’And the midfielder who made the pass has no intention of moving up either.’
’They’re going to run that short guy into the ground.’
Suk didn’t give up. He kept running, constantly shouting directions to his teammates.
However, the play on the field only grew more chaotic.
Suk’s fighting spirit was high. He firmly believed that if they just kept working on their chemistry, they still had a chance to win.
But while Suk could keep going, Oripé could not.
HURK!
The sound of retching filled the air.
Suk stopped the ball with his foot and turned to see Oripé squatting on the sidelines, his body shaking violently.
He had clearly exhausted himself, running until he threw up.
By the time the others gathered around him, Oripé’s face was flushed and he was gasping like an ox.
"I... I’m done... Can’t... can’t run anymore."
Oripé could barely get the words out.
Clearly, this level of exertion was too much for Oripé.
The players looked at each other. How were they supposed to train now that they were short a man?
"There’s someone over there!"
Suk suddenly pointed to the sidelines.
Everyone turned to look.
At the same time, Modric saw what was happening.
In a flash, Suk darted over.
"Hey, come play with us! We’re a man down!"
Suk said, plain and simple.
Modric was about to refuse, but Suk just grabbed him and started pulling him over.
"I..."
Modric was dragged all the way over to the group. Suk announced loudly:
"He agreed!"
Modric’s eyes widened.
’I don’t remember agreeing to that!’
But Suk was already assigning him a position.
"How about you play midfield? With your build, you can’t be a defender!"
Modric had a slender build, only a little taller than Suk.
Modric had a rather shy personality, so he just gave a slight nod.
’It’s not a real match, just a kick-about. Shouldn’t be a problem.’
’Besides, training by myself is pretty boring.’
’Most importantly, I’m curious what this guy is trying to accomplish.’
Modric recognized him now—it was the kid who had jumped off the old bridge. He just hadn’t expected him to be a soccer player.
"Aren’t you going to take off your jacket?"
Suk asked, pointing at the parka that was obscuring Modric’s face.
Modric shook his head gently. "No need."
His tone was casual, yet brimming with confidence.
Soon, Oripé was off the pitch, and Modric took up a position behind Suk.
When the match restarted, Modric immediately immersed himself in the game.
Modric wasn’t running intensely, but he always kept his head up, a stark contrast to most of the other players, who were looking down at the ball.
On his first touch, Modric simply laid the ball off to the right flank, not holding onto it at all.
But in the next second, instead of staying put, he made a run forward.
"Pass!"
Seeing that his team’s winger was under pressure, Modric immediately called for the ball.
Vitolic, holding off the opposing full-back, immediately passed the ball.
By then, the center-back was already moving up to close him down.
Modric took it all in. With a slight step back, he let the ball run through his legs.
The whole move was understated, performed with effortless grace.
"Whoa!"
From the sidelines, Oripé, who was sitting on the ground, couldn’t help but gasp in amazement.
Even Mulinar on the pitch couldn’t help but murmur, "Beautiful."
When they turned to look, Suk already had the ball and had burst through the gap between the two center-backs. He quickly charged into the penalty box and unleashed a shot with his right foot.
However, the shot lacked power and was saved by the keeper.
AHHH!!!
Suk clutched his head in frustration, his face a mask of regret.
But in the end, he still gave Modric a thumbs-up.
"Great pass."
Modric gave a slight nod.
’A training match at this level presents no difficulty or pressure for me.’
’After all, I don’t even think much of the Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League.’
After seeing Modric’s brilliant display, his new teammates started to trust him, frequently passing him the ball.
Suk also began to drop back intentionally.
When Modric saw Suk, he immediately passed him the ball.
The pass wasn’t particularly fast; Modric had intended to play a one-two, a quick give-and-go, with Suk.
But instead, Suk took the ball with a sideways touch, turned to a side-on stance, and shielded the ball with his back to Modric.
’He’s not planning to play it back to me.’
Modric frowned slightly.
But the next second, Suk hit a sharp, cutting pass.
The ball zipped through the gap between center-back Kobaro and full-back Bastoci, landing perfectly in the open space on the wing. It was collected by the onrushing winger, Maslozic, who immediately charged into the penalty box.
"WHOA!!!—"
That brilliant through-ball made Oripé cry out again, and he couldn’t help but jump to his feet.
The others had much the same reaction.
After all, from any angle, it was a beautiful pass.
But for Modric, the pass was even more stunning.
It wasn’t just the pass itself. The key was the little guy’s vision and tactical awareness.
’He used me as a decoy to pass the ball into a more dangerous area.’
’If that wasn’t a fluke, then he has the vision and talent of a top-tier midfielder.’