The arrival of the Croatian prodigy made Mostar Zrinjski’s home games much more popular.
Games that normally had an attendance of around 600 people suddenly surged to over 900, nearly filling the entire stands.
Most residents of the Mostar Region came for the reputation of the so-called ’Croatian prodigy’.
Driven by curiosity, Suk also bought a ticket to watch Modric’s debut in the Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League.
The Modric he remembered had a tough playstyle and ran tirelessly. Despite his slender frame, he still shouldered his midfield defensive duties and, more importantly, served as the team’s organizational core with a formidable ability to direct the game.
Yet in this debut match, Modric’s performance left something to be be desired.
Bearing the title of a prodigy, many expected him to dominate the game and deliver a more outstanding performance.
But over the 90 minutes of the match, Modric’s performance was unremarkable. He had occasional flashes of brilliance, but also took some wasteful shots.
Overall, he didn’t give off the feeling of a super-prodigy.
And in Suk’s perception, compared to the clean and clear way he would organize and handle the ball in the future, the current Modric was a bit more sluggish with his tempo. And there was a sense of... irritability?
That’s right! Irritability!
Suk didn’t know if it was just him, but several of Modric’s passes weren’t very accurate.
They either went to a bizarre spot or were played too fast for his teammates to catch up to.
Of course, Modric was still very sharp when it came to sensing open space, but... his teammates just weren’t on the same wavelength.
Under these circumstances, Modric failed to score a single goal or get an assist in his debut.
Although Mostar Zrinjski ultimately won the match with a goal from their tall center-forward, Kosopech, the game itself was rather dull.
After the match, Suk saw Modric quietly pack his bag and leave by himself, not with the others, looking rather solitary.
The hype around the Croatian prodigy quickly faded.
As for Mostar Town, its people were very interested in new things, but they also forgot them just as quickly.
Starting from Mostar Zrinjski’s second game, attendance dropped to around 700 people, and by the third game, it had completely returned to its previous state.
People stopped talking about the so-called Croatian prodigy, quickly putting the matter out of their minds.
In two weeks, the Mostar Wanderers also played two matches.
Suk came up empty-handed in both games.
This was mainly because he had started to face frequent, tight marking from opponents in recent matches. Some teams even started assigning a player specifically to shadow Suk.
This was basically star-player treatment, and it also demonstrated the threat Suk posed.
Suk was a little happy about this change, but also frustrated.
He was happy his performance was making others take him seriously—after all, mediocrity doesn’t attract envy. On the other hand, it made scoring goals much harder.
Currently, besides his awareness, Suk lacked the physical ability to shake off opponents.
In the end, his scrawny body was the root of his problems.
To fix this, Suk started drinking milk like his life depended on it to get more nutrients.
...
「In a restaurant in Mostar Town.」
Suk sat at a table, tearing into a massive steak.
The steak was a full size larger than his head, dripping with fat, tender and delicious.
Paired with a special sauce and rice, it was absolutely mouthwatering.
Suk took a bite of rice, then a bite of beef, chewing with immense satisfaction.
The bald goalkeeper, Buckqi, rested his chin on his hand and watched Suk.
He was curious how such a small frame could stuff all that food into his stomach.
CHOMP! CHOMP!
"Next... game, I’m gonna... I’m gonna teach that gorilla a lesson!"
Suk muttered indignantly, his mouth stuffed full of beef and rice.
The bald keeper, Buckqi, shook his head. "He’s not a gorilla. His name is Dirac, and his skin is just a bit darker. Besides, he didn’t maliciously foul you at all. You just couldn’t compete with him physically."
GLUG GLUG GLUG...
Suk tilted his head back and chugged his milk, licking the last drops from the corner of his mouth. He turned and shot Buckqi a sideways glance. "Whose side are you on? Why don’t you play for the other team next game? I’ll light you up!"
Then he muttered, "If you’d let in one less goal, we wouldn’t have lost."
Buckqi was suddenly a bit embarrassed.
The truth was, even while being tightly marked, Suk had still created a shooting opportunity and assisted Mulinar’s goal, putting them in the lead.
But in the second half, Buckqi’s butterfingers struck again. He fumbled the ball twice in a row, allowing the opponent to score on the rebound, which ultimately led to the other team’s comeback.
"Alright, it was my fault. Why don’t you guys find another keeper?" Buckqi said with a shrug.
Suk retorted irritably, "With our team’s pitiful salaries, who would want to come?"
Most of the Mostar Wanderers players were residents of the town and surrounding villages. They couldn’t even be called professional players. Although they were registered on the Football Association’s roster, they all had their own day jobs. Soccer was just a side gig.
Mulinar was a carpenter who ran a woodworking shop in town.
Buckqi ran this very restaurant; he was a cook, and his goalkeeping skills were just like his day job—he served up goals on a platter!
Head Coach Oripé was the town’s gym teacher, moonlighting as the team’s Head Coach.
To be honest, Suk doubted Oripé even had a coaching license. The guy’s philosophy clearly conflicted with modern soccer concepts.
In a sport that pursues Explosive Power and fast transitions between offense and defense, he always emphasized the importance of stamina, even believing it was the sole factor in winning.
This led to him preferring mules with incredible endurance over swift horses.
His tactical philosophy was ’As long as we wear down the opponent’s stamina, victory will be ours!’
Suk went back to shoveling rice, wiping the bowl clean with the last of the beef gravy. Only then did he say with a long face, "Forget it. We’ll try again next season. There’s no hope of promotion this season."
The Bosnia and Herzegovina Second League had just started operating. There were currently only seven teams, playing a triple round-robin format.
Because of this, a season only had 18 rounds of matches.
They were now at round 14. With only four rounds left in the league, the Mostar Wanderers were a full 15 points behind the first-place team. Even if they won all four remaining matches and the other team lost all four, they still couldn’t win the title, meaning they couldn’t be promoted.
This meant they would still be playing in the Bosnia and Herzegovina Second League next season.
"There’s even less of a chance next season. The captain isn’t playing next season," Buckqi said with a sigh.
Suk’s eyes widened. "He’s not playing? Why?"
Mulinar was their midfield core, the key passer Suk relied on.
’If Mulinar hangs up his boots, the Mostar Wanderers’ offense will plummet. With no one to pass to me, how the hell am I supposed to score?’
"The captain is already 35. What more do you expect?" Buckqi shook his head. "Next season, you’ll be the one to lead us to victory."
"Lead my ass!" Suk cursed. "Once my contract is up this season, I’m out of here!"
Buckqi was speechless.
But he believed Suk was capable of doing just that. Besides, to facilitate player movement, contracts in the Bosnia and Herzegovina Second League were signed on a one-year basis. They held no binding power over the players; whether they stayed was a matter of their own volition and emotional ties.
Once Mulinar stopped playing, Suk really might just leave.
"Where are you gonna run off to? Who wants a 150-centimeter-tall center-forward?!" Buckqi said, shaking his head.
Suk pursed his lips. "To Sarajevo. I’ll sign a contract with Sarajevo FC first. I’ve scored so many goals against them, they know I’m useful. Most importantly, that’s a big city with more professional soccer coaches. They’ll understand my value better, so... so..."
As he spoke, Suk’s confidence began to waver.
Buckqi, however, had a grin on his face. The entire Bosnia and Herzegovina Football scene prized height, strength, and speed. It was no exaggeration to say that even Inzaghi, stripped of his halo and fame, might not find a team to play for in Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Suk hung his head, utterly dejected.
’Why is it so hard just to play some soccer?’
He glanced at his reflection in the glass. Sitting on the bench, his feet didn’t even touch the ground.
Suk grew even more depressed!
THUD!
Suk hopped off the bench and turned to walk out of the restaurant.
"Hey! What about the bill?"
Buckqi yelled after him.
Suk turned back, walked into the kitchen, and came out holding two iron basins. He then walked out of the restaurant with them.
"Let me borrow these for a bit! I’m going to go earn some money. I’ll pay you for the meal tonight!"
As April arrived, the weather in Mostar grew warmer.
The midday sun warmed the body through and through.
It was the season of renewal, and Mostar’s tourist season had arrived. Every day, batches of tourists came to visit, boosting the town’s economy.
During this season, the town became noticeably livelier.
Mostar is most famous for its old bridge.
It is, after all, a city named after a bridge.
The Neretva River flows through Mostar Town, dividing it in two, and connecting the two sides is the famous Old Bridge of Mostar.
The entire bridge is arched, with its highest point a full ten meters above the river.
This old bridge was a beautiful part of the town’s scenery and also the place that attracted the most tourists.
Both sides of the old bridge were crowded with tourists. The weather was perfect today—not a cloud in the sky. It was a great day for a dip in the water.
BANG! BANG! BANG!!!
A sudden, piercing noise shattered the town’s tranquility.
The tourists turned to look, their furrowed brows gradually showing expressions of confusion.
They saw a boy who looked to be 13 or 14 years old, energetically banging two iron basins together to attract their attention.
When everyone was looking at him, the boy spoke two sentences in broken English.
"Give me money!"
Then he pointed to the river below the old bridge. "Jump!"
The crowd looked at the boy in astonishment. His face was boyish, and his frame was rather scrawny.
They looked back at the old bridge, which was over ten meters high. Just looking down from the top was enough to give one a fear of heights, but this little guy was going to dive from here?