Chapter 100: Growing in the Wildest Way

Davor Šuker couldn't make it to the first point—he didn't even touch the ball. He shook his head helplessly, a trace of disappointment flashing across his face. If it had been the old him, he would've definitely made it. But as age caught up, and his physical condition declined, his explosiveness had taken a significant hit. "Davor doesn't even feel that push-off anymore!" On the sidelines, Bešić witnessed it and sighed deeply. The Croatian warrior who once tore across the pitch like a storm had now entered the twilight of his career. During that recent burst, Davor Šuker had swung his arms with all his might, but his legs simply couldn't carry his heavy body. But who could blame him? After all, time spares no one. "Boss, don't sweat it! Next time I'll pass to your feet!" Young Šuker shouted to Davor. Davor Šuker replied with a joking curse, "Get lost! Pass it in front of me!" He knew young Šuker was just trying to encourage him. But he was Davor Šuker—he wouldn't lose confidence over a small setback. "Damn it!" Elsewhere, Šibenik's fullback Jaklim looked at young Šuker in shock. That guy's burst and speed were simply out of his league. From the moment of takeoff, Šuker had the advantage. No fancy footwork—just raw speed and explosiveness. And that's exactly what hurt the most. "I can't catch him!" Jaklim admitted it outright. He knew he couldn't rely on brute force. If he got beaten repeatedly, this flank would be wide open. So, he called for help. "I'll give you cover. You stick to him!" Šibenik's center-back Pedra called out. That gave Jaklim some comfort, and he nodded to acknowledge. When play resumed, Jaklim marked Šuker tightly. Any time Šuker got the ball, he was on him instantly, giving no space to turn or break through. Šuker's strength had improved a bit, but still wasn't enough to overpower him. He tried dropping back to create some room, but Jaklim stuck to him like glue. With no other option, Šuker played the ball back. When he turned around, Jaklim grinned menacingly, "I've got you locked down." "You sure about that?" Šuker smiled, then dropped even deeper to midfield and looked back with a taunting gaze. Dare to follow? Jaklim blinked. No way—he wasn't falling for that. That would just give Šuker a long runway, and once he took off, he'd tear into the penalty box with ease. Finally shaking off his marker, Šuker breathed a sigh of relief. He had actually been worried the guy would follow. "Srna! Over here!" Šuker called out. Seeing Šuker in space, Srna immediately passed the ball down the flank. As soon as he received it, two defenders closed in. Šuker quickly passed it to a charging Modrić, who then returned the ball into open space ahead of Šuker. "Watch out! Number 7's making a run!" Midfielder Bascelić shouted. But Šuker didn't move. So the pass was... Whoosh! From behind, fullback Srna overlapped at full speed, charging down the sideline. "Damn it!" Bascelić turned and sprinted back to help defend. Meanwhile, Šuker drifted toward the half-space near the box. As Srna got closed down on the wing, Šuker arrived in the perfect gap. "Šuker!" Srna shouted and threaded the ball between two defenders. The ball slipped through and landed at Šuker's feet. With a single touch, he drove into the penalty area. "He's broken through again!!" "ŠUKER!!" While dribbling, Šuker saw Davor Šuker and Valjević leading the defensive line near the six-yard box. But from the penalty spot to the edge of the box, there was an open gap. Without even looking, he slotted the ball in that direction. "LUKA!!" Right as he called, Modrić made his run, unmarked, and took a powerful shot. The ball deflected off a defender's foot and bounced right back to Šuker. He quickly steadied it and stood firm on the endline. Center-back Pedra lunged to block the danger. But Šuker flicked the ball past him along the endline. Then, as the second center-back, Bastkro, came to challenge, Šuker panicked and flicked the ball again. This time it was pure instinct—a lob to send it somewhere dangerous. The ball floated just over the defender, falling right toward Davor Šuker. Seeing the golden opportunity, Davor didn't hesitate—he twisted and volleyed fiercely. The ball slipped through the keeper's hands and flew into the net. 31st minute—Assist by Šuker, goal by Davor Šuker! ROAAAAAAR!!! Over 2,000 Dinamo Zagreb away fans erupted in cheers. They had taken the lead on enemy ground. Modrić and the others shouted in celebration. A draw? Screw that! They wanted the win! On the sidelines, coach Bešić clapped softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Your provocation worked," said assistant coach Kleiman with a grin. Bešić nodded. "The young ones are easily fired up—but that's a good thing. Their desire to win makes them play harder and better, even if sometimes they get a little hot-headed." Kleiman chuckled, "Except one didn't get fired up." "Šuker?" Bešić laughed. "He doesn't need to be. He's always calm." Kleiman nodded. "He's been amazing." Bešić agreed. "He's exceeded my expectations. Honestly, I just needed him to pressure from the wing, but now—he's become our primary attacking threat." Kleiman asked, "Is that why you had the old Šuker stay back on defense?" Bešić nodded. "It's the younger Šuker who needs growth. And the old Šuker came to me—he offered to step back." Kleiman was shocked. "He offered that?" Veterans like Davor Šuker rarely give up space or responsibility—they're built through competition. For him to voluntarily do that... Bešić smiled. "This is his last season. He wants to pass on his experience—and I agreed with what he said." "What did he say?" "Young players should grow in the wildest way possible." "Pass the ball!" "I'm open!" "Switch sides!" "Shoot!" "Dujmović! SHOOT!" Oooh~!!! Šuker and Srna both covered their eyes. Dujmović blushed as his shot flew miles off-target. He snapped, "Like you guys never missed?!" "At least I don't shoot into orbit," Šuker shrugged. Srna added, "That part doesn't even have stands. He kicked it out of the stadium." "Wow!" Šuker gave a thumbs-up. "Home run!" Embarrassed and angry, Dujmović lunged. "I'll rip your mouths off!" At halftime, Dinamo Zagreb led Šibenik 1–0. In the second half, they dominated even more. Šuker's wing breakthroughs, Srna's overlaps, Vukojević's ball-winning, Modrić's midfield control, Dujmović's timely runs, and Pranjić's rock-solid defense—together they camped out around the box, bombarding it. But with Šibenik bunkering down, clear chances were rare. Until the 81st minute—Davor Šuker scored again with a signature left-footed curling free kick, set up by Srna. Full time: Dinamo Zagreb wins 2–0 away at Šibenik. On the return bus, the players got rowdy. "Look! Three points!" Modrić beamed. Srna added, "And a clean sheet!" Dujmović grinned, "I remember someone said... uh..." From between the seats, coach Bešić shot a deadly glare. "I said it. Got a problem?" His cold voice silenced Dujmović instantly. "Nope! No problem at all!" Šuker looked at the lively team and sighed with his hands in his pockets. "So much energy when you're young!" Davor Šuker glanced at him silently. "You're the youngest one here!" They returned to Zagreb around 10 PM. "I'm off! See you tomorrow!" Modrić waved while holding his dad's hand. Šuker yawned and nodded, then turned to Mandžukić. "Let's go sleep." Mandžukić said, "You go ahead. I'll come later." Šuker gave him a look—Mandžukić had taken a few hits recently and probably needed to vent. Not bothering him further, Šuker returned to his dorm. After a hot shower, he opened his system panel, ready for the post-match lottery. As the familiar interface lit up, he yawned again and rubbed his eyes. When he looked again, five cards had appeared. At the far right—one was glowing faint yellow. A yellow card!! Šuker instantly perked up!