Chapter 108: Help Me

The Zagreb Derby turned out to be the match that truly catapulted Suker into fame. Throughout the game, Suker was the core attacking player for Dinamo Zagreb, delivering one assist and two goals. All four of Dinamo's goals were linked to him. And his performance on the field was nothing short of dazzling. He showed himself to be a true all-rounder—be it his dribbling and breakthroughs on the wings, or his command in orchestrating the offense, Suker stood out brilliantly. But what truly amazed fans was that breathtaking "rainbow pass"! According to Zagreb Sports News, this move had already made waves in the Bosnian league before, and now Suker had brought it to the Croatian league stage. For an 18-year-old to display such excellence was truly thrilling for the fans. Especially since, for Dinamo supporters, Suker was a local boy. Compared to foreign players, Suker naturally felt closer to home for the fans. His popularity skyrocketed so much that even the Croatian sports channel's show Star of the Week featured him. Star of the Week was a widely popular domestic show that highlighted one player each week. And this time, it was Suker's turn. The title of the episode? "The Boy Who Paints Rainbows with His Feet." "My face is about to cramp from all the smiling!" Walking out of the Zagreb TV station office building, Suker rubbed his face. He had gone for what he thought would be a one-on-one interview for Star of the Week, but it turned out to be a panel format. Besides the host, there were several fans present too. He had to keep smiling throughout the show—and by the end, his face was sore. This was the price of fame. Before, all he needed to do was focus on training. But now, with his rising popularity, the club had started tapping into his commercial value. With the buzz around him, they weren't about to waste this media momentum. And Suker's hype wasn't limited to just his performances. His name—Suker—was identical to Davor Šuker's. And in that match, Suker even scored with his left foot. The media latched onto this, and soon Suker found himself dubbed "The Heir to the Golden Left Foot." God knows how far his left foot still was from Davor Šuker's level. "This is the last thing on the schedule today!" Jategenić said with a grin. "There's more?" Suker replied, wide-eyed. "It's a good thing!" Back at the training base, Besic placed a brand-new contract and a freshly printed jersey in front of Suker—and it definitely tempted him. On the left was a new contract, running through 2009, with a weekly wage of €6,000. That was three times his current pay—a massive boost for Suker. "Other than Davor Šuker, you're now tied for the highest-paid player on the team!" Of course, Davor Šuker was in another league financially. He'd played for top European clubs, and even on a reduced salary, his pay was still miles above the Croatian league average. Thanks to that standout match, Suker had locked down his position as the team's attacking core. Starting next game, he'd be wearing the No. 10 jersey—a powerful symbol. For Dinamo Zagreb, if even their No. 10 star wasn't earning top money, it would be embarrassing. Suker signed the contract without hesitation. Now that he was over 18, he could sign on his own—no need to bother the old man anymore. Watching Suker sign, Besic finally let out a long sigh of relief. It had only been three matches, but Suker's performances had far exceeded expectations. As Croatia's premier talent hub, Dinamo Zagreb's home ground, Maksimir Stadium, was swarming with scouts from across Europe. Besic was sure that at this very moment, Suker's name was already sitting on the desks of top club managers across Europe. Contract signed, Suker carried his new No. 10 jersey back joyfully. Just as he neared the dorms, a voice called out from a second-floor window. "Suker! Suker! Over here!" It was Srna waving at him. Vukojević and Dujmović shared a room. Suk roomed with Mandžukić. The dorms were adjacent. Seeing Srna waving, Suker changed course and headed in. "Ughhh!" As soon as he entered, a wave of rank foot odor hit him like a wall, making Suker gag. "Can you please wash those damn socks?!" Suker swore as he entered Vukojević's room. It wasn't a big space, but Modrić and a few others were squeezed in there. Though the lounge was bigger, it had been "contaminated." "I did wash them! My feet don't even smell!" Dujmović protested, holding out his foot. "Smell it if you don't believe me!" "Get lost!!" Suker slapped his foot away in disgust. Just then, Modrić's eyes drifted toward the jersey in Suk's hand. The others noticed too. "So you did get the No. 10 jersey," said Vukojević with envy. That No. 10 shirt—symbol of the team's core—was what they all dreamed of. Now it belonged to Suker. "If someone can rip the No. 9 off Davor Šuker, I'll give this to him," Suker joked with a shrug. Everyone laughed. Not happening. Suker looked around and asked, "So why are you all gathered here?" Normally, they avoided this room due to Dujmović's toxic socks. They'd usually hang out in Suke's room. Why the sudden change? They scratched their heads awkwardly. Srna sighed. "We all just signed our new contracts." Suker nodded. "Okay... and?" Srna looked at him. "Don't you feel like something's missing?" "Missing what?" Suker asked, confused. Modrić spoke softly. "Mario. I don't think he got called in for a new contract." Suker froze. How awkward. "So, what now?" He sat down cross-legged at the door and asked. Srna sighed. "What can we do? We've already done all we could. It's up to Mario now." Mandžukić was... well, not the sharpest tool in the shed. Very slow. When the coach explained tactics, most players got it in one go—Mandžukić never did. At first, they had helped him a lot, trying to bring him up to speed. But you can't help someone forever. Some things he had to improve on his own. But he hadn't. The gap only grew. And Mandžukić began to drift away from them. It wasn't that they were deliberately ignoring him. But Mandžukić was clearly straying off course. Back at his room, Suker scratched his head, then carefully hid the No. 10 jersey inside his shirt. No need to further upset Mandžukić. He'd find out eventually, but until then—what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "I'm back!" Opening the door, Suker found Mandžukić sitting in the darkened living room, staring blankly at the wall. "I'm back!" he repeated. Still no response. Just that empty stare. Suker sighed and went upstairs. Only after he left did Mandžukić slowly turn his head. His eyes were filled with sorrow, disappointment, resentment, and frustration. He was holding his phone. On the screen was a message. From: Besic "Sorry. Your performance didn't meet the requirements for a new contract." That night, Suker came down to get some water. The living room was dark and empty. Normally, Mandžukić would still be out training. But not tonight. Suker glanced at his roommate's tightly shut door and sighed. As he turned to go upstairs, he suddenly heard soft sobbing from the room. It was a muffled cry—punctuated by the sound of punching the wall. A cry full of frustration and grief, swallowed back to avoid being heard. Suker paused at the door. Since joining Dinamo, it had only been about a month—but Mandžukić had already endured so many blows. He trained hard—maybe harder than anyone else. But his preseason performance was terrible. That cost him a place in the starting lineup. Then he tried to compete with Davor Šuker—pointless, given that poor showing. So far, he'd only made one substitute appearance—and had done nothing special. Plus, Suker and the others had started avoiding him. They didn't mean to hurt him—it was just to avoid awkwardness—but to Mandžukić, it felt like isolation. He was just 18. The pressure was too much. He failed in training, failed in games, fell behind his peers. The weight of all this shattered his pride and self-confidence. Suker stood there silently for a moment, then sighed and headed upstairs. The next morning, someone knocked on Suker's door. He got up groggily and opened it. There stood Mandžukić—eyes red and puffy, dark circles under his eyes. Clearly, he hadn't slept. Probably cried all night. "G-Good morning," Suker said awkwardly. Mandžukić pursed his lips. Then he said, quietly but firmly: "Suker..." "Yeah?" "Help me."