Chapter 11: Play a Match with Us

Back at the home ground on the edge of the farm — it's still run-down, and the field hasn't been maintained at all. Although Mostar Wanderers is a second-division team, as the saying goes, in Bosnia and Herzegovina, only the Premier League is somewhat professional; the rest are all amateur. Many players on the Mostar Wanderers have day jobs and don't have much time for training. Their only chance to train together is during the weekly team practice. On that day, the players put aside their other commitments and gathered at the pitch. Around 1 PM, players started arriving. Mostar Wanderers only had 12 players, so for training, they could only do 6v6 matches. But today, something unexpected happened. "Bakic said he's taking the day off. Seems like he's not feeling well," said Mlinar to Oripe. Oripe held his forehead, looking a little helpless. With so few players, there's no buffer for absences. In the second division, it's not unheard of for matches to be canceled because teams can't gather enough players — let alone training sessions. "It's fine, I'll take his spot," said Oripe, taking off his coat. The head coach was about to step in. Everyone gathered as Oripe explained the tactics. "Guys, today we're going to change up our playstyle." "In the past, Mlinar was our only playmaker. This time, we're going to add another." "Me! Me!" Suke eagerly stepped forward. "I'll be the advanced playmaker." Everyone looked at Suke in surprise, even Mlinar. "You sure?" Mlinar asked curiously. Suke gave a thumbs-up. "If I do well, how about you stay another half-season?" Mlinar hesitated, scratching his cheek. Usually, players would drop it when they see hesitation. But Suke persisted: "Just half a season. If, after that, you still feel it's not working, then I'll leave with you." Mlinar looked at Oripe. The coach pursed his lips. "Half a season's doable, right?" Mlinar thought for a bit, then sighed. "Alright, just half a season. That's my limit." Everyone smiled. Mlinar was too important to the team. In half a season, Suke was confident he could improve enough to take over Mlinar's role. "Let's get started!" Suke waved his hand, and everyone took the field. At that moment, a hooded figure entered through the arch by the pitch. "Is there a match here?" Modric asked as he walked in, quickly noticing the players training on the field. There's a massive gap between the Bosnian Premier League and the First Division. Promotion often means immediate relegation. And the Second Division? Even worse. After watching for a bit, Modric shook his head. "Poor discipline, lack of cohesion, weak defense..." His judgment was swift. A mess! Still, some players showed promise. For instance, number 10 in midfield — despite his age, his technique was solid, his passing was smooth, and his decisions were decent. But he lacked vision and held the ball too long, often missing chances to counterattack. As for the short guy up front — what's he even running for? Modric curiously observed Suke's position — it looked vaguely familiar. Then Suke suddenly shouted: "No! No! That's not the feeling I want!" He halted the game and walked over to Mlinar. "Boss, pass me the ball! Not forward — to my feet!" Mlinar smiled bitterly. "Can you even hold it? You've got Rotenmasic behind you." Suk turned to see the 1.9-meter Rotenmasic raising his eyebrows and flexing his chest like a bodybuilder. "Don't worry about him. Just pass it to me." Mlinar shook his head. "Alright, I get it." Play resumed. Suke kept moving. As Mlinar made a forward run, Suk dropped back. Mlinar spotted him and passed the ball. Suke received it and began to dribble back in a wide arc, trying to use his agility to bypass Rotenmasic. Finally beating the defender, he looked up to pass — and found an empty front line. "Where is everyone!?" Suke shouted. Looking around, the wingers were level with him, and Mlinar hadn't followed up his pass with a run. Suke was fuming. Still, he had no choice but to press on — and was quickly brought down by the defenders. This kept happening. No one understood what Suke was trying to do. But on the sidelines, Modric grew more intrigued. Why no forward runs? The little striker had already pulled defenders away and was dragging them wide. Yet the wingers didn't cut inside to create a triangle with him. The midfielder who passed also didn't follow up. They're going to wear that little guy out. But Suke didn't give up. He kept running and shouting instructions. He was full of fighting spirit, convinced they could win with more training. Suke could keep going — but Oripe couldn't. Blergh! A retching sound rang out. Suke stopped with the ball and turned to see Oripe squatting by the field, shaking violently. Clearly, he had overexerted himself and thrown up. As everyone gathered around, Oripe's face turned red and he panted heavily. "I can't... can't run anymore." It was clear the workout was too much for him. The team looked at each other — what now, with one man down? "There's someone over there!" Suke suddenly pointed to the sideline. Everyone turned to look. At the same time, Modric noticed the commotion. Before he could say anything, Suke dashed over. "Hey! Join us! We're short a player!" Suke was blunt and to the point. Modric was about to refuse, but Suke dragged him over without a chance to respond. "Wait—" Modric was pulled up to the group. Suke shouted, "He said yes!" Modric widened his eyes. He didn't remember saying yes... But Suke was already organizing positions. "You play midfield, yeah? You don't look like a defender." Modric was slim and only slightly taller than Suke. A bit shy, Modric nodded lightly. It was just a training match — no big deal. Besides, training alone was getting boring. And most importantly, he was really curious what this guy was trying to do. Modric had recognized him as the kid from the diving bridge incident — but hadn't expected him to be a footballer. "Aren't you taking off your jacket?" Suke asked, pointing at Modric's hooded coat. Modric shook his head gently. "No need." He said it lightly — full of quiet confidence. Oripe left the field, and Modric took a position behind Suke. When the game resumed, Modric immediately got involved. He didn't run excessively, but he kept his head up — unlike most players who stared at the ball. His first touch was simple — a short pass to the right wing. No dribbling, no fuss. Then he ran forward, not staying still. "Pass!" Seeing his teammate on the wing pressured, Modric called for the ball. Vitoric passed it to him under pressure from the fullback. As the center-back advanced, Modric saw it all. He let the ball pass through his legs with a subtle back step — a nutmeg. The move was so smooth, so effortless. "Whoa!" Oripe gasped from the sidelines. Even Mlinar couldn't help but exclaim, "Beautiful." Suke darted in between the two center-backs, picked up the ball, and charged into the box — unleashing a shot with his right foot. But the power was lacking — the goalkeeper saved it. "Ahhh!!" Suke clutched his head in frustration. Still, he turned to Modric and gave a big thumbs-up. "Great pass." Modric nodded lightly. This kind of match was no challenge to him — not even remotely stressful. After all, he didn't even respect the Bosnian Premier League. Seeing his impressive performance, the team started trusting him more — passing to him frequently. Suke also began dropping back to receive. Modric spotted him and passed the ball gently — hoping for a one-two return. But Suke stopped the ball and turned, shielding it with his back. Apparently, he didn't intend to pass it back. Modric frowned slightly. Then, Suke suddenly cut the ball sharply across the field. It zipped between center-back Kobalo and fullback Bastocic, landing perfectly in an open space on the flank. Winger Maslocic received it cleanly and charged into the box. "WHOA!!!" Oripe stood up, gasping again. Everyone else looked similarly stunned. That pass — by any measure — was a thing of beauty. And for Modric, it was more than that. It wasn't just the technique — it was the vision. This little guy had used him as bait — and passed to a more threatening position. If that wasn't a fluke, it was top-tier midfield instinct.