Chapter 119: Radical Style

"Modrić's long pass, perfectly finding the forward-running Suker! Suker uses the heel of his foot to control and cuts inside, forcing his way through with speed! Laušik! He can't catch him! Oh~~ That move! That's a foul!" Suker was pushed down from behind by Laušik, but he immediately got up and shouted to his teammates: "You're following too slowly! I've already broken into the penalty area, and I can't find a passing option!" Listening to Suker's roar, Laušik almost spat blood. How the hell is your transition so slow? They gave their all to track back and almost didn't catch up. And also! Why do you always try to tackle him? December 19th, Round 20 of the league, Slaven Belupo vs Dinamo Zagreb. Since Round 19, Dinamo Zagreb's style has changed. Their play became more aggressive and the pace much faster. They used to rely on Suker's individual breakthroughs on the wing, but now they have transformed into a swift overall counterattack. In defense, both wings fall back very deep. Though there are still some problems along the way, Dinamo Zagreb's counterattack speed is just too fast—if you aren't careful, they'll leave you behind. These guys can run endlessly. On the sidelines, Davor Suker looked at the young players hustling back on defense. There was a deep regret in his eyes. Why did he have to be so vague back then? They really took it seriously! But along with the headache, Davor Suker also had a faint sense of anticipation. This group's overall style was already moving away from the slow Croatian rhythm and heading towards the faster European style. Style-wise, it's more like the English Premier League. Quick transitions between attack and defense, running as if their lives depended on it. If they reduce mistakes in counterattacks, with this group's potential, who knows? At that moment on the pitch, Modrić suddenly lofted the ball into the penalty area. Inside Slaven Belupo's box. "This is mine!" Mandžukić's face was fierce, like a demon. He roared, even while having his shirt pulled, he still powered the ball back to the edge of the box. At the same time, Suker suddenly appeared from the side and skillfully flicked the ball. The ball stayed close to the ground, threading through two defenders, curving into the near post. "Beautiful!" Davor Suker couldn't help but loudly praise. This attack and finish were sharp and clean—very much the style of the Big Five European leagues. Before, Suker would have stepped forward, adjusted, and then shot. But that would slow the pace. Now, Suker just shot immediately. Giving Slaven Belupo no chance to react. On the field, Suker slapped his chest hard. "Finally, we're fucking playing well!" Suker was a bit frustrated. Since training started, they had been actively speeding up the rhythm. They needed to adapt to the faster pace, quicker passing, and more frequent scoring. Though they had gained some experience through trial and error, their error rate was still high. Now their goal was to reduce mistakes. "Fall back! Fall back!" Suker waved and shouted orders. The Slaven Belupo players looked at these fiery young men, and if you didn't see the score, you'd think they were the ones losing. Laušik turned to his center-back Božić. "How the hell do you play like this?" Laušik was losing his mind because of Suker. They couldn't stop him before, now with Dinamo Zagreb speeding up, they were even more confused. Once these kids charged, each was like a wolf or tiger. They might be young, but they were tough to confront. They were playing as if their lives depended on it. Božić had no solution. He had hoped to stabilize the rhythm with this home match. But who expected Dinamo Zagreb's young men to be like they were on drugs, one harder than the next! The game restarted! When Slaven Belupo passed back, the Dinamo Zagreb players pressed again. "Again?!" Božić felt his head aching. Seeing Suker and others rush at him quickly, he panicked and booted the ball forward. The ball flew over midfield. Slaven Belupo's striker Kresnoči tried to control it. But in the next second, his vision darkened. A figure rushed from the side and headed the ball away. "Vuković! Well done!" Vuković's brilliant header won the ball back. He landed and kept moving forward immediately. "Counterattack! Counterattack!" Slaven Belupo's defenders were terrified. Looking at the blue wave rushing at them, their hearts trembled. "Hold steady!" "Hold your ground!" Mandžukić received the ball from Modrić's turn. He powered through Božić's challenge and shot. Bang! The Slaven Belupo goalkeeper dove hard, pushing the ball to the left. "Dropped it! Control the rebound!" The keeper shouted anxiously. But the next second, he saw Suker suddenly appear in front of the ball. "Damn it!" His pupils shrank. Suker poked the ball with his toe. The ball quickly slipped between the fallen keeper and the post. "Goal!! Two goals in a row!! Within five minutes, Dinamo Zagreb scored twice! They play so proactively, their performance so brilliant! God! This Dinamo Zagreb team amazes me. They don't even allow the ball to stay at the opponent's feet. Their pressing is so fierce!" Slaven Belupo's home crowd was silent. The fans were numb. Can't win the ball! Can't keep possession! And still get countered! How do you play like this? Dinamo Zagreb's coach Bešić kept clapping and shouting from the sideline. "That's right, just play like this, seize the initiative! Mess up their rhythm!" Bešić waved his arms, "Go! Go! Go!" When Bešić returned to his seat and drank water, Davor Suker said: "You're copying the Dutch style of play!" "More or less! But it's also different!" Bešić nodded generously. "The wings drop back, but the striker doesn't. Of course, I instructed them to always have someone in the forward insertion spot. Whether Mario or Suker, as long as one is in the front." Bešić sighed. "I studied all night. If we really want to play in the Champions League, our usual tactics just won't work!" "Positional play, half-field defense, playing deep, English long balls—these Big Five league teams have already mastered those." "Trying to fight them head-on in that way, no chance to win." After a pause, Bešić smiled: "So I watched Ajax games, to see how they do it." Davor Suker: "And you realized high pressing can disrupt the opponent's defense, making their backline panic!" "That's right!" Bešić nodded vigorously. "By chance, Suker and Modrić are our core players front and back, and coincidentally, their coach in Bosnia and Herzegovina was Dutch. They've played high pressing and know it very well." "Using these two as the core to drive the whole team's pressing tempo!" Bešić pointed to the field: "This is the result!" Davor Suker grinned: "You should thank that Dutch coach." On the pitch, everyone shouted nonstop. "Charge!!! Guys!!" "Go! Go! Go!" "Surround him!!" "Hit him!!!" Under the sunlight, the youths sweated and burned with fiery passion. They gave their all to fight for that brilliant future! "Ah!!! My legs are dying!" "Exhausted! Now I feel like throwing up!" "Pressed too hard! Head hurts!" The match ended. In the locker room, everyone collapsed. Suker stood in the center, hands on hips, scolding: "Pretty but useless. All of you are just for show! Running so hard in the first half, but all wilted in the second half! Conceded two goals in a row. If I hadn't scored the winner, our winning streak would've ended!" Srna looked pale, lips blue. "You're a monster. How can you run so hard in the second half?" Dujmović held a trash can, pointing at Modrić: "Luka too, he kept running. Don't you get tired?" Modrić took a sip of energy drink, casually said: "I've run up to eleven kilometers in one game." He pointed at Suker: "He's done fifteen." Srna collapsed headfirst. Dujmović buried his head in the trash can. These two big shots were not to be messed with! Suk cursed: "After this game, the winter break comes. Over a month of all staying to train fitness!" "I want to go home during the break," Dujmović said quietly. Suker coldly turned his head. "You want to play in the Champions League? If you can't endure this pain, what are you playing Champions League for? Go home and dream on!" Dujmović scratched his head. Srna raised his hand: "I'll stay! Winter break to train fitness. If you want gains, you have to pay first." Mandžukić: "I'm staying too. I'll train fitness with Suker. If anyone wants to leave, go ahead!" Dujmović: "I'm not leaving! Not leaving, alright? Training, train to death!" Modrić: "Add me in!" Pranjić: "Me too!" Vuković hesitated: "I might have to go home for a bit." Suker turned: "Go ahead, no problem. Travel safely!" Vuković's situation was special. His parents worked away; during holidays, his younger siblings needed care, so he had to go home. Vuković looked gloomy: "Sorry!" Suker patted Vuković's shoulder comfortingly. Dujmović immediately jumped out: "Why can he go?" Suker looked disdainful: "At least he's not hugging the trash can throwing up." Dujmović: "."