Chapter 150: One-on-One

Words : 1387 Updated : Sep 27th, 2025

2004/2005 UEFA Champions League Group Stage – Group B, Round OneDinamo Zagreb vs. Real Madrid Maksimir Stadium was packed to the brim, a sea of fans filling every seat. The roar of the crowd surged like a storm. At the center circle, Mandžukić stood with Šuker. Mandžukić had his foot on the ball, while Šuker stood beside him. Both stared intently at the white-clad squad before them—the Galácticos. And at the goofy-grinned alien smiling in their direction—Ronaldo! Gulp. Šuker swallowed nervously. "Nervous?" Šuker asked. Mandžukić: "Yeah." Šuker turned his head. Damn it!I'm nervous too!Ronaldo, stop smiling at me like that! Real Madrid's lineup was dazzling—packed with global stars. Brazilian legends Ronaldo and Roberto Carlos. France's heart and soul, Zinedine Zidane. Portugal's captain, Luís Figo. England's beloved icon, David Beckham. And the bench? Lightning-fast Owen, Woodgate, Guti, and more. Šuker recalled watching Owen tearing through Premier League defenses with Oripe in Mostar. Now, Šuker was starting against Real Madrid, while Owen warmed the bench. What a surreal feeling. On the other side, among the Real Madrid players— Raúl turned and joked, "You're really popular. They're all your fans." Ronaldo chuckled, showing his trademark goofy teeth, but said nothing. He was used to this. Wherever he went, there were fanboys. Clap! A sharp sound startled Ronaldo and Raúl. They looked over. The tall striker, Mandžukić, had just slapped the shorter forward. "Šuker, try slapping yourself. It helps. I'm not nervous anymore." Mandžukić's cheeks were red, but his face was serious. Šuker stared in disbelief and cursed, "You're nuts!" Mandžukić grinned. "Still nervous?" Šuker took a deep breath. "I'm getting excited now." "The referee has left the penalty area, and the match is about to begin. This is Dinamo Zagreb's Champions League debut—what kind of performance can these youngsters deliver? Let's find out." In the VIP stands— Davor Šuker was biting his nails and squirming in his seat. "I'm already nervous." He licked his dry lips. Boban said nothing, his face just as tense. Davor Šuker cursed in his mind. Opening against Real Madrid—what kind of hell draw is this? Can these kids even handle it? Even though Real Madrid was struggling lately, their players were still elite veterans. Their individual skill levels were absurd. They could destroy lesser teams without even needing teamwork. And yes— In Davor Šuker's mind, these kids were the lesser team. The opponents were just too intimidating. WHISTLE!!! The piercing blast rang out. Mandžukić immediately kicked off. "Let's go!" After passing the ball, Šuker shouted and sprinted forward. As he reached the wing, Roberto Carlos was already blocking him. The Brazilian cannon, Roberto Carlos. He was about the same height as Šuker, around 170 cm, but much more muscular. Sizing him up, Šuker quickly widened the distance. Carlos raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. He knew exactly what Šuker was trying to do—pull away to receive a through ball. Carlos wouldn't give him that chance. But then Šuker suddenly ran straight toward the center. "What's he doing now?" Šuker moved into a pocket of space in the middle. Modrić, being pressed by Zidane, spotted him in his peripheral vision. Tap!Modrić stabbed the ball forward with his toe. Šuker lifted his left foot to stop it. Beckham closed in, ready to body-check once the ball was controlled. But suddenly, Šuker faked with his left foot, letting the ball roll under it, twisted his body— Whoosh! Beckham felt a gust of wind past his ear. He turned—Šuker had already collected the ball and was sprinting toward Real Madrid's goal! His blue jersey flapped in the wind, dark hair flying, eyes glowing with intensity. Šuker's pace was phenomenal! "Go!!!!!!!!!" "Šuker!!!!!!!!!!" Modrić's shout snapped the crowd back to life. Fans widened their eyes as Šuker charged toward Real Madrid's defense. The roar exploded: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—— "Šuker! Šuker! He didn't even stop the ball—just turned and blasted forward. His explosive speed left Beckham in the dust!" "Real Madrid's midfield has been pierced!!" Šuker blazed ahead. Samuel braced himself. "I got this!" As Šuker approached, he began weaving—quick side-steps left and right. So fast! Samuel's eyes blurred trying to track him. But still, he stuck a leg out precisely. Gotcha!Šuker smirked slightly. With a tap and push of his right foot— The ball rolled sideways. "Duimović!" Duimović burst in from the flank and unleashed a shot with his right leg. Boom! The ball flew like a cannon—into the stands. "What the hell?!" "Sorry! Sorry! Give me another chance, I'm just warming up!" Duimović quickly apologized. "Still cold, not in rhythm yet!" Šuker glared at him. "Fall back! Turn around! Get ready for aerials!" The Real Madrid players were stunned. That attack caught them off guard. It had opened up their defense. If Duimović had been more accurate, they would've scored. "They're not here to pay tribute." Raúl narrowed his eyes. Ronaldo nodded. "They want to beat us." That one attack said it all. These youngsters, the way they played—the way their eyes gleamed with hunger— Like wolves baring their fangs, ready to tear apart their prey. Crash!Vukojević collided hard with Zidane but still won the ball thanks to his strength and tenacity. He passed it to Modrić. Modrić flicked it forward and roared: "GO!!" The youngsters surged ahead. But Duimović turned just in time for Beckham to slide in and steal the ball. "Danger!" Commentator Kraušivić shouted. Next, Beckham showed off his signature long pass. Body fully extended, perfect curve. The ball soared toward Raúl on the left. "Damn!" "Shit!" Šuker and company pivoted and sprinted back. They recovered quickly. Srna marked Raúl. Raúl tried to dribble wide for a cross but couldn't shake Srna. Out of options, he passed back. Roberto Carlos charged up and delivered a fast cross to the top of the box. "To Zidane!" "Too fast!" "We won't make it!" Šuker and Modrić panicked. They looked toward the box. Zidane sprinted, but just as the ball reached him—he dummied! He let it roll past! "DANGER!!!!!!——" Kraušivić screamed in horror. Ronaldo had already shifted into position and struck a low shot— "Ronaldo shoots! It's—OH~~~~ Grčević!!! What a save!! He blocked it, but the ball slipped free—rolling to the left side of the box!" "Štimac chased it down, passed to Srna—Srna with a long clearance!! The ball—" Kraušivić's eyes followed the ball upfield. He also saw Šuker sprinting at full speed! The moment Srna kicked, Šuker had already reached the halfway line—flying forward! Blazing speed! Šuker cut past the defensive line. Roberto Carlos was too slow returning. Samuel gave chase—but couldn't keep up! "Iker!!" Samuel could only shout for Casillas. Šuker was one-on-one! "GOOOOO!!!! ŠUKER!!!!! ONE-ON-ONE!!!!!——" Kraušivić leapt to his feet. Goosebumps exploded across his body. They never imagined this. Against the mighty Galácticos, they weren't just holding their own—they were threatening. And now, Šuker was one-on-one with the keeper! "GO GO GO!!" In the VIP suite, Davor Šuker and Boban jumped up. Davor shouted in excitement. Boban stared tensely at the pitch. The crowd roared in a frenzy. "Šuker!! Can he do it? Can he break Real Madrid's goal?" Under Kraušivić's hopeful eyes— Šuker charged into the box, slowing down slightly to adjust. "He's going to shoot!" Casillas rushed out to close the angle. But then—Šuker feinted, dragged the ball, twisted wide. "Damn it!" Casillas's heart sank. He watched Šuker glide past him. By the time he turned— The ball was already in the net. Swoosh! The ball rippled the back of the net. Šuker curved his run toward the corner flag. No celebration. Just wide eyes staring. In an instant—Maksimir Stadium erupted like a volcano. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH—— "GOOOOAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!" "Šuker has scored against Real Madrid—in the 12th minute of the first half! We've taken the lead!" "My God! This is insane!!" "Goal! Goal! Goal!" Amid Kraušivić's ecstatic roars— The entire stadium went wild. As Šuker raised his right hand— Kraušivić shouted perfectly in sync: "The goal scorer—number 9!" SUKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tens of thousands of fans erupted into a thunderous chant. In that moment, Šuker was the center of the football world.

Chapter 150: One-on-One

Comments (0)