Chapter 24: Force It In!

Suke was stationed in position against the opposing defensive line, but unlike the first half, he wasn't sprinting to press. After all, their tactical approach had shifted entering the second half. Suke had also swapped out his player cards. All interception and anticipation-type cards were taken down, replaced by Andre's Flying Legs and Roberts' Dribbling. The latter was decent, but the former was a lethal weapon. Now, Suke's speed had increased significantly. With an overall rating of 87 in pace, even by top-five European league standards, that was impressive. This level of speed and explosive acceleration, combined with Inzaghi-like positioning, posed a devastating threat to the opponent's defense. Of course, that depended on Mlinar holding his ground. "Boss, hang in there!" Suke silently prayed. Football is a team sport. Being strong alone is useless—he needed support. Mlinar was under tremendous pressure, but thanks to the physical toll taken on the opponents in the first half, things were a bit easier now. The drop in fitness had also slowed the tempo. If the pace stayed too high, Mlinar would be toast. But for now, his task was still primarily defensive. Mlinar tirelessly intercepted and blocked, repeatedly thwarting the opposing attackers. With their tactical shape slowly settling, Zrinjski Mostar began pushing forward, even pressing up to near the halfway line. Suke was starting to get a little anxious. Then suddenly, Zrinjski's player sent in a cross. But the central striker, Bastrov, was only just entering the penalty area. "Damn it!" On the sideline, Zrinjski Mostar's head coach Van Stuyack covered his face. "As dumb as a pig!" Bastrov desperately chased forward, but it was too late. By the time he got there, the ball had already been cleared by defender Rosen. The ball landed at the feet of Mostar Wanderers' midfielder Kostorec. With no one pressing him, he calmly controlled the ball and passed it to the advancing Mlinar. Mlinar nudged the ball forward and immediately looked up. At that moment, Suke also tensed his body and started to act as if he was dropping back. "You're not getting away!" Pokacic followed closely. He knew full well what would happen if this short striker got the ball. So as soon as Suke moved, he matched him—he couldn't allow Suke the same freedom he had in the first half. Both men moved at the same time—Suke retreating, Pokacic shadowing him. This movement opened up a gap in the backline. Suke and Mlinar both spotted it. After backpedaling a few steps, Sukersuddenly spun and exploded off his back foot. The abrupt change of direction caught Pokacic completely off guard. With explosive power, Suke instantly left him in the dust. At the same moment, Mlinar threaded a perfectly timed through pass. A brilliant forward run. "What?!" Pokacic was stunned. When he turned to grab Suke, the guy was already gone. Suke's foot speed was insane—his short legs were pumping like wheels of fire as he blazed forward. "Suke is sprinting! Oh my GOD——" The commentator shouted, "He's lightning fast!" Suke's speed was jaw-dropping, and combined with his rapid footwork, he looked like a bolt of thunder tearing across the field. Pokacic, trying to turn and chase, was already three or four steps behind. There was no catching him now. His center-back partner Morijac, seeing this, panicked and raced to cover. Both charged toward the ball. Suke had a bit more distance to cover, but his blistering speed was closing the gap fast. "Go, Suke!!" "Run!!" "So fast!!" "The wind-chasing boy!!" At that moment, the entire stadium held its breath. The fans' excitement was instantly ignited—this kind of raw speed duel was heart-pounding. "I won't make it!" Morijac groaned internally. He sprinted a few more steps, then slid in a desperate tackle to stop Suke. But Suke ducked low and pressed hard off the ground—he burst past with a second acceleration. "He's through! One-on-one!!!" The commentator jumped up. Everyone in the stadium was wide-eyed. Oripe roared in excitement. Modric clenched his fists. Kosovih's mouth fell open in disbelief. Zrinjski's head coach Van Stuyack watched in shock. As Suke drove into the penalty box, he finally looked up. But just then, his foot caught something. The next moment, Suke flipped and tumbled several times. The ball was already in goalkeeper Pakovic's arms. "Ah~~~~~!!!!" The commentator clutched his head: "Pakovic's timing was perfect. He shut down this brilliant one-on-one chance. But the finish was too delayed." Oripe held his head in disappointment. Modric sighed. Even Van Stuyack frowned and twitched his lips in regret. But very soon, Van Stuyack's heart was brimming with joy. Suke's burst of speed had shocked him. This kind of pace would make him a top sprinter even on Van Stuyack's own squad. He had thought Suke's talents were limited to front-line pressing, stamina, and link-up play. He hadn't expected him to be so good at sudden bursts and using sheer speed to beat defenders. Two totally different styles—yet somehow present in one player. Van Stuyack couldn't help but be intrigued. "Who the hell developed this freak?!" Zrinjski's main striker Kosovic was also amazed. "What kind of striker is this guy?!" Most players have a defined style. Kosovic, for example, was a battering ram—a tall, muscular forward who used his frame to win aerial duels and had a powerful shot. That was his biggest asset. But Suke? This guy could pass, press, run, dribble, and had great awareness. You'd think he was an all-rounder, but he wasn't tall or strong. Say he wasn't suited to be a striker? Then how come he was so effective? In a word: a mess. But precisely because of this, he was nearly impossible to contain. You mark him when he drops deep, and he'll run in behind. You let him go, and he'll link play and create attacks. If you track him tightly, he'll just exploit the space you leave and blow past you. How do you defend that? As a fellow striker, Kosovic could only quietly pray for their backup defenders. Meanwhile, Suke was already back on his feet. He didn't show any sign of frustration, clapping and shouting, "Great pass, boss! I'll finish it next time!" "Let's go, boys! We got this!" Suke's loud rally lifted the team spirit, and after that dangerous attack, the Wanderers' momentum surged. "Zrinjski Mostar is in danger!" Even the commentator had to admit it. From fully backing Zrinjski at first to now wavering, the commentator's mindset reflected that of many fans. The constant waves of attacks from Suke and the Wanderers were overwhelming. Even though they hadn't scored yet, the consistent threat was cracking the opponent's defense. And now Zrinjski had another problem— How do you stop Suke? They had thought marking him tightly was enough, but now he was just outrunning everyone. Zrinjski's backline was in chaos. "I think coach Van Stuyack needs to make some adjustments—" The commentator paused midsentence. On-screen, Van Stajak was scribbling in his notebook, not even watching the match, a faint excitement on his face as he muttered to himself. In his notebook was a complete tactical system based on total football. And in the striker position, the name written was: Suke. Van Stuyack's eyes sparkled, his face beaming with joy. To others, the smile was unfamiliar. Only Modric recognized it. "Great talent! Great talent! Another great talent!" The coach had clearly checked out mentally, while Zrinjski's defense was being torn apart by Suke—and the chaos was now spreading to midfield. Mlinar was finding it easier to pass, and the Wanderers were riding high on momentum. "Fall back! Fall back!" "Mark him! Mark Suke!" "Don't stick a foot out! Don't—damn it!" Once again, Suke received a pass from Mlinar and charged down the flank at lightning speed. His pace was so extreme that others struggled to keep up. The fullback barely managed to track him and tried to block or intercept. Suke tapped the ball to the left. "Damn!" Zrinjski's fullback Rovistec cursed, trying to turn, but Suke changed direction again and nutmegged him. The quick feints left Rovistec stumbling—he fell on his backside. Suke, meanwhile, stormed into the penalty box. Faced with defenders and the keeper bracing for a shot, he raised his right foot—then suddenly passed it backwards. The center of the penalty area was wide open, everyone having been drawn to Suke. Mlinar ran onto the soft pass and gently tapped it in. Swoosh!! The ball hit the net. 71st minute—Mostar Wanderers strike first. #9 Suke assists, #10 Mlinar scores. Mostar Wanderers 1 - 0 Zrinjski Mostar.