Chapter 27: The Newcomer

Joining HŠK Zrinjski Mostar went smoothly. On the first day, Suke went to the cafeteria with Modric. The food was decent and accompanied by fresh milk. After a hearty meal, Suke returned to the dormitory and began studying player information. "Kis, starting goalkeeper, Bosnia and Herzegovina international, 191 cm tall." Suke grinned, "So tall!" "Haskic, left-back, good at overlapping runs and crossing." "Masovic, center-back, aerial dominator! Another one over 190 cm tall." "Hajcic, 181 cm, strong anticipation, good at stepping up." "Boban, defensive midfielder." "Kosovic, 192 cm, target man striker, team's top scorer and third captain." "Oliveira, right winger, the second vice-captain." Suke looked around but didn't see the captain. "Where's our captain?" he asked Modric. Modric, lying on the bed and reading, replied without looking up, "I don't know. Never seen him." Suke was speechless. This guy's been here for almost half a year and hasn't seen the captain? What's he even doing? After memorizing the basic info, Suke put the materials aside, got under the covers, and prepared to sleep. "I'm going to sleep. I need to be the first one on the training ground tomorrow," Suke said under the blanket. Modric replied, "No need to be that early." Suke smiled, "You don't get it. I'm the 'new guy'." Back in the orphanage, Suke had already learned this truth. Being the newcomer meant being bullied. These three words naturally carried a bullying aura. In unfamiliar environments, cliques liked to do this kind of thing. Just like when Suke was nine and led a group of little kids to snatch half a slice of bread and a box of milk from a tall and strong 13-year-old boy. If it happened in the orphanage, it would be even tougher here. Modric didn't have to worry—he had the halo of a genius and backing from the club's higher-ups. Yet even so, Modric remained somewhat isolated in the team. If even a genius is like this, Suke—just a little runt—had to be extra careful. Especially since three weeks ago, he had rudely assisted Mlinar in scoring against Zrinjski Mostar. Even if it was against the substitutes, there were still emotions involved. The next day, Suke got up early. After folding his bedding and freshening up, he headed to the training ground. It was just next door. When Suke and Modric arrived, no one else was there. "I told you it was too early." Modric yawned. Suke looked around—the locker room and equipment room were both still locked. Maybe it was a bit early. "Let's just squat here." Suke plopped down in front of the locker room door, and Modric helplessly followed suit. After about 30 minutes, the equipment manager finally arrived. "You guys know practice starts at 8, right?" Parker, the equipment manager, asked curiously. Suke immediately replied, "We're just eager to start training!" Parker smiled. He liked this motivated kid. Opening the locker room door, Parker said, "Come on in, don't just squat there." Suke and Modric went in. Modric walked straight to his locker. Suke looked around and realized he didn't have one yet. Fortunately, he found a spot on the side and began changing into his kit. Soon, the starting striker Kosovic entered. The 192 cm Kosovic had to duck to get in. Wearing a tank top and shorts, he looked even more imposing. Seeing him, Suke immediately called out, "Hello, Vice-Captain!" Kosovic paused, then recognized him. "Suke?" Suke nodded quickly. Kosovic smiled and extended his hand. "You played well in that match." Suke quickly shook his head, feigning disappointment. "I gave it my all, but when you came on, everything fell apart. That header was amazing." He looked at Kosovic admiringly. "If only I had your height." Kosovic was flattered—who doesn't like compliments? He patted Suke on the shoulder, smiling. "You'll grow. Eat well. Don't worry." Modric watched in surprise as Suke started chatting away with Kosovic. They were talking like old friends. Modric had been on the team much longer and never spoken that much with Kosovic. Even more surprising—when the rest of the starters came in, Suke greeted each by name and praised their recent performances. And he picked out each player's standout moments. Sometimes regretful, sometimes amazed, sometimes fired-up—he even gestured wildly. Within half an hour, Suke was cracking jokes left and right. Modric was stunned. While everyone was chatting happily, the door suddenly opened. A man around 175 cm entered, cropped hair, lean build, squinting slightly. Two others followed behind. Suke immediately recognized him—Oliveira, the other vice-captain. Behind him were Boban (starting defensive mid) and Biljar (left winger). Suke wanted to greet them, but Kosovic pulled him back. Confused, Suke looked up. Kosovic shook his head slightly, without explanation. Soon the locker room filled up—starters and substitutes alike. Suke tried to stay hidden, uncomfortable under the stares. The substitutes remembered him well. This little guy had run riot over their defense and made them look bad in that friendly. Because of it, the coach had scolded them fiercely—they were definitely holding a grudge. Suke understood and kept a low profile. Creak! The door opened again. Head coach Van Stoyack entered with the coaching staff. This was the coaching team: Head coach: Van Stoyack Assistant coach: Van Dier Fitness coach: Hartbach Goalkeeping coach: Sost Van Stoyack stood by the door, scanned the room, then looked down at his notebook. "Today's schedule: 20 minutes of warm-up, basic passing and positioning drills in the morning, intra-squad match in the afternoon." Modern training emphasizes efficiency—camps usually cap at 2 hours, or even 90 minutes of high-intensity work. But for now, it was mostly endurance-based training. After hearing the plan, the players began heading out. Suke was now wearing a new training kit. It was quite loose, as the club didn't have gear in his size and wouldn't custom order. He'd have to find a tailor later. On the pitch, small cliques started forming. Just like in the locker room, HŠK Zrinjski Mostar was faction-heavy. Suke saw that Oliveira had the largest group—about ten players, mostly substitutes. Kosovic's group was smaller, mainly Croatian and mostly starters. "Where should we go?" Suke asked Modric—he'd been here longer, after all. But Modric just said, "Train on our own." Suke rolled his eyes. Useless. "Come on," he said, grabbing Modric. "Where to?" Modric asked. "To train!" Suke pulled Modric over to Kosovic's group. "Vice-Captain, need a couple more? Let's warm up together!" Kosoic looked surprised. Suke even dragged Modric over, although the latter didn't seem thrilled. Kosovic's group exchanged glances, eyes lighting up. The two joined seamlessly. Suke knew one thing—being isolated meant being targeted. Being different meant being bullied. Modric might be an exception, but Suke couldn't risk that. Compared to Oliveira's group, sticking with fellow Croatians and mostly starters made more sense. They were doing keep-up drills in a circle—a way to train ball control. Suddenly, Kosovic said, "You made the right choice." Suke looked puzzled. Kosovic nodded toward Oliveira's group. They were doing the same drill, but their tone was much more mocking. Suke saw Oliveira deliberately send the ball awkwardly toward a substitute, forcing a mistake. Then the whole group would pile on and kick his butt. It looked playful, but if the one being hit wasn't laughing—it was bullying. They were clearly targeting the same guy over and over. Suke recognized him—a winger named Boame who had troubled them a lot in the previous game. A very capable player. "See that?" Kosovic said. "If you'd greeted them earlier, that'd be you right now." Suke grimaced. Just then, he mistepped and the ball bounced off his toe. "Crap!" Suke panicked. Were they going to mess with him? Everyone rushed over with mischievous grins. Suke quickly covered his butt, thinking it was over. But instead, everyone ruffled his hair and shouted: "Welcome to HŠK Zrinjski Mostar!" "Welcome, Suker!"