Chapter 317: Displaying Their Talents

Words : 1374 Updated : Oct 15th, 2025

"SUKER!!!!!!——" Commentator Kraushevich roared without stopping. His face was flushed from shouting, yet he showed no signs of slowing down. Though this was only a friendly match, the goal carried tremendous significance for both him and Croatian fans. It symbolized the passing of the torch—from Davor Šuker to "Little Šuker," who now bore the responsibility of scoring for the team. And Šuker delivered in stunning fashion. The goal sent the stadium into a frenzy. Even though Šuker had finished his celebration, the fans in the stands were still wildly cheering. Looking at the flushed, ecstatic faces, Šuker, for the first time, truly felt the affection the Croatian fanbase held for him. Whether it was due to Davor Šuker's legacy or his own merits, he had earned their love. Šuker once again turned to the stands, showing off his name and jersey number, prompting another thunderous wave of cheers. While the on-field celebration concluded, the coaching staff were still going wild. From the moment Šuker scored, Croatia's head coach Bilić looked like he'd lost control, celebrating like a madman. He flung his head back and forth, waving his arms wildly and shouting toward the field. His mouth opened so wide it looked like he could swallow someone whole. As Šuker passed by the bench— "Oh!! Šuker!!" Bilić bellowed. Šuker lowered his head silently and picked up his pace. "ŠUKER!!!!!!!!!!——" Bilić roared even louder. Šuker grimaced and had no choice but to turn back toward the bench. "Beautiful! That was brilliant! Amazing!" Smooch! Bilić grabbed Šuker's head and gave him a kiss, then rotated his arms like he was trying to start an old tractor, shouting loudly: "Keep it up! I'm giving you the stage—keep performing!" Šuker ran away at once. Rock 'n' roll coach, indeed. His celebration antics were rivaling Gattuso's—maybe even more over-the-top. Celebrating was fine, but did he have to kiss him? Šuker thought to himself with some disgust. Still, he was the head coach—Šuker couldn't say anything. "Hey! High five!" Srna extended both hands toward Šuker. The two clapped hands hard. "That pass was perfect!" Šuker gave Srna a rough rub on the head. Srna grinned and patted Šuker's shoulder. Thanks to the coordination down both flanks, Croatia drew first blood. This goal pumped up the whole Croatian squad. "Let's keep pushing!" Srna shouted excitedly. Šuker glanced over at Turkey's formation. Something felt off. Turkey's defense wasn't putting them under too much pressure. The overall intensity wasn't there either—it felt different from the Turkish squad that had shone in the 2008 Euros. Of course, that could just be because they hadn't fully warmed up yet. Still, this match seemed relatively manageable. Just as that thought crossed Šuker's mind, Turkey launched a surprise strike. In the 21st minute, Turkey attacked down the wing. Tuncay made several rapid direction changes, catching Srna off guard. Tuncay pulled wide, then let loose a rocket from distance. The shot flew like a cannonball toward Croatia's goal. Goalkeeper Pletikosa made a save, deflecting the ball, but it landed just outside the box, where chaos ensued. Amid the scramble, Turkish striker Kamci poked it home. Šuker, waiting up front for a counterattack, could only watch the goal go in with slight regret. Still, it was a friendly. Both teams were primarily focused on tactics, not the final score. That said, Croatia still wanted the win, especially in front of their home fans. "Tuncay's long-range strike caused chaos in the box, allowing Turkey to equalize." "Croatian players need to watch out for those Turkish long shots!" The home crowd didn't seem too bothered. Even though they conceded, they felt Croatia still had control of the match. When play resumed— Modrić took over again, constantly directing play. After his time in the Premier League, Modrić had grown far more cunning—and his fighting spirit had hardened considerably. He'd absorbed Manchester United's iron-blooded mentality and was barking orders everywhere. "Rakitić, secure the ball first—use that thick skull of yours to think before passing!" "Don't rush from the back! There's no pressure yet, why the hell are you panicking with those passes?!" "Forwards, don't just stare straight ahead!" After yelling, Modrić turned and slammed into Tuncay. Though not particularly burly, he used his gritty persistence to wrest control of the ball. "Gimme that f***ing ball!" Watching this foul-mouthed Modrić, Šuker was momentarily speechless. Was this really the same Modrić he knew? What the hell had he learned at Manchester United?! "Šuker!" Modrić suddenly threaded the ball forward. It reached Šuker at the center circle. A defensive midfielder who couldn't make that pass wasn't worth much. In the future, even center backs would need to thread passes like that. Šuker received the ball and spun. Defender Asik closed in—but Šuker wasn't the same player anymore. He had developed the strength for such challenges. He stuck his butt out and shoved Asik off with his hips. Turning smoothly, Šuker flicked the ball into the space behind Asik. Mandžukić ran laterally to collect it and pulled a quick turn. Meanwhile, Šuker was charging toward the box. Mandžukić looked up but didn't pass. Instead, he carried the ball along the edge of the box before laying it off. Just in time—Modrić arrived at the arc. Modrić swung his right foot, unleashing his trademark long-range curler with the outside of his foot. The ball bent perfectly into the top-left corner. Barely three minutes after conceding, Croatia took the lead again. "GOAL!!!!!!!——" "MODRIĆ!!" "What beautiful interplay by the Croatian youngsters! This was like watching them at Dinamo Zagreb—now recreated on the national stage!" "Just three minutes after Turkey's equalizer, Croatia takes the lead again!" "Credit to these lads—they've been phenomenal!" The Maksimir Stadium exploded with joy once more. Croatian fans were overjoyed. Even though it was only a friendly, they couldn't contain their excitement. It wasn't just about the goal—it was the brilliant movement, the chemistry, the smooth passing. Everything flowed so seamlessly, without a single stutter. Even after a year apart, these kids were still completely in sync. "How did you even hit that?!" Šuker ran up, mimicking Modrić's motion but failing to find the key. Modrić smiled: "It's not about power—it's about angle." This guy had reverted to his old self again, with none of that earlier aggressive shouting. The cheers at Maksimir grew even louder. The match was heating up. Turkey, trailing once again, pressed hard to equalize. They kept attacking down the flank through Tuncay, trying to create openings. And after every successful play, Tuncay would look over at Šuker. "What's this guy's problem?" Šuker frowned. He didn't even know who this guy was. Why keep provoking him? This wasn't a competitive fixture. After several such provocations, Šuker lost his patience. Annoying pest. Need a beating, huh? Šuker dropped deeper. "Give it to me!" Rakitić immediately passed. Šuker took the ball and began dribbling through the right half-space. "Šuker drops deep to take the initiative! He's driving in from the right channel—this is the first time he's dropped back to organize play!" As he neared the box, Šuker noticed the Turkish defense wasn't pressing hard. Did they think this was out of his shooting range? He shifted the ball sideways, found the angle, and let it rip with his right foot. Boom!A low rocket shot zipped along the ground. The Turkish keeper dove and got a hand on it, parrying it wide. "Watch for the second ball!" A Turkish fullback booted it away. Vukojević won the header and nodded it to Modrić, who spread it to Srna on the wing. Srna looked up and whipped in a cross from 45 degrees. The ball arced toward Šuker at the far left of the box. Šuker stepped back slightly. The center back didn't close him down. The keeper guarded the near post. Šuker puffed out his chest to lift the ball slightly, adjusted his footing, and struck it mid-air. The shot curled beautifully, dipping toward the far top corner.

Chapter 317: Displaying Their Talents

Comments (0)