Chapter 32: The Young Cheetah

The thrilling first half came to a close with Mostar Zrinjski and FK Željezničar Sarajevo tied at 1-1.Modrić and Boskjenoch each scored a goal for their respective teams. The entire first half was incredibly intense. The Sarajevo Railway Workers were clearly well-prepared, targeting Mostar Zrinjski's tall striker by using Boskjenoch, a defender from the Croatian league known for his exceptional ability, to neutralize him. It could be said that Kosović had a frustrating first half. His usually dominant headers were completely shut down, and he found hardly any opportunities. Back in the locker room, Kosović was visibly upset. "Use your heads! When your height advantage doesn't work, become a pivot instead. Distribute the ball to the wings and let the wingers attack the penalty area. Distract their defense!" "Kosović, you're too fixated on physical confrontations with them!" Van Stejak scolded Kosović for his first-half performance. Kosović hung his head, clearly regretful. With the coach reprimanding the vice-captain, no one else dared make a sound. Suke stood in a corner, his eyes darting around. In his view, two players had particularly poor performances: Kosović and Oliveira. Yes, both vice-captains. But while Kosović was still pushing forward, Oliveira seemed completely out of sorts—by the 30th minute, he was already strolling around like he was exhausted. Suke also noticed Oliveira watching Kosović being scolded with a smirk on his face. 'What's he so smug about?' Suk thought to himself. "Suke!" He instinctively replied, "Here!" Van Stejak's sudden call turned all eyes on Suke. He became the center of attention. "Get ready to go on in the second half. I don't need to tell you how to play, do I?" Van Stejak's tone showed he wasn't in a good mood. Suke immediately responded, "Understood." Then Van Stejak called out, "Boame! You're on the right wing in the second half! Oliveira is off!" Suke noticed Oliveira freeze for a moment, then shrug as if relieved to be getting a rest. Using two substitutions at halftime clearly signaled that Van Stejak intended to change the game dramatically in the second half. For Suke, this was good news. This would be his debut since joining the team—and his first match in the Bosnian Premier League. "Captain, don't be discouraged. I'll help you teach that big oaf a lesson!" Suke plopped down next to Kosović. Kosović turned and warned him, "Be careful. He's not slow." Suke nodded, then ran over to Boame. Boame was adjusting his socks. Suke said directly, "Let's criss-cross our runs early on. If I drift wide, you cut into the center." Boame frowned slightly—he didn't like others encroaching on his position. But Suke clearly had more tactical authority, so Boame just nodded in agreement. Then Suke went to Modrić: "Early in the half, I won't drop back immediately. I'll use my speed to probe a bit—create a false impression. Then we'll strike hard. Hold the line until then." Modrić nodded. Suek always had clever ideas—little tricks that caught opponents off guard. With his instructions delivered, Suk finally felt ready. And he was excited for his debut with Mostar Zrinjski. "After the first half, the score remains tied at 1-1. Mostar Zrinjski's aerial tactics are ineffective against the tall center-back Boskjenoch." "They lost to FK Sarajevo the same way last round. Coach Van Stejak needs to make adjustments." "And now we're getting word of a substitution—Mostar Zrinjski is making changes. Kosović and Oliveira are off. Coming on are Suke and Boame. Hmm? Suke?" Commentator Basodači paused in surprise. Suke? That name sounded familiar. Then it hit him—the Mostar derby in the Bosnian Cup. That pesky little striker from the second-division team who constantly troubled Zrinjski. He came here? Basodači's eyes lit up. That match had been so entertaining, he'd followed the Mostar Wanderers a bit afterward. But news was scarce, and info on Suk was limited. A 150 cm striker—he thought he'd never see that curious little player again. And yet, here he was. Basodači shifted in his seat, leaning over his mic with a playful grin. "Suke is a very interesting player. Though only 150 cm tall, he plays a fascinating game!" The stadium PA echoed his commentary. Suke, just stepping out of the locker room, heard it loud and clear and clenched his fists in frustration. "156 centimeters, damn it!" Pfft! Modrić couldn't help but laugh. "I've grown six whole centimeters! That's a lot! Can't he see that?" Suke was genuinely frustrated. Modrić turned away, still chuckling. Behind them, players like Maršović were grinning from ear to ear. "No one cares that you grew six centimeters. You're still a tiny bean!" joked Hačić. Suke sighed, dejected. "Fine, fine, you're all tall! Happy now?" Still sulking, he followed the team onto the field. At the same time, Željezničar were coming out too. As the teams switched sides, the Željezničar looked at the tiny figure before them, puzzled. Team captain Vukčević squinted at Suke's miniature frame, wiped his eyes, and stared again. His teammate next to him just shrugged. Clearly, Suke's height had caught them off guard. Even Zrinjski fans were surprised. The little guy had left such a lasting impression from the Cup match. Sure, he played well in that game—but this was the Bosnian Premier League. Could he really handle it? Mlinar and others had similar concerns. After all, Zrinjski had used mostly substitutes in that Cup match—the intensity here would be much higher. They had no idea how Suk had been training, so their worries were understandable. "Let's go, Suke!" shouted Bakič from the stands. Just then, the referee blew the whistle for the second half. Suke immediately passed the ball to nearby Biljar and charged up the pitch, positioning himself beside Boskjenoch. With a 40 cm height difference, Boskjenoch had to look down to see Suk at all. That alone distracted him—he had to constantly look down to track this tiny striker. For Suke, the pressure was palpable. He couldn't overpower Boskjenoch, so he had to rely on constant movement. Soon, Boskjenochstarted to feel dizzy. This little guy was spinning around him like a top—who could handle that? Meanwhile, everyone's attention was still on Modrić, not Suke. Suke took the chance to make a few darting runs—maybe he could even score. Then Modrić broke through two defenders on the wing with quick shifts and looked up. Suke was already in position. "Suke!" Modrić shouted, delivering a pinpoint through ball. Suke bent low and turned—then accelerated like lightning. Boskjenoch, slower to react, tried to grab Suk. But Suke was too small! Especially after bending forward—his head literally brushed past Boskjenochs thigh. Boskjenoch grabbed nothing but air, and Suk was already gone. Whoosh!! With one explosive step, Suke shot forward like an arrow—his speed jaw-dropping. "Suke! He's flying!!" Basodači jumped to his feet. This was what he'd been waiting for. The incredible speed, the rapid footwork—he was like a young cheetah tearing through the defense. In the stands, Zrinjski fans stood up in shock. They watched Suk sprint, leaving the Railway defenders in the dust. They were ecstatic. "Go, Suke!" "Run!!" "Shoot! Shoot!" On the bench, even Coach Van Stejak and Kosović jumped to their feet, craning their necks. This was a golden chance. Suk esprinted furiously ahead. A slow pack of defenders trailed behind. When he entered the box, he looked up. The opposing goalkeeper was rushing out. Suke used the inside of his foot for a low shot. The ball grazed the keeper's glove—then clipped the post and went wide. "Ahhh—so close! The shot wasn't quite right!" Basodači shook his head, disappointed. Fans grabbed their heads, full of regret. But soon, applause broke out spontaneously. Though he hadn't scored, Suk's burst completely shredded the defense and posed a huge threat. (Holy Fck Croatian Name is so fckin confusing send help)