Chapter 4: Don't Let Me Shake You Off

The Bosnian Premier League only started in 1997, so it doesn't have a long history. The Bosnian Second Division began officially operating in 2000, and it's currently only in its second season. The league is still in its exploratory phase, which means the schedule isn't too tight. The season ends early in April, and after that, the players enter their holiday period — or rather, they start their side jobs. There's also a standard winter break, so the pressure of the schedule isn't too high. This is meant to give these low-paid players more rest time and help them balance life with their careers. Currently, 11 rounds have been played, meaning the season is already past the halfway mark. Mostar Wanderers are in 4th place on the table, still far from promotion. Meanwhile,​​ Sarajevo Ranger is in third — a team that Mostar Wanderers must beat to have any hope of promotion. "Mark that short guy, number 9!"Sarajevo's captain, Rok, barked fiercely at a newly joined teammate. Bazel, a 22-year-old German, had moved to Bosnia due to his parents' work and joined this club based on his football background. Bazel had the natural German rigor, but when he looked at that 150 cm (4'11") tiny player, his mind filled with question marks. "Him? A striker? Number 9?" That small, skinny frame and baby-faced look made him seem more like a kid than a footballer. It clashed completely with Bazel's image of a center forward — tall, tough, capable of dominating with both head and foot. "Don't underestimate him. That guy scored eight goals in eleven games!" Captain Rok said with a serious tone. Bazel immediately straightened his expression. The opponent's appearance was misleading, but scoring 8 goals in 11 matches spoke for itself. Once the players completed their warm-ups, they entered the pitch led by three referees. "Let's go, Suke!" "Show them what you've got!" "Bring back news of victory!" "Go, warriors of Mostar!" The crowd, though only around 200 people, was full of energy and passion, creating a lively atmosphere. Suke followed behind his much taller teammates, looking like a gap in the team's height lineup. While high-fiving during the lineup, Bazel watched Suke — who was raising his fist high just to reach face level — still with visible doubt. How the hell did this guy score eight goals?Bazel was baffled. Was the entire Bosnian Second Division just full of weaklings that even a tiny kid could score? Back in their half, Mlinar nudged Suke's head with his shoulder and smiled, "That guy looks really confused." Suke pressed his lips together, "I'm different from traditional forwards." Mlinar laughed. "Don't worry, I'll get the ball to you." Suke nodded softly. "Over here! Pass!" "Give it to me!" "Clear it!!!" The match was fierce — not in pace, but in physicality. The tempo wasn't fast. Ball movement and passing were slow, and transitions from defense to attack were clumsy. But these guys weren't afraid to slide tackle. If they got beaten or felt any danger, they'd go in hard. And many times, they weren't going for the ball — they were going for the man. That's just how the Bosnian league is! If the Premier League is the most physically competitive, then Bosnia's leagues are the most brutal. And the referees? They barely flinch at these tackles. Bang!Mlinar and Rok clashed hard. As captains, neither backed down from the contest for possession, running straight into a tackle. The ball ricocheted from the contact. But they didn't stop. They kept chasing, leading to a second violent collision. Bang!! This time, their boots collided directly. The bone-on-bone impact sound made nearby players wince, feeling the pain just by watching — but both men limped on, refusing to give up. Eventually, the ball landed at the feet of Mostar fullback Kotić, who passed it up the wing. At the same time, Suke moved in that direction. Seeing this, Bazel quickly followed. Suke had his back to the goal, and he could feel Bazel right behind him. Suddenly, Suke burst forward, spinning and sprinting. Bazel instinctively turned to follow — then paused. "Wait, something's off!" He realized Suke was baiting him. Sure enough, Mostar's midfielder launched a surgical through ball down the center. But Bazel hadn't been fooled. He was already positioned in the channel and intercepted it cleanly. "Nice one, Bazel!" His teammates cheered as Bazel calmly passed the ball to a fullback. At that moment, he saw Suk jogging back slowly. They made eye contact. Bazel's eyes were filled with even more confusion — almost saying, Did this guy really score eight goals? "Yes, I did."Suke said. Bazel blinked in surprise. "You can read minds?" Suke drifted left. Bazel quickly followed. They continued talking while running. "I've seen that look plenty of times." Suke said indifferently, "But they all lost to me in the end." Bazel frowned. "That's because you haven't played me yet." Suke just shrugged. Back on the pitch, both teams were still locked in midfield battles, with no real change in tactics. It was like both sides had only one playbook they were running into the ground. That's just how lower-division matches go! The play is rigid, limited by the players' abilities — no complex tactics, just one rigid game plan. Mostar Wanderers used to play a possession style. Their tactics revolved around Mlinar, their best player, moving the ball up and looking for gaps. But that kind of technical play is hard in lower leagues. Too much skill gap among players made possession play fall apart. But Mostar had no choice. Their attack lacked a reliable scorer, their defense was soft, and their goalie was a walking disaster. It was a struggle. They remained a mid-table team in the second division — until Suke joined, and things started to improve. "Suke!" Mlinar suddenly shouted. Suke turned and sprinted again — but instead of passing to him, Mlinar sent a through ball down the wing. "Beautiful!!" The crowd erupted. Mlinar might be aging, but his passing was still sharp. The ball sliced through the defense perfectly. Just when the crowd expected winger Vitoric to get there and score, a figure suddenly darted in from the side — a clean slide tackle sent the ball out of bounds. The stadium went quiet. That perfectly timed defensive play was suffocatingly good. Bazel stood up and roared in excitement. In his mind, it was a brilliant stop. "I get it now!" Bazel shouted to Suk. "You're bait!" Suke looked confused. "You're a decoy," Bazel explained confidently. "You don't join the real attacks. The wings are the actual threat, and your #10 is the playmaker. Maybe you really scored 8 goals, and maybe your shooting is great — but if I cut off your connection with the team, you're no threat." Bazel looked like he'd just uncovered a great truth. In his view, that explained everything. After all, in 20 minutes, Suke hadn't even touched the ball once. The guy was just a distraction while the real danger came from the wings. Suke looked at him and blinked. "You think I'm easy to deal with, don't you?" Bazel shrugged. "In Germany, your height would've ended your career before it began." Suke paused and then warned: "You'd better keep a close eye on me. Don't let me shake you off." Bazel almost retorted with a smug comment, but thought better of it. No point arguing with a guy who was just bluffing. Anyway, he had already "figured out" Mostar's entire attack — now it would be easy to defend. On the sideline, Oripe squinted. "They're starting to ignore Suke." "It's hard not to," said Rosen, Mostar's only backup defender. "He's tiny — you can't even see him when he's next to tall guys." Oripe nodded in agreement. "But he's deadly," Rosen added. Back on the field, Mostar's attack pushed down the left wing, and Sarajevo's defense naturally shifted to that side. Bazel glanced at Suke — no significant movement. "Given up?" he wondered. He focused instead on Mlinar — the real threat. But he didn't notice that Suk, who had been beside him, was now drifting back quietly, creating a 4-meter gap between them. At the same time, Mlinar faked past a defender and suddenly chipped the ball. As the ball flew overhead, Bazel instinctively moved left — to block Suke and signal the keeper. But... he couldn't feel Suke nearby. When he turned, Suke was already behind him — first to the drop zone. "When did he—?!" Bazel was in shock. The crowd erupted in cheers. Suke slowed down, adjusted his steps, and glanced at the keeper's position. As the ball dropped, he didn't trap it. He angled his foot sharply and blasted it straight. The ball zipped toward the near post like a missile, brushing the post as it slammed into the net. After scoring, Suke looked back at the stunned Bazel, as if to say: "I told you — don't let me shake you off!"