Chapter 52: High Press!

BEEP!!!—— A sharp whistle pierced the air. "The match begins!" As the crowd erupted in cheers, the forwards of HŠK Zrinjski Mostar surged forward like arrows loosed from a bow, aggressively charging towards their assigned targets. Kosović sprinted straight at the ball being passed back to the defensive line, while Biljal and Suko flanked from the sides. Boban, Kamnar, and Modrić also pushed up in a coordinated press. Zrinjski Mostar showed incredible energy from the opening whistle, exuding a fierce determination to press high. "They're charging in!" "Pass it over!" "Don't hold the ball!" Ivan Krić shouted loudly at his center-back partner Bičević. But out of habit, Bičević hesitated for a moment, and that moment was all Kosović needed to pounce—he accelerated with intensity. "Damn!" Realizing the danger, Bičević hurriedly passed the ball out to the flank. But in his panic, the pass lacked power. The ball rolled sluggishly towards full-back Jorjać, who stepped up to meet it—but then came the rapid thumping of footsteps nearby. He turned to look—a small, low-set figure was darting like a missile toward the ball. "Shit!" Jorjać's face went pale. He sped up, but his opponent was simply too fast. Suke's eyes were locked onto the ball. He pushed his speed to the limit, resembling a young cheetah in full sprint, his rapid strides generating tremendous momentum. Tap tap tap tap tap... To Jorjać, that sound was like the devil's whisper. "They've caused chaos!!" shouted commentator Basodači in surprise. Just seconds into the match, Zrinjski Mostar had already shattered Sarajevo's rhythm. And Suke was still charging toward the ball's landing spot. "Can he make it?" As everyone watched, Suke lowered his head and surged even faster. He got there—WHACK! Suke jabbed the ball forward just in time, leaving his defender sprawled on the ground. Jorjać landed flat on his back and, turning his head, saw Suke already striking the ball toward the goal. BANG! The ball shot low toward the bottom right corner. Sarajevo's keeper dove with full extension, barely managing to get a fingertip to it and push it out for a corner. "What the hell are you guys doing?! Wake up!" Climbing to his feet, goalkeeper Ivanki roared in fury, "You want to see me concede?! Idiots!" No goalkeeper likes to see his team under pressure from the opening second. They had clearly been too relaxed. Captain Ivan Krić rushed to calm Ivanki down, then turned to console his startled defenders. In a typical match, that pace might be manageable. But Zrinjski Mostar's early blitz completely shocked them. Usually, the opening minutes are for probing—but not this time. Zrinjski Mostar came to fight. "Corner kick! Corner kick!" Suke pointed to the corner flag. Modrić quickly jogged over to take the kick. Kosović was already getting into position to contest the header. Modrić delivered the ball—it was aimed squarely at Kosović. Despite being tightly marked by two defenders, Kosović leaped into the air. "Let it in!" He got his head on it—but under pressure, the shot lacked power. The goalkeeper securely caught the ball. Ivanki took a few quick steps forward. He saw his teammates preparing for a counterattack—this was a golden opportunity. "Counter!" With a yell, Ivanki hurled the ball forward. But what he saw next dashed his hopes—two yellow-shirted players were already racing back at full speed. Suke and Modrić. One on the left, one on the right—both sprinting like madmen toward the back line. Suke reached his defensive position first, placing himself in front of the advancing Tolist. He wasn't trying to press aggressively—just slow the attack. Tolist was surprised by how fast they had recovered. He nudged the ball sideways to look for a passing lane, but Suke was immediately on him again. The message was clear—Don't even think about it! With no choice, Tolist passed the ball wide. Suke turned and chased after it. Meanwhile, Modrić had taken up his defensive position and immediately closed in on the winger, Tižemanči. "Damn it!" Tižemanči was clearly uncomfortable. The pressing was too tight and fast—even though he had a physical advantage, this harassment was frustrating. Modrić started pushing with his shoulder, forcing Tižemanči to stop the ball and pull it further away while shielding it. But before help arrived— "I got it!" A voice came from below. Tižemanči looked down—Suke was sliding in, tackling the ball from under his feet. "Bastard!" Tižemanči tried to chase him down, but suddenly he felt a tug—he had been pulled slightly, enough to disrupt his stride. Modrić had grabbed him. After tugging, Modrić sprinted after Suke, continuing the transition. "Another midfield interception! Zrinjski Mostar's pressing awareness in this match is superb." Commentator Basodači was buzzing with excitement:"We all know Zrinjski Mostar's coach Van Stroyak is a Dutchman. His tactical philosophy is 'Total Football'—and high pressing is a key part of that system!" "High pressing is a strategy that applies pressure from the opponent's half to disrupt their offensive structure, raise your own possession rate, and launch counterattacks. It's a way to turn defense into attack—a belief that the best defense is offense." "Zrinjski used this strategy multiple times early in the season, and now they're using it again to throw Sarajevo into chaos." "This is not good news! In the slower, possession-light Bosnian league, a well-executed high press is an earthquake!" "So... can they succeed?" Back on the pitch, Suke, after intercepting, didn't immediately launch a counterattack. Seeing Sarajevo's defenders recovering, he passed the ball back to Modrić and returned to his position on the wing. Meanwhile, full-back Kerlpić was itching to make an overlapping run. But Modrić had a more direct plan. He exchanged glances with Suke and nodded slightly toward the box. Go! Suke understood immediately. After shaking off his marker, Modrić threaded a precise through pass between the full-back and center-back. Suke and Jorjać started their runs at the same time. But Suke's burst and acceleration were superior—he gained half a step almost immediately. Jorjać tried to grab him. Suke leaned toward the middle, knocking the defender's hand away and throwing off his rhythm. Then came a second burst. He left Jorjać in the dust. "He got past him AGAIN?!" Basodači's jaw dropped. Bosnia may not be a football powerhouse, but Jorjać was a national team regular with undeniable skill. Yet Suke had beaten him twice already. Suke himself couldn't believe it—he'd braced for a tackle, but with just a nudge, he got past him. Now clear, Zrinjski Mostar's attack posed yet another threat. Kosović and Biliar were already in position to receive a cross. Modrić had followed the play upfield. From the left baseline, Suke drew the attention of Sarajevo captain Ivan Krić. Both Kosović and Biliar were marked. Suke had only one choice—Modrić. As he prepared to pass, Ivan Krić lunged to intercept. Suke's heart skipped—he tapped the ball forward instead. "A feint?!!" Ivan Krić panicked and lunged toward the goal, and the keeper charged at Suke. But Suke stopped the ball, pulled it back with his left foot, and slid it diagonally behind him with his right. Right to Modrić. Modrić faced an open goal. He swung his leg. Swoosh!!! The net rippled. More than 10,000 Sarajevo fans fell silent. They conceded?How? They couldn't believe it. Then Basodači's shout exploded through the stadium. "GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!——" "From Croatia's prodigy Luka Modrić! A brilliant counterattack launched from a midfield interception by Zrinjski Mostar!" "Suke used his speed on the flank to bulldoze past Jorjać, and at the baseline he pulled off feints that tore apart Sarajevo's back line. His composure was incredible—this is exactly what top players must have." "Zrinjski scores an away goal!" "They've shown us something different today—Zrinjski Mostar came here for revenge!"