Chapter 66: Dinamo Zagreb

Words : 1351 Updated : Sep 19th, 2025

"I saw your match in Bosnia—amazing. You made those big oafs look like clumsy pigs." As soon as they walked out of the old priest's office, Dikamoci shed his priestly robes and began swearing like a sailor. "And that bastard who tackled you? Guys like him need to be taught a real lesson. If all us orphanage kids were there, we'd have made sure he regretted it." Dikamoci seemed even more fired up than Suker. The two headed to Dikamoci's room, where he tossed Suker's backpack onto the table. "Wait here," he said before rushing out. When he returned, he was carrying a turkey and a bag with six cans of beer. "Don't tell me you can't drink because you're a pro footballer. I'm a priest and I still drink!" Dikamoci expertly popped a beer and handed it over. Suker took it and asked, "Aren't priests not allowed to drink?" He remembered the old priest having a drink now and then. "Some of us aren't allowed!" Dikamoci pointed to himself. "I'm too exceptional, so I'm part of that special group." They clinked cans and took a long gulp. Suker had drunk before, even as a kid at the orphanage. But since turning pro, he'd mostly stopped. Still, today was an exception. "I remember you wanted to be a singer. How'd you end up a priest?" Suker asked curiously. Dikamoci sighed and gave him a bitter look. "Because you all left. Someone had to stay." "So you stayed?" "Not just for that. Like I said—too exceptional!" Suker rolled his eyes. "Exceptional at what exactly?" "Singing!" Dikamoci grinned. "I got picked during a Sunday mass choir. I'm currently an apprentice priest, but I'll be leading the church choir soon!" Suker was stunned. From aspiring pop singer to lead of the church choir? That was something. "Not much goes on here. Aside from Sunday prayers, it's boring as hell," Dikamoci said. "So I started watching your matches. I got hooked on football and now follow Dinamo Zagreb." Then his face turned angry. "Those two idiot brothers are destroying Dinamo. We're almost in the relegation zone halfway through the season!" "'We'?" Suker picked up on it immediately. Dikamoci grinned sheepishly and opened his jacket, revealing a Dinamo Zagreb jersey underneath. "I've been converted." Suker scowled. "You're a disgrace of a priest." "It's just a job!" Dikamoci shrugged. "I'm not a devout believer. I work in the church to keep the orphanage running and to give the kids some stability. If no one took over from the old priest, this place would've been shut down." Then he added, "By the way, we got your money. Your friend told us a lot about what you've been through. Even said you performed dives to make a living?" Suker's face froze. He could kill that blabbermouth Kovich. "Had to eat, didn't I?" Suker muttered. "You've always been tough to kill!" Dikamoci laughed. "Another round?" He handed over another beer, and Suker took it, cracking it open and drinking deeply. "Heard Locke went to the UK. What's up with that?" Suker asked. "He's always been restless, like he's got ADHD. He actually went to the US, via Mexico, and crossed the border illegally. But the old priest doesn't know." Suker nodded. That sounded like Locke—a real adventurer. "What about Vini?" "She works at the port." Suker frowned instinctively. After his experiences with Oliveira, he didn't like the sound of that, especially for a woman. Seeing his expression, Dikamoci quickly clarified, "Don't get the wrong idea. She's an accountant. She was the only one of us who ever went to school." Suker looked relieved. Dikamoci kept sipping his beer, and soon his face began to flush—he was getting drunk. "The old man always said we were blessed by the Lord. I believe that. The ones who weren't blessed... they're lying out there now." He pointed out toward the grass. Suker's expression darkened with grief. "We were abandoned. We survived war and hardship. That's why we've got to live well—to make those who hurt us see us rise!" Dikamoci smiled. "Just like you always said" He pointed to the sky, slurring a clumsy phrase: My fate is mine, not the Heaven's to decide! Suker immediately facepalmed. "I love that line," said Dikamoci. "Gives me strength. I don't want revenge—I just want to live well. To take control of my destiny. So we've got to keep working hard. Hic~" Clearly, he'd had enough to drink. Suker was feeling bloated too and decided to stop drinking. He laid the woozy Dikamoci on the bed and covered him with a blanket before lying down on the sofa to spend the night. The next morning Dikamoci woke up groggy, looked around, and didn't see Suker—though his backpack was still on the table. He got up and looked around. Finally, he found Suker outside on the grass. Suker stood solemnly, in front of a plate piled with apples, bananas, biscuits, and beef. But it was where the plate sat that mattered most. Though it was now overgrown grass, seven or eight years ago, it had been the entrance to a cave. In those chaotic years, eleven children had hidden there—and lost their lives in a massacre. Another nearby cave had hidden Suker, Dikamoci, Locke, Vini, and the old priest. If the attackers had found their cave first, Suker likely wouldn't be alive today. "I don't know how to perform church rituals, so I'm doing what we do back home," Suker said, pointing at the food. "Let's bow. They saved our lives." Dikamoci's face mirrored the sorrow on Suker's. The two bowed their heads in silent tribute. When it was done, they felt a little lighter. "You got plans later?" Dikamoci asked. Suker was about to answer when a boy's voice echoed from the hallway. "Suker! Suker! There's a phone call for you!" Suker turned. "Looks like I'm heading out." Suker took a bus to Maksimir Park. He waited about five minutes before seeing Modric rushing toward him. "Over here!" Suker waved. Modric spotted him and ran over. "Come on! We're gonna miss it!" "Miss what?" Suker asked as Modric pulled him along. "The Dinamo Zagreb match! Today's Besic's return debut!" "Besic?" Suker still looked confused. "He's the coach! My youth coach. I really admire him. Come on, I'll explain on the way!" When Modric talked about Dinamo Zagreb, his usual quiet demeanor disappeared. He began rambling non-stop. From his words, Suker learned: Besic had been Dinamo Zagreb's head coach. But last season, due to front-office turmoil, he was dismissed. The Mostecic brothers replaced him—one as head coach, the other as assistant. They began purging the team of anyone loyal to Besic. Players like Modric were exiled to Bosnian leagues. But it didn't last long. In just over a season, Dinamo went from Croatian league champions to relegation candidates. The fans were furious. The media slammed the club. Pressure mounted. Finally, after 18 rounds, the club sacked the Mostecic brothers and brought Besic back. He was now the "firefighter" coach brought in to save a burning house. But nearly the whole squad had been purged. What remained were the Mostecic loyalists—not the best scenario for a coach's return. And today's match was against city rivals Lokomotiva Zagreb. Christmas Eve. The final match before the winter break. Besic's return. All of this made the game electric. Fans who had lost all hope were now flooding back in hopes of witnessing a miraculous turnaround. Maksimir Stadium, with a capacity of nearly 40,000, was packed. Cheers and chants rocked the arena like a wave, hotter than anything in the Bosnian league. Even the falling snow seemed to melt in the heat of the fans' passion.

Chapter 66: Dinamo Zagreb

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