Chapter 71: The Other One

The lone charge across the field and that absolute speed—it sent the fans' adrenaline surging. Suker's performance was electrifying. "The Wind-Chasing Boy! We have our own Wind-Chasing Boy!" In this era, young players full of vigor and blessed with blistering speed were often dubbed Wind-Chasing Boys. Take Michael Owen in the Premier League as a classic example. And in this match, Suker's performance earned him the same nickname from his fans. Dazzling technique and exquisite passing certainly make for enjoyable viewing, but the raw, violent beauty brought by pure speed also stirred the crowd's passion. Suker's blazing sprint and solo attack utterly crushed Bijeljina Radnik's morale. Already trailing by two goals, now the gap had widened. And against the rock-solid defense of Zrinjski Mostar, they couldn't find a way to score. The gap was too big!Bijeljina Radnik's players hung their heads in dejection. Soon, the 90 minutes came to an end. Zrinjski Mostar defeated Bijeljina Radnik 3-0, kicking off the second half of the season with a solid win. This victory also extended Zrinjski Mostar's fine form. The league now approached the final match of the second round. After the 22nd round, the remaining 11 matches marked the final sprint toward the season's end. With the tension of the title race and relegation battles, the final stage of the league was bound to become even more intense. "Suker, look here!" "Suker! Suker! Over here!" "Look this way too!" After the match, Suker was immediately surrounded by the media. At this point, he was no longer an unknown rookie, but a rising star causing headaches across the Bosnian Premier League. With his rising reputation came increased media exposure. "What are your thoughts on this match?" a reporter from Sarajevo asked. Facing the camera, Suk replied, "The opponents played well, but we were in better form. Also, our coach laid out a detailed tactical plan—that was the key to our win. As for my own performance, I'm very satisfied." The reporter quickly followed up, "In round 23, you'll be facing FK Sarajevo again—your second encounter with Suker Mazic. Before the winter break, he said he was most looking forward to the rematch and was confident about revenge. What's your response?" "Keep dreaming!" Suker grinned and held up his fist to the camera. "We crushed them last time, and this time will be the same!" "Keep dreaming! We crushed them last time, and we'll do it again!" Suker Mazic was in a foul mood. Watching the smug face on TV, he felt like punching it. Too damn cocky! They lost just one match, and this guy's already running his mouth. What bad luck—damn it! Not just Suker Mazic—other Sarajevo players were also riled up. "I'll handle that little punk. I'll make him pay on the pitch." "Damn brat! We'll show him what real football looks like!" The squad was fired up. Meanwhile, TV highlights replayed Suker's goals and assists from the match. Suker had recorded one goal and one assist—undoubtedly the best performer on the pitch. Watching the footage of Suerk and Modric, players Torlist and Mescapec felt a rising sense of urgency. "As annoying as they are, those two are extremely dangerous," said Torlist. Mescapec added, "Say what you will—they can really run!" Just picturing Suker and Modric sprinting all over the field gave them headaches. Nearby, Jorjac even covered his mouth. Since the last match, just thinking about Suk made him physically nauseous, with a strong urge to vomit. "Good. This time, we'll show them something new." Suker Mazic said seriously, "We're improving too. I'm willing to sacrifice for the team—if he can drop back, I can too." Torlist and Mescapec exchanged a helpless look. Lately, following the new tactics introduced by Van Stoyak and the excellent performances of Zrinjski Mostar, the entire Bosnian Premier League had begun a sweeping tactical reform. Gone were the days of simple, monotonous strategies. Teams were now shifting towards more efficient and threatening styles of play. With the exception of a few old-school managers, most teams were trying out new tactics. FK Željezničar Sarajevo, for instance, had begun adopting Spain's possession-based play. FK Tuzla City was reportedly trying out AC Milan's Christmas Tree formation. (4-3-2-1) Even FK Sarajevo was practicing center-forward drop-backs and high pressing. Zrinjski Mostar's influence on the league had far exceeded anyone's expectations. But for Torlist and Mescapec, they didn't believe these rushed tactical overhauls were a good idea. Sure, it sounded exciting and progressive. But truthfully, trying to play like Zrinjski Mostar was a tall order for most teams. They didn't have the hardware! Take high pressing, for example—it required excellent coordination up front, but also tremendous stamina. If you ran out of gas before the opponent did, you'd get sliced open. And the center-forward drop-back tactic? Zrinjski Mostar's version was tailored to Suker's unique strengths. Even Kosovic wasn't an organizing forward; he was a pivot, tasked with drawing defenders and creating space for Suker's runs. But Suker Mazic's drop-back? That was expected to involve playmaking. The problem was—he lacked that kind of vision and tactical awareness! This wasn't something a few passes could fix. It came from an overall understanding of the game and pitch awareness. Still, Torlist and Mescapec didn't have the authority to make the final call. The tactical shift was in full swing, and everyone was riding high on enthusiasm. To speak out now would be to pour cold water on the team's momentum. They weren't going to do that. Let's just play and see what happens. Of course, they hoped it would work out. Round 23 marked the start of the third and final cycle of the Bosnian Premier League. Zrinjski Mostar and Sarajevo were set for their last showdown of the season—a match worthy of the spotlight. Zagreb, Croatia. At Dinamo Zagreb's training base, chief scout Jategenic was reporting to head coach Besic. "NK Slaven Belupo is already interested. Though they haven't formally responded, they're very keen on Koncior. Swapping a veteran for a young prospect—even with a transfer fee involved—they're likely to agree!" "As for NK Marsonia, the summer transfer for Mandzukic is almost finalized." He closed his notebook and looked at Besic. "Where did you find these young players?" Besic smiled, "I took a year off, but that doesn't mean I did nothing." "Fair enough," Jategenic sighed. "Next season, with all these kids transferring in—and Modric—we're basically becoming a daycare." Besic chuckled. "We're still missing one." "There's more?" Jategenic was shocked. "Are you seriously planning a youth revolution? Man, young players are full of uncertainties. If this flops, we could get relegated!" Dinamo Zagreb really was in a mess this season. Thanks to the destruction wrought by the Mostecic brothers, most of the club's key players had been sold off. What Besic inherited was a wreck. Yet he seemed more energized than ever. Upon his return, he took a tough stance—halting most contract renewals and listing several players for the winter and summer transfer windows. He wasn't rebuilding—he was starting over. "Looks like you've got a big plan," Jategenic said, intrigued. "So who are you signing to replace the ones you're selling?" Besic didn't hold back. "Two people." "Who?" "Robert Jarni and Igor Stimac." Jategenic was stunned. "You serious? You're bringing in those two old-timers?" To any Croatian, those names were iconic. In the 1998 World Cup, Croatia reached the semi-finals under the golden left foot of Davor Suker. Though they lost to France, it remained their best-ever World Cup performance. Jarni and Stimac were starting defenders in that historic team. "I have no idea what you're thinking," Jategenic said, shaking his head. "I'm done with my work. Let me rest now." "No, no, no!" Besic waved him off. "Your work's not done yet." Jategenic turned to him, annoyed. "You slave-driving boss! I didn't even get to go home for Christmas!" "Neither did I." Besic looked up. "I've practically lived at the club since Christmas. You're the only one I trust right now—so you'll help me, right?" Those words softened Jategenic a little. If it was just him suffering, he'd be mad. But seeing Besic with a thick beard, dark circles under his eyes, and a tired face, he realized the man was exhausted too. "Where now?" Jategenic asked, still grumbling. "Can't say no to you, damn it." Besic grinned. "I knew you were my best friend. I knew you'd help me!" "Just tell me the place already!" Jategenic waved impatiently. "Bosnia. Mostar." Besic said succinctly. "Mostar?" Jategenic froze. "Luka's there. You want me to scout Luka? You're the one who discovered him—what's the point?" "Not Luka." Besic smiled. "The other one."