August in Mostar brought a hot day.
In the sweltering heat, even the pigeons perched at both ends of the Old Bridge lazily hid in the shade, no longer yearning for the sky or spreading their wings to soar.
In Mostar, pigeons and residents coexist harmoniously, so they are not afraid of people at all.
They even fly into homes, circle around, and then expect to be fed.
Two pigeons stood on the roof of Oripe's house.
Suk sat on a stone pier nearby, looking up at them. Normally, he would've driven them away—those birds make a mess!
But pigeons also symbolize good luck, just like Vantes Teyak, whom Suk had been waiting for day and night.
It had already been three weeks!
Suk hung his head.
This is too slow...
Maybe he misunderstood everything?
Feeling irritable, Suk shook his head and went back inside to grab his gear for some ball practice.
Just then, the sound of tires on the road came from outside.
A burgundy Volkswagen Santana pulled up, its paint glossy and clean—a rare high-end car in Mostar.
Curious, Suk looked over as the car stopped at Oripe's door. The doors opened, and two men stepped out.
Suk recognized one of them—it was Vantes Teyak, the coach.
His eyes lit up, and joy bubbled in his chest. He jogged over quickly.
"Coach!"
Suk greeted him with a cheerful smile.
Vantes nodded with a smile as well.
The other man, wearing dress pants and a white short-sleeved shirt, looked stiff. He examined Suk but didn't greet him.
"Please come inside," Suk said politely, opening the door wider.
But Vantes shook his head. "Pack your things. Where's your guardian?"
Suk's eyes sparkled. "Oripe is at school. I'll pack right away!"
He dashed inside.
The man in the shirt turned to Vantes. "Is this the other 'big treasure' you mentioned?"
Vantes smiled. "He'll surprise you."
The man looked unconvinced. Though not a footballer, he worked for a club and had seen many players—Suk seemed far too ordinary.
Suk came out quickly, backpack on his shoulders.
"I'm ready! Let's go."
"Only one backpack?" Vantes asked.
"Yup, just one."
"Alright then, get in."
Suk locked the house and hopped into the back seat, barely able to contain his excitement.
He was about to join Mostar Zrinjski, a team in the Super League. This was a huge step forward.
The roads, except for the main ones, were bumpy. The car rattled all the way to a school on the east side of town.
After talking to the security guard, Oripe came out, dressed in blue sportswear.
He smiled and shook Vantes' hand warmly.
Vantes gestured to the other man. "This is Valimqi. He's handling today's contract."
Valimqi handed over some papers. "We've decided to sign Suk for five years."
Oripe nodded but didn't take the documents yet. "What's the weekly salary?"
"Since Suk just joined, it'll start low—500 marks a week. Of course, if he performs well, his salary will increase significantly."
He thought Oripe might complain, but Oripe simply nodded. "No problem."
Then he looked at Suk. "And you?"
"No problem," Suk replied.
500 marks a week was great—enough to stop working and focus solely on training and matches.
Besides, Mostar Zrinjski was only a stepping stone. Suk wasn't worried about the money—his goal was much bigger.
The signing process went smoothly and quickly. Vantes appreciated their efficiency—he had no time to waste.
"Aren't you going to say goodbye?" Vantes asked as they were ready to leave.
"No need. We're all in the same town," Suk said with a smile.
He turned to Oripe. "You guys survive this season however you can. If you get relegated, don't stress."
"Shut that crow's mouth," Oripe snapped, half-joking.
Suk laughed and waved. "I'm off!"
"Go ahead."
Oripe watched the car disappear down the road, raising a trail of dust.
He looked up at the sky.
The young bird is ready to fly.
Mostar Zrinjski's training base was on a hillside south of town. There were two ways up: a flat main road and a narrow mountain path.
Since they were in a car, they took the main road.
As the car climbed, Vantes said, "There's a document next to you. It covers some tactical systems. Study it today. Training starts tomorrow."
Suk didn't hesitate—he picked it up right away.
It detailed a balanced system of attack and defense. The center forward drops deep to distribute, supporting both flanks. Even fullbacks join in from the sides.
Suk needed to study his role and passing options within this system.
It focused on a three-line attack—different from Guardiola's future five-line approach, but still complex.
The tactics favored wing play, overlapping runs, and midfield support.
After a quick read, Suk understood most of it.
His tactical sense had grown recently, especially since his physical issues forced him to adapt.
"Can I get the profiles of our starting players?" he asked.
Vantes looked at him in the rearview mirror. "Of course."
No coach would refuse a player eager to integrate into the team.
Soon the car reached a flat section with a stunning view of Mostar. The Neretva River sparkled in the sunlight, and the peaceful town lay below.
They turned off at a fork in the road, driving for two more minutes until a tin arch appeared.
It was rusty and faded, but the Mostar Zrinjski emblem was still visible.
They pulled up to a two-story building.
"We're here," Vantes said.
He led Suk into the dormitory. Suk bounced with excitement.
On the second floor, Vantes pointed. "Luka lives here."
Suk said quickly, "I'll stay here then!"
Vantes smiled. "Training clothes and your home and away kits will be delivered soon."
"And the player info too," Suk reminded him.
Vantes nodded and left.
Suk opened the door.
A breeze blew through the clean dorm. There were three bunk beds—two were made, and the third was used as a clothes rack.
One of the beds had a red-and-white jersey on it—Mostar Zrinjski's home kit. Number 8.
The name on the back: Modric.
Just then, a surprised voice called from behind.
"Suk, you're here!"
Suk turned. It was Modric, holding a basin of water and a rag.
"What are you doing?" Suk asked.
"Cleaning the dorm for my new roommate!" Modric replied, grinning.
He pointed to the bunk by the window. "They delivered your bedding yesterday. I washed and set it up today."
Suk walked over and smelled the soap. He turned with a thumbs up. "Luka, you're my brother for life!"
Modric scratched his head shyly.
Suk took the rag. "Where else do we need to clean?"
Modric pointed. "Just the posters on the wall."
Suk climbed up and wiped them.
"You like Ronaldo?" he asked.
Modric nodded. "He's an alien. No one can stop him."
Suk nodded. Ronaldo (R9) was unstoppable in those days.
"Who do you like?" Modric asked.
Suk smiled and pointed at the same poster. "Him too."
Modric beamed.
"See? We've always had a great connection!"