Bazel stared blankly at the ball lying quietly in the back of the net. He couldn't believe that he had let the short guy get away despite defending him.
He was sure his assumptions had been spot on, yet Suke had still slipped past his defense. Bazel couldn't figure out which part of the plan had gone wrong.
But more than that, what really stung was the embarrassment.
He had just made a bold claim, and then, almost immediately, Suke scored.
What made it even harder to swallow was that this was Suke's first touch of the game—and he scored with it. What kind of finishing ability was that?
Still, Bazel didn't get discouraged. He believed he could still shut Suke down—he just needed to take it a little more seriously.
Meanwhile, Suke had already run over to the stands to celebrate with the fans.
The Mostar Wanderers' supporters loved Suk, especially the older ones, who particularly enjoyed pinching his chubby, baby-fat cheeks.
Just like now. As soon as he ran toward the stands, he was swarmed by fans.
One burly, tank-top-clad middle-aged man pulled Suke into a bear hug, ruffled his smooth black hair into a messy tangle, and then grabbed his pudgy cheeks with his rough hands.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch!"
Suke's eyes were tearing up from the pain, but he couldn't resist due to his size.
The others just laughed and watched the show.
"Suke! We've got our own Golden Left Foot Suker now!"
One fan shouted with laughter and cheers.
Of course, he was referring not to this 150 cm Suke, but to Croatia's legendary striker, "Golden Left Foot" Davor Šuker.
Seizing a chance while the fans were laughing, Suke struggled out of the man's grip. His cheeks were bright red, looking even rosier than usual.
Rubbing his sore face, Suke looked very upset.
He didn't understand why these big burly guys loved pinching his face so much. Sure, he had nice skin and chubby cheeks, but that didn't justify the constant grabbing.
"Nice one!"
Mlinar ran over, grabbed Suke by the shoulders, and lifted him off the ground.
Suke felt incredibly embarrassed being lifted like that.
"Put me down! Put me down now!"
Suke flailed his short legs wildly, but Mlinar just laughed harder.
The comical scene made the nearby fans burst into warm laughter.
"You're embarrassing me!"
Suke shouted angrily, but Mlinar ignored him again.
He even imitated the scene from The Lion King, where the old monkey lifts young Simba, presenting Suke to the crowd—causing another wave of laughter.
Suke couldn't fight back, so he ended up covering his face, which only made the fans laugh harder.
The Mostar Wanderers fans really liked Suke—this small-statured but prolific scorer.
Even the head coach, Oripe, smiled at Suk from the sidelines.
In his eyes, although Suk had been dropped from the youth academy, his talent and ability were enough to take him into professional football someday.
Yes!
Oripe believed this with certainty.
After the celebration, the Mostar players returned to their half with joy and laughter.
Meanwhile, the Sarajevo Ranger players looked grim—especially Bazel, who stared at Suke as if he were about to explode with rage.
"You've been marked."
Mlinar teased Suke.
Suke pulled up his drooping socks, adjusted his shin guards, then turned around and smiled confidently.
That smile seemed to silently declare something.
Soon, under the referee's urging, FK Sarajevo restarted the game.
With a one-goal lead, Mostar Wanderers became more composed and confident. They shifted into a more defensive posture.
Meanwhile, Suke really had been marked.
This time, Bazel stopped focusing on Mlinar and did everything he could to stay on Suke.
Whenever Suke got the ball, Bazel would close in instantly, trying to use his physicality to dispossess him.
But Suke was smart. He knew his weakness—the physical mismatch was too great to go head-to-head.
So he'd quickly pass the ball to the wings and then turn to sprint forward, using his agility to break into space.
This made things more and more difficult for Bazel.
Bazel was a heavy central defender—tall and strong, but lacking agility.
Turning slowly was a common flaw of defenders like him, and Suke was exploiting it.
In Bosnia's second division, tactics were simple, with each position having fixed duties and little flexibility.
Fullbacks wouldn't cover for center backs, which meant the slow-turning weakness of defenders was easily exposed.
But Suke wasn't having an easy time either.
The angry Bazel made sure to collide heavily with Suke at every opportunity, increasing the pressure.
Suke was knocked down over and over, but each time he gritted his teeth and got back up.
The constant physical pressure left his knees scraped, his jersey stained green from the turf, and his arms red and swollen from the impacts.
The referee didn't call fouls—this was Bosnian football, after all, known for its rawness.
Suke had to endure the punishment while still looking for chances.
At this moment, Mlinar was dribbling forward. He wasn't fast, but Sarajevo's pressing was even slower.
Before they could close in, Mlinar passed the ball to Suke.
"Don't even think about turning!"
Bazel charged at him, shouting.
Suke trapped the ball without turning, instead taking a few steps forward with his back to goal.
Bazel lost his cool. Thinking Suke was making a move, he rushed in for a hit.
Just as they were about to collide, Suke passed the ball to the right.
At that exact moment, Mlinar ran past from Suke's side, picked up the ball, and charged into the penalty area.
"Ahhh—!"
Suke let out a scream as Bazel smashed into him.
But this time, Suke didn't just fall—he grabbed Bazel's jersey tightly, stopping him from turning to defend.
"Let go of me!"
Bazel roared in fury, but Suke refused to release his grip.
By the time Bazel turned his head, Mlinar was already shooting.
"Damn it!"
Bazel panicked. Mlinar struck the ball hard, sending it arcing past the goalkeeper and into the top of the net.
Mostar Wanderers had scored again in the 36th minute.
2–0 lead!
With a two-goal cushion, the Wanderers' morale skyrocketed, and their attacks became fiercer.
In lower divisions, players lacked tactical discipline. Once they gained an advantage, they tended to go all-in to crush the opponent.
In the second half, Bazel completely lost his ability to contain Suke.
Despite his strength, he was being run in circles like a clumsy bear, and eventually, Sarajevo subbed him off.
"I can stop him! Just give me more time..."
Bazel protested as he came off, full of frustration.
But his teammates and coach just looked at him silently.
Coach Nesevis sighed and said, "You never even disrupted him. This is football, not wrestling."
Bazel's face turned beet red.
"Just watch that kid's movement!"
He turned to see Suke constantly shifting left and right in front of the defensive line.
Often, he moved from the far left to the far right, always finding ways to lose his marker and break into the box.
"This kid..."
Bazel frowned.
Coach Nesevis said, "You see it now? His off-ball awareness—he always shows up in the right place at the right time. Whether it's to shoot or pass, his presence makes Mostar's attack so much more dangerous."
He added with a sigh, "His game-reading ability and movement are well above this league's level. That awareness makes up for his weak physique. It's why he's already scored 8 goals this season—wait, now it's 9!"
On the pitch, Suk was still running.
His head kept turning left and right, scanning the field.
The information he gathered formed a bird's-eye mental map in his head.
He could clearly see the opponent's formation and weak points.
His bright eyes sparkled like those of an eagle soaring over the field.
This was his greatest asset—his cheat code.
[Inzaghi's Awareness]
The man who lived on the offside line—Inzaghi haunted top defenses around the world.
His awareness made his movement deadly.
Inzaghi himself once said, "You're either born with it or you're not. You can't teach this."
That's the state Suke was in—his vision and game sense were unmatched on the field.
"Now!"
Suke took a few steps back, then suddenly turned and sprinted forward. His run was resolute, his short legs pumping like mad.
He didn't even look to see if the pass was coming—that was the trust between him and Mlinar.
The crowd's rising roar told him all he needed.
The ball was coming!
When he looked up, it was already overhead. Suke slowed slightly, took a few small steps to adjust, and shaped to shoot.
Seeing this, Sarajevo's defender launched into a sliding tackle.
But Suke's raised right foot suddenly dropped gently, nudging the ball with the outside of his foot to the other direction, creating a perfect shooting angle.
He adjusted again and poked the ball with his toe.
It flew toward the goal—and the net rippled.
Suke scored again.
A brace. Game over.