In late October, the weather remained swelteringly hot.
In the small town of Mostar, inside Mlinar's carpentry shop—
Having just finished installing a wardrobe, Mlinar clapped his hands and smiled, "Done!"
Then he looked at Bakic beside him and asked, "Not opening your shop today?"
"Taking the afternoon off!"
Bakic waved dismissively and sighed, "We're going to get trashed again tomorrow—no mood for it."
Mlinar chuckled, "Didn't you guys just sign a new player? Not doing well?"
"He's just a hotheaded rookie," Bakic said irritably. "Doesn't pass! Doesn't look up! Doesn't defend! Absolutely useless. The midfield's a mess, and we can't even get the ball to the front line."
As he spoke, Bakic widened his eyes dramatically and pointed to himself. "Can you believe it? I've become the most reliable player on the team! Me! The Butter Finger! What a joke!"
Looking dejected, Bakic added, "You've retired, and Suke's gone too. This season is our first in the top league. Apart from the first three rounds, we've lost every match since. Relegation is guaranteed!"
Mlinar smiled, "Take it easy. Things will get better."
Bakic sighed and shook his head. "Whatever. I don't want to think about this crap."
Looking up at the clock, he said, "It's about time, yeah?"
Mlinar nodded. "Let's head out."
After tidying up a bit, Mlinar took a Mostar Zrinjski jersey with number 99 off a hook and pulled it over his head. He locked the shop door, and the two of them began walking toward the town center along the riverbank path.
Along the way, they saw very few people—the town was quiet and peaceful.
But as they neared the town center, they began to see more and more people. By the time they reached "Zrinjski Stadium," it was already getting crowded.
A large number of locals had gathered here.
On both sides of the road, there were various food stalls and beverage vendors.
Nearby, the Mostar Zrinjski team store was packed with people constantly going in and out.
"French fries! Just 3 Marks a bag!"
"Ice-cold dark beer! Ice-cold beer!"
"Fresh juice!"
The shouting of vendors, the chatter of fans, and chants all blended into a lively atmosphere.
Mlinar and Bakic each bought a cold beer and a bag of fries.
Looking around at the buzzing scene, they couldn't help but feel emotional.
Just two months ago, this place had been deserted, with only a few idle locals coming to watch games.
But after Zrinjski's impressive winning streak in the league—ten straight wins—and with the help of local media promotion, this had become the weekly gathering spot for the town's residents.
Zrinjski's match attendance had surged.
Not only were the 1,000 seats always sold out, but a standing section had also been opened on the opposite side to accommodate more fans.
Nowadays, up to 2,000 spectators could attend a single Zrinjski match.
"Unbelievable how things have changed in just two months," Bakic sighed.
When they first started coming to Zrinjski matches, the place was nearly empty.
Now it was absolutely packed—explosively so!
"Zrinjski is basically Mostar's own team, and their recent performance has been incredible. Their games are a joy to watch. No way people would ignore that."
Mlinar laughed. "Of course, it also helps that Suek and Modric—Mostar's Twin Stars—are fan favorites."
The past few games had seen stellar performances from both Suk and Modric.
They were no longer just local names; even across Bosnia and Herzegovina, they were gaining recognition.
Especially Modric—his outstanding form had made many teams wary, and he had become the league's breakout prodigy.
Modric's talent was now fully on display, and his presence had made Zrinjski's midfield one of the most dominant in the Bosnian league.
In the Mostar region, Suke and Modric were inseparable.
Known as the "Mostar Twin Stars," they were adored by locals.
On the outer wall of Zrinjski Stadium, there was a mural of two boys with arms around each other—that was Suk and Modric.
"Come on, the match is about to start!"
The two hurried forward.
By the time they got inside the stadium, the atmosphere was electric.
The crowd's cheers filled the air as they shouted out the players' names and words of encouragement.
"Modric, take them down!"
"Kosovic, show them what you've got!"
"Suke! Suke!"
"Warriors of Mostar, you're the best!"
As the two teams finished their warm-ups, the chanting grew louder.
"Suke, you've got this!"
Standing at the railing near the players' tunnel, Mlinar shouted.
Suke turned, saw Mlinar, and immediately smiled, giving him a thumbs-up.
Mlinar clapped and watched him walk into the tunnel. "He's gotten taller," he remarked with a touch of nostalgia.
Boys grow fast during puberty—especially with consistent meals and energy intake. Suke had now grown to around 160 cm.
He had started out as a tiny bean, but now he was not-so-scrawny anymore.
"In the first half, we play normally. Kosovic starts. In the second half, we try the new formation," said coach Van Stoyak. Then he shouted, "Stay sharp! Let's go for our 11th straight win! Let's go!"
Everyone roared in unison:
"Let's go!!—"
While the final adjustments were being made, Suk donned a substitute vest and sat quietly with his eyes closed, conserving energy.
Player Profile:
[Diamond Card - Special]: Inzaghi's Game Sense
[Red Card - Skill]: Torlist's Passing
[Red Card - Special]: Andre's Rocket Legs
[Red Card - Skill]: Vukocic's Shooting
[Red Card - Skill]: Robert's Dribbling
[Red Card - Skill]: Recovery Card
Stats:
Name: Suke
Height: 161 cm
Weight: 50 kg
Speed: 75 + 15
Agility: 81
Strength: 65
Explosiveness: 85
After multiple rounds in the Bosnian Super League, Suk had finally assembled a full set of red cards, significantly boosting his abilities.
His old [Torlist Short Pass] had been replaced with a more comprehensive [Torlist Passing], which included short passes, long passes, and other types.
Robert's Dribbling improved his ball control.
Vukocic's Shooting was finally ready to be used.
But what made Suke happiest—was that he had grown taller.
In just two months, he'd gone from 155 cm to 161 cm.
His physical development had also improved his other attributes.
Especially strength, speed, and explosiveness.
Though limited by his weight, his strength hadn't improved drastically, but combined with speed and explosiveness, Suke could now hold his own against light physical contact.
That also allowed him to showcase more technical skill under tight marking.
This technical development had led to tactical adjustments.
They had been practicing a new strategy for a month.
If successful, it would greatly boost Zrinjski's overall effectiveness.
For now, Suk sat quietly on the bench, carefully observing and analyzing the match.
On the pitch, the game remained tightly contested.
Zrinjski's opponents this round were FK Sloboda Tuzla, currently third in the league—and the only team to have beaten Sarajevo.
They were no pushovers.
They had come well-prepared.
Their tall center-backs neutralized Kosovic, and their midfield featured a man-marking specialist.
That guy was currently shadowing Modric—but was clearly waiting for Suke to come on.
In a match three rounds ago, Suk had been shadowed all game and had zero impact.
Zrinjski had only won thanks to a late long-range goal from Modric.
Since then, teams had started planning specific counters for Suke.
Whenever he dropped deep, someone would mark him immediately.
That had made things difficult for Suke.
Yet today, Suke looked calm, his expression unreadable, quietly studying the match and preparing his next move.
The first half continued in a tense deadlock.
With Modric and Kosovic contained, Zrinjski struggled to attack.
The opposing coach looked confident.
Zrinjski had two tactics, sure—but they had counters ready.
If Kosovic played, they'd use height to stop him.
If Suke came on, they'd have someone track him during his deep runs.
Suke mostly moved in straight vertical lanes, so he was predictable.
The FK Sloboda Tuzla coach wore a smug grin.
He had full confidence they would win this match.