Nine minutes into the match, Mostar Zrinjski stunned everyone by scoring a goal through their high pressing.
Nobody expected this before the game.
While it was anticipated to be an intense match, both teams were known for their solid defense, so early goals and high scoring were unlikely.
But everything seemed to change after that goal.
Especially Mostar Zrinjski—they looked like a completely different team.
Was this really the same squad known only for aerial duels and long-ball tactics?
This attack was all about the details.
When Suke broke through on the wing, Kosovič and Biliar's runs disrupted the opposing defense and opened up space for the oncoming Modrić to take a shot.
Even when Sarajevo started to realize what was happening, Suk used his quick feet to feint a forced breakthrough at the baseline, forcing Ivan Krič to retreat again, which gave Modrić yet another shooting opportunity—and this time, he took it.
That goal caught Sarajevo completely off guard.
Suke's pressure down the wing was simply overwhelming.
Jojač climbed off the ground with a look of anxiety.
He had just been beaten by Suke twice and realized how fast Suke really was.
He initially thought he could contain him, but after that second time, he knew he couldn't keep up.
Tolist and Meskapeči also looked grim.
The lightheartedness was gone. Though only nine minutes in, the unexpected events had completely thrown them off.
At the top, Suker Mazić looked solemn.
He hadn't received a single pass since the start of the game—something that had never happened before.
Both Tolist and Meskapeči were skilled passers who would never usually leave him in such a bind.
The wingers were usually capable of breaking through and crossing the ball, giving him aerial chances.
But in these nine minutes, none of that had happened.
Naturally, Suker Mazić also glanced toward the other side of the field at Suke, who was celebrating with his teammates.
This guy with the same name was really delivering.
Suker Mazić and the rest of Sarajevo's players had to admit—they underestimated Suke.
"Stay sharp! Let's stabilize and get one back!"
Team captain Ivan Krič clapped and shouted to boost morale.
Now was not the time to feel defeated. They were playing at home, and this was a battle for the top of the table. Losing would be a major embarrassment.
"Luka, that was beautiful!"Suke extended his hand.
Modrić swung his hand up energetically.
Clap!"Great pass!"They laughed and hugged.
Modrić's face was beaming with energy.
Scoring first against Sarajevo clearly thrilled him.
But they couldn't relax yet—there was still a long way to go.
Back at the center circle, Suker Mazić now wore a more serious expression.
His fighting spirit had also intensified.
Behind him, Tolist and Meskapeči were also visibly focused.
As play resumed, Mostar Zrinjski applied the same high-press tactics again, surging forward in waves, trying to recreate the earlier scenario.
But this time, Sarajevo was more prepared—Meskapeči dropped deep to help the defense transition out from the back.
Tolist also moved into a defensive midfield position to aid distribution.
They thought having more ball handlers in their own half would solve the issue, but they were wrong.
As soon as the ball reached Tolist's feet, he was swarmed by an even fiercer press.
Not just Suke and Modrić—Biliar joined in as well.
Under pressure from three players, Tolist panicked.
Despite being Sarajevo's core player with excellent technical skills, even the best can't perform under such intense pressure.
He tried turning back to pass, but Kosovič had already cut off the route.
After a few futile attempts to shake them off, Modrić finally poked the ball away.
Frustrated, Tolist tried to win it back.
But Modrić quickly passed it to Suke on the flank.
Tolist charged toward Suke, who immediately returned the ball to Modrić.
Tolist turned again, rushing Modrić.
Before he could reach him, the ball was already back at Suke's feet.
Tolist stopped, glaring at Suke.
Suke blinked—not pressing anymore?
No press? Then I'm not passing.
Suke casually dribbled down the sideline and only passed when the pressure finally arrived.
The stadium fell silent again.
Was this really the same Sarajevo?
The same reigning champions?
Tolist, known for his elite technical skills in the Bosnian league, was now being toyed with.
Compared to the confident and aggressive Mostar Zrinjski, Sarajevo looked disorganized.
Mostar Zrinjski's pressing had completely disrupted their midfield rhythm.
Possession was again with Mostar Zrinjski, and their slick passing kept Sarajevo on the back foot.
"I didn't expect Sarajevo to be this passive," commentator Basodači said gravely."In the last round, we thought Tuzla Sloboda's crushing defeat was a fluke. But from what we're seeing now, Mostar Zrinjski has transformed—this is a new, powerful team with a system unfamiliar to us."
He expected a battle of titans.
He expected intensity.
He even thought Sarajevo would tactically target Mostar Zrinjski like before.
But not this.
A team with national-team defenders, two midfielders with top-league experience, and Bosnia wonderkid Suker Mazić—was now being toyed with.
Mostar Zrinjski was starting to push forward with organized possession.
Ten minutes later.
"Left side! Left side!"
"Hold the line!"
Bang!
"Leave him!"
"Stay tight!"
"Don't let him shoot!"
Boom!
"Push up! Push up!"
"Dammit!"
Mostar Zrinjski was bombarding Sarajevo's goal.
Modrić and Suke were the pivot points, orchestrating attacks that continually pressured the defense.
Sarajevo had some counters.
They got the ball from the keeper to the dropping forward Suke Mazić, who tried to shield it and wait for support.
But help didn't arrive—instead, Modrić and Suke came sprinting in again.
Another triple-team press. Even with his strength, Suker Mazić was overwhelmed and dispossessed.
He stood up, furious.
This game was suffocating.
"Defense-to-attack transitions depend on pace," said Van stoyak, arms folded.
"With Suke and Modrić always getting into position early, Sarajevo can't even counter—that's the root of their problem."
Even though they were up by one, it still wasn't safe.
If they could score again...
And as if on cue—
Mostar Zrinjski executed a series of quick passes near the penalty arc.
Suke and Modrić combined brilliantly, cutting through the defense again.
Suke made the final pass and darted away to draw defenders.
Modrić received the ball while running in the opposite direction, leaning toward his support leg, pulling his right foot back—tensing it—
And struck the ball with a sharp trivela.
"Whoa!"
Suke gasped.
Modrić's signature outside-foot strike.
The ball curled past the defenders, flying toward the top-right corner.
The Sarajevo keeper gave it his all, getting a fingertip to it—but he couldn't keep it out.
Goal.
Modrić with a brace.
Mostar Zrinjski 2–0 Sarajevo.
This was a crushing blow.
They were already down a goal—and now the gap had widened.
"Don't let him shoot! Don't you know how dangerous he is from range?" the keeper Ivanči yelled in frustration.
The tone of his voice was full of defeat.
Anyone would be discouraged after being on the back foot the entire match—especially against an opponent they used to dominate.
Now, the roles had reversed.
Sarajevo was the one being dominated.
And badly.
33 minutes in, Modrić's signature strike made it 2–0.
With two goals to his name, the game was no longer a contest—it was Modrić's personal show.
He spread his arms wide in celebration, beaming with energy.
This was his most enjoyable match yet—better than any before.
Modrić was on fire.
Cameras in the stands were all focused on him—snapping shots of the Croatian prodigy.