The holiday ended, and the team returned to training mode.
After all, it was still the league season. A short break was fine, but they couldn't afford to stay idle for long.
Training remained focused on tactical drills, supplemented by small-scale passing and coordination exercises.
Van Stee reduced the training volume slightly, as the team would be playing two matches a week starting next week.
In addition to the Super League, they also had matches in the Bosnian Cup.
With this two-front campaign, physical fitness naturally became a top priority.
During training, Suk wore his new boots and began practicing.
Maybe it was psychological, but he felt like his performance improved.
Suk made several penetrating through balls, and his coordination with Modric was becoming more refined.
The only issue was his coordination with the wings, especially the right.
At first, Suk thought it was his own problem. But later, he realized that whenever he passed the ball, he never got it back.
Oliveira was a lone wolf.
He loved charging forward down the wing, and when he lost the ball, he would throw up his hands, spit on the ground, and demand his teammates track back—behavior that annoyed everyone.
Yet, his dribbling and crossing from the wing were still sharp.
That was probably why the coach still tolerated him.
But working with him was frustrating.
After being denied the return pass several times, Suk stopped favoring the right wing and focused his play on the left.
The ball was at his feet—he could decide who to pass to.
If someone refused to cooperate, Suk would simply stop passing to them.
Suk ignored Oliveira. Modric followed suit and passed even less to the lazy winger.
With both main playmakers freezing him out, Oliveira barely touched the ball in the last ten minutes of the training match.
"Hey! Over here! Pass it!"
Oliveira shouted at Suk.
Suk turned left, pretended not to hear, and passed the ball to Biljal.
A few minutes later, Oliveira shouted at Modric.
"Here! I'm open!"
Modric glanced at him, saw the run, then casually turned around and passed the ball backward.
I'd rather pass back than pass to you!
"Damn it!"
Oliveira punched the air in frustration.
He glared at Suk and Modric, but both turned their backs on him, making him even more furious.
"Oliveira picked the wrong people to mess with," muttered assistant coach Vandier.
Anyone else was fine, even the captain could be criticized.
But Suk and Modric were the team's dual playmakers.
Sixty percent of Zrinjski Mostar's offensive plays went through Modric's feet, and the other forty through Suk.
Together, they ran the team's attack.
By refusing to work with Suk, Oliveira had effectively been frozen out by both.
No passes meant no play. Simple as that.
Vandier looked at head coach Van Stee and asked, "Aren't you going to deal with Oliveira?"
Oliveira was becoming a cancer in the team.
He went to bars, partied before games, skipped curfew, and even encouraged others to join in.
Still, he was a homegrown player, rising through Zrinjski's youth academy and even becoming vice-captain.
Getting rid of him wouldn't be easy.
But Van Stee had clearly begun to take action.
"Let Boame get more game time," Van Stee said calmly.
Vandier raised an eyebrow. Things were getting serious.
By the end of the match, Suk and Modric were openly ignoring Oliveira.
He became invisible on the pitch.
That had never happened to him before.
As soon as the scrimmage ended, Oliveira stormed toward Suk and Modric.
"Hey!"
Kosopek stepped in to stop him.
"This doesn't concern you!"
Oliveira angrily tried to shove him aside.
But Kosopek, over 190 cm tall and built like a wall, didn't budge.
Masovic quickly joined him. Then Hachic, Kilpic, Haskic.
Even goalkeeper Kish stepped in, his stance clearly siding with Kosopek.
Faced with the numbers, Oliveira seethed but backed off.
"Control your little dogs!" he growled.
Once he was gone, Kosopek sighed and turned to Suk and Modric.
"You two went too far."
"If he won't cooperate, neither will I," Suk said, unbothered.
Modric was even blunter.
"Why should I pass to an idiot who can't make use of a chance?"
Everyone chuckled.
These two were fiercely individualistic.
Kosopek wasn't sure how to calm the situation.
It had already escalated—if Oliveira wanted to fight, they'd fight.
He wasn't afraid.
"Ah! Right!"
Suddenly, Suk shouted and ran off like a shot.
"What's he doing?" Kosopek asked, puzzled.
Modric shook his head. "No idea."
Suk ran straight out of the training ground, his new boots thudding against the pavement, and intercepted the coaches on their way out.
Seeing him panting, Van Stee asked, "What's wrong?"
"I want to do strength training!" Suk declared.
Before Van Stee could reply, physical coach Hartbach cut in.
"No! You're still developing. You want to grow taller, don't you?"
Hartbach was responsible not just for Suk's present, but also his future.
Strength training could bulk him up, costing him explosiveness and elasticity—key attributes for football, and vital for his growth.
Suk quickly added, "Just a little! I'll train lightly."
"No strength training at all!" Hartbach insisted.
Suk deflated.
Van Stee asked, "Why do you want to train strength anyway?"
Suk hesitated.
Should he tell them that just two more points of strength would drastically improve his shooting?
He grinned and made something up.
"I heard strength training helps you grow taller."
Van Stee looked puzzled and turned to Hartbach.
The coach stroked his chin. "Some light training, combined with stretching, can help promote growth."
Suk nodded quickly. "Exactly!"
"You want to build strength to grow taller?" Hartbach asked.
He'd also thought Suk was a bit short.
Suk nodded eagerly.
Hartbach turned to Van Stee. "How about I take over Suk's morning training? He can join the normal tactical drills in the afternoon."
Van Stee agreed. "That's fine. Mornings are just basic work anyway."
Hartbach told Suk, "Be at the training ground at 7 AM. I'll make a personalized strength plan."
Suk lit up with joy. "I'll be there at six to warm up!"
Hartbach chuckled. "Sleep is just as important. No sleep, no growth!"
Suk zipped his mouth shut.
As he left, bouncing with excitement, Hartbach's eyes gleamed with interest.
"He's as talented as Modric, but it hasn't been fully unlocked yet."
The others nodded.
All Dutch coaches, they recognized talent when they saw it.
Hartbach, who once coached at Ajax's youth academy, was now a fitness coach—but his passion for training young players remained.
When he saw raw potential, he couldn't help but act.
"This means I've got to start waking up early…"
He grumbled, but the smile on his face gave him away.
Suk was impulsive. Once he set his mind to something, he couldn't wait.
But Hartbach's warning stuck with him.
If strength training really did hinder height, he'd need to be cautious.
So, Suk made a change.
He grabbed a bag of balls from the equipment room and headed back to the field.
He was going to practice shooting.
The red card bonus helped, but personal ability mattered too.
There were only six card slots—what if a better card came later?
If he could train it himself, he would.
On the quiet evening pitch, under the setting sun, the long shadow of a young boy stretched across the grass.
The sharp sound of foot meeting ball, followed by the thud of the net, repeated again and again.
Together, they played a quiet symphony called "dream."