Banja Luka Warriors, a football club with a Serb majority, is based in Banja Luka, the second-largest city in Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Their home ground, City Stadium, is located in the heart of Banja Luka.
The stadium is larger than Bijeli Brijeg Stadium, with a publicly announced capacity of 30,000 seats. It features seated stands on both sides, each with about 5,000 seats, and standing areas on the east and west ends.
This is understandable, as Bijeli Brijeg Stadium has only 1,000 seats, despite claiming to accommodate 20,000 people.
The Banja Luka Warriors have a stronger fan base, averaging around 1,500 attendees per match.
Of course, this is only in comparison to the dismal attendance of Zrinjski Mostar and can't be compared to the tens of thousands in top leagues, especially the top five in Europe.
The Zrinjski Mostar players entered through the side gate.
They had to cross the field to reach the locker room through the player tunnel.
As they stepped onto the pitch, nearly 1,500 Banja Luka Warriors fans welcomed them with a fierce 'cheer.'
Boo!!!
A sky full of boos erupted, accompanied by insults and humiliation.
"Kosopek! You're a stupid pig! You'll fail here!"
"Banja Luka Warriors will kick your heads off!"
"Disgusting Croat bastards, get out!"
Along the way, the ferocious Serb fans hurled their most humiliating insults at the Zrinjski Mostar players.
Kosopek, the attacking spearhead of Zrinjski Mostar, bore the brunt of it.
However, he still looked sleepy, as if he was used to it.
"They're yelling because they fear me."
Kosopek yawned, grinned, and said, "Once, I scored four goals at their home stadium. The more they hate me, the more they fear me."
He looked smug.
Suk walked beside Kosopek, trying to stay unnoticed, but still got singled out.
"Damn Croat kid, you'll learn what hell is! Go to hell! Croats should all go to hell!"
A middle-aged man, as fat as a ball, unleashed on Suk.
Suk was stunned for a moment, then turned his head, clenched his fist, and shouted, "Idiot! Which eye of yours sees me as a Croat?"
With Suk's clearly East Asian features, they still called him a Croat. These people were just mindless trolls.
Suk was both angry and amused.
As the team crossed the field, boos and curses continued the whole way.
Only once they entered the tunnel did things quiet down a little.
"These idiots!" Suk couldn't help but mutter.
"Don't mind them," Kosopek laughed. "These guys are just losers. They don't just insult us—they insult their own team too."
Suk blinked.
"They even insult their own team?"
Soon enough, more angry scolding echoed from the stands.
"Žaković, stop using your pig brain and slide tackle! Do you even know how to slide tackle?!"
"Luka Okic, you coward! Run! Where's your speed?! Idiot!"
"Franjic, we've got an idiot striker!"
Suk saw the Banja Luka Warriors players retreat into the tunnel, their tails between their legs.
They looked angry, but didn't dare say a word.
After all, no matter how nasty the insults, those were still their own fans.
Suk: "..."
What a bunch of mentally-draining fans.
Both teams arrived at their locker rooms, changed into training gear, and began warming up.
Still met with boos and insults, it seemed these fans weren't here to enjoy the game, but to vent their frustrations.
Suk couldn't help wondering what kind of life these people were living to be so full of rage.
While picking up a ball, that same fat fan cursed at Suk again.
Suk had had enough. He gave him the 'international greeting gesture.'
"Go eat shit! Stupid pig!"
He cursed and immediately turned away.
The fat fan was stunned for a moment, his face flushing red, then screamed even louder.
Suk ignored him and returned to the locker room after the warm-up.
---
Coach Van Stejak addressed the team:
"The opponents may play very aggressively today. We need to control the overall rhythm while avoiding injuries."
Then he turned to Suk:
"This is your first start, and it's going to be intense. You need to learn to protect yourself and manage your stamina. Understand?"
Suk nodded immediately. "Understood!"
"Good!" Van Stejak clapped. "Let's take all three points!"
"Let's go, young men."
Everyone followed the captain, Kiš, out of the locker room.
As the center forward, Suk naturally stood at the back.
At the player tunnel, the referee counted the players and frowned. "Someone's missing!"
"Here!" Suk stepped to the side so the referee could see him.
The referee, seeing Suk's small stature—less than 160 cm—was briefly stunned, then nodded.
The Banja Luka Warriors players also noticed Suk.
"That must be the No. 99 coach mentioned, right?" Luka Okic said to striker Franjic.
Franjic looked at Suk and said, "Doesn't look too intimidating."
"Maybe he's deceptive," Luka replied. "Coach said he's quick, makes good runs, and has good passing ability."
Franjic scoffed. "A center forward should score goals, not pass!"
Then he shouted to their center back:
"Žaković! There's a 150 cm forward on the other side. Be careful!"
That made the Banja Luka Warriors players burst into laughter.
150 cm—small enough. And he's a center forward? Hilarious.
"156 cm," Suk suddenly said.
Franjic blinked. Suk was staring right at him.
"You talking to me?"
"That's right," Suk said seriously. "It's 156 cm. And also…"
He grinned, showing his white teeth.
"I'll kick your asses."
Pfft!
Kiš couldn't hold back a laugh.
He turned and shouted, "Guys, did you hear what our forward just said?"
"Heard it!" Mašović said, grinning at Franjic. "A guy who couldn't win a single aerial duel under my defense. Where's your confidence coming from?"
Franjic's face darkened.
Kiš raised his arm and shouted, "Kick their asses!"
"Kick their asses!!!"
Everyone roared in unison.
Both teams entered the field, and the booing started again. It was hard to tell who the fans were booing anymore—home or away.
With all the cursing around him, Suk somehow felt sorry for the Banja Luka Warriors players.
These people must be lacking love—when even your own fans hate you, life must be hard.
The players took their positions. The match was about to begin.
Banja Luka Warriors kicked off first.
Suk took a deep breath, steadied himself, and prepared to charge.
Bip!
The whistle blew. As the Warriors kicked off, Suk dashed forward like a little cheetah.
The Warriors kept passing backward.
As soon as the ball reached center back Žaković, Suk pounced.
So fast!
Žaković quickly pulled the ball and turned, Suk stuck a foot in, trying to poke it away.
He got a slight touch—but couldn't take possession.
"Too bad."
Suk pulled back and hovered near the defensive line.
But interestingly, the Banja Luka Warriors fans were not impressed.
"Move it! Pass the ball faster!"
"Don't dribble! Pass it before you lose it!"
"Žaković is a clumsy brown bear!"
Suk looked at Žaković strangely. These fans seemed to despise him.
Žaković's face grew darker, suppressing his anger.
The game had only just begun, and the Warriors were calmly passing around, searching for a chance to move forward.
Zrinjski Mostar settled into their formation, not pressing aggressively.
Suk hovered near the back line, watching and analyzing.
He noticed something—Žaković looked extremely flustered.
The ball came back to Žaković again. He took it calmly, faked a pass left to trick Suk, then turned and passed right.
Technically impressive—but the fans didn't care.
"Idiot! What's with the feint?"
"You're a center back! Just pass the ball!"
"To hell with that move! If you can't pass, get out!"
Žaković's expression darkened further.
After winning an aerial duel and clearing the ball, the fans still yelled:
"Ugly play!"
Žaković snapped.
He turned to the stands and flipped them off, roaring:
"Shut up! You disgusting bastards! Your mouths are full of dog shit!"
That only fired up the fans even more.
Suk stared in disbelief.
This guy had to deal with Suk and his own fans at the same time.
Playing football while cursing at the crowd—it was honestly impressive.