"What a fantastic match! After 90 minutes, Mostar Zrinjski defeated Banja Luka Warriors 2-0 on the road, marking their second consecutive win of the season!"
"And in this game, the newly joined Suk put in an outstanding performance—three assists in two games! He's become Mostar Zrinjski's very own cannonball delivery machine!"
"Congratulations to Mostar Zrinjski, and we look forward to more brilliant performances from young Suk in the future."
The match came to an end.
Mostar Zrinjski secured a crucial away victory and took all three points.
It hadn't been an easy game. From the start, they faced aggressive physical play and tight defense, but they kept their composure. Through intelligent movement and passing, they broke through the opposition and scored the opening goal.
That goal set the tone for the win.
For Suk, his tally of three assists in two matches showcased his ability and value.
It also proved that head coach Van Styaak had an eye for talent.
"Well done!"
Van Styaak gave Suk another big hug, proudly claiming credit for bringing him into the team.
Suk's success was closely tied to Van Styaak.
After all, no one at the club believed Suk could make an impact when he arrived—only Van Styaak insisted on giving him a chance.
Now the facts were clear: Van Styaak was right.
Three assists in two games was already an impressive record.
Moreover, Suk had helped Mostar Zrinjski develop a new tactical approach.
Now, even if opponents focused on shutting down Kosovo Pecci, the team had other options and could adjust formations.
In other words, they had gained confidence and flexibility.
Right after the match, Mostar Zrinjski headed straight to the train station.
They had taken the win and stirred up the home crowd during the match. Concerned about possible trouble, Van Styaak made sure the team left early.
They reached the station without incident and, amid some 'friendly' words from Banja Luka Warriors fans, boarded the train home.
"What a memorable place," Suk muttered with a disgusted expression.
Anyone who had experienced what he did would leave with a bad impression of the city.
"We played really well today—the whole team did," said goalkeeper Kish cheerfully.
It had been one of the easiest games Kish had played.
Thanks to solid defending and the midfield pressure from Suk and Modric, the team controlled the game, which took the pressure off Kish.
He truly enjoyed the match.
"Have either of you thought about joining the Bosnia and Herzegovina national team? I could help you apply for citizenship," Kish asked, looking at Suk and Modric.
If those two joined the national team, they might actually stand a chance in the World Cup.
Modric lowered his head, silent—that was answer enough.
Suk turned and stared out the window.
"It's really dark out," he muttered.
Kish glared at them. "If you're going to say no, just say no. No need to act mysterious."
Why would Suk give up Croatian citizenship for Bosnia and Herzegovina?
Croatia is a steady force in European football. Not a superpower, but strong enough to reach the World Cup knockout stages.
Back in Davor Šuker's era, Croatia even reached the World Cup semi-finals.
Suk's generation faced even greater expectations.
The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels had a hypnotic effect, like a lullaby, and sleep soon took over.
By the time Suk woke up, the train had arrived in Mostar.
"Grab your luggage—don't leave anything behind," Van Styaak reminded the team as he led them off the train.
Suk followed with Modric close behind. They moved in order and boarded the bus back to the training center.
Suk grabbed his change of clothes to wash and headed for the showers.
Just then, Sterlk ran over in a panic.
"Sarajevo lost! They actually lost!"
Suk frowned. "Why's that surprising? Even great teams lose."
"No, it's different!" Sterlk waved his hands. "This is Sarajevo—the strongest team this season!"
"How come?" Suk asked while holding his laundry basin.
Sterlk rattled on, "Their defenders are all national team players. Their midfielders—Meska Pecci and Tolist—played in top leagues. And they've got last season's Silver Boot winner, the current league top scorer, Suk Mazic!"
"Suk?" Suk blinked. "Another Suk?"
He wondered—was that name really so common?
Sterlk grinned. "Pretty common. Because of Davor Šuker, a lot of parents named their kids Suk."
"The crazy part is, he won the Silver Boot at 18 and is competing for the Golden Boot now. He's nearly 190 cm tall and built like a tank. Kosovo Pecci said he can't even handle him physically—he's just that strong."
Hearing that, Suk felt a surge of jealousy.
"If he's that good, why'd they still lose?" Suk said with a touch of sarcasm. "Not that strong after all."
"Yeah, but it's because of the Champions League. Several starters got injured in the third qualifying round. They lost both the qualifier and the league match after."
In Bosnia's Premier League, the first-place team qualifies for the Champions League preliminaries.
Before the group stage, there are three qualifying rounds, giving champions from lower-ranked leagues a shot at the big time.
Sarajevo reached the third round this season but lost and suffered injuries. That defeat spilled over into their domestic campaign.
Still, surviving the Champions League qualifiers was a powerful experience—and they'd be stronger after it.
"Reaching the third round is already impressive."
Even the usually silent Modric chimed in. "Dinamo Zagreb never reached the group stage either."
The Croatian league is stronger than Bosnia's.
Even Dinamo Zagreb, Croatian giants, struggle in Europe.
Suk looked at Modric. "Luka, is Mazic really that strong? How does he compare to me?"
Suk still cared about this guy with the same name.
Modric looked him straight in the eye. "You're more talented than he is."
Suk grinned and gave a thumbs-up.
"You've got good taste."
Then he trotted off, happily carrying his laundry.
Sterlk looked at Modric, hesitated, then asked, "Are you sure it's okay to lie to him like that?"
Modric tilted his head. "I didn't lie. Suk's full potential hasn't been unlocked yet."
"He's already pretty good," Sterlk argued.
"Yeah, but it's not enough," Modric said firmly.
Then, after a pause: "You'll see. Suk Mazic is a singular talent—his strength belongs to him alone. But Suk, he'll elevate the whole team. We haven't even seen his peak yet."
Sterlk was stunned. He glanced at the cheerful boy washing his clothes and couldn't match that image with the physically dominant Mazic.
He shook his head. Best not to overthink it. He was still a substitute—his current goal was just to make the starting lineup.
The next morning, Suk woke up early, drank a big bottle of milk in the cafeteria, and began training.
His training was even more intense than before.
He might have acted indifferent, but deep down he was deeply irritated by that 190 cm "other Suk."
Not just tall—but a great scorer too!
Same name, same position… why was that guy tall and strong, while Suk had to drink milk and supplements every day just to grow?
But he didn't have a choice. He had to improve in other areas.
If he couldn't outmuscle opponents, he'd outrun and outthink them.
If he couldn't score like a top striker, he'd become a world-class creator and assister.
Silver Boot? Golden Boot?
Dream on, Suk Mazic.
Even if Suk didn't score, he'd feed his teammates like crazy.
Anyone could win the Golden Boot—but not that guy!
A little jealousy burned in Suk's heart.
At the same time, he felt frustration.
It had been a week, and his strength attribute still hadn't increased.
He was stuck at 61—just two points short of upgrading his shooting.
It was maddening.
The only small comfort: after the Banja Luka match, he drew four more "State Recovery" cards.
He'd used four last week, now he had four again.
From six, he was back to seven total. They were practically free.
And they were amazing.
Use one at halftime—instantly unlocks his Super Standby Plus mode and protects him from injury.
Use one during training—instant full recovery.
Suk immediately got up and resumed training.
Train, train, train!
As long as training doesn't kill him—nothing can stop him