It was late October, but the weather was still as hot as ever.
In Mostar, inside Mlinar's woodworking shop.
After installing a wardrobe, Mlinar clapped his hands and laughed.
"Done!"
He looked at Bakic beside him and asked,
"Aren't you open for business today?"
"Taking the afternoon off," Bakic replied, waving his hand. Then he sighed.
"I'm going to get slaughtered again tomorrow. Just not in the mood."
Mlinar smiled.
"Didn't you guys recruit a new player? Isn't he any good?"
"Just a hothead," Bakic said with frustration.
"Doesn't pass the ball. Doesn't look up. Doesn't defend. It's a mess — the midfield's a disaster and the forwards can't score."
He widened his eyes and pointed to himself dramatically.
"Can you believe it? I've somehow become the most reliable guy on the team — and I'm a total sieve! It's a joke!"
Bakic looked dejected.
"You retired, Suker left too, and now we're in the Premier League. Except for the first three rounds, we've lost every game since. We're getting relegated for sure."
"Take it easy, things will get better," Mlinar said kindly.
Bakic shook his head and sighed.
"Forget it. Don't want to think about it anymore."
He glanced at the clock.
"Is it almost time?"
Mlinar nodded.
"Let's get ready."
He straightened up, took a Mostar Zrinjski number 99 jersey from a hook, and pulled it on. Then he locked the shop, and the two of them walked down the riverside path toward the town center.
The path was quiet, with barely a soul in sight — Mostar was a peaceful town.
But as they neared the center, more people began to appear, gradually forming a crowd. By the time they arrived at Bijeli Brijeg Stadium, the place was bustling.
Townspeople gathered in droves.
Food stalls lined both sides of the street, selling snacks, cold drinks, and water.
The Mostar Zrinjski merchandise shop nearby was packed, with people constantly coming and going.
"French fries! Three marks a bag!"
"Iced dark beer! Refreshing dark beer!"
"Fresh-squeezed juice!"
Vendors shouted. Fans chatted. Slogans echoed. The atmosphere was electric.
Mlinar and Bakic grabbed two iced dark beers and a serving of fries.
They looked around, overwhelmed by the crowd and energy.
Just two months ago, this place had been quiet. Only a few locals came to watch the games.
But now, after Mostar Zrinjski's ten-game winning streak and heavy promotion in the local press, it had become a weekly festival.
Tickets were in high demand. Not only were the 1,000 seats sold out, but a standing area had been added on the opposite side to accommodate even more fans.
Today, up to 2,000 people had packed in to watch.
"Hard to believe this place changed so much in just two months," Bakic said, shaking his head in wonder.
When they first came here, the stadium was nearly empty. Now it was the heart of the town.
"Mostar Zrinjski is the pride of the town," Mlinar said with a smile.
"They've been playing great, and their matches are exciting. Of course, Suker and Modric — the 'Mostar Twin Stars' — have helped a lot too."
Lately, Suker and Modric had been in incredible form.
They were starting to gain recognition not just in Mostar, but all across Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Especially Modric. His performances were drawing attention from all corners of the league. He was now seen as a super talent to watch.
Thanks to Modric, Mostar Zrinjski had arguably the best midfield in the country.
In town, Modric and Suker were inseparable — both on the pitch and in public imagination.
Outside Bijeli Brijeg Stadium, there was even a graffiti mural of two boys with their arms around each other: Suker and Modric.
"Come on, the match is about to start," Mlinar said, and they hurried inside.
The stadium was already alive with noise.
Fans chanted player names, waving flags and singing songs.
"Modric, crush them!"
"Cosopech, show them what you've got!"
"Suker! Suker!"
"Mostar Warriors, you're the best!"
As warmups finished, the players headed toward the tunnel.
"Suker! Good luck!" Mlinar shouted from the railing.
Suker turned, saw him, smiled, and gave a thumbs up.
Mlinar applauded and chuckled.
"He's grown taller!"
Suker had shot up in just a couple of months. With steady meals and proper nutrition at Mostar Zrinjski, he was now around 160 cm.
No longer a skinny twig — just a lean, strong young sprout.
In the locker room, Van Stejak gave instructions.
"We'll play a standard first half. Cosopech will start. In the second half, we'll try the new formation."
Then he raised his voice.
"Stay sharp! Let's make it 11 straight wins. Come on!"
"Let's go!!" the team shouted in unison.
Suker, wearing his substitute bib, sat quietly with his eyes closed.
Personal Panel:
Diamond Card (Special Type): Inzaghi's Awareness
Red Card (Skill Type): Torricelli's Passing
Red Card (Special Type): Andrea's Speed
Red Card (Skill Type): Vukovic's Shooting
Red Card (Skill Type): Robert's Dribbling
Red Card (Skill Type): Status Recovery Card
Attribute Panel:
Name: Suker
Height: 161 cm
Weight: 50 kg
Speed: 75 + 15
Agility: 81
Strength: 65
Explosiveness: 85
After several Premier League matches, Suker had finally filled all the red card slots.
His abilities had significantly improved.
The old Torricelli's Short Pass had been upgraded to the full Torricelli's Passing, now including short passes, long passes, and everything in between.
Robert's Dribbling gave him sharper footwork.
Vukovic's Shooting was now unlocked and ready to use.
But what made Suker happiest — he had grown taller.
In just two months, he had gone from 155 cm to 161 cm.
That growth brought increases across his attributes — especially strength, speed, and explosiveness.
While his strength was still limited by weight, his speed and agility now helped him hold his ground in light physical duels — and show more technical flair when closely marked.
This growth also allowed the team to adjust their tactics.
They'd been practicing a new system for over a month.
If it worked, Mostar Zrinjski would reach another level.
For now, Suker waited calmly on the bench.
On the field, the game was tight.
Their opponent — Tuzla Sloboda — was third in the league, and the only team to have beaten Sarajevo. They were a serious threat.
They came well prepared.
Their tall center-back kept Cosopech in check, and they had a dedicated holding midfielder to shadow Modric.
In truth, that midfielder was probably waiting for Suker to enter the game — to mark him too.
Three matches ago, Suker had been man-marked the whole game and failed to deliver.
Mostar Zrinjski only won thanks to a long-range goal by Modric in the dying minutes.
Since then, teams had started targeting Suker.
If he dropped deep, someone followed him.
This made him uncomfortable and limited his play.
But now, Suker sat with a composed expression, watching the match carefully.
He was reading the game. Calculating. Planning how to strike when his chance came.
The first half remained a stalemate.
With both Modric and Cosopech contained, Mostar Zrinjski struggled to build attacks.
Tuzla Sloboda's coach was smiling confidently on the sidelines.
They had a strategy for every Mostar Zrinjski setup.
If Cosopech played, they'd limit him with height.
If Suker came on, they'd shadow him tightly — especially since he usually ran straight lines that could be tracked.
Tuzla's coach felt certain they'd figured them out.