"Go for it!!"
Suke shouted excitedly.
However, what he saw was Maslozic, under pressure from the defenders, falling flat on his face.
"Ahhhhhhh!!"
Suke clutched his head in frustration.
The opportunity was gift-wrapped, and he still couldn't finish?
Maslozic got up awkwardly, too embarrassed to look at Suke.
That through pass that split the defense was absolutely brilliant—Maslozic just needed a soft touch forward to create a one-on-one chance.
But he blew it.
Even so, that pass made quite a few heads turn toward Suke in surprise.
Wasn't he just a short center forward? Since when did he have such amazing passing skills?
Not just passing—the field vision he displayed during the match was also remarkable.
This was an extraordinary talent.
Even coach Oripé on the sidelines blinked and muttered to himself:
"Should I be playing him as an attacking midfielder?"
But Suke could never be an attacking midfielder.
Not only because that position has fallen out of favor in modern football tactics, but also because it distances him from the goal.
Suke was currently developing new skills, primarily as a supporting playmaker.
But he still dreamed of being the kind of striker who could change the game with a single goal.
All of his current changes were to make up for his physical shortcomings and better adapt to the professional stage.
Once he grows taller—hmph!
Suke's eyes sparkled, feeling his future was bright and wide open.
"Again! Again! Again!"
Suke urged them to keep playing.
He had just found his rhythm, and he wasn't about to let the momentum die now.
Everyone returned to the game.
After that one successful play, Suke's side became noticeably more fluid.
Modric was naturally a midfield genius. His reading of the game was far superior to everyone else on the pitch. Even without exerting himself fully, he was putting tremendous pressure on the defenders.
Mlinar initially struggled to keep up, but after watching the coordination between Suke and Modric, he began to emulate them and gradually got involved, eventually turning it into a three-man combination.
Once the three of them started linking up, even the flanks and the back line began pushing higher.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The sound of the ball being passed and striking boots echoed. Suke played one-touch football, at most taking two touches.
The whole passing sequence was incredibly smooth.
Even if one part faltered, once the ball reached Suke, Mlinar, or Modric, the situation was immediately under control.
These three core playmakers extended their influence across the entire team, and soon, the fangs of their attack began to show.
Suke glanced at his teammates on the wings and the defensive line, then once again dropped deeper.
Seeing this movement, center-back Kobalo, who had learned from the last play, immediately followed him.
At this moment, Modric passed the ball to Suke, who didn't even try to control it, instead instantly laying it off with one touch.
That swift layoff caught Kobalo, who was rushing in from behind, completely off guard.
Suke glanced at Kobalo and grinned, showing his white teeth.
For some reason, Kobalo found that smile incredibly annoying.
Modric had already shifted the ball to the wing, and Suke quickly moved over to support.
Seeing Kobalo sticking close to Suke, Vitolic returned the ball to Modric.
Modric again passed it to Suke. Kobalo lunged forward, but Suker returned it once more.
"Why do you keep passing it back?!"
Kobalo yelled in frustration after another missed challenge.
Suke shrugged: "Then don't press up so high!"
Kobalo scoffed. Don't press? What, and let you send through balls at will?
Once again, Modric passed the ball to Suke.
Kobalo couldn't take it anymore and charged forward at full speed, trying to intercept the ball before it reached Suke.
But Suke didn't wait; instead, he moved to meet the ball head-on.
Both players sprinted toward the ball. As it approached, Suke used the inside of his left foot to tap it slightly to the outside.
The ball rolled to the left, and Suke instantly turned and darted in the opposite direction, pulling away.
Kobalo lunged and missed again. His eyes followed the ball, completely missing the fact that Suke was now on the same line as him, adjusting his steps.
On the left, Mlinar had moved smoothly into position. His job now was simple:
Take advantage of the space Suke had created and play a through ball.
Sure enough, as Mlinar sent the pass, Suke exploded forward.
"They got through us again?!"
"Block him!"
Defenders rushed in from both sides. The goalkeeper abandoned the goal and came out to cut the angle.
In theory, Suke's shooting angle was extremely tight.
But—who said he had to shoot?
Suke had cut in from the middle toward the left, drawing all the defenders with him. Only one full-back remained in the middle.
What Suke did next was simple:
A fake shot sent everyone flying. Then he gently stepped on the ball with his right foot, leaving it behind while continuing his run to the left, pulling more defenders with him.
None of them noticed Modric behind Suke.
Their runs had crisscrossed. Modric scooped up the stationary ball and, with only a full-back guarding the goal, easily slotted it into the bottom left corner.
The ball hit the net.
"Woohoo!!!"
Suke jumped with excitement the moment the goal was scored.
The attacking players cheered just as loudly.
Even Mlinar clutched his head in disbelief.
Was this really an attack they put together?
It was almost too elegant.
Suke and Modric had executed multiple overlapping runs and probing passes, smoothly moving the ball into a dangerous area.
Suke's angled run and the ball control trick showed real imagination.
And the fact that Modric could read Suke's intentions—crucial.
"These two are possessed or something!"
Coach Oripé still had a stunned look on his face.
If not for the worn-out pitch, he'd think he was watching Arsenal play.
That attack had been so smooth—mostly one-touch passes—and had effectively pulled defenders out of position before the goal.
Here, Suke and Modric seemed to have developed some kind of chemistry.
Their coordination made the goal look effortless.
"Rotenmasic, you let him through again!"
"You didn't keep track of him either!"
"I was marking him tightly!"
"Then why didn't you stop him?!"
The defenders bickered, clearly frustrated from being toyed with like this.
"Enough, stop fighting. Don't forget—we're on the same team!"
Mlinar stepped in to defuse the situation, and it calmed everyone down.
Right!
They were all on the same team. If the forwards looked good, so did they. As long as they weren't the ones being embarrassed, it was fine.
Soon, everyone was excitedly discussing the play.
The Mostar Wanderers had always played direct, counter-attacking football—simple and rough.
This kind of intricate passing and coordinated movement felt incredible.
Even Modric stood frozen in place.
He was savoring the feeling of that play.
Not a single mistake. Everyone was exactly where they needed to be. Every run helped build up to the goal.
And at the center of it all—the short forward named Suke had linked everything together.
What a strange feeling!
Even at his club, Zrinjski Mostar, Modric had never felt this kind of synergy.
That was a top-division team!
Sure, the pace and intensity were higher than this amateur game—but this level of coordination would work even there.
What stood out was the control of tempo and the seamless flow.
Modric was silent. Ever since transferring to Bosnia and Herzegovina, he hadn't played football this smooth.
He used to complain that his teammates were clueless—couldn't read his passes or runs.
And now, this kind of connection that he couldn't achieve in the top league just happened in a casual game with strangers?
Where was the problem?
Was it him? Or his teammates?
Modric fell into deep self-doubt.
"Hey! High five!"
A voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
Modric looked down to see Suke holding up both hands, grinning: "You were amazing—your passes were perfect."
Modric blushed.
Clearly, this guy had led the whole attack.
Suke noticed Modric looking a little stiff and asked: "Not feeling well? Are you a player? Want to join our team?"
Suke invited him immediately.
Modric nodded, then shook his head.
Suke was confused.
Then Modric turned and said, "I have to go."
"Go?"
Suke said quickly, "But We're not done playing yet."
Modric glanced at Suke and suddenly said: "You should play midfield."
Suke paused. That came out of nowhere—but maybe it was meant as advice.
"My off-the-ball movement is stronger. I just lack a good midfielder to feed me the ball," Suke laughed. "I'm the top scorer in the second division, you know."
Modric replied: "A second-division top scorer can't score a single goal in the top league."
Suke was dumbfounded. Can't this guy have a normal conversation? I just complimented you, the least you could do is return the favor.
His face showed clear annoyance.
Modric realized he said the wrong thing and quickly added: "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that—but it's the truth."
Suke: "..."
Sigh!
Suke sighed and raised his hand to pat Modric's head—but he couldn't reach. Instead, he settled for patting his shoulder and said: "Come play with us when you have time. We train here every Tuesday."
"Tuesday, huh?" Modric nodded. "Got it."
Then he turned and left.
Suke watched Modric's back, a thoughtful look on his face, which slowly turned into a knowing smile.