Chapter 5

Suker's anticipation was palpable as he entered the bustling stadium for Luka Modrić's highly anticipated debut in the Bosnian Super League. The crowd had swelled to nearly 900 spectators, eager to witness the "Croatian genius" in action. Suker, now focused on observing the young talent, recalled Modrić's tireless playstyle—always a midfielder with boundless energy, organizing the game with ease.

But today, Modrić seemed off. His passes, usually sharp and precise, were erratic. Despite his clear ability to find space, his shots lacked conviction, missing the mark more often than not. The game concluded with Mostar Zrinjski eking out a win thanks to a lone goal from Kosopec, yet the buzz around Modrić dimmed considerably. After the final whistle, Suker caught a glimpse of the young Croatian midfielder, his face showing signs of frustration as he quietly packed his belongings and left, a far cry from the expected rising star.

For Suker, the weeks that followed saw his own challenges intensify. His reputation on the field had grown, but with it came increased scrutiny from the opposition. Opponents now specifically targeted him, denying him space, and deploying defenders to mark him tightly. The pressure to perform mounted, and the goals he had once scored with ease seemed to dry up.

One evening after practice, Suker sat across from Orlić, his coach and guardian, at their modest dinner table. Orlić, always balancing his pride with concern for Suker, leaned back in his chair and looked him square in the eye.

"You're getting noticed now," Orlić said, his voice calm but firm. "That means every team will come prepared. You need to use it. Don't just rely on space—create it. The greatest players adapt."

Suker nodded but couldn't shake the weight on his shoulders. "I know... but we need more help. Our goalkeeper's struggling, and half our players have day jobs." He was venting now, frustration bubbling over. "Bakichi is running his restaurant, Mlinar is off building cabinets between matches... how can we win promotion like this?"

Orlić smiled faintly but didn't offer false hope. "We focus on what we can control, Suker. Keep pushing. Don't worry about the rest."

Still, Suker couldn't shake the feeling of stagnation as he wandered through the scenic streets of Mostar the next day. He passed the Old Bridge, a place where he often came to clear his thoughts. As he lingered near the water, a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Beautiful place, isn't it?"

Suker turned to see Luka Modrić, standing just a few feet away, gazing at the river with his hands in his pockets. The midfielder's usually intense expression was softer, almost contemplative.

"Yeah," Suker replied, somewhat surprised. "I come here when I need to think."

Modrić nodded, a quiet understanding passing between them. "You were at the game the other day, right?" he asked, without waiting for an answer. "It wasn't my best."

Suker shrugged, unsure how to respond to a player he admired. "Everyone has bad games."

Modrić smiled faintly. "True. But it's different when you're trying to prove something." Suker glanced up, intrigued. "How do you handle it?"

Modrić leaned against the stone railing, looking out over the river. "You focus on what you can control. The rest—what people think, the attention—it's just noise. At the end of the day, it's just football. The ball doesn't care who's watching."

The simplicity of the statement struck Suker. For all his skills and ambition, the game had started to feel like a burden rather than the joy it once was. Maybe that was the problem. He was focusing too much on the noise and not enough on the game itself.

"Thanks," Suker said after a moment, his voice soft but sincere. "I needed to hear that."

Modrić glanced over at him, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Don't thank me yet. I'm still figuring it out myself."

They shared a quiet laugh before the conversation drifted into lighter topics—training routines, favorite players, and the quirks of playing in a league as unpredictable as the Bosnian Super League. Suker found himself relaxing in Modrić's company, surprised by how normal the rising star seemed off the pitch.

A few days later, Suker stood on the pitch, feeling the weight of expectation bear down on him as Mostar Wanderers prepared for another tough league match. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the field, but Suker's mind was elsewhere. He hadn't scored in two games, and the opposition's focus on him had made it harder to find space. Every touch of the ball felt scrutinized, and every pass he attempted seemed to fall short of his high standards.

The game began at a frenetic pace. Mostar's opponents pressed high, forcing hurried passes and trapping Suker every time he got the ball. Early on, Suker received a quick pass on the wing, a familiar space for him to use his speed. With a flick, he tried to break free, dribbling past his marker, but another defender immediately closed in. Suker could feel the pressure tighten like a vice as he was knocked off balance. The crowd gasped as he tumbled to the ground, losing possession.

"Get up, Suker!" Orlić shouted from the sidelines. Suker wiped the dirt from his knees, his frustration building. They weren't giving him any room to breathe.

Midway through the first half, Suker found himself in a promising position, just outside the box. The ball was whipped in, and he timed his run perfectly, but as he jumped for the header, a defender outmuscled him, sending the ball sailing harmlessly over the crossbar. Suker punched the ground in frustration as whistles echoed from the stands. Another missed opportunity.

In the second half, Mostar's defense started to falter. They conceded a goal, putting them on the back foot. Suker felt the urgency rising. He pressed higher up the field, trying to force an opening. On one counterattack, he finally broke free on the left wing. Racing forward with blistering speed, he felt the excitement of the crowd build. The goalkeeper came off his line, and with the angle closing, Suker tried a chip, but the shot skimmed over the crossbar, narrowly missing. The disappointment in the stands was palpable.

As the clock ticked down, Suker looked over to Orlić. His coach's eyes were on him, filled with a mixture of concern and belief. Suker could feel the weight of expectation but also the trust that Orlić had in him. Even though things hadn't gone his way, Suker knew he couldn't let the pressure crush him.

After the match, as the team trudged back to the locker room in defeat, Orlić caught up with him. "You're trying too hard, Suker," Orlić said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I can see it. You're playing with the weight of the world on your back, but football isn't just about carrying the pressure. It's about playing with joy."

Suker nodded, though he remained silent, the frustration still gnawing at him. He was used to proving people wrong, but now, even with the growing attention, he was beginning to doubt himself. Yet, in the back of his mind, he remembered what Orlić had always taught him—great players rise in adversity.

Later that evening, Suker found himself once again at the Old Bridge in Mostar. He sat alone, watching the dark water ripple below, reflecting on the day. He thought of Luka Modrić, the once-promising player whose debut he had watched weeks earlier. Modrić had struggled too, faltering under the weight of expectation. But like Suker, he wasn't finished. Not yet. Both had something to prove.

As the evening breeze cooled his skin, Suker made a silent vow. No matter how tough it got, he wouldn't break. This was just the beginning of his journey, and he'd find his way back to the top, no matter what.