Kosović's house sat along the banks of the Neretva River—a two-story villa with a small garden.
At this moment, the garden was filled with the rich aroma of grilled meat.
Today, Kosović had gone all out, buying a large barrel of beef for the barbecue.
Yes, it came in a barrel!
Watching the beef sizzle on the grill, with the oil glistening and the scent wafting through the air, Suke's eyes lit up.
Sniff!
Suke, biting down on his fork, turned anxiously to the cook, Kovavić. "Is it ready yet?"
Seeing Suke's impatient look, Kovavić chuckled. "Almost."
As Kovavić flipped the beef, the aroma intensified—it was finally ready.
"Grilled meat's done—time to eat!"
With that shout, the four guys inside—who had been gaming—rushed out. Even Modrić emerged from who-knows-where, holding a plate, joining the line to get food.
Kosović handed out the beef, giving extra portions to Suke and Modrić.
Looking at the thick slices on his plate, Modrić commented, "That's too much. I can't eat all this."
"Too much?" Suke immediately raised his fork and snagged one of Modrić's slices.
"I'll eat it!"
And with that, he dashed to the table and started feasting.
Suke had a special relationship with food—maybe because he'd gone hungry too many times. Good meals were a luxury he could never resist.
These past few days had been perfect for Suke.
He'd joined Zrinjski Mostar and could play in the Bosnian Premier League. He ate well—every meal, every day.
This was a life he had never even dared dream of.
Seven people were seated at the table, all first-team players.
Four starting defenders: Haskević, Mašović, Hačić, and Krpić.
One midfielder: Modrić.
Two strikers: Kosopeć and Suke.
Many often wondered why so many Croatian names ended in "-ić." In fact, "-ić" means "son of" in Croatian. For instance, "Modrić" means "son of Modri."
Suke devoured his beef while the others chatted.
"Tomorrow we play against FK Željezničar Sarajevo. They're not easy," Hačić added. "Last season we faced them three times: one win, one draw, one loss. We almost lost the last one."
"Their central spine is solid: Mekić, Vukočić, and Vrhovac."
"The league has gone three rounds so far. FK Sarajevo and FK Sloboda Tuzla have won all three and have nine points. The remaining five teams, including us, have one win, one draw, one loss—four points each."
"If only we had beaten Sarajevo last match."
"They've studied us. They know how to play us. Kosović got shut down—those two tall centre-backs were too much. He couldn't win any aerial duels."
Zrinjski Mostar, nicknamed HŠK, was also jokingly known as the "Header Specialist Team," known for scoring mostly with headers.
To counter this, many teams began fielding two tall centre-backs to lock down the aerial space and neutralize Kosović.
Suke, still chewing, asked, "So what if they use two tall defenders again tomorrow?"
The group paused, and Kosović frowned slightly.
Ever since Sarajevo used that tactic to shut him down, other teams had begun copying it.
The last match against FK Velež Mostar, they tried it too, but their defenders weren't strong enough—Kosović still found his chances.
Exhaling, Kosović said, "That's why tomorrow, we're counting on you."
"Me?" Suke pointed at himself.
Kosović nodded. "The coach wants to develop a second tactic for situations like this. Our current system is too one-dimensional. Tall defenders work well against me, but not necessarily against you."
Mašović and the others laughed.
As defenders themselves, they knew how annoying it was to face a striker with a totally different playstyle.
Unlike Kosović, who relied on power, height, and shooting, Suke brought speed, agility, and passing.
He could slip past defenders with clever runs and tear apart the defense line.
Even the usually quiet Modrić chimed in: "If FK Željezničar Sarajevo tries the same tactic, they're in for a beating tomorrow."
Suke blinked—this bunch had more faith in him than he did.
"Captain, I'm your competition," Suke whispered.
Kosović laughed.
"You? Please. We're totally different types of players, each for a different system." He grinned. "Unless you think you can out-jump me?"
Suke fell silent.
Even jumping, he probably wasn't as tall as Kosović standing still.
"After dinner, get some rest—especially you, Suke. Tomorrow's your debut," Kosović reminded him.
"Got it!" Suke nodded quickly.
Around 6 PM, belly full, Suke strolled up the mountain path with Modrić.
He was still buzzing with excitement.
"Tomorrow's my debut. I'm a bit nervous."
Modrić turned to him. "Don't be. I've got your back."
"You're a real bro!"
Suke slapped Modrić on the shoulder. "But don't go out of your way. Let's read the game—if I get a shot, I'll take it. If not, I'll make runs to open chances for you."
Modrić nodded in agreement.
Back at the dorm, after a quick wash, Suke hung up his match jersey for tomorrow.
He stared at it for a long time, eyes shimmering with faint starlight.
This was his Bosnian Premier League battle uniform.
Number 99!
Match Day
Around noon, the players gathered in the locker room.
The mood was heavier than usual. Zrinjski Mostar hadn't been doing well recently, so morale wasn't high.
The whole first team was assembled. Coach Van Stoyack began announcing the 18-man matchday squad.
Suke could tell how tense the subs were—making the list was a big deal.
All 11 starters were selected. Then came the seven substitutes.
"Suke!"
Suk blinked, surprised to hear his name called first.
But he was thrilled—he'd just joined and was already in the match squad.
Some of the other subs looked at him with envy.
"Congrats, Suke!"
"Hahaha, told you!"
"Do your best!"
Kosović and the others offered their support.
Modrić was quietly happy for his friend.
The seven subs named were: Suke, Boame, Barton, Sterk, Rovištić, Perjačić, and backup goalkeeper Paković.
With the squad set, they boarded an old, rattling bus headed to Zrinjski Stadium.
The stadium sat at the heart of the town, with a view of the iconic Mostar Bridge.
It wasn't club-owned—it belonged to the local government, with profits shared between them.
Only around 500-600 fans came to watch—not many, but for Suk, it felt like a crowd.
As soon as they arrived, the players were ordered straight to the locker room.
Coach Van Stoyack was strict and organized.
Once there, he revealed the starting lineup—no surprises, it was the full starting squad.
Sukr wasn't starting, which made sense. He was new and still adjusting. A stable tactical setup was best for an official match.
During the warm-up, the starters followed the assistant coach's routine.
Sukr, as a sub, warmed up independently but took it seriously—he might get a chance to play.
After warming up, he sat in a quiet corner and pulled up his personal status panel.
Player Profile:
Diamond Card (Special): Inzaghi's Awareness
Red Card (Skill): Torrest's Short Passing
Red Card (Special): André's Rocket Shot
Red Card (Skill): Recovery Card
White Card (Skill): Roberts' Dribbling
White Card (Skill): Toni's Interceptions
Attributes:
Name: Suke
Height: 156 cm
Speed: 74 + 15
Weight: 48.5 kg
Agility: 80
Strength: 61
Acceleration: 78
Seeing his stats, Suk felt a surge of joy.
He'd finally broken past 155 cm—even if it was just 1 cm, it was a win.
Speed was also up by 2 points.
He guessed it might be from growing taller—longer legs meant longer strides.
He also gained weight and a small boost in strength and acceleration.
With his body developing, the numbers were trending upward—an enjoyable process.
As for the cards, they remained the same.
From the last game with Zrinjski, he'd earned two recovery cards—very useful for now.
He double-checked everything to ensure he was fully prepared.
Then Suke headed for the bench and took his seat.