March 10th, 2002, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Neum Port.

On the narrow coastal plain, the Dalmatian coastline stood as the primary location for port construction. But for Bosnia, the country's stretch of coast spanned only 24 kilometers, and Neum was its only port—modest yet essential. It was here, amid the salt-laden breeze and the rhythm of the Adriatic Sea, that fishermen and their ships came to dock, their lives dictated by the tides.

The night sky glittered with stars, and a bright, full moon cast its soft light over the vast expanse of the sea. Yet, despite its glow, the ocean remained a black abyss, seemingly endless, stretching into the unknown. A lone lighthouse stood defiantly at the edge of the horizon, its weak beam slicing through the darkness. The steady pulse of its light was the sole marker of life on the sea—a beacon for sailors returning home.

Suddenly, a deep, echoing foghorn cut through the stillness.

"Oooooooh!"

The mournful sound spread across the waters, announcing the return of the fishing fleet. Lights blinked on one by one across the harbor, and within moments, the previously slumbering port was alive with movement.

"Back to the docks! The fleet's returned!"

"Wake up, get to work!"

Shouts rang out as workers, groggy from sleep, jumped into action. They pulled on waterproof overalls, slid their feet into heavy boots, and wheeled out carts, all with a well-practiced efficiency. These men, their skin deeply tanned from years of labor under the sun, moved with the sureness of those who had done this countless times before.

But among them was one who stood out—a boy, barely 16, whose frame was thin and still growing. His wide blue eyes, bright and full of determination, scanned the bustling crowd. His blonde hair fell messily over his forehead, contrasting sharply with the rougher, darker appearance of the older men. Though his face still held a trace of baby fat, there was a sharpness to his gaze, a quiet intensity that made him seem older than his years.

Suker, as he was known to everyone in the port, struggled with his oversized waterproof trousers. The suspenders were tied tightly, but the pants still sagged comically low, making him look like a child playing dress-up in his father's clothes. Yet no one laughed or commented; they all knew Suker well. Despite his small stature and youthful appearance, he had a fierce determination that rivaled any grown man's. Tonight, like many nights before, he was determined to earn his keep.

The fleet's boats began pulling into the harbor, one after another, their engines humming. As the first boat docked, the workers surged forward like a wave, pushing carts and jostling for position.

"First in, first served!"

"Don't get left behind!"

Suker was right in the thick of it, his short legs working furiously to keep up with the larger men. His hands gripped the cart's handles tightly, maneuvering through the crowd with surprising agility. Though he lacked the strength and size of the others, his quickness allowed him to weave through the chaos, and soon enough, he was among the first to reach the boats.

"Hey, Kovac! Load me up!" Suker shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.

A head popped out from one of the boats, a young man wearing a worn-out sailor's cap. He grinned when he saw the boy.

"Look who it is! Suker, you little rascal!" Kovac laughed, his voice full of warmth.

"Yeah, yeah, good to see you too. Now hurry up, load the fish!" Suker said, rolling his eyes impatiently.

Kovac chuckled and yelled to the others on the boat, "Captain! Get ready! Suker's here, and he's hungry for some work!"

The captain, a burly man with a thick beard, shouted back with a smile, "Alright, boys! Time to load up! Suker's in a rush!"

The men on the boat laughed, but they worked quickly, filling Suker's cart with freshly caught fish. With the cart loaded, Suker gripped the handles and started pushing it toward the unloading point. The heavy load slowed him down, and despite his best efforts, the other workers began to overtake him, their longer strides and greater strength making it impossible for him to keep up.

As he struggled up the pier, he muttered under his breath, "Damn this port! Why is the drop-off point so far away?"

Even as he cursed, his legs kept moving, his determination unshaken. The drop-off point, marked by a series of numbered bins, loomed ahead under the harsh glare of floodlights. Suker pushed harder, sweat beading on his forehead. He knew every delivery counted—each load meant money in his pocket. But tonight, he was behind the pack, and the frustration was building.

Finally, he reached the unloading area, panting heavily. He tipped the cart over, dumping the fish into the bin labeled with his number, then turned to run back for another load.

"Suker! That's one!" the record-keeper shouted, marking his tally.

Suker barely nodded as he raced back toward the boats, determined to make up for lost time. For the next hour, he worked tirelessly, pushing and unloading cart after cart, his muscles burning but his will unbroken.

As he worked, memories of his past life drifted through his mind like waves crashing against the shore—memories of a man he used to be. Suker hadn't always been this 15-year-old boy struggling at the port. In his past life, he had been someone else entirely—a failed football player. Half-Croatian, half-English, he had once lived in a very different world, where he had played professionally for three underwhelming seasons in the English second division.

Three seasons of struggling to prove himself, of sitting on the bench, of hearing the jeers of disappointed fans. And then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended. His team cut him loose, and his dream of making it big died.

And then came the accident. He still remembered the bright headlights, the screech of tires, and the jarring crash. One moment he was alive, thinking about what might have been; the next, everything went dark. That was 2024.

But somehow, he got a second chance.

Now, he was Suker—a Croatian orphan with no family, no connections, but a burning desire to rewrite his story. He wasn't sure how or why he had been given this new life, but one thing was clear: this time, he wouldn't fail. He would use this opportunity to become something greater than what he had been. This body, this youth—it was a gift. And he would make the most of it.

By the time the fish were fully unloaded, the early morning sun had begun to rise, casting a golden light over the bustling port. The smell of fish filled the air, mingling with the scent of salt and seaweed. The fishermen had finished their work and were now haggling with local merchants, while the workers lined up to receive their pay.

Suker joined the queue, his body aching from the exertion, but his mind focused on the reward. He watched as the man in charge handed out crisp bills, calling out names and amounts.

"Sesic, 15 loads, 150 marks!"

"Stevanovic, 12 loads, 120 marks!"

Finally, Suker stepped up to the front of the line. The man behind the table gave him a quick glance, then pulled out a few bills.

"Suker, 10 loads. That's 100 marks."

Suker frowned. "That's wrong. I did 12 loads, not 10."

The man raised an eyebrow, looking at his clipboard. "It says here you did 10."

"Your numbers are wrong! You can't just take my money!" Suker's voice was sharp, his blue eyes flashing with anger. He might've been small, but he was never one to back down, especially when he knew he was right.

The man sighed, clearly not in the mood for a fight. "Look, kid. Take the 100 marks or leave with nothing. Your choice."

Suker glared at him, his fists clenched in frustration. He knew better than to push his luck any further. Grabbing the money, he stuffed it into his pocket and stormed away, muttering under his breath. "Thief…"

He found a quiet spot near the edge of the dock and slumped down onto the steps, staring at the money in his hand. "That's two less loads… That's 20 marks… I could've bought 10 bottles of milk with that."

As he sat there, stewing in his frustration, a familiar voice called out from behind him.

"Cheer up, kid. At least you still got something," Kovac said, tossing a bottle of milk toward him. Suker caught it, his expression softening slightly.

Kovac sat down beside him, grinning. "What's wrong? Still not growing? When I was 15, I was already over 190 centimeters."

Suker smirked, opening the bottle and taking a long drink. "I'll grow. Just give me time."

Kovac chuckled. "Maybe. But in the meantime, who's going to believe that a little guy like you is the top scorer in the second division?"

"Best scorer," Suker corrected,

"Best scorer," Suker corrected, wiping milk from his lips. "Eight goals this season so far."

Kovac raised an eyebrow. "Not bad. League's at what, 12 rounds now?"

"11," Suker replied with a proud grin.

Kovac nodded, impressed. "Not bad at all. Maybe you've got a future after all."

Suker's smile widened. Despite the exhaustion that weighed down his limbs, this was the part of his life he lived for—football. It was the one thing that carried over from his past life to this one. No matter the place, the body, or the circumstance, football was his constant. He had been a professional once, albeit in a life that no one but him knew about. Even though his career had ended in failure, the flame had never fully died. And now, with a second chance, he was ready to rise again.

"You know, Kovac," Suker began, staring out at the horizon where the first sliver of sunlight broke through the clouds, "if I can still make it, maybe you should come back to the game. I could use your long passes."

Kovac laughed and shook his head. "No chance. I've given up football for good. Some of us have to grow up, kid."

Suker looked thoughtful for a moment, his gaze distant. Growing up. That was what had happened to him before, in his past life. He had grown up and grown out of the dream, letting failures and injuries beat him down. But this time, he wouldn't let go so easily. He had a plan. And this body unlike his past had talents in everything expect for his size, but he still had time to grow, but even that didn't matter to him now.

"Maybe," Suker said slowly, "but you'll see. One day, I'll be playing in the big leagues. And you'll regret not coming with me."

Kovac smirked, but there was something about Suker's tone that made him pause. He had always seen the kid's determination and talent but there was a depth in his words now—a certainty, as if Suker had already glimpsed the future and knew exactly where he was headed. Kovac patted him on the back, dismissing the thought with a chuckle.

"You've got spirit, I'll give you that," Kovac said. "But don't get ahead of yourself. Neum's a long way from the big leagues."

Suker smiled to himself. In his mind, he had already traveled farther than Kovac could ever know. Reborn into this new life, he felt as if the weight of his past failures had been left behind, replaced with endless possibility. The world was wide, and he wasn't confined to the tiny port of Neum forever.

By the time the sun had fully risen, casting golden light over the port, the hustle and bustle had quieted down. The fishermen had finished their work and were now haggling with local merchants, while the workers lined up to receive their pay.

Suker watched the scene unfold, his thoughts lingering on the future. He wasn't just a boy from a fishing port. He was a boy with a purpose—an ex-professional footballer reincarnated with a

new chance to chase his dreams. He had been granted a fresh start in a place that seemed far removed from the world of professional football, but he had faith.

Somehow, he would make it back to that world. His new body may have been younger and smaller, but it was full of untapped potential. He just had to play smart. He had already started proving himself with eight goals in the second division. It was only the beginning.

Kovac's voice broke through his thoughts. "Come on, Suker. Time to head home. Another long night done."

Suker stood up, pocketing the rest of his milk money with a nod. "Yeah. But there are bigger nights ahead."

With that, the two walked off together, their footsteps echoing across the stone docks. The Adriatic Sea shimmered in the distance, and the lighthouse continued its rhythmic pulse, guiding ships and sailors back to safety. But for Suker, the journey wasn't over—it had only just begun.