Suker returned to the old farm pitch the next day. The sight of the worn-out grass and uneven patches no longer bothered him; this field had become a familiar battleground. It had a certain charm to it, a roughness that mirrored the journey of the Mostar Wanderers. For a lower-league side, they played with the heart of a team that deserved more, even if the pitch told a different story.
The Wanderers were far from a professional outfit. Most of the players had day jobs, and their training sessions, rare as they were, often focused on building camaraderie rather than sharpening tactics. Suker knew the challenges all too well. But today was different. There was a buzz in the air, a chance to prove something more, not just to his teammates, but to himself.
"Bakchi's out for today," Mlinar told Orlić, shaking his head. "Not feeling well."
Orlić, unfazed, shrugged off his jacket. "I'll step in."
With only twelve players, flexibility was key. Suker's eyes flicked toward the empty spot on the roster but quickly shifted back to Orlić. Today, he was more focused on proving himself as the team's orchestrator. The scrimmage hadn't even started yet, but his mind was already racing through plays.
As the rest of the team warmed up, Suker couldn't help but notice a familiar figure standing at the edge of the pitch. It was Luka Modrić, a rising star like himself, only a year older and already making a name for himself in the region. Suker had met him a few days prior, and though their interaction had been brief, there was mutual respect between them. Modrić, likely with some free time and in the area, had decided to stop by to watch Suker in action. After all, rumors about Suker's talent were spreading fast through the league.
Suker weaved to Luka, seeing he had been noticed. Luka weaved back, seeing Suker's action.
"We're going to switch things up today," Orlić called out, gathering the team. "Mlinar's been our main playmaker, but today we're trying something new."
Suker didn't hesitate. "Let me do it." He stood confidently, drawing the attention of the squad.
Mlinar chuckled. "You think you can handle it?"
Suker's grin was wide and unshakable. "If I can, maybe you stay another half-season?"
The team laughed, lightening the mood, but there was seriousness in Suker's offer. This was more than a joke for him. He was ready to lead.
As the team began to split for the scrimmage, Suker noticed someone standing near the edge of the field, watching intently. A young man in a hoodie, arms crossed, eyes following every movement on the pitch. Suker's eyes widened in recognition. Luka Modrić. He gave a quick wave, and Modrić responded with a small nod, acknowledging the gesture but remaining focused on the game.
The whistle blew, and Suker immediately shifted into gear. He moved into position, his eyes scanning the field. The game was chaotic at first. Players were out of sync, the defense shaky, and Mlinar, still adjusting to his new role in a deeper midfield position, struggled to find rhythm.
Suker called for the ball, receiving a short pass from Mlinar. He quickly turned, cutting past one defender with ease, then another, his body moving fluidly as if the ball was attached to his feet. The touch was there, light and precise. He glanced up to see the winger making a run down the right, but hesitated. The gap in the defense wasn't wide enough yet.
He cut inside instead, weaving through the midfield with deft dribbling, drawing in two defenders before laying the ball off to his striker, who miscontrolled and lost possession. Frustration flickered across Suker's face. This wasn't how he'd imagined it.
I need to be quicker, Suker thought as he tracked back. If I want to be the orchestrator, I can't just rely on my dribbling. I need to see the game before it happens. He repositioned himself, trying to read the flow of the match. His teammates were disorganized, the communication wasn't there yet. But Suker had been watching professional games, studying players like Zidane, Xavi, and, of course, Modrić. He knew that controlling a game was about more than just skill—it was about vision, timing, and pulling the strings.
Suker drifted into space again, calling for the ball. This time, he was more deliberate. A quick pass, then movement into the next pocket of space. He received the ball back immediately, this time in a better position. He could feel Modrić's eyes on him from the sideline, analyzing, judging.
Make the right play, Suker reminded himself, scanning the field. His eyes darted between the defenders. He saw an opening. A gap between the center-backs. With a single motion, he split the defense with a through ball, finding the winger in stride. The crowd on the sideline erupted, clapping and cheering.
Modrić's eyes widened slightly as he saw the pass unfold. He had expected Suker to play the ball back, maybe slow down the tempo, but the vision in that split-second pass? That was something else. He watched as the winger made his run, cut inside, but the shot was blocked. Still, Modrić couldn't help but be impressed. Suker wasn't just playing instinctively—he was thinking ahead, orchestrating like a veteran.
On the field, Suker jogged back into position, glancing toward Modrić, who gave him a subtle nod of approval. Suker's heart swelled a bit. He'd admired Modrić for years, and now the young Croatian was watching him. He couldn't afford to mess this up.
That was better, Suker thought, his confidence growing with each touch. He was starting to feel the flow of the game, the rhythm of control he had dreamed of mastering. His vision was clearer, sharper. The game was slowing down for him in a way it hadn't before.
Another possession, another chance to dictate the play. He received a pass from Mlinar, turned, and immediately spotted the striker making a run down the left. But instead of playing the obvious pass, Suker switched the field with a cross-field ball, catching the defense off guard. The ball landed perfectly at the winger's feet, and this time, the cross found its mark. A header came inches away from the goalpost. Suker clenched his fist in frustration but quickly refocused.
Think ahead, he reminded himself. Always think ahead.
As the game progressed, it became clear that Suker was growing into his new role. But the team still lacked cohesion. The defense was vulnerable, and the midfield was struggling to maintain control.
Suddenly, Orlić, who had been filling in, bent over, exhausted, and began to vomit on the sidelines. The match paused.
Suker took the opportunity to jog over to where Modrić was standing. Without missing a beat, he called out, "We're short a player. Fancy jumping in?"
Modrić, caught off guard, raised an eyebrow. But Suker was already pulling him onto the field. "He's in!" Suker announced to the team.
Modrić, despite himself, joined the fray. And instantly, the dynamic of the game changed. His first few touches were calm, deliberate, bringing a sense of order to the chaos. He played short passes, controlled the tempo, and positioned himself perfectly to receive the ball.
Suker found himself playing differently with Modrić behind him. The pressure was off—he didn't need to orchestrate everything. He could rely on Modrić to control the game's tempo, allowing him to focus on his natural attacking instincts.
Modrić sent a through ball into Suker's path, splitting two defenders with pinpoint accuracy. Suker took a deft touch to control the ball, sidestepped another defender, and unleashed a powerful shot—but the keeper made a stunning save. Suker grinned, giving Modrić a thumbs-up. "Great pass!" he called.
The match continued, with Suker and Modrić now running the show. Suker was no longer trying to control everything—he was reading the game better, trusting his instincts. One moment stood out: Modrić passed the ball back to Suker, expecting a return pass. But instead, Suker pivoted and sent a laser-accurate through ball between two defenders to the advancing winger, creating a perfect opportunity.
The winger crossed the ball into the box, and the striker finished with a header. The sideline erupted again, and this time, even Modrić looked stunned. Suker's vision, the timing of the pass—it was something special.
Orlić, watching from the sidelines, shouted with pride. "That's it! That's what we need!"
As the sun began to set and the match drew to a close, Modrić couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. Suker wasn't just a talented player—he had something that couldn't be taught. His vision, his awareness of the game, was rare. Suker had a long way to go, but if he continued on this path, there was no telling how far he could go.
As they left the pitch, Suker jogged over to Modrić, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Thanks for joining in. You were amazing out there."
Modrić smiled faintly. "You've got a lot of talent, Suker. But there's still plenty for you to learn."
Suker's grin didn't falter. "I know. But I'm going to be the best."
Modrić looked at the young boy in front of him and nodded. He recognized that fire. He had it too. "I'll be watching."