Chapter 32 - 30: No One to Receive Luka

Chapter 32: Chapter 30: No One to Receive Luka

On the field, the match was incredibly intense.

The inherent physicality of the Bosnia and Herzegovina League, combined with both teams fighting for crosses, made the battles inside the penalty area even more fierce.

THUD!

A cross from Billiar was headed away by the opposing High School Guard, Bosschenoqi. Kosopech also went for the header, but was completely overpowered in the duel and sent tumbling to the ground.

And this wasn’t the first time. It had been a recurring problem since the start of the match.

Suk watched with his mouth slightly agape. To him, the 192cm-tall Kosopech was already incredibly imposing.

But this guy named Bosschenoqi had to be over 195cm tall, and he was powerfully built.

More importantly, the man’s judgment of the ball’s landing spot and his instinct for clearance were outstanding.

This was the main reason Kosopech couldn’t win the aerial duels.

On the sidelines, Van Stiake’s expression was grim.

Starting this season, many teams had begun deploying a High School Guard specifically to contain Kosopech.

But he never expected the Sarajevo Railway Workers to have actually acquired Bosschenoqi.

"Bosschenoqi, 33 years old. Last season, he played for Zagreb Railway in the Croatian League. He’s been selected for the Croatia National Team multiple times."

Listening to the assistant coach’s introduction, Suk was left slightly speechless.

So, he was a former Croatian National Team player?

A Croatian defensive stalwart from the same era as Davor Suker?

No wonder Kosopech was on the back foot. Croatia was known for its incredibly strict selection process for defenders; every defender who made the cut was handpicked.

Bosschenoqi’s selection was a testament to his immense ability in itself.

Although his declining form meant he could no longer handle the demands of the national team, he was still not to be underestimated.

Van Stiake’s brow was tightly furrowed. He shouted toward the field, "Stay solid in defense!"

The match on the field continued.

The Sarajevo Railway Workers’ style of play was also simple and direct: basically, they just sprinted down the flanks and whipped in crosses, looking for a chance to score.

However, Mostar Zrinjski had their own High School Guard in Mashovich.

Time and again, the man leaped up to win headers, completely dominating the airspace.

"Come on! Bring it on, you bastards!"

Mashovich unleashed a barrage of trash talk at the opposing center-forward.

Off the field, Mashovich was a very approachable person, but on the pitch, he was extremely aggressive.

Then there was the left-back, Haskic. The quiet defender was deceptively dirty.

He was full of tricks, using his hands and feet for more than just playing the ball.

Pulling shirts, spitting, stepping on boots, subtle elbows—his bag of tricks was endless.

The foundation of Mostar Zrinjski was its defense. Even across the entire Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League, their backline was considered one of the very best.

Haskic, Mashovich, Hajdari, and Kerpic—these four titans were instrumental in forging Mostar Zrinjski’s ironclad defense.

On the offensive end, Kosopech was still fighting to get airborne.

Every time, it felt like he was just inches away, but that tiny gap was insurmountable, and the opponent always managed to clear the danger.

In the midfield, Modric remained as steady as ever.

Despite his slender build, Modric was incredibly active on the pitch, his near-limitless stamina gradually becoming apparent.

He covered a vast amount of ground, moving from left to right, back to front.

This allowed Mostar Zrinjski to continuously supply the ball to their forwards.

The only problem was the right winger.

Oliveira, the team’s vice-captain, had made a few runs at the beginning of the match but had since given up, and was now simply strolling along the flank.

His face was a bit pale; he had clearly overdone it the night before.

The match reached the 31st minute. After a clearance header from Mashovich, the ball landed at Modric’s feet.

Modric controlled the ball, turned, and surged forward at high speed.

At the same time, Kosopech and Billiar made supporting runs, while Oliveira lagged slightly behind.

Modric was constantly looking for an outlet, but he couldn’t find a good passing lane.

’If Suk were out there, he’d drop back to offer support!’

Modric thought to himself, but still dribbled forward a few more steps. As he neared the edge of the penalty box, he unleashed a long shot.

The shot was a curler aimed at the far corner.

The ball curved like a scimitar, flying over the defense and nestling into the top corner of the net.

SWISH!!!

A goal for Mostar Zrinjski.

Modric scores with a long-range strike!

"FUCKING AWESOME!!!—"

Suk leaped to his feet in excitement.

Both the angle and the timing of that long shot were absolutely brilliant.

This was the power of the young Magic Flute!

ROOOOAR!!!!!—

The Mostar Zrinjski fans in the stadium erupted in cheers.

The nerve-wracking stalemate was finally broken, and they were the ones to score first.

Unable to break through the defense, Modric had found a way with a long-range strike.

This was Modric’s second goal in four matches.

Since the season began, Modric had gradually adapted to the Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League and was delivering astonishing performances.

"Beautiful shot!"

Kosopech ran over and hugged Modric tightly.

Kosopech had been bottling up his frustration. Being continuously shut down by the opposing High School Guard had left him feeling incredibly stifled.

But Modric’s long-range goal was a huge relief.

On the sideline, Head Coach Van Stiake also breathed a sigh of relief, nodding slowly.

He also clapped lightly, applauding Modric’s brilliant play.

On the other side, Sarajevo Railway Workers’ Bosschenoqi pointed at Modric and yelled, "Shut down the long shots from their number 8! Don’t let him shoot!"

Modric’s earlier attempts from distance had already made him wary.

He had already warned them a few times, yet they still gave the opponent space to shoot from distance.

’Have these morons got water for brains?!’

Bosschenoqi cursed inwardly.

He believed he had done his own job exceptionally well, so he wasn’t taking the blame for this goal.

"Watch that number 8! Assign someone to mark him specifically!"

The Head Coach for the Sarajevo Railway Workers was an experienced veteran; he immediately pinpointed the key to the problem.

Even though they had contained Kosopech, Modric was just as much of a threat.

Moreover, Mostar Zrinjski’s passing game ran almost entirely through Modric. Therefore, if they could just mark him and stop his runs, they could gain the upper hand in midfield.

Once the match restarted, Modric began to face difficulties.

Every time he tried to pass or receive the ball, he was hounded by opposing players who began blocking his passing lanes.

He was even forced to pass backward on multiple occasions.

After his goal, Modric found himself under intense defensive pressure from the opposition.

With Modric effectively silenced, Mostar Zrinjski’s passing rhythm in the midfield gradually fell apart.

"No one is making a run for Luka!"

Van Stiake saw the problem immediately.

However, both of his wingers were dribblers, and his center-forward was a poacher.

There was no one up front who could drop back to support Modric, and the players in the back were even less able to do so.

You could say that Mostar Zrinjski relied almost entirely on Modric to organize and direct the play from midfield.

Now that Modric was being neutralized, the team’s overall rhythm had become chaotic.

Van Stiake’s heart grew heavy, but the good news was that they were still in the lead.

If they could just hold on for a few more minutes, they would make it to halftime, where he could make adjustments and substitutions.

"Suk! Get warmed up!"

Van Stiake turned and shouted.

Suk immediately shot to his feet, turned, and began warming up along the sideline.

He had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Most of the fans were focused on the match; no one noticed Suk warming up.

However, there were some who were paying special attention to Suk.

"Suk! Come on!"

"Are you going in?"

"Play well!"

"Go for it!!"

In the stands, Mulinar, Oripé, Buckqi, and his other former teammates were cheering loudly for Suk.

Although their voices didn’t attract the attention of the other fans, Suk still gave them an excited wave.

Watching Suk warm up along the sideline, Mulinar rubbed his hands together. "Why do I feel so nervous?"

"Me too," Buckqi said, wiping the sweat from his palms. "I hope Suk has a great game."

"He just needs to play his normal game. That’s all." Oripé licked his dry lips. "This is the Super League, not the Second Division League. You can’t expect him to score, can you?" Despite what he said, he secretly hoped Suk would play brilliantly.

"They’re still in the lead, so there’s an advantage. The pressure on Suk won’t be as high!"

Just then, the stadium erupted!

GASP!!!!!!!!!!!!—

Hundreds of Mostar Zrinjski fans put their heads in their hands, their faces masks of frustration.

Mulinar immediately whipped his head toward Mostar Zrinjski’s side of the field. He saw the referee pointing to a spot for a set piece, as the opposing High School Guard, Bosschenoqi, ran forward, clearly intending to go for a header.

Sarajevo Railway Workers had been awarded a set piece in the attacking half.

The Mostar Zrinjski fans in the stadium looked extremely nervous.

As the opposing number 10, Vukocic, delivered a pinpoint cross over the penalty area, the High School Guard Bosschenoqi leaped high and powerfully headed the ball into the back of the net from within the crowd.

In less than five minutes, the opposition had equalized.

"It’s a tie!!"

Oripé clutched his head.

Mulinar and the others also looked on with grim expressions.

Coming on in a situation like this... was it really a good thing?