Chapter 38 - 36: Just a Little Practice

Chapter 38: Chapter 36: Just a Little Practice

The break was over, and the team returned to their training regimen.

After all, they were still in the middle of the league season. A short break was fine, but they couldn’t stay idle for long.

The training camp still focused mainly on refining various tactics, supplemented by small-sided passing and receiving drills.

Van Stiake had reduced the training load somewhat, as they had two matches in one week coming up.

In addition to the Super League, they also had the Bosnia and Herzegovina Cup to play.

Fighting on two fronts, stamina was naturally of the utmost importance.

During that day’s practice, Suk started training in his new cleats.

With his new cleats, he felt his performance was even better, though he wasn’t sure if it was just a psychological boost.

Suk made several through balls that pierced the defensive line, and at the same time, his coordination with Modric was becoming more and more seamless.

The only problem was that Suk’s link-up play with the wingers wasn’t as smooth.

At first, Suk thought it was his fault, but he later discovered that after every pass he made, he never got a return pass.

That guy Oliveira... he was a lone wolf.

He was the type to dribble relentlessly down the wing until he lost the ball, at which point he’d just throw his hands up, spit on the ground, and let his teammates chase back. He was full of these disgusting habits.

However, the guy’s Dribbling and his crosses from the byline were very precise.

This was probably why the Head Coach tolerated him.

But playing with this guy was just awkward.

After not getting a return pass several times, Suk simply stopped drifting to the right and focused on attacking down the left flank.

Anyway, the ball was at his feet. Suk decided who got the pass.

’If you refuse to cooperate, then I’ll refuse to pass to you.’

If Suk wasn’t passing to Oliveira, Modric was even less inclined to pass to the lazy guy.

With both playmakers completely ignoring him, Oliveira didn’t get a single touch on the ball for the remaining 10 minutes.

"Hey! Over here! Pass the ball!"

Oliveira shouted at Suk.

Suk turned to his left, pretending not to hear, and passed directly to Billiar.

A few minutes later, Oliveira shouted at Modric again.

"Here! Here! I’m open up front!"

Modric glanced at Oliveira, who immediately made a forward run. But the next second, Modric turned and passed back.

’I’d rather pass backward than pass to you!’

"Bullshit!"

Oliveira swung his fist in anger.

His furious gaze fell on Suk and Modric, but they both turned their backs to him in unison, which infuriated him even more.

"Oliveira picked the wrong people to mess with!"

Assistant Coach Fandier said, shaking his head.

It would be one thing if it were other players, but Suk and Modric were the two playmakers in the attack.

It was no exaggeration to say that 60% of Mostar Zrinjski’s attacking passes were concentrated at Modric’s feet, with Suk controlling the other 40%.

The two of them shared the team’s playmaking responsibilities.

And when Oliveira refused to cooperate with Suk, Suk and Modric simply stripped Oliveira of his right to play.

Without them passing to him, how the hell was he supposed to play?

That’s why, on a team, you could mess with anyone, you could even curse out the captain.

But once you pissed off the playmakers, they really wouldn’t pass to you!

Fandier looked at Head Coach Van Stiake ahead of him and said, "Aren’t you going to do something about Oliveira’s problem?"

Oliveira was a cancer on the team.

Hitting the bars, clubbing, staying out all night, partying before matches, and even being a bad influence on his teammates.

He had been getting more and more out of line recently.

The thing was, he was a homegrown player for Mostar Zrinjski, having climbed up step by step from the youth academy to the position of vice-captain.

Getting rid of a guy like that wasn’t going to be easy.

However, Van Stiake had clearly already started making moves.

"It won’t be for much longer. I’m going to have Boamei play more matches for a while."

Hearing this, Fandier raised an eyebrow slightly. ’Looks like he’s getting serious.’

The scrimmage ended with Suk and Modric having completely ignored Oliveira on the right wing for the entire duration.

This left Oliveira practically invisible, treated as if he were thin air.

Oliveira had never been treated with such disrespect. The moment the intrasquad match was over, he stormed angrily toward Suk and Modric.

"Hey!"

Kosopech grabbed Oliveira to stop him.

"This is none of your business!"

Oliveira angrily tried to shove Kosopech.

But Kosopech was over 190 centimeters tall with a sturdy build; there was no way Oliveira could move him.

Soon, another big guy, Mashovich, also came over and stood beside Kosopech. Hajdari, Kerpic, and Haskic surrounded them as well.

The goalkeeper, Kish, also stood to the side, shouting, "Calm down."

Although that’s what he said, his positioning showed he was slightly leaning toward Kosopech’s side.

Seeing that the numbers were against him, Oliveira’s eyes burned with anger. He could only spit out a threat, "Keep your little brothers in line!"

Watching Oliveira leave, Kosopech finally let out a sigh of relief. He walked over to Suk and Modric and sighed, "You guys went too far."

"He wouldn’t cooperate, so I wouldn’t either." Suk was a stubborn one, too.

But Modric was even more stubborn.

"Why should I pass to an idiot who can’t even capitalize on an opportunity?"

Everyone couldn’t help but grin.

These two kids were really something else, each more headstrong than the last.

Kosopech didn’t know how to persuade them either.

’Whatever, it’s already happened. If Oliveira really wants to start something later, I’ll take him on.’

’A fight!’

’I’m not afraid!’

"Ah! That’s right!"

Suk suddenly let out a strange cry and then dashed off in a flash.

"Where’s he going?"

Kosopech asked curiously.

Modric shook his head. "I don’t know."

By this time, Suk had already rushed off the training ground. In his new cleats, he sprinted all the way toward the office building.

Sure enough, he managed to intercept the coaching staff on the way.

Looking at the heavily panting Suk, Van Stiake asked curiously, "Is something wrong?"

Suk said decisively, "I want to train for Power!"

Before Van Stiake could speak, the fitness coach beside him immediately snapped, "No! You’re still in your growth period. Do you not want to get any taller?"

Fitness coach Hartbachi was very responsible. He was not only responsible for the current Suk but also for the future Suk.

Training for Power would inevitably make his muscles bulkier, causing him to lose Explosive Power and flexibility. This could affect his physical development.

Suk quickly said, "No, no, no! I’ll just train a little bit."

"Not even a little bit!" Hartbachi immediately refused.

Suk was instantly frustrated.

At this moment, Van Stiake asked curiously, "Why do you want to train for Power?"

Suk was at a loss for words.

’How should I explain it?’

’That he was just two points of Power away from a huge breakthrough in his Shooting technique?’

Suk grinned and made up an excuse.

"I heard that a certain amount of strength training can help you grow taller."

Van Stiake didn’t quite understand, so he turned to look at the fitness coach, Hartbachi.

The latter was stroking his chin. "A certain amount of strength training can indeed promote height growth, but it needs to be supplemented with stretching to keep the ligaments flexible."

Suk immediately nodded. "See! Right?"

"You want to do strength training to aid your growth?" fitness coach Hartbachi asked.

He also thought that Suk was too short.

Suk nodded repeatedly like a chick pecking at grain.

Hartbachi turned to Van Stiake and said, "How about you let me handle Suk’s morning training? He can do the regular tactical drills in the afternoon."

Van Stiake nodded. "No problem. The mornings are just basic drills anyway, so it’s the same with or without him."

Hartbachi turned back to Suk and said, "Meet me at the training ground at 7 AM tomorrow. I’ll design a customized strength training program for you."

Suk was overjoyed and quickly promised to be there at six o’clock tomorrow to warm up early.

Hartbachi laughed and chided him, "Make sure you get enough sleep. You won’t grow taller if you don’t sleep well!"

Suk immediately shut his mouth.

Watching Suk skip away happily, a deep sense of interest appeared in Hartbachi’s eyes.

"He has talent comparable to Modric’s, it just hasn’t been fully developed yet."

The others nodded in agreement.

They were all coaches from the Netherlands.

Hartbachi had previously worked at the Ajax youth academy. Although he was currently a fitness coach, he had his own methods for developing young players.

Perhaps it was an occupational hazard, but whenever he saw a player with outstanding talent, he couldn’t help but want to get involved.

"What a pain! I’ll have to get up early starting tomorrow!"

Although he complained it was a pain, he couldn’t hide the smile at the corners of his mouth.

The others couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

.....

Suk was an impatient person. Once he decided on something, he couldn’t wait even a second.

However, what Hartbachi had said was a bit scary.

That training for power could stunt his growth. Suk had originally planned to do some extra training on the sly, but if he really did that, he might actually stop growing.

This was a big deal; he couldn’t be careless.

Because of this, Suk changed his approach.

He grabbed a net of balls from the equipment room, which hadn’t been locked up yet, went to the training ground, and dumped them all onto the field.

He was going to practice his Shooting!

The Shooting bonus from the Red Card was one part of it, but his own fundamental shooting ability was another.

’Right now, I only have six card slots. If a better card comes along in the future, should I still keep the Shooting one?’

’Therefore, if it’s something I can train, I should train it myself.’

On the training ground at dusk, facing the setting sun, the lonely shadow of a young boy stretched long across the field.

The crisp sound of his cleat striking the Ball, again and again, and the swish of the Ball hitting the net, time after time, combined to form a symphony called ’Dreams’ that was slowly beginning to play.