Chapter 42 - 40: 2 Stubborn Donkeys

Chapter 42: Chapter 40: 2 Stubborn Donkeys

The whole stadium was in an uproar. Suk felt this was a truly hellish home ground.

They cursed the opponents, the home team, the referee—they cursed anyone and everyone!

The fans were overflowing with energy; they hadn’t shut their mouths since the opening whistle.

Suk shook his head, tuning out the off-field distractions. He needed to focus on the game.

It was the same old routine: wait for an opportunity and then charge forward.

So, Suk waited near the defensive line, ready to sprint at any moment.

When he saw Modric with the ball, Suk locked eyes with him. The unspoken understanding was instant.

Modric immediately launched a long pass.

Suk lowered his head and broke into a mad dash.

WHOOSH!!

Suk’s acceleration was fast—shockingly so.

Zakavic had just finished cursing at the fans. When he turned his head, Suk was gone!

’Crap!’

Zakavic immediately whirled around and sprinted in pursuit.

But he wasn’t as fast as Suk. Luckily, Suk had a bit of trouble controlling the ball. Instead of stopping in front of him, it moved laterally, coming to a rest about two meters away.

This forced Suk to run sideways, and Zakavic seized the opportunity to slam into him, knocking him down.

The impact from Zakavic sent Suk tumbling sideways.

It was a heavy blow. His entire arm seemed to tremble, feeling as if it might have broken.

’Fucking hell, that was a hard hit!’

Suk’s face was a grimace of pain as he climbed up from the ground. He tested his arm; thankfully, it wasn’t dislocated.

’If it had been dislocated, I would’ve had to use a Status Recovery Card.’

Since it was a fifty-fifty ball, the referee didn’t call a foul.

All Suk could do was suck it up.

Zakavic sized up the rising Suk and grinned. "Welcome to the meat grinder!"

The Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League was known as the meat grinder, and this ’bloody derby’ was the most savage match of them all.

But Suk didn’t back down. He tried again and again, and was knocked down again and again.

Suk was at a huge disadvantage in such intense physical confrontations.

But Suk would just grit his teeth, let out a battle cry, and charge. He’d get knocked down, scramble up, and charge again. His entire strategy could be summed up in a single word.

Fight!

Watching Suk stubbornly wrestle with his opponent like he had a one-track mind, Van Stiake rubbed his brow and shook his head repeatedly.

’He’s really a stubborn mule!’

It wasn’t just Suk; Modric was also being constantly fouled.

In fact, the number of fouls against him was several times higher than those against Suk.

At the fifteen-minute mark, Modric was taken down by a defender’s tackle that got both the ball and the man.

Without a word, Modric got up, fighting through the pain. He stubbornly craned his neck to glare at the player who had taken him down, his eyes burning with anger.

Modric turned and demanded the ball.

After receiving the ball, Modric dragged it back with his foot, dipped his left shoulder, and feinted as if he were going to break through on the left.

When he felt his opponent’s center of gravity shift, Modric adjusted his footing, knocked the ball sideways with the outside of his foot, and spun in the opposite direction.

He could have broken through right then, but Modric paused for a moment. As the opponent caught up, he gently dragged the ball sideways under his foot.

The ball went right through his opponent’s legs. Modric continued past him to the other side. It was a series of moves designed to humiliate.

Modric had a temper too!

But it didn’t end well for him. He was knocked down again.

But Modric still got up, his neck stiff with defiance. ’You knock me down, I’ll make a fool of you.’

It was as if the two had locked horns.

Van Stiake watched Modric and rubbed his brow again. Suk alone was enough of a headache; he hadn’t expected this Croatian prodigy to be the same damn way.

’One’s a stubborn mule!’

’And the other’s a silent, stubborn mule!’

Finally, Van Stiake couldn’t take it anymore.

"Pass the ball! If you want to wrestle, I’ll let you have your fill of it back at the training ground!" Van Stiake roared at the pitch. "Pass! Pass!"

Hearing Van Stiake’s furious roar, Suk and Modric finally snapped back to their senses.

They were still fuming internally, but seeing the Head Coach’s furious expression, they understood the priorities.

Immediately, Modric stopped trying to hold onto the ball or humiliate his opponent and began to link up plays across the field with quick passes.

Suk, for his part, stopped wrestling and began running left and right to draw the defense.

Watching Suk darting around in front of him, Zakavic looked completely exasperated.

Just then, Suk suddenly dropped back and received a pass from Modric.

Zakavic closed in on him, but just as he did, Suk passed the ball to Billiar on the right.

Billiar controlled the ball, raised his head, and looked toward the far side of the field.

The fullback instinctively moved up, hoping to either make an Interception or prevent a Long Pass.

Billiar kept his gaze fixed on the far side, but his foot suddenly snapped forward with a sharp touch on the ball.

He put a lot of power into the touch. It didn’t look like he was starting a run; it was a pass.

WHOOSH!

At that moment, a figure suddenly shot past the Banja Luka fullback from behind.

Suk cut diagonally forward through the gap between the fullback and the center-back, collecting the ball and sprinting towards the byline.

The Banja Luka Warriors’ fullback had no choice but to abandon Billiar and charge toward Suk.

Billiar then cut inside, while on the left, Boamei also rushed forward to support.

Modric also advanced, positioning himself at the top of the arc.

Suk stopped the ball at the byline with the pursuing fullback right behind him.

Before his opponent could reach him, Suk cut back inside and charged toward the penalty area.

Suk was very close to the byline, so the Banja Luka Warriors’ fullback tried to clear the ball out of play.

He lunged forward, sticking out a leg to challenge for the ball.

But with a tap of his right foot, Suk moved the ball sideways, then gently pushed it forward with his left. He squeezed through the narrow gap, the ball practically hugging the byline.

A spectacular La Croqueta!

"Beautiful!"

From the coaches’ box, Van Stiake clapped and cheered.

By now, Suk had blown past the fullback. Before another center-back could close in, he threaded a pass towards the middle.

As he passed, Suk shouted.

"Leave it!"

Billiar was running forward, marked tightly by Zakavic. Hearing Suk’s shout, Billiar instinctively stepped over the ball.

The ball passed right between both of their legs.

And at the far post, a completely unmarked Boamei faced an open goal. With a simple turn of his instep, he easily put the ball in the net.

"GOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!"

"Mostar Zrinjski’s winger, number 21 Boamei, has just scored, finishing off a pass from Suk right across the goal mouth!"

"He puts Mostar Zrinjski on the board first in this match!"

"Mostar Zrinjski continues their outstanding performance in this match. They’ve shown a new lease on life under this brand-new tactical system!"

"Number 99, center-forward Suk! This young forward never ceases to surprise us."

"In the last round against the Sarajevo Railway Workers, his performance in the second half was outstanding. And today, starting the match, Suk has used his nimble footwork to help the team tear open the opponent’s defense and deliver an assist!"

"I imagine many fans were wondering before the game whether Mostar Zrinjski would still have enough of an offensive punch without Kosopech."

"Suk’s performance has shown everyone—yes! They still have that punch! That’s HSK for you! A team that’s great at defense, but also boasts a formidable offense."

Suk sprinted toward Boamei and leaped onto his back.

Boamei was a little uncomfortable, but this was the guy who’d assisted his goal, after all. He didn’t push him off, letting Suk hang off his back.

Suk, perched on Boamei’s back, pumped his arms forcefully.

"Go on! Keep cursing, you sons of bitches!"

"You bunch of whores! From your skin to your marrow, right down to your cells and genes, you reek of a single word: ’scum’!"

Suk cursed nonstop at the stands.

Boamei had wanted to celebrate, but after seeing the murderous glares from the fans in the stands, he quickly took off with Suk still on his back.

But Suk was relentless, twisting his head around to continue his verbal assault.

Finally, even Modric couldn’t stand it anymore. He ran over and clamped a hand over Suk’s mouth.

MMPH MMPH MMPH...

Suk’s face was filled with the sweet relief of having vented. He made a gesture to Modric, indicating he wouldn’t curse anymore.

When Modric let go, Suk let out a hearty, unrestrained laugh.

Boamei frowned. "Your insults were too harsh."

Suk turned his head. "But did it feel good to hear?"

Boamei fell silent.

’It really did feel damn good!’

Suk waved a hand dismissively. "Why hide it? That bunch of stupid pigs deserved it."

In the commentary box, Basodachi watched Suk provoke the fans and said, "Suk is provoking the fans. It seems there’s some bad blood there. For the Banja Luka Warriors, this means they’ll now have to play from behind..."

He didn’t elaborate on the fans’ behavior. As a veteran commentator, he knew exactly what kind of troublemakers they were.

The Banja Luka Warriors players all looked frustrated and aggrieved.

Conceding that goal had been so unexpected. They had been probing at a normal pace when Mostar Zrinjski suddenly kicked into gear. With one change of rhythm, a series of quick passes up front had completely dismantled their defense.

Zakavic, in particular, was grinding his teeth in frustration as he watched Suk run back and forth.

The guy’s movement was incessant. He was damned if he followed, damned if he didn’t, and even if he tried to follow, he probably couldn’t keep up.

Zakavic was left completely on the back foot.

"Zakavic, you idiot! You can’t even stop that shorty! You’re a piece of dog shit!"

"Stupid pig! Go back home and stop embarrassing yourself!"

"You’re a disgrace to the Banja Luka Warriors!"

Hearing the volleys of curses from the stands, Zakavic felt a vein throb in his forehead. He turned his head and snarled, "A bunch of bastards!"